by Brad Taylor
He shook his head and said, “Honestly, she was probably twisted before then, after the way they used her.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I let it ride, waiting.
He said, “She’s damaged, but she’s come far from those days. She used to be an absolute killer, devoid of emotion.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Now she’s still a killer, but she’s looking for something else. Beginning to believe she can have something else. I don’t want her to backslide, and Mikhail will cause it. She hates him to the core of her being. I cannot have her involved in the operation I’ve been directed to do. She simply can’t accomplish it.”
I took that in, then said, “Which is what, exactly?”
“I told you. They want us to retrieve the Torah. And I could use your help to do that.”
I snapped a leg out, kicking the table. “Bullshit. That fucking Torah may have been something to send you two contractors after, in a backwater way, but no way are they pursuing it that strongly. If it’s so big, why not send in an active-duty team? Why keep you guys on a string? Quit fucking with me. Or I’m done.”
Aaron remained still at my outburst. I knew him to be an honest man, and I trusted him, so I waited instead of storming out of the room.
He said, “Okay. I’m not exactly sure what they want. They’re using the Torah as an excuse for my mission, but it is odd. My opinion? They want to keep tabs on Mikhail without devoting resources. Without risking anyone.”
“You mean without risking anyone from Israel. Because risking Grolier Recovery Services is perfectly fine.”
He smiled and said, “Yes. That’s what I mean. But there’s something else that might interest the United States. The man in charge of the operation is a Russian Jew named Simon Migunov, and he’s very, very powerful. He’s one of the most powerful organized crime bosses in the entire world, and he’s on your FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.”
“I’m not in the FBI. I don’t do arrests.”
He stood and went to the minibar, pulling out a water bottle. He said, “I very well know your skills. Making arrests certainly isn’t one of them, but manhunting is, and if I’m to continue with my employer, I have to accept this mission. I can’t accept without help. I’m asking you for that. Warts and all.”
“Warts and all? Really? You’re asking me to act on behalf of the Israeli government as an American citizen. Christ, I’m not even Jewish.”
“I’m not asking out of religion or nationality. I’m asking out of friendship. Isn’t that deeper than the other two?”
“Friendship? Bullshit. You’re asking because you can’t do it without my help. You’ve played me from the beginning.”
He took a sip of water, then locked eyes with me. “Yes, I did, because I knew you wouldn’t do it otherwise, but I also knew you wanted to. We are not that different. We live for the mission, but we want to believe. Want to sleep at night knowing that what we did was for the greater good. Yes, I tricked you, but I did so with your full knowledge.”
He set the bottle on the counter and with his back to me he said, “Look, if I don’t do this, I’ll lose future contracts, and unlike you, I can’t go flitting off to some archaeological dig to pay the bills, but it’s about more than money.”
He turned and said, “You love Jennifer, do you not?”
The question was abrupt, and rude. Like a shot of water thrown in my face. Truthfully, while I had an answer, I wasn’t willing to voice it.
He saw the emotion crawl across my face and, with a look of understanding, said, “I don’t expect a response. Your partner, Jennifer, knows right from wrong. Shoshana is still learning. She studies you and Jennifer not as a joke. She really thinks it’s helping. I won’t disclose our conversations, but rest assured, I’m not asking for my business. I’m asking for her. She looks up to you two unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
I didn’t want to hear those words. It was unfair.
I said, “Okay, okay. Even if I said yes, we don’t have enough men. You don’t even have a start point.”
He became energized at my halfhearted pushback. “Yes, I do. Simon is in the capital of Slovakia right now. We have his address. We believe he’s planning on selling the artifacts within a week. All we need to do is interdict the shipment. The gold is a side note. They want the Torah. And yes, they probably want to know what the hell Mikhail and Simon are up to. The two together are not good for the Israeli image, so to speak. We get the Torah back, and report what we’ve seen. That’s all. An expendable operation, at the end of the day.”
“Expendable. Man, I love hearing that word.”
“Look, we’ll have full support of the Mossad. I can get technical kit, weapons, and intelligence support. We won’t be alone.”
I said, “No, we won’t, because I’m not doing this without sanction from my higher. Let me get permission to get Knuckles over here. Get him in the game.”
He held up a hand and said, “Wait. I talked to you with discretion. No way can I have you bring this up to your command.”
I said, “My command no longer exists. Let me talk to my boss. He’s a good man. I won’t give out specifics. I’ll just ask for Knuckles. Tell him I’m working with you—he knows you, he’s the one that gave you the medals for Brazil—and tell him I’m working something important. Let me get a blessing from him, and I’ll be a go.”
“How on earth are you going to get his blessing without telling him what you’re doing?”
I said, “The guy is on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. That’ll hold some weight.”
Aaron shook his head and said, “No, it won’t. If it did, they’d have dedicated assets to him much earlier. He’s not hard to find.”
I smiled and said, “You’re exactly right, but we have one other ace in hand.”
I pointed at the television, the newscaster talking about mobilizing Russian forces. “If I were to guess, Kurt’s probably begging for a way to get someone close to that shit.”
25
Simon took a sip of wine and said, “Fabulous view, don’t you agree?”
Never wanting to put his back to a door, Mikhail had to crane his neck around, catching the sparkling lights of the Bratislava Castle reflecting off the Danube River five stories below.
The restaurant was situated in the middle of a bridge that spanned the river. Slapped high above on iron girders like the Seattle Space Needle, the eating area was a saucer-shaped capsule with three hundred sixty–degree glass views. It was called, appropriately enough, the UFO restaurant.
Mikhail said, “Yes, it’s beautiful, but I’d rather not discuss the view.”
Simon grinned and said, “So it wasn’t the easy operation you envisioned.”
“Someone else came for the gold. And it can only be the Israelis.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. They got away, and they were wearing hoods. I never heard them speak. But the coincidence with the visit earlier for the Torah is too stark.”
“What is the fallout from the police?”
Mikhail shrugged and said, “They’re treating it like a break-in for art. They don’t want anyone to know that they lied about the train, so it’s not even being mentioned. The official story is the robbery was interrupted, and nothing was taken.”
Simon laughed and said, “You really have to love the duplicity of governments. Makes it easy. You have the trunks here?”
“Yes, although I’m not sure why you chose Bratislava.”
“The Albanians run things here. I couldn’t go anywhere connected to my old haunts. I’d last five seconds. You saw the news. Belarus is in play, which means I’m no longer needed. No, it’s safer here than Moscow.”
“You don’t think Putin can find you here?”
“Oh, he can find me. I’m sure he’s already looking, but it’s a reach and he has his
hands full right now. Once he’s committed to a full-fledged war, I’ll be safe forever. Where are the goods?”
“I have a contact here. Runs a diamond wholesaler, right down this bridge in the pedestrian shopping area. He’s got enough safe capacity to ensure protection.”
“Pedestrian area? The part of town locked down for vehicles? Can you get a car in there? I don’t want to walk up the street dragging a suitcase.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s got an armored truck that he uses. He has passes to enter the area. You just tell me where it needs to go and when. I’ll do the rest.”
Simon did so, passing him a card with an address and saying, “I’m sure the content will be complete, correct? Not that I’m questioning.”
Mikhail said, “Yeah. It’s complete, with the exception of the Torah. I’ve taken that as payment.”
“Good enough. But I can get that brokered as well, if you’d like. I can get you a great price.”
“I told you, I have a buyer in Austria. I’ve already shipped it there. It’s waiting on me and my buyer.”
“Fine, but I have a few more tasks for you to earn the right to sell it.”
“What now? Your Russian lunatics from the Night Wolves are already in Ukraine. Fire and forget.”
“I need to guarantee NATO loses their minds. Swiftly. This strike may be enough, but I need to be sure. I’m in contact with a man from Russia. He’s been trying to sell radioactive material in Moldova to various Islamic groups and had his little operation broken up by the authorities. He escaped, and now he’s desperate. He knows he’s holding something that’s hot as hell—pardon the pun—and growing more and more worthless. I want you to buy it from him.”
“Plutonium? Is that it? What crazy idea do you have now? A dirty bomb?”
Simon smiled and said, “Yes. Well, it’s actually a small bit of uranium, and it will cause enough panic to overcome any restraint from NATO. Especially when we leave evidence that a former security agent from Russia sold it to the Night Wolves. Of course, Kirill doesn’t need to be privy to that little bit of information.”
The waiter arrived and Mikhail waved him away, leaning over the table when the man had moved beyond earshot. “Simon, you have lost your fucking mind if you think I’m going to be involved in setting off a dirty bomb on the European continent.”
Simon glanced around at the outburst, then leaned forward with some heat of his own. “Sit back. Now. You forget where you come from. I’m the one who picked you up when nobody wanted you. I’m the one who made you in this business. I’m the reason you aren’t eating out of a garbage can when everyone else said you were a thief. Nobody would hire you after you were let go. I did.”
Simon sat back, his expression relaxing, and took a sip of wine. He glanced around the room. Nobody was paying any attention to them. He said, “This purchase isn’t a real dirty bomb. I’m not asking you to kill massive amounts of people. He’s got so little of it, it won’t do anything but trigger the radiac meters and cause massive panic. Something to guarantee I won’t have to worry about President Putin tracking me down. I need you to get it from him and deliver it to the Night Wolves. And then we’ll be done.”
Mikhail took that in, understanding the power Simon held and the veiled threats of pushing back. Even as a hunted man, he was still the alpha wolf. Mikhail said, “What will they do with it?”
“They’ll take it to Poland. A final attack against NATO interests. It’ll pollute nothing more than some American aircraft. But it’ll be enough.”
“You don’t need to do this. The next attack will be enough.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I want to be prepared. You still have contact with Kirill?”
“Yes. I still have his number. If he isn’t dead.”
“He’s not. He’s a survivor, and has been forever. Where is he?”
“Shit, who knows? If I had to guess, just watch the television. The next big news story will be a Western Tornado or Falcon blown out of the sky.”
26
Kirill snatched the binoculars and said, “Christ, man. Is it a Buk launcher or not? That’s the only question.”
Oleg said, “It’s a Buk, but it doesn’t have the Snow Drift radar array vehicle. I can’t shoot a plane without the radar assembly that controls it. It’s just a missile launcher. We can’t identify and hit what we want without the radar.”
Kirill said, “Bullshit. How was that plane shot down earlier? The civilian aircraft?”
Oleg sighed and said, “Each launcher has an internal radar that can be used for targeting, but it’s imprecise. It can guide the missile, but can’t identify the target. You want to blow another civilian aircraft out of the air? We need to find a group of launchers with the control vehicle. The Snow Drift radar. It’s something that can precisely define friend or foe. Something that will prevent us from killing another damn plane full of civilians.”
Kirill dropped the binos and said, “We can’t keep driving around the countryside. We have to kill a NATO aircraft, period. Is there some other way to do it?”
Oleg, looking a little sick, said, “Maybe. They fly overhead all the time, but they don’t fly alone. If the radar shows a group of planes, odds are it’s a NATO flight. Civilian aircraft don’t fly in formation.”
Kirill said, “Perfect. Boys, get your coats on.”
The men put on the trappings of the Russian air force and Oleg said, “What are we going to do if they don’t believe we’re Russian military? How are we going to get them to allow us in the Buk?”
Kirill pressed the gas pedal and said, “They aren’t going to question anything. Because they’ll be dead.”
They bounced down the rutted dirt road, clearing the tree line and entering the field, the Buk M1 launcher system sitting idle, four missiles aimed at the sky, the cab pointed at a gap in the trees for rapid escape once the missiles were fired.
They closed within a hundred meters and saw no sign of life. Oleg said, “Maybe it’s empty.” No sooner had the words come out of his mouth when a bearded man wearing a ragtag uniform exited the Buk with an AK-47. He held it at the ready, not threatening, but definitely not slung.
Kirill stopped the vehicle twenty feet away, then exited. Speaking Russian he said, “Evening, comrade. How goes it?”
The man said, “Fine.” He pointed the AK and said, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Nobody of consequence.” Kirill held his own AKM in a nonthreatening manner as the rest of his men exited the vehicle. He continued, “We, of course, were never here. We’re simply checking the maintenance of the launchers in your area.”
The man smiled and said, “We haven’t had anyone in this sector in weeks, and even then, I’ve never seen anyone wearing Russian uniforms.”
Having fought inside Crimea as a “volunteer,” Kirill knew all too well how the Russians operated, so much so that he suspected some of his Night Wolves compatriots during that time were, in fact, Spetsnaz—Russian Special Forces. He’d fought with the men whom the press would later label the “Little Green Men”—Russian specialists in the dark arts who eschewed wearing a uniform to project the image of a spontaneous uprising. In this case, wearing a uniform was necessary to defuse the rebels manning the Buk, even if it looked odd.
Kirill said, “Times are changing. Especially here, where the revolution is complete.”
The launcher was parked in the Donetsk Oblast, the heart of the so-called spontaneous uprising, and Kirill knew the man would believe what he said. There was no longer any fighting here, the terrain solidly held by pro-Russian separatists. The man turned to the vehicle and shouted. Two other men exited, one wearing a leather helmet and headset, both looking at the crew of Russian air force in confusion.
Kirill said, “What are your mission parameters?”
The man with the helmet said, “We wait. We’ve been waiting forever,
since the ceasefire. If they bomb us, we’ll get a call, and we’ll defend against it.”
“How do you know the launcher will work? You have no radar array.”
“It works. We track aircraft all day long.”
Kirill said, “Good, good. All for the motherland, right?”
The helmet smiled, and Kirill shot all three, stitching them from the hip, his AKM held low, emptying an entire magazine.
The men with him were startled by the fire, jerking back at the explosion of rounds. As quickly as it had started, it was over. The silence stretched out, Kirill’s weapon smoking.
Oleg was the first to recover. He said, “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Get inside. Start working the launcher. Find us a target.”
Oleg stomped in front of him, waving his arms at the carnage. “Was this necessary? Did you have to kill them? They’re us, for God’s sake. They’re with us.”
Kirill changed magazines and raised the barrel. He said, “Get inside.”
Oleg stood still for a moment, then turned toward the launcher. Misha went to the dead men and began going through their pockets, looking for loot. He was followed by the other two, until Kirill said, “Leave them alone. This wasn’t for profit.”
They backed off, like puppies scolded for chewing a shoe. From inside the launcher, Oleg shouted, “I have something.”
Kirill rushed forward, looking into the cramped cockpit of the Buk. He saw nothing but green screens and switches. He said, “What?”
Oleg pointed at a round radar display, saying, “Three aircraft flying together. They have to be a NATO patrol.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, they’re flying much higher than a civilian aircraft. They’re at 41,000 feet. And they’re flying together.”