Black Flagged Vektor (4)

by Konkoly, Steven

  Both men brushed past them and started to search the car. He figured they were looking for any additional GPS units or cell phones that could be used to determine their final destination. Satisfied that the car was clean, the two men returned and asked them to step inside the vehicle.

  Daniel opened the door and saw that the window was opaque. A black panel ran from the ceiling to floor and separated the rear compartment from the front seats, completely blocking their view of the front compartment windows. He leaned his head in and confirmed that the rest of the windows were opaque, forming a visionless box to keep the final destination a secret. Karl Berg opened the door on the other side and stepped up on the running board, preparing to enter the SUV.

  “Fuck this. I’m not riding in a coffin,” Daniel said.

  “It’s non-negotiable, Daniel. If the director came out to visit, he’d be required to follow the same procedure,” Berg said.

  “Somehow I really doubt that,” he said, considering his options.

  “It is what it is. You either take it or leave it,” Berg said, nestling himself into the far seat.

  Daniel looked past the opaque window and caught a glimpse of one of their escorts. He stood with his arms folded at the front of the SUV, staring at Daniel impassively.

  “They won’t get in until both of the back doors are closed and locked. They’ll stand around all day,” Berg said.

  Daniel hopped into his seat and shut the door, which automatically activated the interior lights. Before either of the front compartment doors opened, he heard his door lock. He shared a look with Berg.

  “This facility is our securest for three reasons. Isolation, secrecy and physical security. The detachment assigned to Mountain Glen takes each aspect very seriously. Follow directions, and don’t fuck around up there,” Berg said.

  The vehicle jolted forward, pushing Daniel into his seat.

  “What makes you think I won’t take this seriously?” Petrovich said, securing his seatbelt.

  “I have it on good authority.”

  Sixty-four minutes later, the SUV stopped for several seconds and continued. Perimeter fence, Daniel thought. A few minutes after that, the vehicle turned and suddenly halted. The engine stopped running, and the door unlocked.

  “We may proceed,” Berg said.

  “So much for two hours,” Petrovich said.

  “Sanderson told me to shave an hour off the advertised time.”

  “Uhhh…I think we stopped in the wrong place,” he called out, opening the door and stepping down onto the packed gravel. He walked briskly past their escorts, who no longer appeared interested in them. “This looks more like a mountain retreat than a maximum security prison for the worst dregs of society.”

  “It gets a little complicated when you rank this high on our list of enemies,” Berg said, catching up with him.

  Petrovich surveyed the grounds. They had parked in front of a two-story colonial-style home that bristled with antennas and featured a satellite communications dome at the apex of the roof. The house stood in the center of a round clearing the size of three football fields. A natural stream ran through the northern edge of the clearing, visible among the jagged rocks along the water’s edge. A massive post-and-beam lodge dominated the western edge of the clearing, complete with a wide covered porch and Adirondack deck chairs.

  Fifty meters to the left of the lodge sat a white, one-story building that looked more utilitarian than luxurious. The squat structure featured two garage bay doors and a crushed gravel driveway leading toward the dirt road they had arrived on. He saw several ATV-sized trails leading in multiple directions from the center of the clearing, but no motorized equipment beyond the SUV that had transported them to the compound.

  He raised his view above the tree line to admire the rocky face of a mountain several miles away. Faint traces of snow could still be seen in some of the sheltered crags. Anatoly Reznikov had been delivered to paradise for causing the death of thousands in Russia and selling his designer virus to Al Qaeda. Unbelievable.

  Daniel’s gaze returned to the house just as the front door opened. Berg filled him in as they walked over to meet the camp commandant, or whoever had decided to greet them.

  “The house ahead is the security station. It’s home to roughly a dozen security specialists, all former special operations personnel. It houses the state-of-the-art equipment used to keep track of the compound’s ‘guests.’ Every aspect of the guests’ lives is monitored and analyzed, from heartbeats to toilet flushes. Dozens of active and passive measures are taken to ensure each guest’s compliance with the rules.

  “The guests stay in residences situated beyond the thick tree line that surrounds the clearing. Each residence is bugged and monitored by several cameras mounted in nearby trees. Motion detectors track movement inside and outside of each structure, guiding the sophisticated array of night vision and thermal imaging equipped cameras assigned to each guest. Patterns are recorded, analyzed and anticipated. Anything out of the ordinary is immediately investigated by a mobile security team. Normally, you’d see a few ATVs around here. They must be busy.”

  “What the fuck is that place? A goddamn resort lodge?” Petrovich asked, pointing at the post-and-beam structure.

  “The lodge holds the facility’s gourmet kitchen, common dining area, recreation room, indoor pool and exercise facilities…trust me, I think it’s a fucking crock of shit, but the promise of a life here has motivated some of our most hardened enemies to cooperate. The small white building houses the compound’s backup generator, water distribution system and main electricity breaker. The garages hold ATVs for patrolling the grounds, plowing snow and transporting guests.”

  “I lost three good men capturing that motherfucker, and now he’s eating crème brule after dinner?”

  “And after lunch if so desired,” Berg said.

  “I’m not finding any of this to be amusing. You have to be kidding me?” Daniel said, stopping Berg before their welcoming committee arrived. “He gets to live out the rest of his life here? Seriously?”

  “That’s the general concept, but in the case of Anatoly Reznikov, I might throw him an early retirement party. Those lives weren’t wasted.”

  Berg cast him a deadly serious look that Petrovich recognized immediately. For the moment, he was satisfied that Reznikov wouldn’t get to live out his golden years snacking on fresh cheese and drinking Green Mountain coffee. He risked one more glance at the lodge’s porch and saw someone take a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs with a cup and saucer.

  “They can roam the place freely?”

  The man joining them from the house answered his question. “Guests are allowed free run of the compound, as long as they don’t bother another guest or interfere with the staff. Or try to escape. Violations result in a remotely activated lockdown. Gary Sheffield,” he said, shaking hands with Petrovich first.

  “Daniel Petrovich,” he responded, stuck in Sheffield’s iron grip.

  Unlike his Members Only jacket adorned security staff, Sheffield looked like he had embraced the Vermont mountain life. The bottoms of his worn quilted flannel shirt flapped in the breeze, lapping gently against his reinforced khaki pants. A pair of rugged dark brown hiking boots stood firmly planted in the ground in front of them. His face betrayed a four to five day growth of graying hair, which had the potential to sprout into a proper beard if left unchecked, but like Petrovich, the man couldn’t completely abandon the ritual of shaving. Give Sheffield another year or two out here, and he’d look like Grizzly Adams. He wondered how a CIA officer pulled duty out here…if the guy was even CIA.

  “Welcome back, Karl. Looks like Mr. Reznikov is keeping you busy,” Sheffield said.

  “It’s a refreshing break from the pollution.”

  “I didn’t think D.C. was that bad,” Sheffield remarked.

  “I wasn’t talking about the air,” Berg replied.

  “Neither was I,” Sheffield said, smirking, and the two men
shook hands.

  “Gary and I served together in Eastern Europe back in the day,” Berg said to Daniel. “He headed up one of our most successful Special Operations groups behind the Iron Curtain. How he ended up with a cushy assignment like this is unfathomable.”

  “Beyond the cameras and motion detectors, what keeps the prisoners from walking to the nearest town?” Petrovich asked.

  Sheffield put a hand on his hip and pointed at the forest with the other, sweeping his hand in a grand gesture at the tree line. “The final immediate security precaution consists of a reinforced, twelve-foot-tall razor-wire fence that encircles the entire compound. The fence is located three hundred meters beyond the edge of the clearing, and the entire fence line is monitored by cameras and motion detectors. If one of the compound’s guests or an outside party decided to scale the fence, security personnel could deliver a substantial electrical charge to that specific section of fence. Beyond the fence, the last deterrent to an escape is isolation. Anyone finding themselves on the other side of that fence would face a fifty-mile trek through unforgiving wilderness to reach the first signs of civilization.”

  “Has anyone tried to go over the fence?” Daniel said.

  “Fuck no. The average guest puts on thirty to forty pounds within the first three months here…and most of them arrive already showing the signs of an excessive lifestyle. The gourmet food serves a purpose. Most of them would have a heart attack getting to the fence. Speaking of heart conditions, Mr. Reznikov’s health is improving.”

  “That’s a shame,” Berg said.

  “Good food. Fresh air. Works wonders. I’ll notify him that you’ve arrived. Should I announce Mr. Petrovich?”

  “No. I’d like to surprise him. Maybe set his health back a few notches. The two of them have met before,” Berg said.

  “Very well. I’ll send his usual breakfast over. Can I get the two of you anything?”

  “Lobster Benedict with homefries?”

  “How do you like the egg yolks?” Sheffield asked.

  “Wow, I was just kidding,” Petrovich said. “Cooked through.”

  “Karl?”

  “I’ll have the same, but runny.”

  “Give it about thirty minutes. Here’s the code to cut the audio feeds. Input at the door touch pad,” Sheffield said, removing a notecard from his trouser pocket.

  “Thanks, Gary. See you on the way out,” Berg said.

  Sheffield nodded at his security officers, who followed him into the security station as Berg and Petrovich walked down the raked gravel path toward Reznikov’s residence. They arrived at the cozy Cape Cod-style cottage a few minutes later after a short walk through the forest. Without stopping to examine any of the trees, Daniel failed to detect any of the surveillance equipment installed to keep Reznikov from wandering off the reservation. Either the gear had been expertly hidden or the whole system was a carefully crafted lie to keep the inmates guessing. Either method could be equally effective. He maneuvered himself behind Berg as they approached the cottage.

  Petrovich saw one of the curtains flutter as they walked onto the small covered porch. Less than a second later, the door flashed open, and Reznikov bellowed in a deep Russian voice, welcoming Karl Berg. When Daniel stepped onto the porch, clearing Berg’s shadow, the pallid Russian’s face lost any last vestiges of color. He imagined that Sheffield and his crew were getting their monthly dose of entertainment watching Reznikov’s vital signs spike.

  “Good morning, Dr. Reznikov,” Petrovich said in his cheeriest voice.

  “What is he doing here?” Reznikov asked, looking betrayed.

  “Emotional support…and to reinforce the fact that you are not out of the woods by a long shot. Stand back from the door,” Berg ordered.

  Reznikov retreated into the house, and Petrovich followed him, glancing around at the modestly appointed residence. Comfortable, inexpensive furniture adorned the family room to the right, reminding him of the mountain cottage he had rented for a week with Jessica in New Hampshire. He heard Berg type his code into the keypad on the porch, which piqued Reznikov’s interest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “He’s cutting the surveillance feeds so I can beat you senseless without interruption from the warden,” Petrovich said.

  “Director,” Reznikov countered.

  “Warden. You’re an inmate. This is a prison…albeit a nice one.”

  “I like to think of it as my well-earned retirement.”

  Berg slammed the door shut and walked past Petrovich, causing Reznikov to retreat into the kitchen area ahead of him.

  “Well, I have bad news about your retirement plan. Have a seat,” Berg said.

  Reznikov swiped a half-finished bottle of Ketel One vodka from the kitchen counter and started to dig through one of his cabinets for shot glasses. He set the glasses and the bottle on the kitchen table and took a seat. Karl Berg sat across from him, but Petrovich opted to stand with his back against the kitchen island countertop with his arms crossed. He stared at Reznikov, watching the Russian’s trembling hand reach out with the bottle. He heard the mouth of the bottle chatter against the first glass and wondered if Reznikov might collapse from the strain of seeing him again.

  “I wouldn’t waste any more of that until you hear what I have to say. This isn’t going to be a celebratory moment for you or me. The president doesn’t feel that Vektor Labs is a clear and present danger to the United States, and will not authorize action against the facility or its personnel. I hope you’ve been practicing the art of holding your breath. I hear the toilet bowls are deep where you’ll likely end up,” Berg said.

  “Wait a minute. Wait. He just dismissed the bioweapons program with the wave of a hand? After his country was attacked? It’s only a matter of time before another scientist makes a deal. Trust me, there are many interested parties,” Reznikov said, finally steadying his hand enough to pour three shots of vodka.

  “A toast…”

  “At eight in the morning?” Petrovich said.

  “I’m still on Moscow time, which means I can drink whenever I want,” Reznikov replied, reaching for one of the glasses.

  Berg preemptively stopped him by covering the three glasses with the palm of his hand and sliding them to his side of the oak table. This quick denial caused the Russian to rise out of his seat momentarily. Petrovich’s glare put him back in the chair without protest.

  “I’d like to hear about some of those interested parties, especially any that might be intimately involved with the program. A little birdie told me that Vektor Labs hosts a whole array of foreign scientists, some of whom with questionable motives.”

  “Well played, my friend,” Reznikov said.

  “I’m not your friend,” Berg countered.

  “Just an expression. You give, I give. That’s the way this works, no?”

  “Time to open up door number three, or I’m going to bury you alive in the deepest, darkest prison I can find.”

  Petrovich admired the way Berg controlled the situation. From Berg’s appearance and general demeanor, he’d expected the CIA officer to behave more like a reserved college professor. Instead, he was witnessing an interrogation disguised as bargaining.

  “What is door number three?” the Russian asked.

  “Just an expression. Time to show me all of your cards.”

  The Russian shook his head.

  “Lay it on the table.”

  Reznikov looked around, confused. Apparently these phrases didn’t translate well into Russian. Berg looked over to Petrovich and forced a smile, returning his gaze to Reznikov to hiss the next statement.

  “Time to tell us every fucking thing you know, or you’re gonna spend the rest of your short, miserable life in a hellhole.”

  Reznikov recoiled at the sudden change in Berg’s persona, glancing around nervously. “Iranians,” he blurted.

  “What about the Iranians?” Berg prodded.

  “I was approached by Iranian intelligence agen
ts while employed at Vektor, but at that point I hadn’t fully come to terms with my own plans to steal virus samples. They scared the hell out of me. Showing up in the least expected places at the oddest times. Hints were dropped about potential financial arrangements. After a while, they left me alone. I heard they were scrambling to find me when I left Vektor. Of course, that stopped once they finally got someone inside the facility. Is this what you might find behind door number three?”

  “You’re getting closer. What do you mean by inside? Inside the P4 containment building? Inside the bioweapons program? What are we talking about here?”

  Petrovich thought Berg sounded overeager, sensing a shift in the bargaining power.

  “I’m told they have a scientist assigned to the infectious disease fellowship program. He’s been seen offsite with a likely Iranian intelligence agent. Not too many Persians in Novosibirsk. Not many outsiders at all. Now it’s time for a toast.”

  Petrovich leaned in to take one of the shots off the table, wondering what Jessica would think of him drinking vodka at nine in the morning. He wasn’t driving, though, so what did it matter? After spending hours in Berg’s company, he could use a drink.

  “To keeping your head out of a dirty toilet,” Petrovich said.

  Reznikov didn’t look amused by his impromptu salutation. Neither did Berg. He shrugged his shoulders and drained the vodka down his throat, slamming the glass back down on the table like a fraternity pledge.

  “Rude and uncivilized. Here’s to a long retirement in the mountains and a successful mission against Vektor,” Reznikov said.

  Petrovich waited for both of them to finish their shots before interjecting. “I liked my toast better.”

  Reznikov grabbed the bottle and poured another shot for himself, placing the bottle near Berg’s glass. The CIA officer declined.