The Asset

by Saul Herzog

  He’d already put up the seats, swept the floor, and was finishing his cash out. He’d agreed to let her wait while he closed but her time was up.

  “Just a few more minutes,” she said.

  “Lady, it’s snowing outside and I’ve got to get all the way across town.”

  “She’s coming,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve got to lock up. It’s time to call it a night.”

  Laurel didn’t know what to do. She’d been certain if she left the message at the mail store, someone would show.

  “Fine,” she said, grabbing her coat from the back of the stool.

  She let the bartender usher her out, then offered him a cigarette to stall for time. He took it and she lit it for him.

  As he locked up she said, “Any idea where I can get a cab at this time of night?”

  “Just try the corner,” he said, as he went down the steps.

  She watched him walk away, leaving deep footprints in the snow behind him.

  The snow had really started to fall. It was piling up on the street, causing the cars to slow down and giving everything an eerie stillness. It reminded her of the town in Montana. She looked up and was fairly certain she could see a drone in the sky. It wouldn’t have been unlike Roth to send one in when he pulled the surveillance team.

  She saw a cab approaching and raised her hand. To her relief, it pulled over.

  She hurried down the steps reaching for the door, but it opened before she got to it.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised.

  “Excuse me,” a woman said, getting out.

  Laurel stopped and looked at her. Her accent was Russian. She was wearing a long coat and expensive shoes that were going to get ruined in this weather.

  Laurel leaned inside the cab and said to the driver, “Wait right here.”

  She turned to the woman and immediately, the cab pulled away. “Come on,” she yelled after it but it did no good.

  The woman ran up the steps to the door of the bar.

  “It’s locked,” Laurel said.

  The woman turned to her. “I was supposed to meet someone here,” she said, panic on her face.

  There was another cab down the street. It had stopped at the intersection and the woman looked over her shoulder at it.

  Then she pulled at the door of the bar as if she didn’t believe it was locked.

  “What’s the matter?” Laurel said.

  “I was supposed to meet someone. A man. He said he’d be here.”

  “I’m here to meet you,” Laurel said.

  “What?”

  “You sent the message. In Istanbul.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Where’s Spector?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “I said only Spector,” the woman said. She was scared. She looked again at the cab at the intersection, then at Laurel. “I’m being followed.”

  Laurel looked at the cab. It was still idling ominously at the intersection. The street was completely deserted.

  “We’re not safe here,” she said.

  “I never should have come,” the woman said.

  They both looked at the cab. The back window opened and someone reached out.

  “What is he doing?” Laurel said.

  “I think he’s filming us.”

  Laurel nodded.

  “Are you armed?”

  “Yes,” Laurel said. “You?”

  The woman nodded.

  They watched the cab. The man stopped filming and the window went back up.

  “What’s he doing now?” Laurel said.

  The woman was about to speak when a flash lit up the inside of the cab, and a split second later, the distinctive crack of a gunshot.

  “Oh, shit,” the woman said.

  She ran down the steps and took cover with Laurel behind a parked car. Both women drew their guns.

  “He filmed us,” the woman said.

  Laurel understood. “We have to stop him.”

  The back door of the cab opened and a man stepped out.

  “Who is that guy?” Laurel said.

  The woman shook her head. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

  The man opened the front door of the cab and pulled the body of the driver out onto the street. Then he got into the driver’s seat.

  “Why kill the driver?” Laurel said.

  The woman shook her head.

  Laurel stood up and aimed her hand gun. She couldn’t see inside the cab but fired two shots straight through the windshield where the driver would have been.

  Then she fired two more at the front, driver’s side tire, hitting it twice.

  The women looked at each other as the cab started to move. It came toward them slowly, at a walking pace.

  Both women had been trained for this. They knew the man in the cab was a professional. They knew their chances.

  “Are you CIA?” the woman said.

  Laurel nodded.

  The woman spoke quickly, keeping her eye on the cab. “I’m GRU. Tatyana Aleksandrova. The man in the cab, I think Moscow sent him.”

  “How do you want to handle this?” Laurel said, reloading her gun.

  “I can’t run for shit in these shoes,” Tatyana said.

  Laurel nodded. “We’ll take him here then. There’s two of us.”

  “But he’s got the vehicle,” Tatyana said.

  The cab was still fifty yards from them, rolling slowly through the snow, smoke billowing from its tailpipe. Laurel peered at it and noticed the driver’s window opening.

  “Do you think you hit him?” Tatyana said.

  Laurel shrugged.

  Along the street, just where the cab was passing, a man opened the door of a building and came out onto the step. “What’s going on out here?” he shouted.

  “Get down,” Laurel yelled but it was too late.

  Two sharp cracks from the cab. The bullets struck the man in the torso and head and he smacked against the wall of the building before hitting the ground.

  “We’ve got to stop this guy,” Laurel said.

  “You go to the next car,” Tatyana said. “Don’t let him see you. When he’s across from you, I’ll stand up and draw his fire. You’ll have a clear shot.”

  Laurel nodded. Keeping low, she ran to the next vehicle, a pickup truck, and took cover. The cab was still moving. She couldn’t see the driver through the open window. He was crouched low, not really steering the car so much as keeping it straight while he prepared to shoot.

  Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing. Laurel thought about shooting him through the door but she’d be shooting blind, wasting ammo. Waiting was the better plan.

  The seconds the cab took to reach her felt like an eternity. Her mind raced from thought to thought. The drone in the sky. This guy in the cab. The Russians were already onto them.

  She waited. The cab inched closer. Finally, it was directly behind the truck. She looked to Tatyana and nodded. Then, gripping her gun, Tatyana rose.

  A split second behind her, Laurel rose too.

  Time compressed and she no longer registered what was happening. There was supposed to be covering fire from Tatyana. That would distract the man while Laurel got a line of sight and took him out.

  But when she stood there was no covering fire. And when she took aim, the man was already pointing his gun right at her.

  She pulled the trigger and her shot hit home, smacking the man in the shoulder, but not before he got off two shots of his own, both of which hit her in the upper torso.

  Everything went black.

  37

  When Tatyana stood, she could see Goldin through the open window of the cab. He was leaning back, his gun out in front of him ready to fire.

  She pulled the trigger, her gun flashed, there was a report, but she knew instantly that the bullet was blank.

  She pulled the trigger three mor
e times but the entire clip was the same.

  When she saw the CIA woman fall to the ground, she dropped her gun and ran.

  Goldin, abandoning the cab, followed her on foot.

  She pulled off her shoes and ran barefoot. The frigid snow felt like walking on shards of glass.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Goldin lumbering after her. He’d been shot in the shoulder and the wound was slowing him down.

  The narrow streets were deserted. It wasn’t until she reached Hudson that she saw any traffic. It was sparse but there were cars making their way slowly through the snow. She ran into the middle of the street and tried desperately to flag them down. Cars swerved around her and kept going.

  She kept trying, and finally a car stopped and a man in a hoodie opened the door.

  “What’s the matter?” he said, and then bang, his head opened up as a bullet struck it.

  Tatyana looked at the man for a second, stunned, half a skull where a face had just been.

  She thought of pulling him out of the car, the keys were still in the ignition and the engine was running, but another bullet clanged against the steel door and she gave up the thought.

  She continued running, losing her bearings, desperate to keep ahead of Goldin. Despite his wound he was keeping up.

  When an entrance to a subway station appeared ahead, she ran straight for it.

  As she reached the top of the steps, a bullet struck the steel railing. She ran down the steps, leapt over the turnstile, and glanced desperately around the platform for help. The station was completely deserted.

  A sign above the northbound track said a train was due in one minute.

  She looked back the way she’d come. Goldin’s silhouette was at the top of the stairs. He was leaning on the railing, almost spent. She knew he wouldn’t be able to chase her much longer.

  She glanced around and saw there was no exit from the station other than the steps she’d just descended.

  The platform had thick pillars every twenty yards and she thought she might be able to string out a chase until the train arrived.

  If she could draw Goldin slowly down along the platform, she might also find a way to get around him and escape back up the steps.

  She dashed to the first pillar and got behind it just as Goldin reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “I know you’re down here,” he called out, his voice hoarse from the exertion.

  He saw that a train was approaching and made his way to the northbound side of the platform.

  “You can’t hide forever,” he said.

  Tatyana regulated her breathing. All she had to do was stay out of his line of sight until the train got there. She could already feel the breeze that preceded it.

  Staying very low, she peered around the pillar. Goldin was just five yards away, looking right at her.

  She jerked back in time to dodge the bullet that smacked into the tiled column.

  She ran for the next pillar as Goldin reloaded.

  “It’s all over, Tatyana.”

  “Then tell me who sent you,” she said.

  He laughed.

  She ran to the next pillar, and the next, staying out of sight.

  He lumbered slowly after her, carefully checking each pillar to make sure she didn’t get around him. She glanced back and saw him leaning against one of them, blood dripping onto the ground beneath him.

  “Who found me out, Goldin?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You were the worst I ever had,” she shouted over the noise of the oncoming train.

  Goldin rounded the pillar he’d been leaning against, giving himself a clear view of the platform. If Tatyana tried to get on the train, he’d have a straight shot at her. He was less than twenty yards from her. She’d seen his aim. Even wounded, she knew he wouldn’t miss.

  His position cut her off from the train, but also reduced his visibility to the other side of the platform.

  There was a slim chance of getting around behind him.

  The time was now. The sound of the train already echoed down the tunnel.

  “It was the secretary, wasn’t it?” she said.

  The moment she said the words, she backed around the pillar and crossed the platform.

  She had to be fast. The train would be screeching into the station in seconds, taking his attention for just a moment.

  She ran to the next pillar, back in the direction of the steps, and then the next. The train came rushing into the station and she peered round at Goldin. He was still watching where she’d been, his gun pointed, waiting for the train door to open and her to dash for it.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and made to cross behind him. If he turned to his right, she’d be passing right through his field of view, but she had no choice.

  She ran, and at that moment, she realized it wasn’t just the northbound train that was arriving, but a southbound one also.

  Goldin heard it the same moment she did. She knew in that instant she’d made a mistake. Goldin turned instinctively to the right, raised his arm, and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet hit Tatyana and the force of it knocked her sideways into the path of the oncoming train.

  38

  When Lance finally got Roth’s call, the sun was already beginning to rise. He’d been sitting at his table at Monroe’s all night, drinking coffee and getting up to speed on the files Laurel had left with him.

  “I’m in the city, Levi,” he said.

  “Lance,” Roth said, his voice hoarse. “Something’s happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You still at Monroe’s?”

  “Been here all night.”

  “You know the pay phone outside?”

  “If it’s still there.”

  “It is. I’ll call you on it in one minute.”

  Lance got the waitress’s attention and told her he was going outside and would be right back.

  When he reached the pay phone, it was already ringing.

  “It’s me.”

  “Good. After our call, get rid of your phone, all your electronics. Get a burner and call me.”

  “You had a system breach?”

  “I don’t know what we had, but I’m flushing the lines.”

  Roth was head of the most elite group in the CIA. If he’d been breached, something major was going down.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Laurel went to make contact with the Russian.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “What did she get?”

  Roth was agitated. Something wasn’t right.

  “I got drone footage of the meet. Facial recognition has the contact as a GRU agent. One of Igor Aralov’s in the Main Directorate.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Tatyana Aleksandrova.”

  Lance was removing the sim card from his phone. He nearly dropped it when he heard Tatyana’s name. He remembered her as clearly as if it had been just yesterday. They’d both been in the Syrian capital at the same time. There were Russians everywhere in Damascus back then, but Tatyana was different. He’d remember her as long as he lived.

  “I remember her, Levi. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “And what am I thinking?”

  “You’re thinking I had a thing with her.”

  “I could care less what you had with her.”

  “Then what’s bugging you?”

  “She’s dead is what’s bugging me, Lance.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “How?”

  “Shot in a subway station in New York.”

  “When?”

  “A few hours ago.”

  “Is Laurel all right?”

  There was the briefest pause, and then, “She was shot too, Lance.”

  Lance said nothing. He suddenly felt like the world was spinning out of control.

  “Lance?” Roth said. “Lance?”

&
nbsp; “So the Russians found out?”

  “They must have.”

  “How did Laurel and Tatyana get caught in the open like that?”

  “Something went wrong. We found Tatyana’s handgun. It was loaded with blanks.”

  “A trap?”

  “And they walked right into it.”

  “How is that possible?” Lance said. “They were pros, Roth. If the Russians were onto Tatyana, she would have known.”

  “She thought she was meeting you, Lance. We think that’s why she didn’t cut and run.”

  “Me?”

  “Laurel told her you’d be there. That’s why she went.”

  39

  Igor sat motionless at his desk for a long time. He couldn’t believe Tatyana was really dead.

  She’d been so young.

  The truth was, he’d always been fond of her.

  She wasn’t like other women her age.

  She was more like the women of his generation.

  She hadn’t softened with the softening of history. She was still on a war footing. Stalin. Purges. Collectivization. Famines. Gulags. Police torture chambers. She’d known such things were real, and that they could all come back in the blink of an eye.

  His other agents didn’t think that way. They didn’t believe. Not in their bones. They were like city folk who’d heard stories of bears and wolves in the forest but never seen them. How could they fear things they’d never seen?

  Tatyana did fear them. She believed in every monster she’d ever heard of. And she lived her life as if they were always there, right behind her, ready to pounce.

  And now they had.

  Igor wasn’t like some of his colleagues who thought everything that came from America was decadent. He read American books and regarded their authors as highly as any of the Russian greats. It wasn’t Tolstoy or Dostoevsky or Pushkin or Chekhov on the table next to his bed. It was an American.

  “When the lambs is lost in the mountains, they is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.”

  He remembered that line now.

  For Tatyana, it had always been the wolf.

  And someone would pay.

  He picked up his phone and called the secure switchboard. It would provide after-the-fact authorization for what had just happened in New York, and would protect him against any later charge that he’d turned on one of his own agents.