by Saul Herzog
Rand Airport
Johannesburg, South Africa
Asset was onboard a Nextant 400XT charter jet taking off from a small airdrome east of Johannesburg. Flight was bound for Maputo, Mozambique. CIA satellite surveillance shows a lone actor two kilometers from the runway firing a surface-to-air missile at the jet. Local sources confirm the plane was hit by a Russian-made SA-7 Grail shoulder-held, heat-seeking missile. Both pilots and all four passengers, including Camaro, were killed in the explosion.
Suspects acquired: None
Special Operations Group Database
The third report was even shorter.
Hornet: KIA
Regent Street
London, United Kingdom
Asset struck and killed by a stolen London TX4 hackney carriage, crossing Regent Street at Tenison Court. London Police and MI5 in control of scene.
Suspects acquired: None
Special Operations Group Database
He held the fourth in his hand before reading it. It was the one he’d falsified. It was Lance’s only chance.
Mustang: KIA
Watergate Plaza
Washington DC
Asset killed in elevator at Watergate Plaza by multiple gunshot wounds. One assailant also killed. Scene in control of local police.
Suspects acquired: None
Special Operations Group Database
There was a knock on the door. Roth stood.
“Yes?”
“Your car is ready, sir.”
He put the four files in his briefcase and hurried to the elevator.
On the ground floor, he hurried by security and failed to return a greeting to the guard. His car was out front and he got inside.
“Watergate,” he said to the driver.
He stared out the window as they crossed the city. Everything was decked out for Christmas.
“You got holiday plans, sir?” the driver said.
Roth didn’t answer.
“Wait here,” he said to the driver when they arrived at the Watergate.
There were four police cars parked outside the building and when Roth entered, one of the police officers stopped him.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t go in right now?”
Roth showed the man some forged FBI credentials. The man stepped aside. In the lobby, the police had congregated around one of the elevators, a dead body was lying on the floor.
They didn’t pay any notice to Roth and weren’t too interested in the building’s security guard either, who was sitting at his desk, sipping coffee from a takeout cup.
“Did they ask for your security camera footage yet?” Roth said, approaching the security guard.
The guard shook his head.
“I’m going to need to see it.”
“It’s in the control room,” the guard said, pointing down a corridor. “It’s all stored remotely but the computers are down there.”
“What’s the name of the company?” Roth said.
“Let’s see,” the guard said, heaving himself out of his seat.
He picked up a bunch of keys and his coffee. Then he led Roth to the control room. He unlocked the door and they stepped inside. There was a mop and bucket by the door, some cleaning supplies, a furnace, and some communications equipment. On one of the servers was a sticker with the name Securico on it.
“Thanks,” Roth said.
They went back to the lobby and Roth approached the elevator.
The cops looked up. “Who are you?” one of them said.
Roth flashed him the FBI badge and said, “What have we got?”
“Looks like three gunshot wounds,” the cop said. “We’re waiting for homicide.”
“Just the one body?” Roth said.
The cop nodded. “You guys getting involved?”
Roth handed him a copy of the falsified incident report. “There’s something going on that involves national security. I need you to send this report up the chain.”
“This says two bodies were found.”
Roth handed the cop a business card. On it were the contact details for one of the specialists who dealt with situations like this. She didn’t work from Langley and didn’t have full security clearance. She couldn’t have been the mole. “I need you to call this woman,” Roth said. “She’ll explain everything. I have to go upstairs.”
“You’ll have to take the stairs,” the cop said. “All the elevators are down right now.”
Roth nodded. He stole a glance at the body in the elevator as he passed.
When he got to Lance’s floor, he saw that the carpet was damp. Lance had cleaned it. He went to the apartment and slid his hand along the top of the doorframe where he knew Lance had left the key.
He let himself into the apartment and found the would-be assassin in the bathroom, bound and gagged with a pillow case over his head.
Roth removed the pillow case and untied the gag.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man said.
“You’re American,” Roth said.
“Yes.”
“You know the man you tried to kill works for the CIA?”
“Yes.”
“And you work for the Russians.”
The man nodded.
“What does that make you?”
“What is this? A civics lesson?”
“You know what the punishment for traitors is?”
The man shook his head.
Roth knew the look in his eyes. It wouldn’t be difficult to get him to cooperate. He’d already surrendered.
“You know where I’m going after here?” Roth said.
The man shook his head.
“To the White House.”
The man looked at him.
“Do you know who I’m going to see?”
“The president?”
“Correct. The president.”
“What is this?” the man said.
“I’m going to make this very simple for you,” Roth said, “because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
“What?”
“I can’t believe you grew up wanting to be a traitor.”
“I do what I have to do?”
“Well, from now on, you’re going to play both sides.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“I’ll kill you,” Roth said.
The man nodded.
“What were you supposed to do when you killed your target.”
“I have a number to call. It’s an answering machine. I leave a message.”
“All right,” Roth said. “Let’s make that call and leave a message saying your mission was successful.”
“What happens after that?”
“Someone from my team will come get you.”
“And then what?”
“Look,” Roth said. “You’ve got two choices so you might as well start thinking about what you want. Either you can work for us, feeding us information on what the Russians ask you to do. Maintain your cover with them. Become a double agent.”
“Or?”
Roth took out his gun.
“All right,” the man said.
Lance had left the man’s phone on the counter in the kitchen and Roth went and got it for him. The man dialed a number and left a message for the Russians saying he’d successfully killed his target and that the CIA were moving in to secure the building.
Roth had a call to make too, but he hesitated before making it. He knew he had a mole on his team and needed this to be kept under wraps at all costs.
“You’re going to have to wait here a few hours,” he said to the man.
“What?”
“Don’t struggle. Don’t try to escape. Someone’s going to come bring you in.”
“Bring me in where?”
“You work for me now.”
He left the man and called the surveillance team in New York that had been watching the mail store in Manhattan the night Laurel was shot.
“Who am I spea
king to?” he said.
“My name’s Lee Mobley.”
“Lee, this is Levi Roth.”
“Oh,” Lee said. “I see.”
“I need you guys to do something for me.”
“All right.”
“And don’t go through Langley. Don’t talk to anyone.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, something’s wrong, Lee. I’ve got a leak in my crew and I need to make sure that what you’re going to do stays completely off the books.”
“All right,” Lee said.
“First off, I need you to access a company called Securico.”
“We know that company.”
“There was an attempted murder of one of my assets at the Watergate complex in Washington tonight.”
“All right.”
“I need you to delete all the footage.”
“All right. That will take some time. I’ll need to involve my crew.”
“Your crew and no one else,” Roth said.
“I understand, sir.”
“The other thing, is that one of the assassins is in an apartment at the Watergate. I’ll send you the information. He’s an American. I need you to babysit him.”
“We’re in New York, boss.”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
“All right,” Lee said. “I understand.”
“Just don’t let him escape. Don’t let anyone talk to him. Don’t let him talk to anyone.”
“You got it, boss.”
Roth left the apartment and went back to his car.
“Where to now, boss?” the driver said.
“White House.”
“You got it.”
They passed through the White House security post off 17th Street and pulled up to the secure entrance of the Eisenhower Building.
The building, which was where Roth usually met the president because it was more discrete, was essentially an enormous palace. Built in the style of the French Second Empire, it contained over two miles of corridor and the most ornate decor, modeled after the Louvre.
Roth was taken to the four-story library where he was told to take a seat.
There were some leather sofas, imported from London in the 1850s, and a large log fire burning in the hearth next to them. He took a seat, passing a twelve-foot-high globe made of gold and opal.
This palace was the very center of American power. It had been built to house the State, War, and Navy Departments and administer the forces that were to become the greatest means of international power projection the world had ever known.
This palace was where American power was born.
It was where American hegemony first found its footing on the global stage.
And Roth knew all too well that if it had been born there, it could die there just as easily.
53
Lance flew to Istanbul from Dulles on a Turkish Airlines business class ticket. On the flight, he studied the schematics for the compound, as well as the other information Roth had been able to gather for him. It wasn’t like the package a handler could have produced, most of the information had been hastily written up by Roth himself, but considering the circumstances it wasn’t bad.
At Istanbul he had a twelve hour layover and paid for access to a lounge where he showered and got some sleep.
When his second flight landed at Koltsovo Airport outside Yekaterinburg he was ready for action.
He entered Russia on one of the passports Roth had given him, his cover being that he was a contractor for a French engineering firm. Lance had been ready for some mishaps, the planning for the operation was not up to usual group standards and Roth had been afraid to bring anyone in to assist, but after a few questions the border official let him through without incident.
At the airport he rented a Volkswagen from Hertz and drove toward the city on a new airport highway that traced the Iset River.
Roth had a weapons cache in an apartment not far from the airport and Lance took the third highway exit. The cache was in an old apartment block overlooking a Leroy Merlin supermarket.
Lance pulled off the highway, parked outside the supermarket, and checked Roth’s notes. Some of the information was handwritten on the margins, and instead of a full address, Roth had just written, “Ninth Floor, Apartment 93A.”
Lance looked out at the surrounding buildings. There was over a dozen of them overlooking the parking lot. He would have to check each building.
Before beginning the search, he went into the supermarket and bought a few things that would be useful for picking a lock. He also bought some local clothing that would make him stand out less. These included a pair of cheap winter boots and a knock off coat with fake fur lining around the hood.
He went back to the car and put them on, then, leaving the car where it was, walked to the nearest apartment building, took the elevator to the ninth floor, and checked the corridor. There was no apartment 93A. He left the building and went to the next, hurrying across a playground as the wind whipped up from the river. Again, this building had a 93 but no 93A. The next building only had seven floors so he skipped it completely.
When he reached the fourth building, the elevator was out.
Lance began climbing the stairs. On the landing between the third and fourth floors, he came across an old lady with grocery bags taking a rest.
“Can I help you?” he said to her in Russian.
“Yes,” the woman said, matter-of-factly.
He brought her groceries to her door on the sixth floor, 61B, and continued on his way.
When he reached the ninth floor, he found 93A. He looked up and down the corridor and checked the elevator again. There was no one around.
He went to the door of the apartment and knocked. There was no answer so he knocked a second time, harder than before.
A woman appeared at the door of the apartment across the hall.
“Who are you looking for?” she said.
She was in her thirties and had a towel on her hair.
“My aunt,” Lance said.
“That apartment’s been empty for months,” the woman said.
Lance nodded and made to leave. The woman watched him. He got all the way to the stairwell and she was still there.
He thought about turning back. He could ignore her and kick in the door, but it was probably better just to wait her out. He’d been told he’d find weapons and supplies, but he didn’t know what else Roth might be storing in there.
He didn’t want to alert local law enforcement unnecessarily.
The easiest solution would have been to get rid of the woman completely, but that never crossed his mind. He had time to spare, he couldn’t enter the military compound until after dark and it was still before noon. Instead of rushing, he went all the way back down the flights of stairs he’d just climbed, went to the supermarket, and bought himself a cup of coffee and a pastry.
There was a seating area inside the store and he sat on a bench and sipped the coffee.
It had been a few years since he’d been in Russia but he’d spent a lot of time there in the past and the familiar feel of the place came back to him. There was a no-nonsense attitude that everyone shared, a sense that it was pointless to put unnecessary energy into anything.
He finished the coffee and pastry and went back to the apartment building, went back up the eighteen flights of stairs, and very quietly picked the lock on the door of the apartment.
Inside, it was completely unfurnished. In the center of what would have been the living room were some steel cases. Lance opened the first and found Russian cash, US dollars, and some local ID in an old wallet, nothing with a photograph.
He took the money and opened the next box. It contained a Czech CZ 75 semi-auto pistol, along with ammo and a suppressor.
The next box was larger, and inside were some canvas carrying cases and a rifle case. Lance pulled out the rifle case and laid it on the floor. When he opened it he found an M82 sniper rifle. It was a
big gun, weighing over thirty pounds with its equipment and bipod. There was also a night vision scope and a selection of .50 caliber BMG ammo, including silver-tipped M8 armor-piercing incendiary rounds.
As well as the guns, there was other equipment that could be useful to him, including flashlights, rope, wire cutters, and a toolkit.
There was another carrying case containing eleven-inch-long bricks of C-4 plastic explosive wrapped in Mylar-film. Each brick weighed just over a pound, and together with the detonators and fuses, that case weighed over forty pounds.
Lance packed a pistol and silencer, the rifle and scope, explosives and fuses, and as much ammo and other equipment as he thought he could carry and let himself out of the apartment as quietly as possible. He set the latch to lock behind him but as he was shutting the door it clicked loudly.
The door of the opposite apartment opened again and the woman reappeared.
“You’re back,” she said.
Lance wasn’t sure what to say to her. The apartment was a write off now as far as Roth was concerned. There was still some ammo in there and the local ID, but nothing that would give away CIA involvement if she called the police. And in any case, he doubted she’d even do that much.
“I’m back,” Lance said, hauling his bags onto his shoulder.
“What were you doing in there?”
“I don’t think you want to get involved,” Lance said.
“I have a child in here,” the woman said.
“You’re not in any danger,” Lance said. “Just go back inside and forget about me.”
She nodded and shut the door.
It was hard work carrying eighty pounds of equipment down all those stairs and by the time he got to the ground floor he was breathless.
He made sure the woman hadn’t followed him but as he made his way back to the car, he knew there was a chance she was watching him. He would have to switch vehicles.
He loaded the equipment into the trunk of the car and drove back to the airport. There, he returned the vehicle to Hertz and went to the desk of a local company that offered premium vehicles.
“I want something fast,” he said, putting a fresh set of ID on the counter.
“What’s your budget?” the girl said.
“What have you got?”