by David Archer
“Um, I’d have to say no. Can you tell me?”
“Probably not. I’d imagine it’s coming through the proper channels for you, but for now I need some wheels, gear, and some weapons. You still got that Russian supercar I drove before?”
“Oh, yeah, the Marussia B2. It actually belongs to the CIA, but I can get it if you need it.”
“I do. I also need a second vehicle, something with power. Any suggestions?”
“Well, the only other thing we’ve got with any power is a year-old Nissan sedan. This one was actually custom-built for the embassy, and it’s got a V-6 cranking over three hundred horsepower. Ought to get you where you want to go in a hurry. Will those work?”
“As long as you can rig it so they don’t trace it back to the embassy. I can’t guarantee I can bring them back in one piece, and my mission isn’t one you want to be connected to.”
“Well, that changes things, doesn’t it. Let me think for a minute.” He was quiet for nearly 30 seconds, then came back on the line. “Well, I can’t give you either of those. What I can do, on the other hand, is call on a guy we use when we need a disposable car in a hurry. Can I text you on this number?”
“Yes. Tell me about this guy.”
“His name is Ivan, and he restores older cars for some of the rich people. On the side, though, he’s always building extremely fast cars that most people would never even notice. We’ve got kind of an arrangement with him when we need a car in a hurry. I’ll send you his phone number and location, and all you have to do is tell him I sent you. You do have a source of funding, right? He’ll happily hide the transaction, but he wants to get paid when a car leaves the lot.”
“Not a problem,” Noah said. “Send it on.”
“Now, as for weapons, can you tell me what you need?”
“A couple of sniper rifles, at least two submachine guns, nine pistols, and plenty of ammunition. You could toss in some good knives while you’re at it. I also need identification and passports, nine sets. I’ll have a list and photos emailed to you shortly.”
“You and your Christmas lists,” Larry said with a chuckle. “I can have all of this ready within the hour. Got somebody who can come by and pick them up?”
“Yes, I can arrange that. Talk to you later.”
Noah ended the call and his phone chirped a moment later to tell him he had received a text message. He passed it off to Neil, who immediately started researching Ivan and his clandestine sports cars.
Moments later, Neil whistled in admiration. “Larry wasn’t kidding,” he said. “This guy Ivan builds some awesome machines. He’s known for restoring old cars, but he also likes to take simple, transportation-type cars, the kind nobody pays any attention to, and turn them into street sleepers. We’re talking about typical Japanese sedans with more than four hundred horsepower.”
“That should work for what we need,” Noah said. “Get us two of them, okay?”
“You got it,” Neil replied. He clicked a link on the company’s website and was shortly talking with a salesperson who seemed to speak perfect English. It took only fifteen minutes to arrange the purchase of a couple of Toyotas from the late nineties, each of which was powered by an aftermarket, turbocharged V-6 engine.
“Okay, I used the same corporation that bought the airplane. Buying the two cars cost slightly over four million rubles, but they’re ready to pick up. I’m printing out the documents now.”
Noah turned to Catherine Potts. “You’re the only one here that has diplomatic tags, so you can move around the city more easily than anyone else. Would you take Sarah and Dave out to pick up the cars?”
“My pleasure, sir,” Catherine said. “Would you like me to stop by your own Embassy and pick up the other toys? As you pointed out, I have diplomatic license. No one’s going to be stopping my car and searching it.”
“That would help a great deal, if you don’t think it will get you in any kind of trouble.”
“Her Majesty probably expects me to get into a bit of trouble, going ’round with your lot,” Catherine said with a giggle. “I don’t think it will cause much of a stir, though. Our people visit yours fairly often, I’m sure.”
“Then it sounds like a plan. Everybody ready?”
Catherine, Sarah, and Dave left only a few moments later, and Catherine was the first of the three to return to the house. Noah and Randy went out to her car to bring the boxes of weapons inside, and Sarah drove in as they were opening the trunk. She pulled the Toyota up close to the front porch and jumped out with a smile on her face.
“This baby is sweet,” she said. “Plenty of power and it can turn a corner at close to fifty miles an hour.”
“Good,” Noah said, “we may need that. Where’s Dave?”
Sarah smiled. “We decided to come back by different routes. If one of us got noticed, we didn’t want it automatically leading to the other one.”
“Good thinking,” Noah replied. “Jenny and I have our first strikes planned. We’ve got to move pretty quickly, so let’s get inside and start getting ready.”
* * * * *
Dimitri Novak, Minister of Justice for the Russian Federation, stepped out of the back of his official state limousine at the junction of Tverskaya Street and Kamergerskly Mall. The Mall was a wide, pedestrian-only street that was lined with hotels, theaters and shopping. One of its most famous locations was the Moscow Art Theater School, and Novak was visiting to attend a performance featuring his grandson, Alexei, in a starring role.
Because it was a private event, rather than one that was sponsored by the government, Novak was accompanied by a single member of his usual security team. Alex Jovanovich was a former FSB agent who had accepted Novak’s offer to head his personal security. Since ministers did not normally come under the protection of the FSB, Jovanovich found the offer to be quite generous and had happily accepted. He had stepped into the position of commanding eight other security personnel, but on days like this one, he preferred to accept the duty himself.
“Alexei is very proud,” Novak said as they made their way toward the theater. “He has worked hard to become the best actor he could be, and I feel that it will do him good to see that I support his choice of career. Besides, how often do I get to simply sit and enjoy entertainment?”
“I agree,” Jovanovich said. “You should schedule such things more often, Dimitri. A little relaxation, they say, is good for the heart.”
Novak laughed and looked at his bodyguard, who had also become his friend. “And this old heart needs all the good it can get. Perhaps we…”
A shot rang out and Jovanovich suddenly looked strange. It took Novak a second to realize that the look on his bodyguard’s face was that of a man who had just had most of his brain blown out the side of his skull, but the spraying blood and gore that splattered across two women passing by was obvious. The women were screaming and people were starting to run, but Novak turned to see who had fired the shot that killed his friend.
A tall, blond man stood near the entrance to the Megapolis Hotel, his arm outstretched. Novak saw the pistol, but barely had time to register what he was seeing before a brief flash became the last sight he ever saw.
Ten feet from Novak, near the entrance to the theater, Marco suddenly began screaming and running. Between the gunshots and the screaming of the women and Marco, the milling crowd suddenly went into a mass panic. There were people running in every direction as Marco ran directly toward Noah.
The pistol quickly shoved into his pocket, Noah turned and ran with everyone else. With Marco shouting in Russian for everyone to run—Beg! Beg!—no one was paying any attention to the man who had fired the shots.
Novak’s limousine had driven away as soon as he had exited it, and Sarah stopped in precisely the same place only two minutes later. Marco ran around the car to get into the back seat behind Sarah while Noah opened the passenger door and slid into the front beside her. As soon as the doors were closed, she had the car in gear and was movi
ng forward.
“He’s in,” Sarah said.
The cell phone in her hand came to life. “Okay, things are going well,” Neil said. “I’ve kept the police busy with alarms going off all over the city, keeping them away from your actual locations. Someone just called in a report of the shooting, though, and the dispatchers are trying to get officers available to respond.”
“Good job,” Noah said. “How’s Jenny doing?”
* * * * *
Agriculture Minister Boris Stolpin came down the hall with a smile on his face. The pretty, petite brunette sitting in the lobby of the building was the cause, because Boris greatly enjoyed looking at pretty girls.
This one was a reporter for a magazine out of New York and wanted to speak with him about the plans for Russia to increase its annual agricultural output. Those plans had been the subject of a speech he had given only a month earlier and he was delighted to have gotten such attention so quickly.
“Miss Stephanie Perkins?” Boris asked. “I am Boris Stolpin.”
The girl got to her feet quickly, a bright and very attractive smile on her face. “Oh, thank you so much for seeing me,” she said. “I know it was sudden, but my editors said while I was here, they wanted me to try to get a short interview.”
“Is my pleasure,” he said with a smile of his own. “Won’t you come up to my office?”
“Oh, sure. I’d love to see where you work, where you come up with all of your great ideas.”
Boris laughed. “Well, in that case,” he said, “I would have to show you my lavatory. Some of my best ideas come while I am, shall we say, sequestered away.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Stephanie said, giggling. “That’s actually kind of—interesting. To be honest, I have some of my own best ideas in the bathtub. There’s just something about laying back naked in a tub full of water that sort of, I don’t know, maybe it frees my mind. Lets it wander wherever it wants to go and sometimes it comes up with something really good.”
“Now, I shall have to try that,” Boris said. “Although I doubt I could become as comfortable in the bathtub as you might. Nor as beautiful, I might add.”
That beautiful smile returned. “Okay, I heard you were a charmer. I should tell you that I usually get in trouble for trying to mix business with pleasure.”
“Then perhaps we could take care of business with the interview and then look into pleasure? Perhaps I could take you to dinner?”
She looked him up and down appraisingly. “I can’t say I would object to that idea,” she said, licking her lips. “I just need to get the interview first, so that I can tell my editors I did my job. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” They entered an elevator that rattled and clanked as it rose. “We can take as much time as you need.”
“I really, really appreciate this,” Stephanie said. “I’ve only been with the magazine for a few months and this is the first real official interview I’ve gotten to do. They had me over here to do a story on the ballet and then someone decided they needed an interview from you. Since I was already here, they decided to give me a chance at it. If I do good, it’ll probably mean a promotion. Oh, gosh, I’m running off at the mouth. I’m so sorry.”
“Not at all,” Boris said. “Your excitement is quite delightful.” The elevator clanked to a stop and the door opened. Boris led the way down the hall to the right, then opened the door to his office.
His secretary looked up as they entered and Stephanie felt a sudden chill in the air. It was rather obvious that the secretary had a crush on Boris and wasn’t pleased to see someone much prettier than herself getting his smiles.
Boris noticed. “Natasha,” he said to her, “this is Ms. Perkins, who has come to interview me for her magazine. We shall be occupied for some time. Why don’t you go ahead and take the rest of the day off? I can close up the office today and I will see you tomorrow morning.”
Natasha, who was the epitome of frumpy, forced herself to smile. It wasn’t lost on her that Boris had spoken in English, obviously in an attempt to impress the pretty young girl. Natasha understood English perfectly well, but she responded in Russian.
“Spasibo, ser,” she said. She kept her eyes on him as she shut down the computer on her desk, then reached down and picked up her handbag and her coat. A moment later, she walked out the door and made a point of locking it behind herself.
“Please forgive Natasha,” he said. “Sometimes, I think she forgets who here is the boss and who is the employee.”
Stephanie giggled. “Looks to me like she’s got a thing for you,” she said. “Maybe you should pay some attention to her sometime.”
He feigned surprise. “Oh, do you think so? Well, perhaps I should. Please, come on into my office where we can become more comfortable.”
Stephanie followed him through the inner door and made the appropriate noises at the luxurious appointments of his office. There was a desk that looked like it belonged in a museum and a pair of beautifully upholstered chairs sitting in front of it, but he gestured toward the absolutely magnificent sofa that was set to one side, against the wall.
“We can sit here,” Boris said. He led the way to the sofa and took a seat close to one end, while Stephanie sat in the middle.
“Okay,” she said with a giggle, “this has got to be the most beautiful leather sofa I have ever seen. Oh, my gosh, it’s just incredible.” She licked her lips again. “Are you in any kind of a hurry? I mean, am I taking up important time?”
“No,” Boris said, his smile twinkling. “I am all yours, for as long as you want me.”
She put her hands over her face for a moment, then looked at him again. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, I know, but—have you ever, like, you know, done it on the sofa?”
Boris leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Never with anyone as beautiful as you,” he said.
The girl bent double, she was giggling so hard. When she sat up again, she looked at him with her bottom lip held in her teeth. It took her a second to speak, but then she said, “I think it would be hot. If you want to, I mean.”
Boris stood and took off his jacket, then began unbuttoning his shirt. Stephanie watched him for a moment, her smile growing wider, then got to her own feet. She took off the jacket she was wearing and dropped it on the sofa, then stepped close to him and put her arms out around his neck. He lowered his hands and put them on her waist, then began lowering his face toward hers.
He felt her hands move and then her left hand was against his chest. He smiled down at her, but then he saw the long, slim blade she had palmed when she took off her jacket, and his eyes grew wide for only a second before she spun herself to get behind him. The blade flashed across his throat, cutting all the way into his larynx.
He pushed away from her, but it was too late. He tried to call out, but no sound would escape except a hiss. He tried to get to the door. The knife flashed again, severing the tendon in the back of his knee, and he went down.
Half a minute later, his eyes went dull. Stephanie picked up her jacket, turned it inside out so that it was now black instead of red and slipped it on, then lifted her purse off the sofa and walked around the spreading pool of blood to the door. She opened it and walked into the receptionist’s office, then pulled it shut behind her.
In the receptionist’s office, she took off the brown wig and dropped it into her purse, pulling on a short, curly black one. She checked herself in a hand mirror, dropped it back into her bag, and then walked out the door. Like Natasha had done, she locked it behind her.
* * * * *
“She finished her number one just before yours arrived,” Neil said, “and she’s on the way to her number two.”
“Good. So are we. Can you clear the route for us?”
“I’m already on it. Every policeman in that part of the city is being suddenly diverted to the area you just left. There won’t be any interference along the way for you. I’ve already taken care of that for Jenny, and she’ll b
e on station at number two in about four minutes.”
“Good work.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Allison looked up as her office door opened and saw Donald Jefferson enter with Molly right behind him. “And I thought I was the only one up this early,” she said.
“Do you have any idea what an uproar is going on in DC right now?” Jefferson asked. “Four Russian ministers are confirmed dead in the last ninety minutes. The Prime Minister of Russia is currently screaming about American assassins, but the propaganda machine over there is going crazy with the story of the sleeper agents who were snatched out of the government safe house by the Russian military. That story is spreading like wildfire, and it’s quite possible that Russia will split in half over it.”
“He’s exaggerating,” Molly said. “On the other hand, this is definitely going to destroy the Committee. We’ve got CIA assets over there that are spreading the word that the ministers were killed by those sleepers, as part of a hostile takeover of the organization. Petrov is trying to deny it all, but we leaked enough information to tie him to the Committee, and President Feodor is already drafting an order to remove him from office.”
Allison nodded. “I heard an hour ago that he was extremely cooperative when our ambassador went to visit him earlier. I gather we assured him that he’s not in any direct danger from these sleeper assassins, but that continued peaceful relations between our two countries was dependent on the destruction of the Committee.”
“Whatever works,” Jefferson said. “And I’m not ruling out the possibility of a Russian civil war just yet. Sometimes we get lucky, you know?”
She looked at Jefferson. “Well, there are still two more on the target list. Reach out to everyone, I want to know about every bit of feedback that comes in. If we have to take out more of the Committee members, we need to do it soon. We can’t afford to give them time to regroup and do any damage control, it’s too important to shut this down.”
“Agreed,” Jefferson said. “I’ll call NSA and Homeland, Molly can take the Joint Chiefs and Strategic Analysis. Between those four, we ought to get a pretty good handle on what’s going to happen.”