by Trevor Scott
“I don’t need details of your conquests. Anyway, you need to get back to Tallinn and convince them to get off their asses and address the Russians.”
“Our Army and Air Force are much stronger in Estonia,” Karl said.
“True. But I believe the SVR will double their efforts now that you embarrassed them.”
“Seriously. They’re that petty?”
“Like a bunch of bitchy school girls,” Jake assured him.
“And what are your plans?”
Before Jake could answer, he waited for Zaiga to sit down again. Then he said, “I’m staying here for a while to have Zaiga introduce me to Aleksei.”
Karl looked at Jake critically. “Wasn’t he one of the guys who tried to kill you last night?”
“That’s right, Karl. Hence the bitch slap reference.”
Jake agreed to meet up with Zaiga in the bar of the Roma Hotel at eight in the evening. That would give Jake time to drop off Karl, check back into his hotel, and maybe get in a quick nap.
They left Zaiga in the Old Town while Jake and Karl went to the airport by taxi.
Jake had the taxi wait for him while he went to the curb to say goodbye to his son.
Karl started to shake Jake’s hand, but that turned into a full hug. Jake felt the gun he had given his son and said, “I need to get that gun back. You can’t fly with it.”
“That’s true,” Karl said. “I’ve got a spare at my place in Tallinn.” He covered his side with his bag as he pulled his gun and then slipped it into his father’s bag. Then he unclipped his waistband holster and gave that back as well, along with the extra magazines.
The two of them were about to depart when Jake held his son back with his hand. “Hang on.” Jake considered how to play this, since he really didn’t have a right to give his son any advice. But that never stopped Jake in the past. “Your boss said he offered you a permanent job.”
“He did.”
“What’s your plan? I had to make that same choice when I left the Air Force,” Jake said. “I don’t regret that decision for a second. The military structure wasn’t right for me.”
Karl smiled. “Too much of a rebel?”
Jake shrugged. “You might say that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t stick with the Agency as well. I prefer my autonomy.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know you well enough to give you an opinion one way or the other. Nor do I have the right.”
“Yes, you do. I want your advice.”
Great. Jake thought he could get out of having to come up with an opinion. “All right. If you’re gonna do it, then you go all in. You become the best you can be. Of course I’d say the same thing if you wanted to become an accountant.”
“If that were the case, I’d have to kill myself. What are the negatives?”
“You’ve seen it firsthand,” Jake said. “The potential for a family life sucks. Which is really cool when you’re young, but eventually you might want more out of life.”
“Did you?”
“I got out, Karl. But I never really severed my ties completely. I kept. . .keep getting pulled back into the game. I wanted more with your mother. But then she had moved on. Our timing was always off.”
“I don’t blame you for this, dad. I don’t blame my biological mother either. I had a good life growing up.”
“You turned out great,” Jake said.
“Good genes.” Karl smiled. “So you think I should take the job?”
“If you think you’ve done everything you can do in the Army, then it’s time to try something new. If you need a recommendation, I do still have friends in high places.”
“I would say so,” Karl said. “Not many people have a direct line to the top guy.”
“Well, I’ve bailed out a few folks over the years. You better get going.”
Karl had set up a flight on Jake’s phone while waiting for a taxi and then he texted Kadri to see if she would pick him up at the Tallinn airport.
“By the way, I got a text from Kadri just before we pulled up. She’ll pick you up. You’ll need a new phone. I suggest you get a prepaid and text me so I have your number.”
“I will.” Karl was about to leave, but he hesitated. “Thank you for bailing my ass out of Russia.”
“I’m sure you would do the same for me.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”
They hugged again and then Karl shuffled off to the terminal. Jake opened the back taxi door again and set his bag down on the seat before sliding in. He told the taxi driver to drop him off at the Freedom Memorial, not wanting the man to know where he would be staying. The driver pulled away and out of habit Jake looked back to make sure they were not being followed. Would he ever not do that? Doubtful.
19
Jake woke to a dark hotel room by an alarm set on his phone. He was staying on the third floor of the Roma Hotel, again with a view of the Freedom Monument across the street. This room actually had a better view than the last one.
He took a quick shower to wake up and remembered it wasn’t morning. He had checked into the hotel and lay down for a quick nap. That snooze had turned into about three hours, and he was just fifteen minutes away from meeting Zaiga Ulmanis downstairs at the hotel bar.
Before dozing off, Jake had considered his options in the Baltics. Part of him wanted to just consider his work done here and fly back to Italy in the Spanish billionaire’s jet in the morning. But he had promised to meet Zaiga, who would introduce him to this Aleksei fellow. He was still waiting to hear back from the Agency on who this Aleksei might be. Jake had also wanted to get an idea about the former Russian SVR director of the counter-intelligence directorate. He was not crazy enough to take everything that man said seriously. In fact, Ivan Bragin could have set up the shooting to lend credence to his charge against his former agency.
Just as he was toweling off, he got a phone call. Checking the caller, he saw that it came from a small restaurant in Gander, Newfoundland. Kurt Jenkins was nothing if not creative.
“Newfoundland?” Jake said into his cell phone. “Seriously?”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Jenkins assured Jake.
“I know. I’ve been there. In fact, I would like to be there about now fishing for brook trout or salmon. Did you get my info?”
“You’re not gonna like it,” Jenkins said.
“I rarely do. Give it up.”
“Aleksei is one of the younger SVR officers on the move upward. But he’s also one of the most brutal. The Agency believes he’s an assassin assigned to the Baltics to take out some important leaders.”
“Like who?”
“They don’t know. They’re letting the Latvians and the Lithuanians take the lead. After all, they have the most to lose.”
“I’m supposed to meet him tonight. There’s a major protest set for downtown Riga.” Jake looked out the window and saw that the street in front of the hotel had been shut down, and people were already starting to gather. The police presence was significant.
“You’re working with a female officer named Zaiga Ulmanis, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“We looked into her. She’s one of their best. She normally works alone, which is rare for the Baltic intelligence organizations.”
“Old habits from the former Soviet Union,” Jake surmised.
“Perhaps.”
“What about the other thing?” Jake asked.
“Ivan Bragin?”
“Yeah.” Jake closed the curtain and took a seat on his bed.
“The Agency has intel that Bragin was forced out of the SVR a few years ago.”
Jake already knew that. “So. Politics at the highest level.”
“Right. But we believe the hit is legit. The SVR wants to shut the guy up.”
“All right,” Jake said. “I’ll play this out. On another subject, what’s this I hear that my son is being recruited for the Agency.”
“And a legacy.”
“That always helps.”
“I thought his DNA relationship to me might be more of a detriment.”
“You’re a petulant bastard, Jake. With a near complete disdain for bureaucracy and government in general. But your reputation in the Agency is impeccable.”
“Near complete? You’re being generous, Kurt.” He checked the time on his phone. “Gotta go.”
“Don’t get killed. You have a baby on the way.”
Jake shook his head and touched off the call. Then he got dressed, slung on his gun over his black T-shirt, and covered it with his thin leather jacket.
When he got to the bar downstairs, Zaiga was already there at a small table against one wall. She was sipping a drink that could have been a clear soda or a vodka-type drink.
Jake stopped at the bar first, picked up a Latvian draft beer, and carried it to the table with him.
“I hope you have something stronger than a soft drink in that glass,” Jake said, taking a seat with his back to the wall.
“Stoli and soda,” she said, lifting her glass to Jake. “The only good thing the Russians left behind.”
They touched glasses and Jake took down a long sip of his beer.
“What’s the plan?” Jake asked.
Zaiga pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “These protests have been organized by Aleksei and his people. We can go meet up with him.”
He thought about what Kurt Jenkins had just said about the man and wasn’t sure that was a good idea. “Not unannounced,” he said.
“No, of course not. I told him we need to meet and he agreed.”
“Who does he think you are?”
“Someone sympathetic to his cause. I told him I develop apps for cell phones, which I actually do in my spare time.”
“So, he wants to take you to bed.”
“Of course.”
“I hope that’s not part of your job description.”
“No, it is not. He disgusts me.”
Good to get that out in the open, Jake thought.
“Now I might consider sleeping with an older gentleman,” she said. “Perhaps an American.”
He was flattered. She was hot, like a volleyball player in short shorts is hot. “Moving on,” Jake said. “Are we ready to go?”
“First, we need to discuss our plan for Aleksei. What do we hope to accomplish with him?”
Jake had to admit that was a legitimate question. He wasn’t exactly sure that this Aleksei could not identify Jake from the night before when he tried to shoot his fellow Russian. “Are you sure Aleksei hasn’t made you as police or SAB?”
“No way.”
“Good.”
“Did he get a good look at you last night?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. He seemed to be concentrating on Ivan. I was just collateral. How many men does he have with him usually?”
“Two others.”
“That would be the other shooter and the driver,” Jake said. “What about a parallel team working Riga? The old KGB used to work in layers.”
“I have not seen that with the SVR,” she said, a bit confused.
“Well, perhaps that’s understandable. The old group had to worry about defections. There were those who did the job and those who watched those doing the job. Then there were those who watched the watchers.”
“That could get confusing,” she said.
“You can only imagine. Let’s go.” Jake sucked down the last of his beer. “Do you have a car nearby?”
She finished her vodka and said, “That’s not needed. We can walk from here.”
Jake got up and then thought of one more thing. “They have you working alone?”
“I’m with you.” She smiled at Jake.
“True. But does your boss know this?”
“Of course he knows.”
Great. Maybe Jake should have made it clear he also worked alone. He trusted mid-level bureaucrats about as far as he could throw them, and his record to date was about ten feet.
Jake followed Zaiga from the bar, enjoying the view more than he should have allowed himself. He might have had a pregnant girlfriend, but he wasn’t dead yet.
20
Out on the streets of Riga the protests were getting heated as the sun set on the Latvian capital, bringing a chill to Jake’s exposed skin.
The two of them traveled through the crowd separately, weaving through the radical rabble, who were in dire need of showers. Jake guessed most of these folks drove to the protest in their parents’ high-end cars as they carried signs decrying the wealthy. Most of the signs were in English, geared toward the western media. And the majority of the protests made no sense whatsoever. He had a feeling most of the protesters were simply useful tools in this SVR plot.
Jake stayed at least ten feet back from Zaiga, who occasionally turned to make sure he was still there. But she was much better with her tradecraft than she had been earlier in the day when she followed Jake and his son. Maybe she had wanted them to see her.
The side streets were closed by the city police, so the protesters were relegated to walking in a large circle around the outside of the canal park, past Latvia University and then down to the Freedom Monument across from Jake’s hotel. They were a noisy crowd, though, chanting all kinds of things that Jake didn’t understand. Knowing how radicals worked in America, he guessed even the protesters didn’t know the real reason they were there.
Zaiga looked back and shifted her head to the side of the road across from the park. Then she cut through the mob and came out at a street corner with a police car blocking an alley, its red and blue lights twirling, but no officers in sight.
Jake saw her speak into an intercom and then go into a door, which she held long enough for Jake to grasp.
Once in the corridor, Jake considered pulling his gun. But instead he whispered, “What now?”
She pointed up. “Aleksei has a business up one flight.”
“What kind?”
“It’s the GONGO front.”
“Are you sure he’s there?”
“Of course. He sets up these protests through social media so they happen out front of his office. He wouldn’t want to blend in with the unwashed masses.”
Jake thought about the protests taking place in Germany recently, and especially the one that had killed a number of them in a stampede. His German girlfriend, Alexandra, had been there and was nearly trampled. But those were protesting the overflow of Muslim immigrants in that country. These protests seemed to be less focused. The idea, Jake guessed, was to bring down the governments through discord and a disgruntled youth.
“Will he be alone?” Jake asked.
“I told him I wanted to talk with him alone,” Zaiga said, “hoping he would take that to mean I was ready to play nice with him.” She smiled with that implication.
When they got to the door one level up, Jake noticed there was no placard indicating it was a business. There was simply the number 125 on the door.
Zaiga knocked and Jake stood off to one side. There was a peep and Aleksei was probably checking her out right now, Jake thought.
Aleksei opened the door and Jake casually appeared with his phone out, playing with an app that Zaiga had told him to download.
“Who is this?” Aleksei asked in English. Zaiga had told the Russian she didn’t speak his language and they had been using the only common language they both knew. A lie, of course, since Zaiga was fluent in Russian.
“Jacob Konrad,” Jake said, but didn’t extend his hand. He was playing Zaiga’s game app. “This is very good,” he said to her, really laying on his Austrian accent.
“I told you,” she said. “It is addicting.”
“Why is he here?” Aleksei asked.
The man was barely a bipedal troglodyte, with enough hair to weave a t
hrow rug and brow ridges resembling the Alps. His chest was that of a former body builder, with C-cups poking around his leather gun holster. Jake could tell from a quick glance at the gun butt that the Russian carried an older Makarov. But the man was at least six inches taller than Jake and had perhaps twenty pounds on him.
“I would be out on the streets with your people,” Jake explained, looking over the top of his phone. “But those people smell like homeless who just came from the Munich train station. If you know what I mean.”
Aleksei gave Zaiga a critical stare and said, “I thought we would be alone.”
“He is a friend from Austria,” Zaiga said. “Just in town for the night.”
This wasn’t going well, Jake thought. Time to change things. “Is that a Makarov?” He turned his phone toward the Russian’s face and simultaneously pulled out his Glock and pointed it at the man’s thick skull. “Austrians make much nicer handguns. Don’t you agree?”
Jake moved toward the Russian, who backed up into the room. Zaiga closed and locked the door behind them.
“What is this?” Aleksei asked.
“Sit down, asshole,” Jake demanded.
Before the man could do as he was told, Jake pulled the Makarov from the Russian’s holster and then backed up. He noticed immediately that the gun had a screw end barrel that would connect to a silencer. Yeah, Jake had heard the cough and felt the bullets fly by him late last night from this very pistol.
The Russian hesitated, so Jake sent a snap kick to the guy’s nuts, buckling him over. Then Jake shoved the guy into a leather sofa. Once the guy was down, Jake checked around the room and found a cell phone and a silencer. He pocketed the phone and screwed the silencer to the barrel of the Makarov.
Glancing about the room, Jake saw that this place was half business, with desks and computers, and half smoke lounge, considering the leather furniture and the tables with full ashtrays.
“What are you doing?” Zaiga asked Jake quietly.
He didn’t answer her. It was time to go on offense.
The Russian recovered and sat back on the sofa. “You are that man,” Aleksei said.
Jake would play along. “What man?”