Gates of Dawn (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 12)

by Trevor Scott

  “I noticed that.”

  “I didn’t tell you this, but he got shot at last night by Russian assassins.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No shit. And again he doesn’t seem too concerned about it. I don’t get it. The man has nerves of steel.”

  She kissed him on the lips. “Maybe that happens with experience.”

  “It’s like he has this confidence with no borders. And he got out of the shower this morning and his body is covered with bullet holes and knife slashes. He looks like he survived a damn firing squad.”

  “That’s kind of hot,” she said. “He’s older, but most women would still find him. . .how do you say it? Doable?”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, I’m confused by him,” Karl said. “He doesn’t officially work for our CIA, but he seems to know everyone in the business. And I’ve been told that he keeps getting called back in to take care of various sensitive missions. Even my military leaders have heard about him. They call him the shadow warrior.”

  “Sounds like you could learn a lot from him,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a dig at his lack of experience, or simply kind and practical advice. Karl had still not decided if this was the life he wanted to live. He could just get out of the military and go back to college for his master’s degree. But in what? The Army had trained him in intelligence and languages. And his father had not actually given him a solid green light to shift to the CIA. He understood that, though. His mother had been killed as a CIA officer, and his father continued to get called back in, while he maintained his independence as a private security consultant—whatever that entailed.

  Karl kissed her on the forehead and then moved down to her lips.

  “I think you have come up with another solution,” Kadri said, her hand rubbing against his groin. She grasped his hands and pulled him back to the bed.

  Riga, Latvia

  Anthony Paitrick, CIA Baltic station chief, sat in his hotel room and contemplated his next move. He had just gotten off the phone with his Latvian counterpart, Oskars Liepa, who had informed him about a couple of Russians killed on the edge of the Old Town. Paitrick wasn’t sure how that impacted him, until the SAB director sent him a video of Jake Adams and his own officer, Zaiga Ulmanis, rushing out of the building and blending in with a crowd of protestors.

  Now Paitrick had to make a phone call he didn’t want to make. He got on his secure cell phone and speed-dialed the CIA Director, John Bradford.

  The director answered after a couple of rings and said, “How are things going in the Baltics?”

  “Truthfully, sir, not great,” Paitrick said.

  “I thought you were prepping for a full summit of the Baltic leaders,” Bradford said. “Is that still on?”

  “Officially, yes. But not in Riga.”

  “Why not?”

  “The leaders of KAPO, SAB and VSD all think this location is too volatile with the protests going on here. And of course the incident in Estonia makes that place suspect.”

  “Is this the SVR going crazy in the region?” the CIA director asked.

  “Afraid so, sir.” Paitrick hesitated and thought about how much he admired John Bradford. As a former Air Force pilot, Bradford had this mission-driven attitude that left nothing to the imagination—although this trait was not always good in the intelligence game. “Sir, we have another problem.”

  “Of course you do. Lay it out.”

  “Two Russian SVR officers were killed tonight in Riga.”

  “And?”

  “The SAB has video showing Jake Adams and one of their officers leaving the location.”

  Long pause on the other end. “Is this why they want to change the venue for the summit?”

  “No, sir. Well, it might be the icing on the cake. They’re asking us if we have sanctioned the actions of Jake Adams.”

  “Do they even know his real identity?”

  “No, sir. Jake is using his Austrian persona.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes, but they still know he was working for the Agency.”

  “Unofficially.”

  “Correct. Off the books, of course. But they’re questioning Jake’s assignment.”

  “His assignment was to find his son and bring him back,” Bradford reminded his Baltic chief. “He did that. As far as I’m concerned, his job there is done.”

  If he had known this, Paitrick wouldn’t have let the man into the briefing. “Adams met with the SAB director, along with the intelligence chiefs from the other two Baltic States. They all know his face, which is why I was sent the video showing Jake leaving the building with the two dead Russians.”

  “Yeah, well it’s not like Jake killed those two men in cold blood. I can guarantee that he would have only killed them in self-defense.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you questioning my judgment, Anthony?”

  “No, sir. Just pondering. You see, Adams was involved in a shooting the other night.”

  “Yes, I know. The incident with Ivan Bragin, the former deputy director of the SVR external counter-intelligence directorate. I was briefed on that.”

  “Right. Well, what if Adams tracked down the shooters and took them out?”

  “Then good riddance. Have they identified the dead Russians?”

  “Not one of them,” Paitrick said. “But the other was a man named Aleksei Volkov.”

  “The SVR assassin? Awesome. Don’t lose any sleep over him.”

  “I understand, sir. But we think there’ll be major blowback from the Russian government.”

  “Perhaps,” Bradford said. “But Russia is already rattling swords over there. They’re on the move as we speak. You know this.”

  “Yes, sir. But what if this is all part of their plan?”

  The CIA director paused to consider this. “You mean this whole thing? From the kidnapping of foreign officers to the street protests and now to the killing of their intel folks?”

  Paitrick had not put all of those together before, but it did seem to have voracity. “Maybe.”

  Bradford let out a heavy sigh. “Who else has the video with Adams?”

  “I believe it was confiscated by the Riga police and was forced to be turned over to the SAB for state security reasons. But Adams is barely visible. They seem to be more concerned about their own officer, who has not checked in. It turns out this officer had been working Aleksei Volkov, who was the major leader of the recent street protests.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bradford said. “I’m sure it will turn out that both Adams and their officer acted appropriately. Now, what is the plan for the summit?”

  “As of this evening everything is planning on shifting to Vilnius. I’ll leave with my people in the morning.”

  “No. I want you on the ground in Vilnius. But leave your Riga folks in place. I have no idea what Russia really has planned. We don’t want to leave one area vulnerable by shifting everything to Lithuania.”

  “I understand. What about Estonia?”

  “Send everyone back to Tallinn as if nothing happened,” Bradford instructed.

  This was making no sense to him. But he simply said, “Yes, sir. What do we do about Jake Adams?”

  “Let me handle him.”

  The line went dead and he threw his phone onto his bed. What in the hell was going on?

  23

  Vilnius, Lithuania

  After the Spanish billionaire’s jet dropped off Jake and Zaiga at the airport, it didn’t even refuel before heading out again. Jake had no idea where the Gulfstream and its crew were going now, but he felt a little angst not having it waiting on the tarmac for him. Maybe he was getting a little too used to the good life.

  However, there was a car waiting for them at the airport, which drove them to the Old Town area and dropped them off in front of the Narutis Hotel. As Jake found out upon his arrival, this was a very popular hotel. It had bee
n in business in Vilnius since 1581. Because of this popularity, Jake was only able to get one room with two beds. But the room was quite nice and large, with thick beams across the high ceilings and a bay window overlooking a back courtyard. Everything looked original, with the exception of the upgraded bathroom.

  Jake sat on the bed nearest the door and watched as Zaiga discovered everything new in the hotel. Luckily there was wi-fi.

  He checked his email and saw that Alexandra had sent him a picture of her most recent ultrasound. To him it looked like a bunch of squiggly lines, not his future daughter.

  Just then he got a call from his old friend, Kurt Jenkins, the former CIA director.

  “Yeah,” Jake said.

  “Hey, I just got off the phone with our favorite pilot,” Jenkins said, referring to the current CIA Director, John Bradford.

  “Okay. What’s up?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Jake looked at Zaiga and then said, “Yes, why?”

  Jenkins told him Bradford had just gotten a call from Anthony Paitrick in Riga, saying there was a video with Jake and some woman from Latvian SAB. “What the hell happened?”

  “What do you think?” Jake asked. “You go to visit a Russian assassin and shit can go wrong.”

  “That’s what we both figured. Are you still with that SAB officer?”

  Jake tried not to look at Zaiga now as he said, “Yes, why?”

  “Her agency said she hasn’t checked in. Do they know she’s in Vilnius?”

  Jenkins was one of only three people who could actually track his location by his phone. The other two were Bradford and his girlfriend, Alexandra. He would have to show his son how to do it eventually.

  “I doubt it,” Jake said. “We took the private jet.”

  “Nice. But she should get in contact with them.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jake said. “At least not yet.” He explained how the Russians had been keeping track of Zaiga’s location, and how they had only turned off her phone and taken out the battery once they landed at the airport.

  “I see,” Jenkins said. “Makes sense. Will they know you’re on to them now?”

  “Maybe. Or they could assume she turned off her phone or it ran out of battery. Either way, I thought it would be nice to get a decent sleep before the Russians came to kill us.” He smiled at Zaiga and shook his head.

  “Good plan. Do you know about the summit changing from Riga to Vilnius?”

  Now that was news to Jake. “No, but it makes sense considering everything going on in Riga.”

  “And Estonia.”

  “Right.” But that got Jake thinking. Maybe that’s exactly what the Russians wanted. Perhaps they were orchestrating this whole charade. But why?

  “Lithuania seems to be the major push for the Russians,” Jenkins said.

  “I agree. Ivan Bragin told me to meet someone here.”

  “Do you trust that man?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t supposed to be here for another day for my meeting.” But that also meant that he had done exactly what the Russian had asked him to do by checking into this hotel. If Bragin was still working with the SVR, he could easily pass on Jake’s location to those looking for them. Something wasn’t right with this whole scenario.

  Jenkins continued, “Bradford wants you to continue on in Vilnius.”

  “To what end?” Jake asked.

  “He didn’t know. But he has Anthony Paitrick coming down there tomorrow.”

  “What about others?”

  “He’s keeping his people in place in Riga and Tallinn,” Jenkins said.

  “Good idea. Who came up with that?”

  “Bradford.”

  “I see the man is settling into the job.”

  “He’s getting there, Jake. He wasn’t career CIA. There’s been a learning curve. Which is why he keeps coming to me. . .and to you.”

  “All right. Keep on keeping on.”

  “Roger that.”

  Jake hung up and set his phone onto the bed.

  “Is everything all right?” Zaiga asked.

  “I think so. Is your phone still off?”

  She checked her phone and nodded her head.

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way until morning.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If the Russians come for us now, we’ll know who sold us out. Ivan Bragin.”

  “But we will still be dead.”

  Good point. “Or they will.” Jake pulled his gun from its holster and slid it under his pillow.

  “You looked concerned,” she declared.

  “Do you know me well enough to discern my concerned look?”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, I’m not so much concerned as I’m contemplative,” he said.

  “Contemplative?”

  He forgot there might be a vocabulary gap. “The summit that was supposed to go down in Riga has been changed to Vilnius. Your boss has been trying to get in touch with you. Probably to shift your efforts here. But your phone has been off. If you want, we can call him on my phone.”

  Zaiga paced back and forth behind the beds, her arms across her chest. “No. He can wait until morning as well.”

  “That means they found the bodies of Aleksei Volkov and his buddy,” Jake said. “Your boss is just concerned.”

  “I know. The ballistics from my gun are on file with SAB. They will soon know that I shot the man.”

  “In self-defense.” Jake thought and then added, “Or in defense of me. Thank you for that.”

  “We both had no choice,” she said.

  The two of them prepared for bed. Soon they were laying in their respective beds a few feet apart, with a sliver of light shining through the curtains from the square behind the hotel where visitors parked their cars.

  Jake thought about his younger years, and how he would have probably ended up in bed with Zaiga. She was a very attractive woman. Her accent alone would drive most men hard. He was no exception, despite his relationship with Alexandra. It didn’t help that Zaiga walked around the room wearing only a short T-shirt that exposed her short underwear and exceptional butt. Her nice breasts protruded visibly from the light cotton material.

  “Jake,” she said, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you find me attractive?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You have not tried to seduce me.”

  “I have a girlfriend,” he explained.

  “In another time zone, right?”

  “True.”

  She hesitated before continuing this line of inquiry. “So, there is nothing wrong with me?”

  “Not that I could see.” No way in hell.

  “I think one of my breasts is smaller than the other,” she said with disappointment.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Just think of one being a little more exceptional than the other.”

  “Thank you. That makes me feel better.”

  “Glad I could help,” he said. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”

  “Sure. But, I did shoot Aleksei. So, how do they say it in America. . .you should throw the dog a boner.”

  Jake laughed. “Something like that.”

  “What?”

  “It’s throw the dog a bone.”

  “I was more interested in your boner.”

  Okay, now he knew she was just messing with him. “Go to sleep.”

  24

  Three blocks from the Vilnius hotel where Jake and Zaiga slept was a small bar with a basement that looked like a French wine cellar. The walls were large stones curved toward the low ceiling; the lighting intimate and subdued. Ivan Bragin sat against a back wall sipping a beer. He waited for his contact to show up, his eyes concentrating on a pretty young waitress who brought the Russian a shot of their best vodka. Best by Vilnius standards, Bragin thought.

  Bragin thanked the young woman with a smile and
she went away. Then he tapped the glass on the hard wooden table before downing the shot.

  He was concerned about this meeting. Especially after what happened in Riga, where his former organization tried to have him killed. And now he got word that those who came for him, Aleksei Volkov and his man, had been killed earlier in the evening. Bragin guessed almost immediately that Jake Adams had found Aleksei and made him pay.

  Now he had set up this meeting in a public place with plenty of witnesses, hoping that the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation wouldn’t take him out here. He needed to know why the First Directorate had targeted him for assassination. His meeting here was with the deputy director of the Baltic States. A man who used to work for Bragin.

  His contact wandered into the basement bar wearing a leather jacket and black jeans. He was a strong man, a former boxer, who Bragin thought had been hit too many times in the ring in his early twenties. His face still showed scars from those days, but his most distinguishing feature now was his completely bald head. It was not shaved that way; he had just lost all of his hair by his early forties.

  Bragin didn’t get up for his former subordinate, but he did notice another man enter the bar and sit against a wall near the door. He suspected a third man would be upstairs guarding the entrance.

  Pavel Tursunov was as close to a trusted confidant that Bragin would be able to find in this region of the world.

  The two men shook hands and Pavel took a seat across from Bragin. He waved for the waitress and ordered two more shots of vodka.

  “Is their vodka any good here?” Pavel asked.

  “Marginal,” Bragin said. “But it’s good enough for a June evening.”

  Neither said another word until the waitress brought them their shots of vodka. Then they stared deep into the other’s eyes, tapped the glass on the table, and downed the shots.

  Pavel shrugged and raised his thin blond brows. “I have had worse. London.”

  “Or America.”

  “That is worse, Ivan.”

  They stared each other down, but Bragin could tell his former employee was nervous.

  “Why are we here?” Pavel finally asked.