The Outer Circle (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 3)

by Bell, D. R.

  “There is something else,” said Vitaly, who’s been quiet so far. He pulled a small flash drive from his pocket. “I have received a message from an old friend, Oleg. The last I know, he was in America. Oleg sent me records of suspicious transactions originating in our SOFI financial system and transferring large amounts of money into accounts of certain individuals in the U.S. He was asking to trace these transactions within the SOFI.”

  “The SVR has access to the SOFI transaction records, but I personally don’t. What does this have to do with Nemzhov or Nedinsky’s assassination?”

  “I don’t know,” Vitaly shook his head. “Only that all these things are happening at the same time.”

  Bakunin stared out the window.

  “More coincidences. Nedinsky’s assassination, when surrounded by people with Nemzhov's connections, might be a sign that Nemzhov is putting his people – I mean, those that he can control – into positions of power. I wonder if he has something on Shelkov, the new Defense Minister. And if your boss, the Minister of Internal Affairs, is connected to Nemzhov, then he has two people controlling the military and the police under his command. This is too damn scary. We have to go to my boss, Mikhail Praschenko. I’m supposed to meet him for a briefing this afternoon.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “I do. Nemzhov is his old nemesis. Praschenko can also have the SOFI records checked, to see if there is some connection.”

  You have to trust someone, thought Mershov. “And if your boss thinks this looks suspicious, what then?”

  “He reports directly to the President. He can get us in to see Mosin if needed.”

  “Going to the President?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Mershov did not.

  Richmond, USA

  Nancy Westlake, the head of internal security at FreedomShield, rubbed her tired eyes. When she retired from the NSA a few years back, she was determined to not get sucked into another high-pressure job ever again. Erik King convinced her to come back. Nancy was not doing this for the money, although they paid her well. Erik made her into a believer: they were going to restore the country’s greatness, avenge the setbacks of the recent past, and push their enemies, especially the Chinese, back where they belonged. They were the new crusaders, defending liberty and democracy. The country needed sheep dogs to protect it from the wolves. That’s what they were at FreedomShield: sheep dogs, vicious but righteous. That’s why she continued to work seventy hour weeks instead of enjoying retirement.

  She exhaled heavily and reached for the top of the “Priority 3” pile. Nancy was old-fashioned and liked things printed out for reading, to the great consternation of her assistant Richard, the tree-hugger. The pile had grown large, accumulated over a few weeks. She felt guilty just looking at it, but with all that’d been going on she had to trust the judgment of those filing the reports that these particular alerts were not urgent.

  Nancy would quickly scan each alert’s description and move the one page printout either to her left – for Richard to mark as ‘reviewed, no follow-up required’ – or to her right for further investigation. After a couple of hours, the pile was almost gone, almost entirely transferred to her left with only a couple of pages on her right.

  She quickly scanned the piece of paper in her hand – some FBI agent in New Mexico researching financial transactions, why would this even raise an alarm? – and was about to move it to the left when her eyes zeroed in on “John Dimon” and “FreedomShield” on the bottom. Nancy read the one-pager again, this time more carefully. An FBI agent in a small resident agency of Farmington, New Mexico, by the name of Jim Brobak, performed a series of searches of financial transactions through the SOFI gateways. She was not an expert, but she knew enough that while such transactions are perfectly legal, they can carry a stigma of trying to avoid the oversight of the U.S. authorities. Not the kind of publicity that John Dimon or FreedomShield would want, especially during this sensitive election time.

  Nancy logged into the FBI database cluster using one of the “super user” accounts that FreedomShield had access to and said “Jim Brobak, FBI file.” Brobak’s recent picture appeared on the projection screen: a serious man in his mid-forties, creased forehead, short salt-and-pepper hair, tired brown eyes. Stellar service record: two tours of duty in Iraq, joined the FBI soon after, and rose through the ranks to become the assistant special agent in charge of the Dallas office. Suddenly, in the fall of 2022 there was a transfer to the Farmington office and an effective demotion. Why?

  Nancy’s access allowed her global searches of all the data, including top secret material. She found a secret memo from August of 2022 about Brobak related to the Schulmann affair: Brobak was suspected of helping the two fugitives, David Ferguson and Margarita Sappin, escape from the FBI. The memo concluded that while it seemed doubtful that Brobak worked with Ferguson and Sappin, his loyalty had to be viewed as questionable and he was not to be trusted with sensitive assignments.

  The man that two years ago helped people that threatened the national security was now conducting searches for a possibly damaging information on Dimon and FreedomShield. Nancy punched the intercom button:

  “Richard, can you get me Erik King? Tell him it’s urgent.”

  Moscow, Russia

  President Mosin got up, walked to the window and stood there, hands clasped behind his back, contemplating the view of the city. He then turned around quickly, having apparently decided on something:

  “So, Mikhail,” he addressed Praschenko, Director of the SVR, “you apparently feel strongly enough to bring these half-baked accusations to me?”

  “Mr. President,” stammered Praschenko, “we are not accusing anyone.” He looked to his side, on Mershov and Bakunin sitting there with tense expressions. “We thought some of the facts deserve your attention.”

  Mosin swept his eyes between three men.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  He exited via a side door, opened a door on his left and entered a small room. Praschenko, Mershov, and Bakunin were nervously looking at each other on the other side of a one-way glass.

  “Volodya, Igor, what do you think of this? Too vivid imagination, a ploy, or something real?”

  “Scary. Too many coincidences!” Igor Rodinsky, Minister of Energy, shook his head in disbelief. “Nemzhov was a ruthless bastard and I would take this seriously.”

  “I agree,” nodded Karpov. “Too many coincidences. And yesterday’s report from Beijing made my antennas go up.”

  “What report?” asked Rodinsky.

  “Our military attaché in Beijing spoke at a party with a colonel from the PLA’s General Staff. The colonel told him that the General Staff is engaged in planning operations in the East and South China Seas, including the capture of Taiwan.”

  “They always plan Taiwan’s capture,” Rodinsky waived dismissively. “But with the U.S. 7th Fleet there, these are just exercises designed to keep the officers busy.”

  “The colonel said that the General Staff believes that Russia, as a part of the mutual defense pact, will back them up in the conflict. That our Pacific Fleet will be a part of the strike force. And that we will redirect the flow of oil from Europe to China, to compensate for any losses of the Middle East oil.”

  “But we explicitly told them we will do no such thing!” shouted Rodinsky.

  “That’s the whole point – General Wu Cao, the man in charge of planning, said that our position will change before the end of the month.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Rodinsky opened his palms in surprise. “We will never agree to this.”

  “We won’t ...” Mosin let the words hang in the air.

  “You mean?”

  “We don’t know what it means,” said Karpov. “Perhaps it’s a misunderstanding. Perhaps it’s a provocation of some kind. But it’s possible that the Chinese General Staff is operating under an assumption that there will be a change in power. Here, in Moscow.”

&n
bsp; “This morning,” Mosin rubbed his forehead, “I was inclined to dismiss it. Now, I am not so sure. Three days ago Maxim Fedorov, head of the Kremlin Regiment, was wondering aloud to me why his cousin in the Army’s General Staff is working on plans for occupying the Baltic countries. I thought it’s just some routine thing. But all these baffling coincidences are starting to add up.”

  He walked back and forth in agitation.

  “Nedinsky was my old friend. Not only was his assassination suspicious, it robbed me of a critical support. Now it looks like someone was trying to push Shelkov in charge of the military. The people involved are connected to Nemzhov. Kolotov, the Minister of Internal Affairs, is possibly connected to Nemzhov. If I wanted to grab the power, I would go after the military and the police. And if they are planning something, they are going to do it soon, before the month is over.”

  “This talk of Nemzhov’s secret files, everyone heard that. How much of this is true?” wondered Rodinsky.

  “A lot,” replied Mosin. “We questioned people that worked for him, that had restricted access, who were sifting through mountains of data looking for anything useful. He’s been accumulating these files for years. Electronic communication, telephone conversations, video footage... everything was digitized, run through face and voice recognition systems, through any phrases of interest... then trusted people would manually look through the information computers marked as being of interest...”

  “But I thought it was done as a part of the anti-terror effort?”

  “Of course. The thing is, if you have the data, you can search for whatever you want. As long as you have the power, you decide what’s important. And Nemzhov had a lot of data, collected all around the world.”

  “And it’s all gone?”

  “Most of it. He had the system designed so that he was the only one that could copy anything and then destroy it. The key engineers that worked on it have all disappeared. Anyone might be subject to his blackmail.”

  “Borya, who can we trust?” asked a shaken Karpov.

  “I think we can trust them,” Mosin nodded at the one way glass.

  As time dragged on, Mershov shifted uncomfortably, feeling glances from Bakunin and Praschenko. Finally, Mosin came back into the room, accompanied by two others.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Mosin remained standing. “I would ask you to not share this with anyone else.”

  “Of course, Mr. President,” the three said in unison.

  “Now, I need you to do something for me. How many experienced field people do you have available? The kind that can follow someone without attracting attention? The kind that you can trust to be absolutely loyal to you and to keep a secret?”

  “While most of our agents are abroad, we always have some people here. The trust is a more difficult question. On a short notice, I can probably put forward four or five people like that,” answered Praschenko.

  “What about you?” Mosin turned to Mershov. “The SOBR, Special Rapid Response Unit, is a part of the MVD and I am not sure that everyone in the MVD is on my side.”

  “Mr. President, I have over five hundred trained officers here in Moscow. Not everyone is available, not everyone is capable of such work, and I can’t vouch for everybody, but there are some that I brought with me and have known for years... I trust them.”

  “How many?”

  “Perhaps fifteen.”

  “Colonel Mershov, I will ask you to take resources from both groups and organize a careful surveillance of Shelkov and Kolotov. Get someone in St. Petersburg to keep an eye on Zaychikov. Please report to me daily, you’ll be provided with a contact.”

  “Twenty people.” Mosin looked back at Karpov and Rodinsky after the others left. “That’s what we have to work with.”

  “Why didn’t you call on the Presidential Security Service?” wondered Rodinsky. “You have over two thousand people there.”

  “Remember, two years ago I had to sack the head of the service because he was close to Nemzhov and was caught with his hand in a cookie jar. But we never dug in any deeper. Before I bring them in, I have to figure out whom I can trust besides Fedorov. If Nemzhov could get one of his people to “protect” Nedinsky, who says they can’t get to me? But they probably don’t have any particular reason to penetrate the SOBR.”

  “How about drone or satellite surveillance?” said Rodinsky. “More reliable, can’t get away from it...”

  “Igor, I always have a drone following me. And I know about it and I expect it. Drones are not supposed to follow Shelkov or Kolotov. If they see one, they know something is wrong. As for a satellite, in theory these people report to one of the two individuals we suspect. Look, either this whole thing is a bunch of nonsense or they have a putsch ready to happen soon. And if so, I may not be able to stop it by just grabbing those two. I have to know who else is involved, and I have to find this out quietly, without raising suspicions.”

  The three men sat glumly for a few minutes.

  “And what about these SOFI transactions? The SVR thinks they are suspicious: large amounts of money going to John Dimon, the U.S. Presidential candidate, and we don’t even know who these accounts belong to. The same accounts that are funding a U.S. security company and sending money to Chinese banks? Could Nemzhov possibly have something on Dimon, the candidate that scares us as is?” asked Karpov.

  “For now, I’ll just sit on this. There is no definitive evidence and no reason for us to get involved in their internal politics. We have to take care of our business. The SVR does not have full access, they just scratched the surface on this SOFI business. I want to take a closer look,” responded Mosin.

  Karpov nodded, but he did not look convinced.

  Los Angeles, USA

  “Just the three of us?” asked Jeff. “Robert was not pleased with being excluded.”

  “This is very sensitive, Jeff,” replied Jennifer. “David, would you agree that this is a delicate and potentially dangerous situation?”

  David Weinstein nodded, looking very serious, and put a small folder on the table between them.

  “OK, what is this about?”

  “Jeff, do you remember the names of David Ferguson and Margarita Sappin?” asked Jennifer.

  “Yes, they were the ones that published the Schulmann’s research two years ago.”

  “Did you believe them?”

  “Yes, for the most part. I mean, I believe that many people, especially those in power, profited from the 2019 financial crisis. In a sense, that disclosure helped to keep the country together. But whether all that they published was correct and whether they themselves profited from the publication, I don’t know. There was so much mud-slinging afterwards. They’ve disappeared, I think.”

  “Jeff, I’ve met with them,” Jennifer stated plainly.

  “What? When? Where?”

  “Not long ago. Here, in LA.”

  “But why?”

  “They asked me to meet. They had an important information to share.”

  Jeff got up, angry:

  “Jennifer, what in God’s name are you doing? Whether you like them or not, they are fugitives from the law! We can’t afford to meet with them in our current situation!”

  “Jeff, the man who arranged the meeting knew my father,” quietly replied Jennifer.

  “Really?” Jeff sat back down. “Is there a connection?”

  “I don’t know. Probably a coincidence. The point is, they had information tying John Dimon to profiteering from the crisis. And possibly more. I asked David to look into it.”

  Jeff gave her a look that said, “Did you really have to get David involved in this?” but said nothing.

  “They are clearly in hiding,” said David. “I’ve met with them in some place I’ve been driven to in two different cars. They gave me this,” he put his hand on the folder.

  “And what is this?”

  “It’s their findings related to John Dimon. Some of the accounts indirec
tly linked to him made out like bandits with the bets they placed in 2019. Moreover, many of the transactions are connected to the SOFI system – do you know what SOFI is?”

  “Yes,” nodded Jeff.

  “The SOFI connection continues to this day. When correlated for three degrees of separation, both John Dimon and FreedomShield appear to be connected to a significant flow of untraceable funds from the SOFI.”

  “Appear?”

  “There’s a statistically significant correlation.”

  “Does any of the suspected accounts have Dimon’s name?”

  “No,” David shook his head.

  “Then you understand that I can’t possibly use it,” replied Jeff gently.

  “Jeff, I went through the numbers. It’s not possible for this to be accidental! Something is going on: not only did he profit from the crisis, somebody is illegally funding him now!” David lost his composure.

  “David, you well might be right. But as long as the connection is indirect, if I were to bring this up I’ll be destroyed in public opinion for unfounded accusations. Thank you for doing all this work, I realize it was risky,” Jeff got up again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to Robert.”

  "David, this is not a random connection; this is happening, right?” asked Jennifer after Jeff left.

  “It’s not accidental,” sighed David, his head down. “Dimon is dirty and he’s getting away with it!”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Jennifer also got up to leave. She mussed David’s hair: “David, you’ve done what you could. Thank you!”

  Peredelkino, 13 miles southwest of Moscow, Russia

  Vitaly Mershov sneezed from pollen and was promptly rewarded with a kick from his partner, Andrei. Andrei was clearly not happy about being saddled with some young kid who was not even from the SOBR. But very few SOBR officers were called up for this strange and secret mission and Mershov was the son of Andrei’s boss, so Andrei had to keep his grouchiness under control. He respected the older Mershov too much to complain.