Trust But Verify

by Karna Small Bodman

  “It was strange. I was trying to relax when an alarm went off. They announced something called code red. Then it sounded two more times over their loud-speaker system. Turns out there was a suspected fire in a room on the fourth floor. Then a nurse came into my room twice during the night to take my blood pressure. Then I heard an announcement for a code blue, so every available doctor on the floor raced down the hall. When that was over, it was the middle of the night, and I was trying to fall asleep. But this little machine here,” he said, pointing to the IV dispenser, “makes that beeping sound. Hard to get used to that.”

  “Tell them the rest,” Brittany said.

  “Oh yes,” Will said. “When I wanted to go to the bathroom, I had to call a nurse to help me with this machine and all. That happened twice. Then at about 5:45, another nurse covered me with a blanket. I was too hot, so that was a useless exercise. Then they brought my breakfast at 6:45, and just as I thought I might be able to doze off, in comes this fellow with a dog.”

  Samantha burst out laughing. “A dog?”

  “They called it the hospital therapy dog. Evidently, some patients like to pet it. Calms them down.” He sat up a little straighter and continued. “I really don’t need someone else’s dog calming me down.” He glanced over at Brittany. “I’d much rather have my granddaughter here to talk to. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

  “We would have looked after you. And Roosevelt too,” Brett said. “For as long as it took.”

  Will looked at Brett and nodded his head with a smile. “I thought you looked responsible. Hope you’re taking good care of Samantha here.”

  “I’m trying my best,” Brett said.

  Samantha leaned over and gave Will’s right wrist a gentle squeeze. “Let’s stay in touch, okay?”

  “I’d like that, young lady,” he replied.

  Samantha fished in her purse, pulled out her business card, and handed it to Brittany. “Here’s my contact info. Please keep me posted on how he’s doing.”

  The young girl glanced at the card and raised her eyebrows. “The White House? Wow. Grandad, did you know that she’s the Director of Homeland Security there?”

  Wilkinson smiled at Samantha. “I always knew you were a bright woman. If anyone can keep things safe around here, I’ll bet you can.”

  Samantha gave her old friend a serious look. “We all try,” she said. As she and Brett turned to leave, she shook her head slightly.

  If we can’t even protect a sweet old man like Wilkinson, how can we protect the country?

  TWENTY-NINE

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON;

  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  “THERE THEY ARE,” MAKSIM SAID, pointing to the exit of the San Francisco Airport. He shifted the driver’s seat into an upright position and then pulled the door’s handle.

  “Right on time,” Vadim said, opening the passenger door.

  Maksim pushed the door open and then walked around the Lexus sedan to pop the trunk. Vadim stepped out and slammed his door. “Easy with that,” Maksim said. “This may not be the Bentley we have back home, but it’s still a decent piece of hardware.”

  “If you can’t slam a door when you feel like it, must be lousy engineering,” Vadim said. He turned and greeted the two men who approached the car. “Welcome back. Glad to see you. At first I thought you might decide to stay in Jackson until the conference started.”

  “We thought about that,” Stas said, tossing his bag into the trunk. “But we didn’t want to be seen around town too much. Someone might remember us.”

  “Yah,” Lubov agreed. “And since we’re taking a private plane out there, we thought it would be a good idea to have commercial airline records of us leaving Jackson. That way no one can connect us to the attack. I assume we’ll all be using different names for the trip next week.”

  “Right,” Vadim said. “Let’s get in. There’s a special place we’re going to see today. After spending time in the mountains, I thought you might enjoy some time on the water.”

  “A boat trip?” Lubov asked.

  “Yes, a little diversion,” Vadim said. “But one with a purpose. Besides enjoying the view, that is.”

  “Sounds fun,” Stas said. “We’re happy to have you show us around.”

  “Yah,” Lubov said. “The water will be a good place to discuss our plans for Jackson.”

  “Can’t wait to hear,” Maksim said, putting the car in gear and driving north out of the airport.

  “I’ve already set our financial plans in motion,” Vadim said. “I’ll explain it all later.”

  They drove up Highway 101, turned off into the city, and continued on to Fisherman’s Wharf, finally finding a parking spot near Pier 33. From there, they walked to the dock and boarded a Hornblower Hybrid yacht along with a crowd of tourists. The four men climbed to the upper-level, aft deck and found seats under a canopy close to an outdoor bar.

  “I want to impress upon you the seriousness of our undertaking,” Vadim said as Maksim, Lubov, and Stas settled into their chairs.

  “We know you’re serious,” Stas said.

  “Yes, but we have to be careful,” Vadim said. “Everything must be in place. And none of us can be tied to the operation in any way. Look over there,” Vadim said, pointing. “That’s where we’re going. Alcatraz. It was the most famous prison in America. Maximum security. Minimum privilege as they say.”

  “Couldn’t have been worse than Lubyanka when the KGB ran it,” Stas said.

  “Probably not,” Maksim said. “From what I’ve heard they didn’t torture the prisoners here, but it was still a pretty tough place. When I checked the website and made the reservations for a tour, I read that a bunch of people tried to escape, but no one knows if any of them actually made it. I mean, it’s a rock, the water’s cold, and you either got shot or you drowned.”

  “What’s that?” Lubov asked, pointing to a piece of land jutting into the bay. It was studded with large houses.

  “Oh, that’s Belvedere Island,” Maksim said. “Pretty, high-end real estate with views of the San Francisco skyline. It’s spectacular, but it takes a long time to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge. That’s why we opted for Russian Hill.”

  The conversation died down as the yacht drew closer to Alcatraz Island. They looked up in silence at the desolate island and the concrete penitentiary it still housed. Stas was the first to disturb the quiet. “Look, they’re tying up,” he said.

  “Great. Let’s go see this rock,” Lubov said, standing up.

  “We can fill you in on everything on the way back,” Stas said, pushing back his chair. “We can sit near the engines. With all the motor noise, nobody will hear a damn thing we say.”

  They followed dozens of other passengers down a short gangplank and stepped onto the dock. A tour guide escorted them inside a receiving area where several people picked up equipment for an audio tour.

  “Do we need those things?” Lubov asked.

  Vadim shook his head, grabbed a couple of brochures, and handed them around. “Nah, let’s just do our own tour. Here’s some stuff about what happened here.”

  As they read through the booklets, Stas suddenly pointed to a page. “Is that Al Capone? I’ve heard of him. Into a whole lot of stuff that sounds familiar, right?” He gave the others a wry grin.

  “Guess you could say that,” Lubov said. “Says here that what they really got him for was tax evasion. Jeez, he only served seven years. But wait, poor bastard really went downhill. Had syphilis, pneumonia, and a stroke. Died at forty-eight. Not a good way to go.”

  “I guess the lesson there is be careful and don’t get caught. But if you do, keep a good doctor on retainer,” Maksim said.

  Vadim laughed, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “C’mon, let’s check this place out.”

  They stayed several steps behind the others in the tour as they moved through the deserted prison. It was just as drab and dank on the inside as the outside. The tour swept them pa
st “the hole” where inmates were stashed in solitary confinement and the place where prisoners staged food riots and protests. When they finally stepped back outside, wild flowers and birds’ nests offered a stark contrast to the penitentiary’s morbid interior.

  Staring at the San Francisco skyline shimmering in the late afternoon sun, Vadim found it hard to imagine that anyone, even a hardened criminal, could stand being held prisoner in a tiny cell while looking out his window at all that beauty just three miles away.

  The tour group boarded the yacht for the return trip, and the four men went to the upper bar to order vodka on the rocks. After they found seats near the engines, Lubov glanced around and saw that the other passengers were seated some distance away. “Now we can talk a bit. I’m glad things have changed since those mobsters were stuck in there. We don’t operate like they did. We’ve got more secure systems to run our businesses, we move money around whenever we want, and we’ve got our own gangs that nobody touches.”

  “That’s because we’ve developed a good network of people to pay off,” Stas said. He also surveyed the deck. Other passengers were either drinking, standing along the rail taking pictures, or engaging in their own conversations. Nobody was paying much attention to the Russians.

  “Speaking of our networks, we’ve figured out how to pull off the conference with their help. We stayed in a hotel in Teton Village,” Lubov said, keeping his voice low. “But we drove over to the Jackson Lake Lodge where all the conference attendees will be staying. Can’t do anything there. Too remote. Only one road out. And we have no idea where everybody will go after the speeches. Some might go hiking or fishing. Others could go anywhere. But when you sent us the official agenda, we noticed that they are going to have a lunch meeting at the ski place in that village.”

  “You think you can pull it off there?” Vadim asked.

  “Yes.” Stas said. “We took out a PO box, just like most of the residents in that town, and arranged to have our contacts ship in some of the supplies we’ll need. The lunch meeting is going to take place in a restaurant at the top of Rendezvous Mountain. We’ve already scouted the area and found places to install a system before anyone gets there for the meeting.”

  “Wait a minute,” Maksim said. “You’re going to plant something at the top of the mountain? What kind of triggers will you use? They don’t always work,” he added with a frown.

  “We know that,” Lubov said. “We’ll have multiple items installed all around the restaurant and in a few other places. You don’t have to know all the details. That’s what you’ve got us for,” he added with a conspiratorial grin.

  “So far so good,” Vadim said. “Where should we stay?”

  “We’ll stay in Teton Village but in a different hotel,” Lubov said. “I think you should stay in the village too in that really nice place. Remember the picture you printed out of that girl by the pool?” When Vadim nodded, Lubov continued. “That’s from the Snake River Lodge and Spa. Lots of foreigners stay there. And it has great massages.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Vadim said. “Now what about the plane? You said you’d also scope out the best place for us to land.”

  “We did,” Lubov said. “We’ll land at Idaho Falls. Has a decent runway. We’ll also rent two cars. Stas and I in one; you and Maksim in the other. It will take us about an hour to reach Jackson from the runway. There’s no security in Idaho we’ll have to worry about. And, when everything’s over, the Teton Pass will be our escape route. It’ll only take us about ten minutes to get to the pass from Teton Village. Then it’s back over the mountain and on to the airport.

  “Nobody would be able to put up a road block in that period of time. Besides, everybody flies out of the Jackson airport, not Idaho Falls. So, once we’re in Idaho, we fly back here, stay quiet for a while, check the markets, and count our money,” Lubov said with a note of triumph in his voice. He took a drink of vodka and asked, “Speaking of money, now that you know the plan, what about our down payment?”

  “It’s waiting for you at the penthouse. A promise is a promise. That’s the way we do business,” Vadim said.

  “And stay in business,” Maksim added.

  Stas smiled. “So, where should we go out to celebrate tonight?”

  Vadim swirled the ice around in his glass, took a big gulp, sat back, and thought for a long moment. “I was thinking of taking you to the best strip joint in town.”

  Lubov’s eyes lit up. “You have a good one here?”

  “What’s it got?” Stas asked, leaning in.

  “The place is called the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell Theatre,” Vadim said. “Poles on the stage. The women dance. They even do some shows in private rooms. It’s down in an area of the city called the Tenderloin District.”

  “I’m game,” Lubov said. “I could use some entertainment after that depressing prison and after driving all over that crazy town filled with cowboys and tourists. More booze wouldn’t hurt either.” He held up his glass. “Hope they have better stuff than this.”

  “That could be a problem,” Maksim said “They don’t serve liquor there. Oh, and there’s a hefty cover charge.”

  “A cover charge for nude women?” Lubov laughed.

  “Maybe we should skip it and get ourselves some first-class takeout instead,” Stas said.

  “Sure,” Maksim said. “There’s plenty of takeout places in San Francisco. The city has about four thousand restaurants.”

  “Four thousand? That’s about half the population of Jackson,” Stas said with a smirk. “I like a city with a lot of choices. Eating in sounds like a good idea. Besides, you guys have a first-class bar in that penthouse.”

  “One of my priorities. Goes along with our preference for a life of luxury,” Vadim said. He raised his glass in a toast they all drank to. Then he tossed back the last of his vodka, leaned back, and grinned.

  THIRTY

  MONDAY LATE AFTERNOON;

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  BRETT STOOD IN FRONT OF an old apartment building half a block from the new Russian military attaché. He knew there was a camera in the apartment’s window air-conditioning unit that filmed everyone entering or exiting that house. And the house’s listening devices were recording conversations 24/7.

  Nori Hotta was doing a great job translating the recordings. She meticulously searched for keywords that might tip them off to things like breaking trade embargoes, infiltrating agencies, conducting cyber-crimes, or anything else that threatened national security.

  Recently, Trevor had been pestering Brett for updates on multiple monitoring projects, especially the Russian military attaché one. So Brett decided to check in with Elise Vaughn, the agent stationed here. He walked into the apartment building and recited the apartment number to a man at the desk. The desk clerk called upstairs then nodded his okay and pointed to the elevators. He rode up to the third floor and knocked on the door. A young woman with short blonde hair and a face full of freckles opened it. She smiled at Brett and allowed him to step inside the sparsely furnished room.

  He quickly closed the door and then turned to her. “How’s it going? Anything new to report?” he asked, walking over to the window and peering across the street. “Any important visitors lately?”

  “We spotted their sweep team checking out the place before that military aide moved in,” Elise said.

  “Thanks for that,” Brett said. “We were able to shut down the audio probes just in time.”

  She sat down at a desk covered in stacks of paper. “Right now it looks like the new owner spends most of the day at the embassy. Sometimes he has meetings at the house or makes calls at odd hours, though. That’s when it gets interesting. He calls Moscow a lot. And with the time difference, he’s either up early or talking late at night. I know you get the translations from Nori, and NSA is undoubtedly picking up a lot of conversations. But they’ve got so much to analyze. Our being here is much more effective. At least for now.”

  “I agree,
” Brett said.

  “I know a smattering of Russian, which I know is why you gave me this plum assignment,” she said with a rueful grin. “I’ve picked up a couple of things. Not sure what they mean though.”

  “Like what?” Brett asked, pulling up a metal chair placed near the desk.

  “Well, I hear the words ‘White House’ now and then. And last night I heard the word ‘conference’ or ‘meeting’ a bunch of times. Of course, there are a lot of conferences at the White House, but I haven’t heard about any recent ones involving Russians. Have you?”

  “No. But maybe they’re referring to other meetings. The British were just in town. Does it sound like they were trying to get inside information on what happened with the Prime Minister?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m sure Nori can make better sense of it, though,” Elise said. “In another conversation, they mentioned a central banker from Moscow, Alexander Tepanov, and a minister who works for their ambassador here. The minister makes sense, but maybe you should run that Tepanov name. Could be that he’s going to some conference with the embassy guy. Might be nothing. But they spent a long time talking about it, so it must be important to involve a military attaché too. What do you think?”

  “If a Russian minister is scheduled to go somewhere, he’ll want protection. He’ll have to get permission to travel outside their permitted radius too. If it is a conference, I wonder where it would be. Anything else?” Brett asked.

  “Oh, the other word I heard a lot was ‘finansists.’ That means ‘financiers.’ Some of their words sound a lot like ours,” Elise said.

  “Well, if it’s something involving a Russian banker, it would make sense that other financial people are involved. Doesn’t sound too sinister to me.” Brett checked his watch and got up. “I just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing. Take a decent dinner break tonight. The cameras and bugs will do the work just fine for a while, but keep me posted.”

  Brett left the building and walked back to his car parked a block away. Before he started the engine, he pulled out his cell. A new email from a friend in Chicago popped up in his personal account, and he opened it. It included a photo of his ex-wife at a charity dinner with the bond salesman she had married. Staring at the grainy picture of her wearing an extremely low-cut dress and a stern look, he couldn’t help but compare it to the memory of Samantha wearing her more conservative outfits while always looking gorgeous with that wide smile of hers. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his ex-wife was the best bullet he had dodged in Chicago.