Trust But Verify

by Karna Small Bodman

  “I thought he and those other agents were supposed to be handling your security last night.”

  “Yes, well . . . it all happened so fast. I went over to the window and next thing I know, the window smashes, and I’m on the floor with Brett on top of me.”

  “Why wasn’t there an agent outside watching the place?”

  “Shadowing me was Brett’s job. I only have one agent with me at a time. In a way, it’s my fault for inviting him in to talk about my Jackson trip. We got to talking about our families, and I was going to show him a picture of my folks. That’s when I walked over to the window. You should have seen him right after it happened. He was really undone. He was blaming himself for not closing the drapes.”

  “Does he usually unravel like that? I thought you said he was good at crisis management,” Angela said.

  “He is. As soon as the initial shock wore off, he immediately took over the crime scene sweep and gave the other agents their marching orders to find the shooter. He’s usually very balanced. He gets intense, but he also has a pretty good sense of humor. Sometimes, he looks at me for a long time like he’s trying to memorize my face or something. But I think all FBI agents are trained to memorize faces.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s not training. That’s attraction. Is this guy single?”

  “Yes. He was married for a while but his wife left him for some bond salesman.”

  “Sounds like he’s better off,” Angela said. She looked at the floor and smiled slightly before looking back at Samantha. “I assume you haven’t heard from Tripp in Dallas or wherever he is.”

  “Nope. I have no idea what he’s up to, and I haven’t told him about any of this. But I don’t really want to talk about him. I only have a few minutes before my next meeting. Can we change the subject and talk about the guy you met at your fitness club?” Samantha asked.

  “Oh, we went out for dinner, and he keeps calling. I guess he’s okay. He comes from a really small town in Texas. He said their phone book has three pages.”

  “I’m having a hard time picturing you with a small-town type.”

  “Me too.”

  “Well, how about work? Anything new?”

  “Let’s see,” Angela said. “There’s a group that’s been demanding a meeting with the president ever since their protest at HHS fizzled out.”

  “Why did it fizzle out?”

  “They swarmed through the building, staging a sit-in, and the Secretary didn’t want to confront them. So, she just told her security people to lock the bathrooms. They were all gone in about two hours.”

  “Clever,” Samantha said. “I like her style.”

  “Oh, and we got the weirdest request for a meeting. I kid you not, it’s from the South Central Cotton Boll Weevil Eradication Committee,” Angela said.

  Samantha shook her head. “Still sounds better than my next meeting.”

  “What’s it about?” Angela asked.

  “My trip to Jackson. I leave tomorrow, so we’re coordinating with Treasury and finalizing the speeches and logistics.”

  “At least that’ll get you out of town and away from that maniac,” her friend said.

  Samantha sat back in her chair, sighed, and replied, “That’s true. But I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. In fact, to quote my dad, ‘I can’t think of anything I’d less rather do’.”

  Angela chuckled. “I hear you. But look on the bright side. You’ll get to network with finance ministers and relax a little bit between meetings.”

  “I guess,” Samantha said. “At least I’ll feel safe out there. Treasury’s got several security people coming along, so worrying about another attack is the one thing I can put out of my mind for now.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  TUESDAY EARLY AFTERNOON;

  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  “RIGHT THIS WAY, GENTLEMEN,” THE pilot said, leading the four men out of Signature Aviation, the fixed-base operation for private aircraft at San Francisco Airport. They walked through the glass doors of the waiting room to the tarmac where a sleek Citation X was waiting, fueled and ready to go. “Weather looks good. We should make it to Idaho Falls in about an hour and a half. We’ll keep you posted.”

  The group watched the other pilot supervise the loading of their luggage into the baggage compartment at the back of the plane. Then they scrambled up the few steps to the cabin to inspect the long, narrow passenger area with gleaming wood cabinets, beige carpeting, and seating for eight.

  “Here are today’s newspapers—Wall Street Journal, New York Times, USA Today,” the pilot said, pointing to a stack on top of a bar. “Coffee is in here, liquor and wine in this section, ice in the compartment below, snacks are in there, and your catering is in the right-hand drawer. If you need anything, please let us know. We’ll get underway in a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  There were four plush leather seats facing each other in front and two more on each side of the aisle behind them. A long bench with seating for two stretched into the back where the restroom was. Vadim took the seat on the right, which faced forward and contained the main controls for heating and push buttons for the lights, music volume, and window screen adjustments. Maksim sat in the left-hand seat facing forward.

  “Where do want us?” Stas asked.

  “Why don’t you sit back there for takeoff? When we have lunch, you can move up, and we’ll continue our conversation,” Vadim said. He glanced toward the pilots who were running through their checklists with the door open. “Maybe we’ll continue our conversation.”

  They stowed their briefcases and jackets behind the seats, grabbed newspapers, and sat down to fasten their seat belts. The pilot came back and briefed them on the escape routes. They feigned attention, and he finally returned to the cockpit. They got their clearance from the tower and took off, heading northeast.

  “Sure as hell beats flying commercial,” Lubov said, reaching for the sports section of USA Today. “When we flew out to Jackson last week, we had to wait in all those stupid lines. Then we had to change planes. But now we have a nonstop, and there’s no security check at all.”

  “That’s why we chartered this one,” Vadim said over his shoulder. “Besides, if there’s a storm, we just tell the pilots to go around it. I always say, I’d rather be late than absent,” he laughed. “We’re in charge on these flights.” He turned back and said to Maksim, “Have you read that last email from Otto?”

  Maksim rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Yes, but it wasn’t clear to me. He says he believes he has completed his assignment. Believes? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Exactly,” Vadim said. “I haven’t seen anything in the news, though they might be trying to keep it quiet for a while. Governments do that a lot.”

  “At least the ones we’re most familiar with,” Maksim said. “Let’s just hope he’s finished it.”

  “Yeah. And if that’s the case, I can only assume he’s smart enough to move around. He mentioned switching cars, so that shows the kid is thinking.”

  “I’m sure he learned a lot in Naples,” Maksim said. “But we’ll see how well he stays out of sight. Did he say when he’s coming back?”

  “No, that’s the strange thing,” Vadim said, narrowing his eyes. “When he asked to stay longer, I got the impression that Washington was starting to grow on him.”

  “That does seem odd. He doesn’t know anybody there. Of course, there are several colleges in D.C. Maybe he’s met some students or graduates his age.”

  “He better not,” Vadim said, slightly raising his voice. “He’s there to do a job. And if anyone finds out—”

  “Relax. Nobody is going to find out. One thing that kid is good at is disappearing.”

  The plane climbed through the clouds and leveled off. After perusing the papers for a while, Vadim turned to Lubov and Stas. “Come up here. We’ll have lunch.”

  “Where is it?” Stas asked.

  “It’s up front in a drawer
on the right. You can get it,” Vadim said.

  Stas frowned at Vadim. He didn’t like being ordered around, but he walked up and retrieved four boxed lunches. Vadim and Maksim pulled up the tables from a casing under the window and unfolded them between the seats. Stas distributed the food, complete with silverware and napkins sporting the airline logo. There were rare roast beef sandwiches on sourdough bread along with pasta salads, fruit, condiments, and cookies.

  “Damn, better than what you’d get on a commercial flight,” Lubov said, uncovering his box and digging in.

  “We could have ordered shrimp cocktails or Caesar salads or many other things,” Maksim said. “But since this is a short flight, we thought we’d keep it simple. When we get to Jackson and settle in, we’ll look for a good dinner restaurant.”

  “We found a bunch of those,” Stas said. “The Four Seasons is right up the road in Teton Village, but maybe we don’t want to be seen there too much.”

  “Probably not. Their staff might remember us,” Maksim said. “What else?”

  “There’s a nice place just outside the downtown part of Jackson called Rendezvous Bistro,” Stas said.

  “Then going into town,” Lubov said, “you’ve got the Gun Barrel Steak House. And on the town square there’s the Snake River Grill and the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar where they’ve got pool tables, a great bar upstairs, and a restaurant downstairs.”

  “Since we’ll be there a couple of days, we should check out more than one,” Maksim said. “We need to be careful, though, and not be seen together too much. Might even order room service once in a while.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Lubov said.

  Turning to Stas, Vadim said, “The pilot showed us where the liquor cabinet is. Get us some vodka to go with this.”

  Once again, Stas gave Vadim a mean look, but he decided that a shot of vodka was a pretty good idea. He squeezed out from behind the table and brought back four small bottles and a handful of glasses filled with ice.

  Vadim glanced at the cockpit and noticed that the pilots had kept the door open. He said in a low voice, “There’s engine noise, but I think we better wait until we get to town to talk more about this trip.”

  “Good idea,” Maksim said.

  “One thing I thought I would mention, though,” Lubov said. “We talked to our mutual friend, that banker, Alexander Tepanov. I told him to short our accounts. Remember I said we might do that too?” Vadim nodded as he chewed his sandwich. Lubov continued, “Since he’s got all the right contacts, he told us he would buy leveraged exchange traded funds for three times the down side. He gave us the ticker symbol SDS so we can track them and watch our fortunes skyrocket when the markets tank.”

  “What about that twenty percent for insurance we always talk about?” Maksim asked.

  “Nah,” Lubov said. “We only kept about ten percent this time because we know this is going to work.”

  The Fasten Seat Belts sign came on. Stas gathered up the boxes, used napkins, and other detritus from their lunch and put everything back in the drawer. The he returned to his seat to buckle up. The plane descended, made a smooth landing, and taxied to Aero Mark, the Idaho Falls FBO. Before they filed out, Vadim went to the cabinet, grabbed several small bottles of vodka, and shoved them in his pockets.

  Maksim thanked the pilots. He and Vadim retrieved their luggage and piled into one of the waiting rental cars. Lubov leaned into the driver’s window and said, “You guys follow us. We figured out the route over the pass when we were here before. It’ll take about an hour or so.” Then he hurried to his own car and led the way out to the main road.

  They drove past a couple of small towns, empty fields stretching for miles, and several ranches where herds of cattle meandered through the grass or slept under sparse trees. When they reached the pass, they saw towering mountains where ski runs on the Idaho side cut swaths through groves of pine trees stretching up to the summits.

  “Incredible scenery,” Maksim said as Vadim followed Stas’s car.

  “Yeah. San Francisco has hills, but nothing like this. They say it’s even better on the Wyoming side.”

  “Almost makes me want to learn how to ski,” Maksim said.

  “You can think about going to the Alps or someplace like that next winter. Right now, we’ve got to concentrate,” Vadim said. “Once we’re done here and get back over this pass—” he paused and looked out the window at the sheer drop-offs—“if we get over this damn pass again, we’ll fly back to San Francisco, wait for the news to filter around the world, and start raking in our profits.”

  “When do you think we should go back to Moscow?” Maksim asked.

  “Not for a while. The FBI will be watching all the airports. They won’t be able to tie us to anything, of course, but they might decide to watch everyone with a foreign passport. So, we’ll hole up in the penthouse where we know we’re safe and then think about how we’re going to get out later.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Maksim said.

  Once over the summit, the winding road descended at a ten-degree angle into the town of Wilson, Wyoming. They drove past a gas station, what looked like a rustic café, a post office, and a general store and saw a big sign advertising the upcoming Annual Firemen’s Fried Chicken Picnic.

  “Now that could be useful,” Vadim said, pointing to the sign. “If all the law enforcement guys are at some stupid picnic, it means less people will be watching what Lubov and Stas are doing.”

  “That would be good,” Maksim said. They kept following Lubov’s car and turned left onto Teton Village Road. “Jeez, we’re surrounded by mountains,” he said, gazing out the passenger window. “Big buttes over there, and look at those peaks to the left. There’s snow at the top even though it’s summer. Reminds me of Russia. I wonder how cold it gets here.”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Vadim said. “I just want to get to our hotel, check in, and look around a bit. I want to make sure Stas and Lubov know what they’re doing.”

  “They said they did. Remember, they’ve got a PO box. Maybe it’s at that little place we passed on the way in.”

  “Probably. They assured us they were having the C-4 and triggers shipped over. In several different boxes, of course.”

  “Exactly. So, why worry? Their organization knows how to handle shipments. That’s what we’re paying them for,” Maksim said.

  When they approached the village, they saw a golf course on the left and a series of two- and three-story dark wood houses built close together. “Guess a lot of people have ski chalets here,” Maksim said. “What’s that?” He pointed toward the mountain where a huge red and black tram car the size of a small bus was inching up the side on a series of wires.

  “Lubov told us they had a new cable car that holds a hundred people,” Vadim said. “It’s not just for skiers. In the summer, people take it up to the restaurant and look at the view. That must be the target.”

  “Over there, I see the entrance to the village. I’ll call his cell.” Maksim punched in Lubov’s number. “Do we both go in the same way?”

  “Yes, but you’ll go off to the right,” Lubov replied. “We’ll drive around to the left. Our hotel is in the back. You’ll see yours as you go in. Look for a building with a steep roof.”

  “Okay, I think I see it. We’ll get organized and check in later about dinner.”

  Vadim drove into the village where they saw hotels, restaurants, and a gaggle of tourists. Hikers with backpacks and teenagers in T-shirts, shorts, and sandals milled around while what looked like a tribe of Indians sold jewelry and pottery in the valley area. Gangs of little children were playing tag in front of the display tables.

  “Hope they don’t have noisy kids staying at our hotel,” Vadim said.

  “At those prices, probably not,” Maksim said. He pointed to the right “There it is. Next door to something called Alpenhof Lodge. I like the sound of ours better: Snake River Lodge and Spa.”

  They gave the rental c
ar to the valet, grabbed their luggage, and checked in, each one using a fake passport with a credit card to match. “Your rooms will be ready in a few minutes,” the clerk said with a smile. “If you’d like to leave your luggage over there, you can visit our lovely pool and spa area. It’s just down the hall.”

  “Let’s go,” Maksim said. Vadim shrugged and nodded. They strolled along the corridor and were surprised to discover a free-form pool, half inside and half outside, with a large rock formation rising out of its center. A stone terrace was filled with lounge chairs where several young women were sunning themselves in the eighty degree weather. “I thought this place was at a high elevation. I had no idea it would get this warm,” Maksim said.

  “Doesn’t bother me when it includes things like this,” Vadim said. “See that brunette over there?” He pointed to an attractive, young woman in a bikini, sipping a drink.

  “What about her?”

  “Looks like that Reid woman,” Vadim said, narrowing his gaze. “We need to get up to the room and call Otto. I want to know the whole story.”

  “Right,” Maksim said as they walked back to the reception area. “But remember, if for some reason Otto didn’t complete his job, her name is on the conference schedule. All we need to do is make sure Lubov and Stas know precisely where she’ll be. And when.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  WEDNESDAY LATE MORNING;

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  “SO, WHERE ARE WE?” TREVOR Mason shouted toward Brett’s office cubicle. He poked his head around the corner, looked at Brett, and said, “If the Naples bomber and the Georgetown shooter really are one and the same, what kind of progress are you and your team making on this?” he demanded, his face grim. “I’m getting pressure from headquarters, the White House, everywhere. And unless you’ve got some rabbit in a hat I don’t know about, looks like you’re still nowhere.”

  Brett looked up from his computer and motioned to the stacks of papers and files on his desk. “I told you in the last staff meeting that we’re coordinating with every jurisdiction in town, checking airports, rental agencies, hotels, databases. You name it, we’re into it.”