Trust But Verify

by Karna Small Bodman

  He held her close, and she reveled in the feeling of warm safety. But she knew they couldn’t hold onto each other much longer in front of Secretary Pickering and other delegates who were still in the room.

  “Samantha, I think you’re shaking. Natural reaction,” Brett said softly. He loosened his arms, looked into her eyes, and gently touched her cheek.

  She gazed up at him with gratitude. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “We’ll think of something,” he murmured. “Let me show Pickering the evidence, then let’s get off this damn mountain.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  THURSDAY EARLY AFTERNOON;

  TETON VILLAGE, WYOMING

  “DURAKS! HOW STUPID ARE YOU?” Vadim blared into the phone. “We watch the mountain, the tower, the restaurant, the tram. We wait. Now everyone is leaving lunch and getting back on the cable car. Nothing has happened. No explosions. No fires. Nothing. You make plans. You tell us they’re perfect. We pay you millions. We come here. And we see absolutely no results.”

  Stas had his cell on speaker. He and Lubov let Vadim shout for a full minute before Stas tried answering. “We don’t know what happened. We placed all the charges in exactly the right places. We don’t know how anyone could have found them. We’ve done this kind of work before. You know that. We are just as upset as you are.” He conveniently forgot to mention that they had seen one guy ride up the tram and snoop around the base of the tower before the lunch attendees arrived. Vadim didn’t have to know about that.

  Stas was worried that their call might be monitored, though he had no idea how anyone would have found his number. He couldn’t think too much about that right now. He had to focus on calming Vadim down and getting out of Teton Village.

  “Wait,” Lubov called out. “Now that they’re going down on the tram, I’m going to try to set off a charge again. The one we put on the tower. Stand by.” He grabbed his own cell, re-entered the number connected to the weather station, and hit the green call button.

  “That damn tram is still going down the mountain. Safely.” Vadim yelled.

  After a long pause, Lubov stared at his ringing cell. He finally said, “That should have worked. It should have taken down the whole damn tower. I don’t know what went wrong, but we’re just as upset as you are.”

  “How could you possibly be as upset as we are?” Vadim demanded. “Where did you get your C-4?”

  “We told you. It’s Czech Plastique. Always worked before.”

  “Are you sure it was from the Czechs and not the Chechens?” Vadim yelled.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” Stas said. “Where are you now?”

  “We were parked on the access road with a clear view of the entire mountain. Now we’re driving to Idaho Falls.”

  “We’re heading that way too. We don’t want to draw any attention, so we won’t be driving fast. But we will meet you at the airport and talk more there. Maybe we can salvage this.”

  “How?” Vadim demanded.

  “Lubov and I will discuss it on the drive over,” Stas said. “Right now, we have to get over the pass before any of those security people set up roadblocks. That’s the first thing they’ll do if they find anything on the mountain.”

  “That’s the first thing you’ve been right about all day,” Vadim said. “Do you have any idea how much we had riding on this?”

  “Yes, we do,” Stas said. “And we lose too, especially our commission on the deal,” he mumbled to Lubov as he shifted gears and headed out of the village as quickly as he could maneuver around several parked cars and trucks.

  “Fine. I dealt with the plane order yesterday. I’ll deal with you two later.” Vadim abruptly ended the call.

  As Stas pocketed his cell, Lubov started to chuckle.

  “What could you possibly be laughing at?” Stas asked.

  “Vadim loses everything, except for that five million he was going to pay us. But we don’t have to lose anything. Except that five mill.”

  “What do you mean? You said you shorted our accounts too.”

  “Yes, but not the way he did. He told me he went on margin to buy puts. Those are contracts he purchased. He can’t get out of them. He has no money to do that. It’s all tied up. But we shorted exchange traded funds. They’re just like regular stocks. I’ll call Moscow and give the order to sell them. Then our accounts will be more or less back to normal. So you see, we weren’t such ‘stupid duraks’ after all.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  THURSDAY LATE AFTERNOON;

  JACKSON, WYOMING

  “THE DIRECTOR IS BRIEFING THE president right now,” Brett announced as he stepped into the makeshift crisis center they had set up inside the local sheriff’s office on South King Street in the heart of Jackson. “Last time I updated Trevor, he said he’d give me instructions as soon as the Director is done in the Oval.”

  “Is he finally taking your calls right away?” Dom asked.

  “Yes. Guess I’m no longer the interloper from Chicago,” Brett said, pulling up a gray metal chair to sit across from Dom’s desk.

  “That’s what happens when you become a hero. The boss takes interest,” Dom said.

  “Definitely not a hero. Just doing my job. I will say Trevor’s been preening a bit since our team got the drop on Denver and saved the whole damn situation. He says we all have to work together as fast as we can to find these terrorists, militants, or whatever the hell they are.”

  “We are,” Dom said, waving his arm to indicate other agents and sheriff’s deputies who were pounding computer keys, checking on roadblocks, and talking on countless phones. “What about Secretary Pickering and Samantha? Where are they?”

  “They’ll be here pretty soon. Trevor told me that since Pickering is on site with details, the Director may decide to have him announce what happened. They want any leads we’ve got from the photos or interviews at the hotels and airports. So, what do we have so far?”

  “We’ve been analyzing all the photos Denver and I took. A few are already getting extra scrutiny,” Dom said, pointing to several pictures spread out on the large desk.

  “Who’s this?” Brett asked, pointing to a scowling woman in a large jacket.

  “She was trying to take pictures of the tram with her cell. I stopped her, and she got angry. As far as we can tell, she left the area before Samantha’s tram went up. Her photo’s not in our database. No criminal background or affiliations.”

  Dom pointed to another group of pictures. “This is a group of four guys I argued with. Turns out they’re all students from Northwestern. One of the clerks at the Pink Buffalo Motel told a Denver agent she recognized them. Said they were friendly. Not exactly terrorist types. Anyway, the agents tracked them down and are talking to them right now, showing them some of the other photos, seeing if they saw anything suspicious.”

  “Who are those men?” Brett asked, pointing to two other images.

  Dom grabbed two photos and held them up. “These two were sitting in a car close to the tram platform. I was trying to cover as many people in the area as I could, so I took these on the run. They came out pretty clear, though.”

  Brett stared at the men. One had bushy eyebrows, the other was rather thin with a long nose. “Look foreign. Of course, there are a ton of foreign tourists around here. These could be Eastern European. Maybe Russian. Any hits?”

  “We’re running them now. The agents searching the hotels have their pictures, along with a bunch of others. They should be calling in any minute with a report. We’re doing background checks on other photos too, but these two guys . . . there’s something about them. Maybe I’ve seen them somewhere before. It’s bugging me,” Dom said, scratching his head.

  “They could be on some watch list,” Brett said. “Let’s try to find out if they’re still in town. What about the airport?”

  “Some Denver agents are all over it. There’s a lot of griping about delayed flights. People are pretty steamed. They want to know why. The airlines have
been told to make it sound like a computer problem until further notice. We’ll have to make a public announcement pretty soon. As for the rest of the Denver team, you should see how they’ve been scrambling for clues. Makes Poirot look like a piker. Pretty obvious they’re trying to save face for totally missing the C-4 and endangering the entire place.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Brett said. “I told Pickering that whoever planted it must have been on the mountain and stayed up there after the Denver guys and everybody else left. I just asked the sheriff about that possibility, and he said that there are trails down Rendezvous. So, they could have hiked back down after midnight. The trails are dangerous, but they’re necessary. If the tram ever had a mechanical problem and the ski patrol had to rescue someone, that’s the way they’d go.”

  Dom’s cell rang. He answered, “Turiano.” Then he listened for a moment. “No shit. Face recognition matches? Email the files ASAP. This is huge. Thanks a ton.” He turned to Brett. “D.C. got a match of those two. Turns out they’re Russian mafia. They use a lot of different last names, but Lubov and Stas cropped up twice. They’re checking visas to see if they can find out when they came into the country. And they’re contacting airlines too.”

  Brett grabbed the photos and studied them again. “You did a good job with these. Obviously, we don’t have any evidence that ties them to the C-4, but I’ll show them to Pickering and see if he wants to use them in his press conference. If he and the Director decide to circulate the photos, they’ll be everywhere in a matter of seconds.”

  “I think we should go for it. They should never have been let into the country. Probably had a bunch of fake passports and visas. If not the C-4, they could have been up to something else,” Dom said.

  “I have to agree with you.”

  “We should know pretty soon when they landed in Jackson, where they stayed, and if they’re still here,” Dom said. “The locals have all been extremely helpful. They don’t have much crime out here, and they want to keep it that way. I get the sense that they mostly deal with search and rescue during ski season and the occasional tourist who tries to outrun a bear. After all, this is a concealed-carry state. You don’t even need a permit to own a gun in Wyoming. So, with every carpenter, electrician, and rancher carrying a shotgun, especially during hunting season, who’s gonna hold ‘em up?”

  “I get your point,” Brett said. “Right now, we’ll wait for Pickering. He’s meeting with his people, but he said he would come here right after to get an update. The other delegates haven’t been told about the explosives yet. Samantha is the only other one who knows right now.”

  “Well, with agents asking questions all over town, word will get out in nanoseconds,” Dom said.

  “I know. But Pickering still wants to do this right—get all the facts out, post pictures, do everything in an orderly way. He doesn’t want to scare the public. He just wants to reassure them we stopped a threat but need their help to track down the suspects.”

  “You know what I don’t get?” Dom said. “If this were a straight-up terrorist plot to blow up all these important financial people, that would be one thing. But if these Russians are involved, the mafia is involved. What the hell would the mafia be doing trying to blow up an economic conference? Especially since there were other Russians on the delegate list. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  Brett thought for a moment and replied, “You’re right. Looks like terrorists, but it may not be. What kind of motive would the mafia have?” He looked up as the Secretary of the Treasury strode in with Samantha by his side.

  FORTY-NINE

  THURSDAY EVENING;

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  OTTO SAT ON THE BED in his Best Western motel room with his laptop balanced on his knees.

  When he left Georgetown and drove down 395 toward Richmond, he had spotted the motel sign, saw that the parking lot was pretty full, and figured no one there would notice him if they already had a lot of guests. He had checked in, kept his hoodie on, and stayed in his room, trying to decide what to do next.

  He rechecked his inbox, but no new emails from Vadim had come through. At least his uncles weren’t paying attention to him either.

  Otto closed his laptop and slid it onto the bed. Then he clicked on the TV, tuned to CNN, and saw the Breaking News bar appear as the anchor came on to announce a bombing attempt that had been thwarted in Jackson, Wyoming. The man announced, “Treasury Secretary Philip Pickering is asking anyone with information as to the whereabouts of these two persons of interest to contact the FBI immediately.”

  Photographs of Lubov and Stas flashed on the screen. “These two individuals are believed to be members of the Russian mafia and were identified as being at the scene of the event under investigation. The number to call is 1-800-CALL-FBI. Again, that’s 1-800-CALL-FBI. Details of the plan to attack the Annual Federal Reserve Conference in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, are now coming in. Here is our local reporter, Celinda Lopez, live from Jackson.”

  “We have just spoken to a number of finance ministers from Europe as well as central bankers from Asia and Russia,” the correspondent explained. “All have thanked the FBI agent who discovered and disarmed the explosive devices, just before everyone arrived at the top of Rendezvous Mountain for a luncheon speech by Director of the White House Office of Homeland Security Samantha Reid.”

  Otto stared at the screen and tried to process what he just heard. Samantha Reid? His assigned target was in Jackson, not D.C.? Is that why Lubov and Stas were there? Did Vadim tell them to take her out along with all those other important people? He sat transfixed as he continued to listen to the report.

  The camera panned to a wide shot of the mountain behind the reporter. “I am here with one delegate from Russia, central banker Alexander Tepanov.”

  Vadim mentioned that name. Something about changing accounts. Why was Tepanov there too?

  Tepanov spoke in a measured tone. “I am astounded by the news of this threat. I cannot imagine what sick minds engineered it. I know I speak for all the conference attendees when I say we are supremely grateful to America’s FBI for stopping this attack and saving all of our lives.”

  “But, Mr. Tepanov, photos of two of your countrymen are being circulated. Men who were at the base of the mountain and who could have been involved,” the reporter said. “Do you have any idea who they are or where they might be?”

  Tepanov looked at the reporter. He seemed shaken by her question. “I have no idea. However, I’m sure that Russia’s security forces are working closely with U.S. officials to track them down and discern if there is any connection to this threat. If you will excuse me, I have to get back to my delegation.”

  As he turned away from her microphone, the reporter wrapped up. “We have word that FBI agents from the Denver and Washington, D.C., offices are interviewing witnesses, hotel employees, and rental car companies. The Jackson Airport remains closed, and roadblocks are set up to screen any vehicles attempting to leave the area. Reporting from Jackson, Wyoming, I’m Celinda Lopez.”

  Otto hit the mute button and put his head in his hands. Were Vadim, Maksim, Lubov, and Stas behind a plan to bomb a whole conference of international financial leaders? He knew Vadim was a bastard, and he hadn’t liked Stas and Lubov. But how could they come up with something so horrible?

  He started to shake. This was the worst day of his life. He looked back up at the TV and saw the FBI number plastered across the screen. His wanted to call the number and confess to everything. But if he did that, he would end up in jail along with his uncles.

  When people went to jail in Russia, some never came out. He started to breathe heavily.

  He looked at his cell phone charging on the side table and had an idea. He didn’t know if she would even take his call, but he had to try. He grabbed the phone.

  “Oleg? I saw your number. You know I don’t want to talk to you,” Jolene said in a firm voice.

  “Wait! Don’t hang up,” he pl
eaded. “I have some new information. I need help, and I don’t know anyone else I can call.”

  “What new information?” she asked cautiously.

  “Have you heard about the bomb threat the FBI stopped out West?”

  “The one in Jackson? You have information about that?” she practically shrieked. “If you had something to do with a terrorist plot, get out of my life. Now!”

  “No, wait. I had nothing to do with that. Please believe me. Nothing. But I might know who did.”

  “You know terrorists? What are you? Part of ISIS? My God, Oleg. How could you be so totally screwed up? I thought you were a smart guy. If I knew where you were, I’d turn you in. In a heartbeat.”

  “No, listen. I’m not a terrorist. I don’t know anything about ISIS, but I do know about the Russian mafia.”

  “You’re a member of the Russian mafia?” she asked, raising her voice another decibel.

  “No, I’m not. I said I knew about it. Everyone in Russia knows about it. Here’s the thing. I just saw a news report about two Russians they’re looking for, guys they say were in Jackson. I think I know who they are.”

  “If you know anything you have to call the police! Or the FBI. Somebody,” she implored.

  “I know. I want to.”

  “Then do it,” she said emphatically.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what? Because the FBI is looking for you too?”

  “Yes. But that has nothing to do with what happened in Jackson.” There was a long pause. He held his breath.

  Finally, she sighed. “If those men had anything to do with this, and if you can help get them arrested, you have to turn yourself in.”

  “How do I do that? Just walk into a police station and get myself arrested too? Nobody does that in Russia. They get a lawyer or somebody to front for them first.”

  “Then that’s it. You get a lawyer, and he represents you.”

  “I don’t know any lawyers,” Otto said.