Critical Play (Michael Cailen Book 3)

by Mel LeBrun

  “What’s the verdict?” Michael asked.

  “It would appear he took the bait.”

  “You have reservations?”

  “He didn’t ask me to show or prove that we destroyed the evidence.”

  “He can’t possibly be that trusting.”

  Osin shook his head in agreement. “He already has FSB on his payroll. He will check with them.”

  “Is that going to blow our cover?”

  “I don’t think so. He knows the tape I played for him is real. He may just wonder why his men have heard nothing about it. Perhaps the next time he speaks with me, he won’t be so friendly.”

  “You think he’ll get aggressive?”

  “I think he’ll want answers. When he can’t get them from his men, he will want them from us.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and we won’t have to meet again. Let’s see if they’re talking yet.”

  They pulled into a nearby parking lot and Osin began streaming audio from the bug he planted in Ivchenko’s car. Everything was being recorded, including Osin’s conversation with Ivchenko. When they tuned in, Ivchenko was already speaking with his contact at the FSB who wasn’t supplying the answers he wanted to hear and it was making him angrier by the minute.

  “Find out who this man is and where I can find him!” Ivchenko shouted. “I will not tolerate these kinds of threats!”

  “Looks like he doesn’t want to pay,” Michael observed.

  “He will,” Osin said confidently. “He can’t risk those phone calls being used against him. When he hits a dead end with his current contacts, he will pay us.”

  Hours passed and Ivchenko’s FSB contacts had only been able confirm that the agents Michael and Osin were impersonating did work for the FSB; however their assignments were confidential, which essentially solidified their covers. Ivchenko realized he had no choice but to pay them. He dialed the phone number from the paper Osin had given him.

  “I will put half the money in your accounts. When you can prove that you destroyed the evidence against me, I will pay the rest,” Ivchenko said.

  “It will be done by tomorrow,” Osin assured him. “Not to worry. We have the situation under control. I will call you when it’s done.”

  Ivchenko breathed a sigh of relief as he ended the call. Osin seemed like a capable man and he was partly grateful for becoming acquainted with him, despite the circumstances. Perhaps this curse would turn to a blessing, he thought to himself.

  Michael and Osin waited for the money to appear in the accounts and then they got to work tracing where it came from, which turned out to be a numbered account in Zurich. Tracing the money from there became next to impossible and soon they were at a dead end.

  “It will take months going through proper channels to gain access to the account,” Osin said.

  “Then I say we don’t go through proper channels,” Michael said.

  “You don’t have any hackers who could go behind the scenes to get the information we need?” Martin asked.

  “We do,” Osin answered. “However, I have no way of requesting that without explaining what I’m doing. I’m not sure that is a good idea right now.”

  “We’ll use one of ours then,” Michael said. “Your government can verify the intel later if they would like.” He gave Martin a look as if to say, keep Osin company, and then left the room to call Gatti.

  “I’ll see what I can glean,” Gatti said. “In the meantime, do you have a plan for getting inside Ivchenko’s building to copy the server?”

  “I have to go tonight. Most of the offices are closed by six. The south side of the building faces an alley. It’s fairly desolate. I’ll climb to the sixth floor and break into one of the empty offices. Should be a cakewalk.”

  “Sounds like it,” Gatti said facetiously.

  “I’m more worried about dealing with the technology than breaking into the building. One of those things I do really well; the other, not so much.”

  “In all likelihood, you will be able to allow access for Jessica so she can do the heavy lifting.”

  “I hope so.”

  “By the way, I left a care package for you at Yaroslavsky Station. Locker 5113. You’ll find the key in the bed stand in your room.”

  “That’s kind of creepy, Tim.”

  Gatti chuckled. “I have to flex my muscles now and then.”

  “If all goes well, we might just have all of this wrapped up by tomorrow,” Michael said, sounding hopeful.

  “Your part might be wrapped up. I still have a nuke to find.”

  “Better you, than me.”

  “Thanks. Be careful, Michael.”

  MICHAEL WEIGHED going early in the night and risk being spotted against going later and running out of time. After much deliberation he decided to break into Ivchenko’s office building at 10:00 pm. It would be dark enough to give him cover and hopefully desolate enough for him to do it without too much fuss.

  Osin and Martin dropped him off a few blocks away and took up a position across the street. Osin kept the FSB vehicle in case he was needed to intervene if Michael got caught. Martin would stand in as his silent partner if that happened and they would take Michael into custody before the real authorities arrived.

  Michael slipped into the alley and pulled the grappling gun from his backpack. He shot it up to the roof and when it was secure he quickly attached his safety harness and ascenders and began pulling himself up the side of the building.

  “There’s no way I’m too old for this,” Michael groaned as he struggled to reach the fourth floor. It had been a long time since Michael had scaled a building but he didn’t think he had lost that much of his ability in the years he spent on the run and then retired with Jessica. Yet here he was, barely passing the fifth floor when in the past he would have already been in the building.

  He finally and gratefully reached an office window on the sixth floor. Martin had earlier confirmed that only Ivchenko’s office had the added protection of an alarm, so Michael wouldn’t have to worry about that. It was the cameras in the hallway that concerned him. Since he may end up sticking around for several hours, he couldn’t do anything that would attract attention. Disabling the cameras was not an option.

  After cutting a hole in the glass, he was able to reach up and unlock the window from inside. He called Martin after gaining entry into the building.

  “I’m in,” Michael declared. “You ready?”

  “Yep. I’ll tell you when,” Martin replied.

  Martin gestured to Osin who was waiting on the street outside the building. Osin sprung into action. He approached a car that was parked on the street just beyond the building Michael was in. After prying open the lid for the gas tank, he quickly jammed a piece of cloth into the tank, lit it on fire, and walked away. Within a few minutes, the car was a raging mass of flames.

  “Anything yet?” Michael asked.

  “Nope. They haven’t noticed yet.”

  Michael anxiously paced the room. Soon the familiar sound of sirens filled the air.

  “Nothing?” Michael asked again.

  “One of the guards just looked at the door … Now he’s walking to it,” Martin narrated the progression of events. “He sees it. He’s calling over the others. Go now.”

  As all the guards left the security monitors and crowded the door, Michael made a dash down the hall and into Ivchenko’s office.

  “I’m clear,” Michael said. “You’d better leave now.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.” Michael hung up the phone and dialed in the number he was given to be connected to Jessica who was ready and waiting for his call.

  Following Jessica’s instructions, to Michael’s relief, she was soon logged in and looking at the server herself. She wanted to delve right in and see what Ivchenko was up to but not knowing how long the backup would take she made that her first priority. After looking over the system specs she directed Michael as to what equipment to connect
and she began the process of copying the server contents.

  “Good news, Michael. It should only take three hours.”

  “That sounds so much better than eight.”

  She smiled. “Let’s see what this guy is up to.”

  She soon found the source code for the website that Ivchenko was hosting. She opened a browser to see what the site looked like to visitors. What she saw took her breath away. Since they were sharing a screen, Michael could see everything as Jessica saw it.

  “Oh my God, Michael,” Jessica exclaimed as she stared at what could only be described as Amazon for the underworld. It sold everything from drugs and contraband to weapons and people. Not just guns either. At the click of a mouse you could purchase guided missiles and rocket launchers. The more she delved the more horrified she became. She clicked on the section selling people.

  “Jess, stop,” Michael said.

  “Michael, these people.” Her body went numb and despite the dread that filled her she couldn’t stop.

  “Jessica, stop right now or I’m going to unplug this thing!” Michael demanded, knowing what it would do to her if she continued. The screen stayed open on a woman for sale in Bosnia. “Can you tell who has accessed this site?” Michael asked, hoping to move in a different direction.

  “Yeah,” she said softly. As he requested, she abandoned researching the website’s horrific content in search of the website's users. While there were obviously no names being used as the site itself was virtually anonymous, she did extract a long list of email and IP addresses. Server logs would provide even more insight into what pages were accessed by what IP addresses. With a little work they would be able to put names to the IP addresses and sort out who did what. The intel they would gain would be invaluable. The blackmail potential though, a favorite of the CIA, could be even more useful.

  “I’m going to set up a backdoor,” Jessica said. “Unless he discovers it, which I will make difficult, we will be able to access the server whenever we want or need.”

  “Well, we have enough on Ivchenko now to put him away for ten lifetimes. I just need to clear Dmitri,” Michael said, feeling frustrated by the lack of progress on that end.

  “I wish I could help with that,” she said.

  “You’ve helped a lot, Jess.”

  “Have you talked with him?” Jessica asked. “I wonder how he’s doing.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Michael said though he knew it probably wasn’t accurate.

  They chatted until the server finished copying. After a reluctant goodbye, Michael faced his next task of leaving the building unseen. However, since he was on his way out, it didn’t matter if he disabled the hallway camera. He cracked open the door just enough to aim a laser at the camera’s light sensor, flooding it and hopefully disabling it. With no way to know if he was successful, he had to make a leap of faith and just exit the room. He reset the alarm and locked the door before crossing the hall to the office he had used to gain entry to the building. He grabbed the rope that was still hanging and rapidly rappelled down. He exited the alley onto the sidewalk and walked briskly toward the end of the block where Martin and Osin were waiting for him. No one came running after him, which was a good sign.

  “Easier than I thought,” Michael declared after he got in the car.

  Knowing all along that Michael would pull it off, Martin just grinned. Osin started the car and drove them back to the hotel where they skipped sleep in lieu of planning the meeting with Ivchenko. This time Osin would have to do the heavy lifting. He would meet with Ivchenko alone reasoning that Michael was his insurance policy in case Ivchenko wanted to go back on their deal. If anything happened to Osin, Michael would release the tapes. The real reason though was they were banking on the hope that Ivchenko would be more talkative if just one of them were present. It was a gamble but Osin said he was up for it and everyone agreed it was their best chance. Only time would tell.

  Chapter 43

  In the morning Osin called Ivchenko to let him know the evidence had been removed from FSB custody and that he was in the clear. Ivchenko agreed to meet Osin after lunch with the idea that he could check his sources in the FSB and hopefully confirm what Osin was saying. Osin had planned for this and arranged for a prominent agent to be suspended for losing evidence. A matter that would be sure to make its way around the office. It would of course be cleared up later and the employee exonerated. But for now, it had to look like evidence had been lost.

  Ivchenko called Osin after lunch and asked to meet in a hotel room where they could speak privately. Osin agreed. He arrived at the hotel a little after 2 o'clock and went to the room Ivchenko specified. He knocked and was greeted by Ivchenko’s guards. They frisked him and then let him enter.

  “He’s on the balcony,” one of the guards informed him.

  Osin walked through the luxurious suite to the balcony where Ivchenko was sipping on wine and taking in the view of the pool where a line of women were sunbathing.

  “Have a seat,” Ivchenko invited him.

  Osin took the seat across from him overlooking the pool. Ivchenko poured a glass of wine and offered it to Osin, who hesitantly accepted it.

  “Well, it appears you came through on this,” Ivchenko said.

  “Did you doubt?” Osin looked at him.

  Ivchenko smiled. “No. Actually I didn’t.”

  “But you did verify?” Osin said.

  Ivchenko’s smile took on an almost bashful appearance. “Yes. I did verify. And it seems you have spoken the truth.”

  “So then I can expect payment today?” Osin offered a warm, disarming smile.

  “Of course. I have already initiated the transfer. And if you continue to prove useful, this can be a very long-term arrangement.”

  “I proved my worth to Grekov in two weeks,” Osin replied confidently. “I doubt I will have any trouble convincing you.”

  “I’ll admit you seem very capable,” Ivchenko remarked.

  “I’m glad we will be able to continue building this relationship,” Osin said. He then rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, closer to Ivchenko. “However until I have more reason to trust you, I will be keeping a copy of these phone calls in case you decide to frame me and my partner the way you framed Kirsanov and his team.”

  Ivchenko shot daggers at him. Apparently he felt indignant enough at the accusation that he wanted to clear his name of that whole botched operation because he asked, “Shouldn’t you know, that was Grekov’s doing?”

  “Grekov made it seem like it was your plan that fell through,” Osin said.

  Ivchenko scoffed loudly. “I didn’t want to use them at all. I didn’t think anyone would believe that they turned. But Grekov insisted. He wanted revenge.”

  “Revenge? He never had dealings with Kirsanov.”

  “It was because of what happened with Milovich.”

  Osin’s expression made it clear he didn’t know what Ivchenko was referring to.

  “He must have spoken of it,” Ivchenko said in disbelief. “It was all he talked about.”

  “He said nothing to me,” Osin replied. “Perhaps he didn’t want to seem petty to me,” he remarked, hoping to draw more information from Ivchenko.

  “Petty?” Ivchenko raised his eyebrows. “He was making close to $1 million a year off Milovich.”

  “Vladamir Milovich?” Osin asked. “The one who ran that mafia that doesn’t exist anymore?”

  “I would be surprised if you hadn’t heard of it,” Ivchenko sounded relieved. “Well Dmitri Kirsanov was the reason that whole thing went to hell. Or at least that’s what Grekov believed.”

  “How was Kirsanov involved? I thought Milovich was assassinated by a rival gang,”

  “You think a rival gang would dare go after Milovich?” Ivchenko shook his head. “It was a professional hit. Someone put up big money to take him out. Someone who wasn’t afraid of getting hit back.”

  “Again, how was Kirsanov involved? You aren’t
suggesting he was that person? Does he have millions we don’t know about?”

  “No,” Ivchenko readily dismissed the thought. “Kirsanov didn’t order the hit. But Grekov believed he was the reason it happened. According to Grekov, someone discovered Kirsanov was working in Milovich’s organization and gathering intel on his contacts abroad and within our own government. One of those contacts killed Milovich to protect themselves.”

  “Interesting theory,” Osin said. “Did he have proof?”

  Ivchenko scrunched his face and shook his head. “Grekov wanted someone to blame. So he blamed Kirsanov. He made it personal and look where it got him. He should have just been happy his connection to Milovich was never discovered.”

  “So Kirsanov really did have nothing to do with the sale of that nuke?”

  Ivchenko rolled his eyes as if disgusted by the whole situation. “If Kirsanov could have been turned, I would have turned him myself. There isn’t enough money in the world to make a man like that turn on his morals. Which is why Grekov set him up. I still wish he hadn’t. Look at the mess it made.”

  Osin nodded and stared silently at the floor for a few seconds before he spoke. “So I’m curious … Why would some wealthy Saudis fund the purchase of a nuclear weapon by a Syrian extremist group?”

  Ivchenko’s smile vanished and his demeanor turned to shock and distrust. “How do you know about that?”

  “So you do not deny it?

  “Even Grekov didn’t know who the backers were,” Ivchenko said feeling angry and also a bit fearful of how Osin was able to gather that intel. “How do you know that?”

  “Do you know what they are planning to do with it?” Osin asked, not even acknowledging his question.

  “Answer me!” Ivchenko shouted. His face turned red with rage.

  Osin simply smiled. “You will tell us … One way or another.”

  Ivchenko was dumbfounded. Osin gave no explanation, but soon one wouldn’t be needed. There was suddenly a lot commotion in the room. Ivchenko turned to see a swarm of agents decked in combat gear coming at him. He looked back at Osin, who was calmly sipping the wine he offered, and knew instantly what was happening.