by Steven Gore
“And that would be?”
“Hadeon Alexandervich’s ninety-year-old great-aunt.”
“I take it she’s a spry old lady who possesses special skills in hotel management.”
“She possesses special skills at keeping her mouth shut and in staying alive. She’s already outlived the average Ukrainian by thirty years.”
“What’s the layout? We’ll need a plan to get Alla out of there. I don’t want her paying for Matson’s crime with her life.”
“It won’t be easy. The perimeter is composed of high brick walls and wrought-iron fences. She’s in good shape, but I doubt that she could climb over either, especially with them iced over.”
The waiter reappeared and whispered in Ninchenko’s ear.
“The van has arrived,” Ninchenko said, pushing his plate away.
Ninchenko led Gage down a staircase and out to the parking lot where a gray, long-haul delivery van was waiting. It bore red lettering and drawings of fruit and vegetables.
Ninchenko introduced Gage to their driver, Kolya, a slight, middle-aged man with deep-set eyes and the earnest expression typical of uncomplaining men devoted to executing the orders of others.
Ninchenko and Kolya engaged in a short conversation in Russian.
Kolya handed Gage a cell phone and charger and gave a thumbs-up. He then walked around to the back of the van and opened the swinging doors, inviting Gage and Ninchenko to climb in. Once inside Gage found a metal table and two chairs bolted to the floor, along with a small refrigerator, a metal cabinet containing a monitor and recorder, and a case of mineral water.
Ninchenko turned on the video and picked up a joystick. The image on the screen scanned a full 360 degrees.
“Impressive,” Gage said.
“If we’re going to battle State Security, we need to match their tools.”
“What conceals the camera?”
“An air vent on the roof.”
Ninchenko knocked on the blackened divider and the van began to move. Gage sat down while Ninchenko pointed the camera toward the front of the van, giving them a wide-angled view of the road ahead, illuminated by the van’s headlights.
Gage watched the monitor as the van drove down Karl Marx toward the river, following it north past Lenin Street, across a bridge over the Dnepr, then southeast. Bordering the river on each side were aging factories that made the city the heart of the Ukrainian defense industry, starting in Soviet times.
The van slowed after traveling ten blocks. Ninchenko directed the camera toward a concrete two-story building half the size of a football field, then activated the zoom, first focusing on the plant sign, “Electro-Dnepr Joint Stock Company.” Razor wire glinted in the perimeter lights. Towers stood at the corners and a guardhouse protected the main gate.
Ninchenko zoomed in, then swept the walls of the building until slowing to track two uniformed guards and their German shepherd. He then focused on each tower and the guardhouse at the main gate, hesitating at each until he confirmed that it was occupied.
“There’s no way we’re getting in there,” Ninchenko said.
Gage thought for a moment, then punched a string of numbers into his new cell phone.
“Professor Blanchard, this is-”
“Mr. Green, I presume?”
“I’m back to Mr. Gage.”
“What going on?”
“The video amplifiers are about to be installed in Hellfire-type missiles.”
Blanchard’s breath caught. “No…”
“I need you to be close to your phone for the next forty-eight hours.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe just advice. There are too many parts in motion and I’m not yet sure where to aim.”
CHAPTER 69
L ow clouds hanging over Dnepropetrovsk muted the daylight that met Gage and Ninchenko as they walked from the hotel to the van where Kolya was waiting. Smoke from industrial stacks towering above the auto, steel, and missile plants in the distance rose until it encountered the denser atmosphere above, then curled downward, filling the air with a leadish haze and a sour and acidic odor.
Ten minutes later, Kolya pulled to a curb southeast of the city along the route from the airport. Matson and Alla would have to pass them whether they drove first to their hotel or to the Electro-Dnepr Company. Ninchenko stationed one surveillance team a half mile from the plant and another a half mile from the hotel.
At 10:25 Ninchenko’s phone rang. He answered it, listened, then covered the receiver.
“It’s Alla. She’s calling from the Dnepropetrovsk Airport bathroom.”
“Let me talk to her.”
Ninchenko handed the phone to Gage.
“Are you okay?”
“A little nervous,” Alla whispered, her voice brittle and edgy. “I’ve had too much time to think-hold on…It’s okay. Just someone passing by outside.”
“I need to know the car you’ll be in.”
“Gravilov’s driver brought the G55 from Kiev overnight. Gravilov will meet us at the hotel, then we’ll go to the plant. What about you?”
“We’ll be close by, but it’s better if you don’t know the vehicle we’re in.” Gage didn’t want her inadvertently drawing attention to them. “Any talk about price?”
“That’s close to being settled.” Alla’s tone firmed, as if strengthened by her accomplishment in finding out. “Stuart is still telling them that he has to fly back to London to get the code-and they’re not happy. I’m pretty sure he’ll break down and tell them he’s got it with him, just to get this over with. But he’s afraid they’ll try to force him to return the money after they get it. The result is that he’s starting to flail around.”
“Just tell him you know how Ukrainians think and you’ll guide him through it.”
“I will?” She laughed softly. “I don’t remember a class in arms trafficking at my college.”
“It was an elective.” Gage gave Ninchenko a thumbs-up, as if to say that Alla had recovered the confidence they’d originally seen. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.” He glanced at Ninchenko. “What’s the area around the hotel like?”
“It’s on a large lot, facing a wide street,” Ninchenko said. “The back borders a large park. Lots of trees and benches. There are always people out there, lovers and drunks, even in winter.”
Gage spoke into the phone. “Ask for a lower floor room facing the park. That’ll be the easiest route if we need to get you out of there.”
He confirmed that his new number was saved in her phone’s memory, then disconnected.
“Matson is getting a little spooked,” Gage told Ninchenko.
“So you’ll need to tell him how to commit the crime?”
“Looks like it.”
Ninchenko raised his eyebrows, a little grin on his face. “You know any Yiddish?”
“A few words.”
“You know shmegegi?”
“No.”
“It’s like putz.”
Gage laughed. “You use that one over here, too?”
“We’re a lot closer to the source than Brooklyn.”
Twenty minutes later, Ninchenko and Gage were parked in the van a half block away from the Grand Domus with a view of the driveway and entrance. The white building, set back about fifteen yards from the street on a half-acre lot, looked more like a small townhouse complex than a hotel. Tall brown-brick apartment buildings flanked it.
Kolya joined them in the back. He curled up in the corner and fell asleep.
A few minutes later, a blue four-door Opel sped past, then pulled to the curb between them and the hotel, but neither of the two men inside got out. They slid down in their seats. Gage watched their heads swiveling, attentive to their surroundings. There were no other vehicles near them on the street.
“What do you think?” Gage asked.
“They’re not mine,” Ninchenko answered.
Gage thought for a moment. “Maybe it’
s somebody who wants to keep an eye on Gravilov.”
“Hadeon Alexandervich?”
“Could be.”
“How about Alla? You think they got to her somehow?”
“She asked me what vehicle we were in, but I didn’t tell her.” Gage glanced at the monitor. “If these guys knew someone was out here, they’d have parked behind us or on the other side of the hotel with a view back this way. That way they could watch everything on the street.”
Gage and Ninchenko watched on the monitor as one of the men leaned over and kissed the other on the lips, then got out of the car. The driver sped away.
“Not everything is a conspiracy,” Gage said.
“Or at least not our conspiracy,” Ninchenko said, raising his teacup. “To love.”
“ L’chayim.”
Ninchenko pointed at the monitor. “She’s pulling up.”
“Turn on the recorder,” Gage said. “I want to put together a little piece on how Scoob Matson spent his winter vacation.”
Ninchenko reached over and activated it.
The wrought-iron gate slid open to permit Gravilov’s G55 to enter the hotel grounds. Ninchenko tracked it until it stopped at the entrance, then drew back for a wide view of the vehicle, the hotel entrance, and the sidewalk in between. A driver and a bodyguard stepped down and immediately reached to open the two passenger doors. Alla got out of the one closest to the entrance and glanced back toward the street. Her eyes scanned the cars and trucks along the curbs, but didn’t come to rest on the van.
The driver reached for Matson’s briefcase as he came around the back of the SUV, but Matson pulled it away. The bodyguard retrieved the luggage and followed Matson and Alla up the stairs and inside.
Ten minutes later an enormous silver Mercedes sedan approached the hotel. It hesitated until the gate slid open, then drove onto the grounds. Gravilov got out, then walked around the left side of the building, out of Gage’s view.
“Where’s he going?”
“The restaurant is downstairs. It has an outside entrance.”
“What do you suppose they’re having?”
“I know it’s not this.” Ninchenko reached into the refrigerator and withdrew three ham sandwiches and three Cokes.
“It’s okay,” Gage said. “We have better ambience.”
“And company.”
They clinked their Cokes, then woke Kolya.
“How much time do we have?” Ninchenko asked after they finished eating and Kolya was once again curled up in the corner of the van.
“It depends on when they make the deal and when Matson’s bank confirms that the payment arrived.”
Gage’s phone rang.
“It’s me,” Alla said.
“Stop-where are you?”
“In the hotel room.”
“Turn on the radio. The room is probably bugged.”
Gage heard the rustling of Alla walking, then Ukrainian pop-rock music in the background.
“They gave us a suite on the floor above the lobby,” Alla said. “It faces the park. There’s even a balcony.”
“What’s the layout?”
“The suite runs the length of this side of the hotel. There’s a bedroom, a dining area, and an office. The balcony is off of the office.”
“How’s Matson?”
“He confessed to me that people were murdered. He thinks Gravilov and Hadeon Alexandervich might kill him whether they get their money back or not. Everybody who was killed was in a position to hurt Gravilov. Stuart said he did something stupid but won’t tell me what it was. He just went into the bathroom and threw up his lunch. He’s pretending that he caught the flu, but the truth is that he’s getting really scared.”
Gage knew Matson wasn’t the only one, and pretending otherwise would destroy her trust. “And you are, too.”
“I think I better get away. There are rumors that the opposition is planning mass corruption trials in January if they win, so Hadeon Alexandervich and Gravilov have nothing to lose. I have cousins further east, near the Russian border. I can hide there.”
“They’ll hunt you down in no time. You know too much. You’ve known too much since Gravilov visited you in London. You’re safer being close to us.”
“But I’ve got to come up with something to tell Stuart, otherwise-”
“How badly does Gravilov want the low-noise software?”
“Very.”
“Tell Matson to give Gravilov the video amplifier software after the money arrives, but hold back the low-noise. Say it’s in London. Make sure he erases it from his laptop.”
“I don’t think he knows the software well enough to tell which is which. He’d be too nervous anyway, afraid he’d delete the wrong thing and end up in worse trouble.”
“Is there a high-speed Internet connection in your room?”
“Yes.”
“Will he give you time alone on the computer if you tell him you can figure it out?”
“He may be too afraid I’ll make a mistake and then Gravilov will-”
“Is he still throwing up?”
Alla paused and Gage heard the faint flush of a toilet. “Yes.”
“Then he’ll give you all the time you need.”
“But I know nothing about this kind of software-he’s coming out.”
The line went dead.
Gage called Blanchard.
“Is there an easy way to differentiate between the video and low-noise software on Matson’s laptop?”
“Sure. But files could be spread over several different directories.”
“How long would it take to delete just the low-noise amplifier software from Matson’s laptop?”
“How competent is the person doing it?”
“She studied engineering, but knows nothing about this kind of code.”
“She probably couldn’t.”
“What about you?”
“Get me connected and I’ll give it a shot.”
Gage thought for a moment. He didn’t come to Ukraine to help Matson commit a crime, but to stop him. Then an idea. Maybe he was wrong when he told Ninchenko on Castle Hill that he couldn’t do everything.
“I want to use Matson as a Trojan horse,” Gage said. “Can you do that, too?”
Blanchard didn’t respond right way. Gage imagined him sitting in his little workshop, his mind racing toward a solution.
“It’ll be difficult…let me think…The changes will have to be very subtle. If they’re too gross, they’ll be spotted on a first pass…Remember when we talked about embedded software testing? There are three parts. The hardware, which I assume is nearly assembled, given the timeframe you mentioned. The software. And the device with the software embedded…” Blanchard’s voice trailed off. Then the sound of his hand slapping his workbench. “I got it. Do you know where SatTek’s previous test data can be found? It would be in something called the metrology database.”
“On the backup tapes at my office. Alex Z from my office will bring them to you and set up a remote connection to Matson’s computer.”
Gage heard the beep of an incoming call an instant before he broke off from Blanchard.
“He’s back in the bathroom,” Alla whispered. “I suggested he hold back the low-noise amplifier software. He likes the idea.”
“Were there negotiations during lunch?”
“No. They’ll finalize the figure this afternoon.”
“We can’t let that happen. I don’t want them transferring the funds during banking hours in Switzerland today. Matson needs to make the low-noise proposal, then move the meeting to dinner.”
“But I don’t think I can delay them. Gravilov doesn’t take me seriously.”
“Then play mother to Matson. If you pretend he’s sick, he’ll keep believing it and will be convincing when he postpones his visit to the plant. There’s really no reason to go, they’re just using it to pressure him.”
“Then what?”
“Tuck him in bed, then get his lap
top connected to a service called Connector1+1. Enter SatTek as the user-name and eight 2s for the password. As soon as you’re hooked up, someone at my office will take over. You just sit there and pretend. Leave the laptop on when you’re done.”
Gage rang off, woke up Alex Z, and sent him to Blanchard’s.
Alla called three hours later.
“We’ve got a problem.” Her voice was panicky. “Gravilov came to the room and saw that the computer was hooked up and unplugged it. He said the line wasn’t secure. I couldn’t connect again because he left Hammer with me while they met in the bedroom.”
“How long was the connection active?”
“An hour and a half. I’m sorry. I messed up. I should’ve blocked his view.”
“You can’t think of everything. We’ll have to try again.”
“We won’t have a chance. Stuart told me that Gravilov is insisting that everything be settled tonight. Stuart is angry at himself because he didn’t resolve this when they argued about it in London. He’s also angry that he let himself get trapped here. Gravilov told him that the president has readied contingency plans to ground all commercial aircraft if he decides to move against the opposition. Stuart asked me if I knew of anyone who could get him out of Ukraine.”
“Does he know who your father is?”
“I won’t ask my father for help,” Alla snapped.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Sorry. I’m a little on edge…No, I haven’t told him.”
“How is Matson’s mental state otherwise? Can he pull this off?”
“He’s now sounding more angry than scared. I think we’ve given him a plan that makes him feel like he’s in control.”
Gage disconnected and called Blanchard. “How’d you do?”
“I don’t know. The line went dead just as I was checking to see whether he hid backups somewhere else on the drive. He would’ve been an idiot not to.”
“Stand by. We can’t give up on this. There’s too much at stake.”
Gage and Ninchenko watched Gravilov drive from the hotel grounds, heading north toward the Dnepr River.
“What’s next?” Ninchenko asked.
“We wait for Gravilov to come back and make a deal.”