by Keith Yocum
“Can’t say I blame you.”
“So why did you ask me to wait for you? What do you want?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me,” Louise said.
“Which part?”
“The part about Arnold in Russia.”
“What about him?”
“Well, I’m officially off the case right now, as is Dennis. Even if I told the IG what I just learned, he’d tell me that it was too late and unverifiable and to forget it. He seems to be under a lot of pressure to end the case.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Now, on the other hand, if I could show proof to the IG that Arnold is in fact living happily in Moscow, well, that would be something he couldn’t sweep under the rug.”
“So just get one of your contractors in Russia to ID him and then pass it along.”
“I can’t do that,” Louise said. “I have no resources in Russia to call on. That’s not my area of expertise. Lebanon or Ankara, sure. I could roust up some folks there. But not Mother Russia. I’d even be willing to talk to Dennis’s MI5 friend, but I don’t know who he is, and Dennis would never tell me anyway. And let’s not forget Chandler already knows, but he did not pass it up the chain of command. I’m not going to tip him off by asking for resources.
“I’d go myself,” Louise continued, “but the FSB has me on file there and wouldn’t let me breathe without surveillance the moment my name hit the flight manifest. But all we need is proof that Arnold is there in Moscow right now.”
“I’m sure you could figure it out,” Judy said.
“And then there’s Dennis,” Louise said.
“What about Dennis?”
“You and I both know that he’s going to try to get proof of Arnold’s presence in Moscow. I mean, he’ll go crazy trying to do it. But he won’t have any resources at his disposal, because he’s off the case.”
“Perhaps he’ll get his MI5 friend to help out,” Judy said.
“My guess is that his friend was an informal emissary from British intelligence, but they’ll steer clear of getting into the middle of this mess.”
“Louise, what are you driving at?” Judy asked.
“I’m simply trying to say that Dennis will do whatever he can to prove that Arnold is alive and well in Moscow, even if it means he goes over there himself.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t ridiculous, I’m saying that Dennis just can’t help himself when he gets on the scent of something. You know that. I read the case file on the Australian mining case. You were there. He was brazen and reckless.”
Judy could feel her face flush with anger, not because she thought Louise was incorrect, but because she knew Louise was manipulating her.
“As you Yanks say, cut the bullshit. What do you want?”
“Why don’t you make a quick trip to Moscow?”
“What?!”
“Hang on. Just listen. You’re not on any intelligence lists there, so you won’t be watched. Aussies are known to be some of the world’s most common tourists, so your visit won’t send off any alarms. We know where Arnold goes for coffee daily. I’ve already verified that there’s a coffee shop with that name.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You just show up there for a day or two, waiting for him. I’ll give you a small device to take video. Then you come back.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Louise,” Judy said, standing up.
“You’re not listening closely,” Louise said. “Dennis will try this stunt himself. You think that you can stop him, when he can’t stop himself?”
Judy was so angry, she considered slapping Louise across that pale, jutting cheekbone of hers with enough strength to knock her off her chair. Instead, she turned, walked out of the cafeteria and took the elevator up to see Dennis. Dennis the Menace. Dennis, the man who would not and could not let a case go unsolved. Reckless Dennis.
Dennis, the man she loved.
She put on the protective clothing and entered his room. His blue eyes brightened when he saw her; he broke into a wide smile that was hindered by the breathing mask.
“Hey,” came his muffled greeting.
“You look good,” she said, though in fact he looked terrible. He had lost weight, and his cheeks seemed hollowed out.
“I’m going home soon,” he said.
“And where is home to you these days?” she laughed.
“Wherever you are.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“How are you and Louise getting along?”
“Fine.”
“Watch out for her,” he said.
“Yes, you told me already.”
“Did she tell you anything about the Arnold case?”
“Good lord, what makes you think we talk about that?”
“I was just wondering.”
“Besides, aren’t you both off the case now?”
“Ha,” he said, the plastic mask fogging slightly. “We’ll see about that.”
CHAPTER 30
So explain to me again how these glasses work,” Judy said.
Louise held the fashionable horn-rimmed glasses in her hands and put them on. “You see these little metal decorative pieces on the front of the frames, here and there?” she said, pointing to the far left and right of the frames. “Those are tiny lenses. Don’t worry, you can’t tell by looking at them. You activate the video by doing this.” She used the tip of her right forefinger and pressed on the bridge of the glasses across her nose, as if she were adjusting them slightly. “To stop shooting, just tap them again. Here, try it.”
Judy put them on and noticed the lenses were actually clear and not magnified.
“Like this?” she said, pushing them up with her forefinger.
“Perfect. Don’t forget to turn them off; the battery is very small. The important thing is to make sure you’re looking at him from close up when you turn the camera on.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t say anything to him, but if he does speak to you, simply tell him that you don’t know how to order a black coffee.”
“What if he continues to talk to me?”
“Just smile and ignore him.”
“This feels weird. We have AFP blokes in W.A. that go undercover, but I never have. It’s unnerving.”
“Very simple stuff, Judy. You’re a well-trained policewoman. You’ll do great. Remember, make the reservations at the hotel I wrote down, then take a cab to the coffee shop or walk to it. It’s not far from the hotel. Hang around the coffee shop and look for him. I’ve shown you at least five different pictures of Arnold. If you see him on any day and film him, return to the hotel and call this number. Please memorize it. Leave a voicemail for Steve, saying you’re bored and coming back to London.
“If you don’t see him the first night, you need to contact us at exactly 9:20 p.m. Moscow local time. You call the same number and leave a message for Steve saying you miss him. If you don’t call, that means something is wrong and we’ll go into action. But don’t worry, nothing will go wrong. You keep doing this for three days. If you don’t see him on the final day, leave the same message with Steve that you’re bored and returning. I’ll contact you in London.”
“But if I do see him on day one or two?”
“Judy. Pay attention, please. If you see him on any day and are able to film him up close, you make the call to Steve about being bored and return on the next British Airways direct flight. I’ll meet you at Heathrow in the ladies’ room inside the security area. It’s right behind the Starbucks. Just come in, wash your hands, put the glasses on the counter and leave. I’ll be washing my hands next to you.”
“You make it sound so simple, but it seems complicated to me.”
“You’ll do fine. Not
to worry.”
“And after this the Arnold case will be closed, right? Dennis will be done with it?”
“The case will absolutely be closed. I don’t know what else he has on his docket, but the Arnold case will be toast.”
“And you won’t tell him what I’ve done.”
“Ha. He might be a little pissed off that I cracked the case. In fact, I guarantee he’ll be pissed off. But I won’t involve you.”
“You folks are strange.”
“Of course we are.”
✦
The British Airways flight to Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport was three and a half hours. The moment Judy got on the plane she grew paranoid. Police work could be exhausting, shocking and sometimes dangerous, but this kind of work was draining and nerve-wracking.
Judy began to worry about everything. The two women seated next to her were British and on holiday, but she didn’t know whether they were MI5 or MI6, or Russian FSB, or actually two British women on holiday.
She tried to nap but couldn’t.
Louise had beseeched her to look happy and excited, as if she were experiencing a new country. She was instructed to answer any questions at the immigration checkpoint as simply as possible: smile and say little.
The weather was colder than she anticipated, and the air bit into her cheeks as she waited in line for a cab. The late afternoon air had a gray cast to it, like fine steel wool. Was it going to snow? Hardened snow piles lined the road. She had not brought boots.
The cabbie spoke halting English. “You English?”
“No, Australian.”
“You come to work? Go to conference? Many conference in Moscow. Big city now. Important city. Many foreigners.”
“No, taking a day or two to visit the city. A quick trip.”
“Tourist. Good. Lots to see. July better.”
“Ha. Yes, but only have time this week.”
The cabbie tried to engage Judy in further conversation, but she gave monosyllabic answers until they got to the hotel. After setting up in her room, Judy went to the concierge and asked for the nearest coffee shop. He directed her to The Grind and said it was close enough to walk.
It was 4:20 local time, and the sun had started to set. The homes and apartments in the neighborhood were expensive-looking, and Judy was surprised at how many people were walking in the neighborhood. She kept her head down, having had the forethought to bring a wool hat and scarf.
The Grind was brightly lit up inside and full of young professionals sitting with their laptops and cell phones. The smell of coffee was strong and bracing when she walked in.
Judy tried her best to look like a confused Australian tourist, which she was, and not like a temporary untrained spy, which she was as well.
There were two women and a young man in the line in front of her; the man was too young to be Arnold. She wore her special glasses and nonchalantly tried to scan the café, but it was difficult and seemed unnatural, so she focused on the board with prices above the counter.
Soon there were several people behind her, and she tried to look askance to see if Arnold was there. Again, it was awkward to do so, and she gave up. When her turn came, she asked the young man behind the counter for a cappuccino and paid.
She grabbed a tall stool overlooking the busy street and waited, sometimes peering at a tourist guide. After forty-five minutes, with the coffee long consumed and the steamed milk hardened on the insides of the white porcelain mug, she stood up and walked back to the hotel.
The room service was adequate; she had a single glass of white wine. Louise had warned her that it was not impossible that her room might be bugged, so she was to act as normal as any Australian tourist would.
At 9:20 she made the obligatory call to Steve. Good God, is every intelligence service in the world listening to my call to Steve? I prefer police work. At least I know who the bad guys are.
At 7:10 the following morning Judy was back at The Grind. A strong wind from the northwest had made the walk very uncomfortable, and her eyes watered from the stinging cold.
The café was very busy, and she slid into the back of a long line. It shuffled slowly, and she wondered if the shop was understaffed or whether this was normal queuing practice in Russia.
At one point she turned sideways and noticed a gray-haired man of normal height standing two persons behind her. It was Arnold.
All right now, she thought. Act normal. But the more she thought about turning on the camera, she wondered how to do it without looking obvious. Perhaps she could say something to the man directly behind her, turn on the camera and film Arnold without actually looking at him. Louise hadn’t told how her to manage that. Shit, shit, shit.
As the line shortened, Judy decided to act. She turned to face the young man behind her and pressed the bridge of the glasses.
“Excuse me, do you speak English?”
“Yes, a little bit,” he said, holding up his forefinger and index fingers to show a tiny space between them.
Arnold thrust his face forward and said, “May I help you? I speak English.”
“Ah, yes. I was wondering how you order a black coffee.”
“Oh, these people speak English here. Just ask for black coffee.”
“Thank you so much,” Judy said, smiling. “I appreciate it.”
The young man behind her shrugged and smiled.
Judy pressed the bridge of her nose to turn off the video. A minute later she asked the young woman behind the counter for a black coffee and paid. Standing off to the side, waiting for the coffee, Judy took an idle glance at Arnold in the line behind her.
He was gone. She scanned the coffee shop but could not see him.
She took her coffee to an open table and perused her tour guide. Every now and then she would look around but could not find him.
After forty-five minutes she left and walked the frigid sidewalk back to her hotel. She called and left the message for Steve about being bored.
The flight to Heathrow was bumpy, but she felt elation at helping Louise on the Arnold case. It had been as simple as Louise had predicted. She knew Dennis would be furious if he ever found out, but she was desperate. Dennis was intractable when it came to the hunt. Louise was right. So what if Louise got all the glory for cracking the Arnold case? At least Judy would have Dennis to herself.
At Heathrow, Judy found the woman’s bathroom near the Starbucks, checked her watch and entered. It was busy with women of different nationalities moving in and out of the stalls, many dragging cumbersome roll-on suitcases.
Louise was nowhere to be seen, so Judy waited. Sure enough, Louise entered and went to an open sink and washed her hands. Judy washed her hands next to her and placed the glasses between them. Judy left, carrying her small overnight bag.
CHAPTER 31
Judy leaned forward and gently kissed Dennis on the lips. “They said I could do that now,” she said. “Though you look a little weak, I’m sure you can handle a kiss.”
Dennis lay in bed in his new hospital room. There were two security guards, one at the door, the other inside the room and monitoring everything the medical staff did.
“His name is Steven,” Dennis said, nodding to the tall, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and pointed nose. “He’s a bodyguard and physician. His job is to make sure no one tries to slip something in my IV. Right, Steven?”
Steven smiled and said nothing.
“And he barely talks to me,” Dennis said. “I think they removed his tongue.”
Steven chuckled and shook his head.
“Don’t pay attention to him, Steven,” Judy said. “He’s like this all the time.”
“Have you seen Louise?” Dennis said.
“No, why would I see her?” Judy asked.
“I don’t know. Just thought I’d ask. She
’s disappeared. Or at least from me. Can’t seem to reach her.”
“Maybe she’s traveling.”
“No. She’s been transferred. Got that confirmed by someone else in OIG. Strange.”
“Doesn’t that happen a lot?” Judy said.
“No, not really,” Dennis said.
“Not really what?”
“People in OIG don’t get reassigned out of the department. That’s not normal.”
“Well, does it matter? You told me that the investigation is closed. End of story.”
“You think I’m going to just let this Arnold case go?”
Judy bit the inside of her lip. Here he goes again, she thought. My God, Louise was right. Why can’t he just give up on these lost causes? And what about us? Does our relationship even register with him anymore?
“When are you getting discharged?” she asked.
“Maybe tomorrow. The doctor said there might be some damage to my liver, but he’s not too worried.”
“Your liver?”
“He told me that they’ll need to keep an eye on it.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“I’m not going to worry about it. They’re flying me home tomorrow. Steven here and Casey, the guy outside, are to escort me back to Virginia. Then I’m free of them spying on me.”
Judy looked at Steven, who rolled his eyes.
“You don’t seem to trust anyone,” she said.
“Only you.”
Judy leaned in toward Dennis. “Are you going to join me in Perth, like we planned?”
“Of course. I just need to get back to Langley and get hold of Louise. Need to tell her about Arnold in Moscow. Maybe she’ll help me reopen the case.”
Judy felt a sickness sweep through her stomach and lodge in her throat. She started to speak and stopped, turned to Steven and said, “Do you mind if we speak privately?”
“I can’t do that, ma’am,” he said in a Southern drawl.
“Please, Steven? Just give me five minutes.”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, but we can’t do that.”