His only concern, which he hadn’t shared with Susan, was the Russian seated at the far end of the table. The man was Ivan Metropov, a multibillionaire with a big stake in Gazprom, whom he was sure Tarasov had sent to keep an eye on things.
As far as he was concerned, his main objective this evening was to beat the son of a bitch into the ground and let the bastard report that back to Tarasov.
“Two hundred fifty thousand,” he said.
“Banco,” the Russian immediately responded.
* * *
The aircrew showed up at eleven, fully two hours before they’d been scheduled to take off, and immediately busied themselves in the cockpit.
Vetrov went forward. “You’re early. Is something wrong?” he asked.
“We got word that the DANS has taken an interest in us,” Captain Borisov said. DANS was the Bulgarian national counterintelligence service.
“What sort of interest?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell not going to stick around to find out. I was given a warning that they would be here within the hour, so we’re leaving now. Are your people ready?”
“Our drop is not until 0200.”
“Are you ready?”
“Three hours from now, Captain,” Vetrov said, his right hand on the butt of his pistol in its holster on his chest.
“And that’s when your drop will be,” the copilot said. “Go strap in, because we’re number one for takeoff once we get out of this hangar. And we will take off, Senior Lieutenant, whether you are ready or not.”
“Your drop will be as scheduled,” Borisov said. “We have plenty of fuel to hold in international waters until it is time.”
“Won’t someone take notice?”
“No,” the copilot said.
Vetrov went aft to brief his people as the hangar doors began to open. Darina came aft and closed and dogged the hatch, then went forward. Moments later, the engines began to spool up and a tow vehicle showed up, attached the bar to the front wheel strut, and pulled the aircraft out of the hangar and onto the tarmac.
The mission and the exfiltration from the island after the op were foremost in Vetrov’s mind, but killing the crew, especially the bitch in the right seat, would give him pleasure.
* * *
At the lighthouse, Pete had fixed them a platter of canned meats, cheeses, bread from the freezer, and an herb-infused good olive oil. Afterward, McGarvey had gone over what he expected would happen and how he’d originally planned on dealing with it.
“I’m not particularly happy that you’re here, and I’m sure that Mr. Kallek won’t be very pleased when he finds out,” McGarvey said.
“Only if we get shot,” Alicia said.
“If I had my druthers, I’d drive you back into town myself, but I won’t leave Pete here alone, nor do I want someone to show up while we’re both gone and set up a trap for us. So here you are.”
“Here we are,” Alicia said. “If something’s going to happen tonight, when do you think it’ll go down?”
“Two or later,” McGarvey said.
“When you’re supposed to be sound asleep.”
“The one clear advantage we have is they won’t make any noise. Afterward, they’ll want to be extracted without having to shoot their way off the island.”
“When are you going out?” Alicia asked.
“One thirty.”
“For how long?” Bender asked.
“Until dawn,” McGarvey said. “We’re going to get behind them, and if possible follow them here, where you two will be waiting, and we’ll catch them in a cross fire.”
“Why haven’t you called the local cops?” Bender asked.
“I don’t want innocents hurt.”
Bender said nothing.
SIXTY-SIX
The shade of lavender on all the monitors in Otto’s office turned darker, which meant trouble, the moment he asked for a search of recent GRU activities in the U.S., especially within a fifty-mile radius of Washington, D.C., and the same for Manhattan from Midtown South.
Mary stood leaning against the tabletop monitor as Otto sat with his feet up on the desk, his favorite pose ever since he had done away with all but one of the keyboards.
“May we narrow the search?” Lou asked.
“Starting with Thomas Hammond, I would like connections with the recent death of the Russian adviser Viktor Kuprik and someone within the GRU,” Otto said.
“Hammond’s Strategic Liaison Services’ chief operating officer, Arturo Ramos Rodriguez, made several contacts with Kuprik.”
“Do we know the nature of those meetings?”
“No specific data, except there is a high likelihood that Hammond was involved in some financial arrangement with an unknown Russian person or persons.”
“Search for a connection to someone inside the GRU,” Mary said.
“Yes.”
“I would like you to do several other simultaneous parallel searches,” Otto said. “Can you do that?”
“Of course,” Lou said, and the near AI program almost sounded insulted. It was a bit of Louise Horn’s personality that Otto had injected into the system.
“First, give me a name of someone connected with the GRU as well as the Putin office.”
“Can you tell me the possible nature of this relationship?”
“Yes, the common denominator for all of your searches will be of a financial nature, ultimately leading back to a connection between Thomas Hammond and Kirk McGarvey.”
“The most transparent connections are McGarvey’s bitcoin offering to Hammond two years ago, and before that, McGarvey’s connection with President Putin himself.”
“Expand the search to someone outside of the GRU or the Kremlin who carries influence.”
“General Oleg Kanayev, who is the main directorate general staff officer in charge of Special Forces.”
“Spetsnaz,” Otto said.
“Yes.”
“Why did his name come up?”
“Within the last twelve hours, he announced his retirement, which is coincidental with a visit he had from Mikhail Tarasov, who is a Russian billionaire with close connections not only to President Putin but to Gazprom, a name from your earlier search request.”
“Is there a connection between this man and Hammond?” Mary asked.
“A curious coincidence, perhaps. But in another simultaneous search, I have found Thomas Hammond and Susan Patterson currently seated at a high-stakes baccarat table at the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Surveillance cameras also show a Russian multibillionaire, Ivan Metropov, seated at the same table.”
“Is there another connection?” Mary pressed.
“Metropov was a GRU lieutenant colonel before he resigned his commission to work at Gazprom as an assistant for special affairs for Mikhail Tarasov.”
“Are there other coincidences?”
“Yes, it is rumored that Gazprom intends to build another series of oil and gas pipelines to Europe, specifically the Netherlands and Belgium, plus France, where Russia is not looked upon favorably, but where Thomas Hammond has many successful business ventures.”
“We know that. Is there anything else?”
“General Kanayev’s son-in-law is Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Nyunin, who is the commander of the 329th Spetsnaz Special Purpose Detachment in Pskov Oblast.”
“More?” Mary asked.
“Less than twenty-four hours ago, six of Colonel Nyunin’s veteran Spetsnaz offices were given dishonorable discharges.”
“Jesus Christ,” Otto said softly.
“Have they been arrested and jailed?” Mary asked.
“No,” Lou said.
“Where are they at this moment?”
“Their locations are unknown.”
Otto dropped his feet to the floor and turned to his wife. “Too many coincidences?” he asked, his heart hammering.
“We have to leave that up to Mac and Pete to decide, but we have to warn them what might be coming their way,�
�� Mary said.
“But if it is Hammond gunning for Mac because of that bitcoin deal, and a Spetsnaz team is on it now, why the hell did he screw around hiring the Canadian, South African, and the two Chinese Special Forces operators? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Did you ever read the story ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ or see the movie?” Mary asked.
Otto shook his head. “No.”
She explained it.
“He’s playing a game?” Otto asked.
“Could be he’s upping the stakes each time to see how Mac handles it. It’s called a gambit play—or in this case, plays.”
Otto almost laughed. “I don’t think Mr. Hammond, if he’s the one behind it, will like how the story turns out.”
* * *
At the baccarat table, Hammond was already up three and a half million euros, most of it Metropov’s at the other end of the table, and he was getting tired of the game, which was for relatively small stakes to this point.
A small crowd of well-dressed spectators had gathered, which was usual whenever big money was being wagered. They were behind velvet ropes, security officers in tuxedos keeping a close eye.
Of the original six players other than Metropov, only two other men remained at the table, whom Metropov had graciously allowed to take small pieces of each bank as it came up. Hammond had lost a couple of hands, but after each one, he’d upped the bank and had won.
“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” he said.
The Russian nodded, his expression completely neutral. The other two showed no reaction.
Hammond raised a hand for the chef de salle, who came over and leaned in close. “Monsieur?”
“I’m going to make a considerable raise.”
“Your credit is unlimited here, Monsieur Hammond. The casino will accommodate you.”
“Twenty million,” he announced as the pit boss moved off.
No one made a sound, all eyes on the Russian.
The other two players indicated that they were out. They pushed back their chairs, picked up their plaques, and got up. But they did not leave the room.
“Monsieur?” the dealer asked politely.
“Banco,” Metropov said without bothering to call the chef de salle over.
“Is the gentleman’s credit good enough?” Hammond said, and this time, the crowd stirred.
Metropov nodded, his expression neutral.
The dealer dealt two cards each, Hammond drawing a five and three.
“Carte?” the dealer asked Hammond, who shook his head.
“Carte?” the dealer asked Metropov, who shook his head, the faintest of smiles at the corners of his lips.
Hammond turned over his eight. Only an eight to tie and it would be up to him to raise the bet and continue, or a nine for the loss.
Without turning over his cards, Metropov pushed back, got to his feet, and left the salle, the crowd parting for him.
“Jesus, I’d love to see the bastard’s cards,” Susan said as the dealer retrieved them without turning them over.
“He had a nine,” Hammond said. “I was sure of it by the look on his face when he threw down his cards.”
“Then why did he withdraw?”
“He sent me a message that Mikhail is waiting.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
McGarvey had lain down for a couple of hours of sleep in the top-floor bedroom, the windows facing the Aegean open to a light breeze that ruffled the curtains. Pete had gone to bed with him, but she laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Kirk.”
He woke instantly and looked up at her. She was fully clothed in the dark jeans and black shirt. “What is it?”
“Otto and Mary are on the phone; they have something for us.”
McGarvey sat up, and Pete handed him a cup of coffee first. He took a sip and set the cup aside, and Pete handed him the phone on speaker mode. “What have you come up with?” He looked at the clock. It was just past twelve thirty.
“There’s a 72 percent connection with Hammond, just like you’d expected almost from the beginning,” Otto said.
Pete sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Go ahead.”
“It looks like Hammond is working for or with a Russian multibillionaire by the name of Mikhail Tarasov, who has some upper-echelon position with Gazprom, though exactly what he does for the company is not clear for now, except that he’s also pals with Putin,” Otto said. “Anyway, it’s likely that the company wants to build a pipeline into Western Europe, France, and Belgium, for starters.”
“Neither of them likely to welcome the Russians with open arms.”
“Right. But Hammond has some solid financial connections in both countries, as well as with the Netherlands.”
“Okay so far, but where’s the connection between Hammond and the attacks on me?”
“This is the bad part. Tarasov apparently went out to visit with General Oleg Kanayev, who holds a position on the general staff that runs Russia’s Special Forces.”
“Spetsnaz,” McGarvey said, and he knew what was coming next.
“Kanayev’s son-in-law is the commanding officer of the 329th Spetsnaz Special Purpose Detachment. Six of their officers were given dishonorable discharges—we think thirty-six hours ago. Afterward, they disappeared.”
“Jailed? Executed?”
“It’s possible, but at this point unknown,” Otto said. “They just dropped out of sight.”
“They’re on the way here.”
“That’s Lou’s best guess, and I agree with her.”
“So do I,” Mary said. “We have a small naval support base at Souda Bay on Crete, which is home to a Greek air force base flying F-16 aircraft. If the Spetsnaz team is coming in high and slow to make a HALO drop on your position, a couple of F-16s might give them second thoughts.”
“No,” McGarvey said.
“For God’s sake, Mac, think it out,” Mary said. “We’re talking six-to-one odds. And these guys will be younger than you, highly trained, and almost certainly better equipped than you are. How are you going to handle it? You have to have some strategy.”
“They’ll be dropping onto unknown terrain, they can’t know that we’ll be expecting them and that we’ll be in a defensible position at their rear. And the odds are better now.”
“Yes, you have your wife.”
“Don’t count me out; I’m not such a bad shot myself,” Pete said.
“Six-to-two is still lousy,” Otto said. “Mary’s right.”
“Clarke Bender and Alicia Sherman, the assistant SAC at the Bureau’s New York office, showed up this afternoon and refused to leave.”
“Bender’s never even been a street cop. He’s been an academic and adviser his entire career.”
“But Alicia tells us that she’s a Marine with two tours as a cop in Afghanistan,” Pete said. “So don’t count us women out.”
“You’re stubborn,” Mary said. “I get that. But why run such a terrible risk of getting you and the others shot to death? What’s the point?”
“I want to find out who’s behind this and why.”
“Hammond.”
“Lou is a good program, but she’s not given it 100 percent because everything you’ve come up with is circumstantial,” McGarvey said. “Hammond is an asshole who holds a grudge, but he might not be a crazy asshole willing to hire people to kill me because of a deal gone bad. A deal he backed away from.”
“Tell him, Otto,” Mary said, frustration in her voice.
“Mac is right,” Otto said. “Just don’t let Bender get killed, kemo sabe. Kallek would be all over Taft in a New York minute.”
“I tried to get rid of the man. He has a free will, and he and Sherman decided to stay.”
“Nobody has a free will around you, Mac,” Mary said. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Including you?” McGarvey asked, and he was sorry he asked the moment it came out of his mouth.
“I married your best friend, didn’t I
?”
* * *
Their camos were off-the-rack black, all Spetsnaz markings removed. Their weapons were German-made Heckler & Koch and Austrian-made Glock pistols with silencers in holsters on their chests. The only papers they carried were in the standard-issue, behind-the-lines kit that identified them as Ukranian civilians and included a few thousand euros in various denominations.
Their drop bags, which they would release at less than one hundred meters, contained civilian clothes, as well as the submachine guns, suppressors, and a lot of ammunition.
Their parachutes and oxygen equipment they would need jumping around nine thousand meters were Chinese made. And the four-tube night vision goggles were from the same manufacturer that equipped the U.S. SEAL Team 6 units.
The only thing they’d not swapped out were their Spetsnaz tattoos, just below the shoulder showing an inflated parachute, beneath which was the head of a snarling tiger. They hadn’t been mentioned by the colonel because the understanding was that the team had been dishonorably discharged, were working a rogue operation, and in any case, the only way the tattoos would be seen was if someone lifted the bare arms of their corpses.
Captain Borisov called Vetrov, who’d been lying back with his eyes closed like his men, forward.
“We’re thirty minutes out. Are you and your people ready?”
Vetrov checked his watch; it was just one thirty local on the ground. “Taip,” he said in Lithuanian. Yes.
Darina glanced at him, her left eyebrow raising, a smirk on her lips.
“Ten minutes out, we’ll all go on oxygen. Five minutes out, your team will stack up, we’ll throttle back, and Darina will open the portside door. On her signal, you will jump, and make it quick. Clear?”
“Yes,” Vetrov said in English. “Where will you go afterward?”
“None of your business,” Darina told him.
“We’re cleared direct for Cairo to refuel, then return to Sofia,” Borisov said. He looked up. “Whatever it is that you mean to accomplish on the ground, I hope you are successful.”
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