Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected

by Vikki Kestell

“I don’t need to get deeper into the weeds. The short version is this. AGFA has ties to al-Qaeda. Al-Qaeda had a preexisting ‘business’ relationship with Tai Huen Chai. Al-Qaeda placed the order for AGFA through one of their shell companies, but had the order shipped to Baku where AGFA picked it up. AGFA paid for the order on the installment plan—a recurring monthly payment of five thousand dollars over three months. Then—”

  “This is the short version? Not getting deeper into the weeds?” Tobin’s grump was more pronounced. “Do you have the list or not? And have you deduced what AGFA is making in their lab?”

  Brian had Vincent hand around a printout. “Here’s the list.”

  While the members of the task force scanned it, Brian sighed.

  “Hope one of you is better at chemistry than I am, because I’m stumped. Phenethyl-piperidone? Hexamethylphosphoric triamide? Ammonium hydroxide? Danged if I can tell what they’re cooking up.”

  BECAUSE THE CHILDREN wanted to honor their usual holiday traditions, Kari and Søren had packed up the household, including Gene and Polly, and flown to New Orleans. They planned to spend the week before Christmas through New Year’s Day at Kari’s house on Marlow Avenue.

  It wasn’t easy for Kari to join in the customary baking and decorating. She forced herself to do it for Max, Shannon, and Robbie’s sakes.

  Polly and Gene understood her feelings. They, more than her, were grieving the uncertainty of Laynie’s absence.

  Lord, you know where Laynie is. Please bring her home to us, Kari prayed.

  The children, Max, too—who wasn’t a child any longer—gathered in the kitchen during the week leading up to Christmas. Under the tutelage of Kari’s housekeeper, Azalea Bodeen, they cooked, made candies, and baked up a storm.

  Gene and Polly weren’t left out. Gene manned the kitchen sinks, washing mixing bowls, spoons, measuring utensils, pots, pans, and cookie sheets as fast as they were dirtied. Polly, from memory, recalled her favorite Christmas recipes, and called out ingredients and instructions that Azalea oversaw.

  Kari and Søren made at least one trip to the grocery store each day to supply whatever was lacking—and something was always lacking, usually at the last minute.

  That evening, while everyone was watching It’s a Wonderful Life on television, Kari’s cell phone buzzed. She’d turned the ringer off for the week, telling her staff not to call her unless their offices were afire.

  She picked up the phone, grumbling to herself. Saw the caller ID. Moved into the kitchen to take the call.

  Lord, if it’s bad news . . .

  She calmed herself. “Kari Thoresen.”

  “Ms. Thoresen, it’s Quincy Tobin calling.”

  “Yes, Marshal. How . . . do you have any news?”

  “No, ma’am. We are a touch closer to finding the group who took Marta. Elaine. No, Bella. I mean Laynie. Sorry. I apologize.”

  “No need to, Marshal. I understand.”

  “I called to wish you and your family a blessed Christmas. I hope it isn’t an intrusion.”

  “No, Marshal. I’m glad you called. And thank you. We wish you the same—a blessed Christmas.”

  The lull in the conversation caused Kari’s heart to quicken. “Was there something else you called to say, Marshal Tobin?”

  He huffed a sigh. “A prayer request, actually.”

  “A prayer request? You called the right place. We’d be happy to pray with and for you.” She listened to the laughter from the living room and smiled. “Actually, we’ve got a pretty strong prayer team assembled here.”

  “Good. We need you. It’s, ah, well the details are classified. I can only offer the suggestion of it. Let me just ask that you pray for us, the task force and . . . whatever is in the works for New Year’s Eve.”

  “Whatever is in the works? As in . . .”

  “Ma’am, I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  Kari stilled. “I think I understand. Go on.”

  “We know it—the thing I cannot divulge—is arranged and we know who’s behind it. We know what they intend to use and that it involves more than one . . . location. The thing is, what we know is not enough to stop it. Not enough for authorities to alert the public.”

  “And it’s the task force’s mandate to find those missing pieces?”

  “Yes, ma’am, meaning we’re under some heavy pressure. Morale is thin, and we’re worked to the bone.”

  “A lot of cities have New Year’s Eve celebrations.”

  Tobin didn’t answer.

  Kari understood his silence. “We are grateful that you called on us to pray for you and the task force, Marshal. You may count on us to pray this through.”

  “Thank you. And please don’t give up on Laynie. I haven’t.”

  “That’s the best word you could have delivered to me, Marshal.”

  “Quincy, ma’am. M’friends call me Quincy.”

  “I’m honored to be your friend, Quincy. A blessed Christmas to you and all your friends on the task force.”

  Chapter 25

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING afternoon, the three men reached the narrow, secluded valley where they were to meet Sayed’s men. They had hiked four punishing days to reach the rendezvous, a journey that in snowless circumstances would have taken only twelve to sixteen hours.

  Cossack’s limbs were shaking with fatigue when they spotted the two trucks waiting for them at the base of the mountain on the opposite side of the valley. He gathered himself for the formalities ahead.

  “As-Salamu Alaykum, General Labazanov,” one of Sayed’s lieutenants said. “I am Usama.”

  “Wa alaykumu s-salam. It is good to see a friendly face,” Cossack replied.

  “We are glad you made the trek safely. We have been waiting since yesterday for you to appear. General Sayed sends his greetings. If you will come with us?”

  Usama gestured Cossack to the cab of one of the trucks, Cossack’s men to the bed of the other truck.

  “Your men will not be coming with us, General. My people will take them to a place of safety and comfort where they can recover from their journey.”

  “No. I wish my men to remain with me.”

  Sayed’s lieutenant ignored Cossack’s objection. “General Sayed’s apologies, but they will remain here. Do not worry. They will rejoin you for the journey back.”

  A black bag appeared in Usama’s hand. “Please put this over your head, General.”

  “This is impertinence. I will not submit to it,” Cossack said evenly.

  “I mean you no disrespect, General Labazanov. General Sayed’s instructions are the same for all visitors, regardless of rank. No one outside our militia is permitted to know the approach to our stronghold.”

  Cossack shrugged. “I shall speak to General Sayed about this when I see him. I hope for your sake that what you say is true.”

  Cossack endured the blind and jostling forty-minute drive across a rocky and pitted landscape. When the truck stopped, Cossack realized the wind had died away. At the same time, he recognized the signature ambiance of a tunnel—the shift in sound, temperature, and humidity.

  This truck drove directly into the entrance to Sayed’s stronghold?

  “I will lead you from here, General Labazanov. You may rely upon me.”

  Cossack had no choice but to tolerate being led like a child. Then he heard something else. A clang, deep and metallic, and its echo reverberating down a tunnel.

  “General Labazanov, sir, place your hands here.”

  Cossack felt the cold shape of metal under his gloved hands and recognized it. A mining car. His toe stubbed against something unyielding.

  “We have placed two steps before you, General, for your convenience. I will climb up and you will climb up after me. I will help you into the car.”

  Soon Cossack was seated, the cold, unyielding metal chilling his backside, the car running into the depths of a mountain.

  An easy drive through a valley to a cave entrance, followed by a ride in a mining car, Co
ssack thought. No treacherous hikes through mountain passes for Sayed. His stronghold is likely deep within this mountain! I marvel that he discovered such a place—and I see now why the Russians have never been able to ferret him out.

  USAMA LED COSSACK FROM the mining cars up a stairway carved out of rock and removed the bag from Cossack’s head. Cossack looked beyond the lieutenant leading them and squinted at an iron door apparently locked on the other side. The lieutenant pounded twice on the door, then twice again. A peephole slid open, then the door’s bolt on the other side grated and the door swung open. They walked past two guards, who bolted the door behind them.

  Cossack’s guides turned right into a tunnel. Straight ahead, the tunnel widened into a sophisticated system that boggled Cossack’s mind. Because it had once been the home of a successful mining operation, the tunnels had lights to illuminate their way, strings of electric bulbs fastened near the tunnel’s ceiling.

  Off the wide main tunnel were many short side tunnels. Cossack glimpsed niches carved into the branch walls—various-sized rooms furnished with simple wooden sleeping benches. The niches were designed to accommodate two to four soldiers, and each was as good as or better than the one Cossack occupied back in his own stronghold.

  One by one, the men guarding Cossack peeled off, leaving only Sayed’s lieutenant as Cossack’s guide. And with every step, the temperature in the wide tunnel rose a little until it was as comfortable as any home.

  They came to a branching passageway, a junction, and to their left, the entrance to a cavern—the heart of Sayed’s stronghold. The cavern alone was larger than the two combined caverns that comprised the bulk of Cossack’s entire compound.

  Cossack stopped and took three steps into the cavern to satisfy his own curiosity. Usama was patient and respectful and did not interrupt as Cossack viewed what was certainly a communal dining hall arranged like a cafeteria set with rows of long tables and chairs. A kitchen was built onto one wall of the cavern. The source of the tunnels’ warmth, an old coal-burning furnace, presided over the rear of the cavern, its sprawling ductwork feeding heat to various parts of the cave system.

  Compared to Sayed’s stronghold, Cossack’s winter retreat was as primitive as a caveman’s. Envy crept up Cossack’s neck until he reminded himself, Sayed has occupied these tunnels for some years now. He has had time to refine them, to make them fit for his militia’s needs.

  Cossack returned to his guide who nodded and led him down a dim side tunnel. Not far into the side tunnel, his guide motioned Cossack into a niche with a bed, a chair, and other furnishings.

  “Your quarters while you are here, General.”

  A servant stood and bowed.

  “This man will care for your needs,” Usama said. “He will prepare a bath for you so you might clean up from your journey. I will return in an hour and take you to dinner with General Sayed.”

  When his guide departed, Cossack placed his pack on the bed and opened it to retrieve his only fresh clothes. They were crumpled from being stored in the pack. They were worn because Cossack owned only three sets of clothing.

  “General,” the servant murmured, “we have taken the liberty of providing you with a wardrobe while you are here.” He pointed to trousers, shirt, and tunic laid out on the chair.

  “I see.”

  I see that I am to be treated as an honored guest while, at the same time, Sayed makes certain I know he is above me, that he is condescending to my level. Typical of him.

  “This way, General.”

  The servant led him back to the cavern and into a curtained bathing area not far from the furnace. Minutes later, having sent the servant away, Cossack reclined in a tub of steaming water. It was an indulgence he’d not enjoyed for close to a year, having used a basin of warm water to wash in each day, just as his men did.

  He laid his head back and sighed.

  “I KNOW AUNT LAYNIE can’t be here for Christmas,” Shannon sobbed, “but I keep thinking she’ll find a way, that she’ll ring the doorbell, and I’ll answer it. And-and-and Christmas just isn’t the same this year because she said she would come. Her boss promised.”

  “You aren’t the only one missing her, Shannon. Please believe me that if Aunt Laynie could get here? Nothing in this world would keep her from us.”

  They felt a vacuum at Laynie’s absence, in their dashed expectations. The past four weeks had dropped their family into deep mourning then pulled them only halfway out. Knowing Laynie hadn’t died in the car fire was a relief. Not knowing where she was or if she was alive was every bit as hard.

  And Gene fretted over Polly. “She doesn’t complain, Kari, but with not knowing if Laynie is alive? Polly has gone as quiet as the snow falling back in RiverBend. She’s praying, but she’s too quiet. Perhaps it would have been better for us to stay home this year.”

  Kari sought out Søren and Max. “I’m wondering if we should just pack up and go back to Nebraska tomorrow.”

  Max surprised Kari when he nodded his agreement. “Let’s. It’s like we’re here for Aunt Laynie’s funeral all over again. And Shannon’s a mess. I don’t like to see her like that.”

  Søren had a slightly different outlook. “Instead of going home, what do you think of this idea? Leave tomorrow and fly to Seattle. Stay in a big ol’ hotel suite, use the pool and hot tub, send Gene and Polly to visit their other grandkids and maybe do some skiing while they’re gone. All of us take a drive over Stevens Pass to that little Bavarian village, Leavenworth. See all the lights there. How’s that sound?”

  “Yes!” Max was all in.

  “I love it all, Søren. All right then. Let’s talk it over with Gene and Polly, Shannon and Robbie. If they’re for it, I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Your pilot won’t mind flying the day after Christmas?”

  “I hope the bonus I plan to offer him takes the sting right out of it. He’ll make enough to take his kids to Disney World.”

  BRIAN, RUSTY, AND JAZ had walked away from Richard’s fabulous Christmas dinner when Tobin caught up to them.

  “Hey, guys, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Rusty answered, “Sure, Tobin. We’re just walking off that pecan pie.”

  Brian elbowed Rusty. “You’ll need an hour on the elliptical machine, dude. I saw you eat two slices of apple with ice cream and a piece of pecan.”

  Rusty patted his belly. “Man’s gotta eat, Brain Pan. Man’s gotta eat.”

  As they walked the path around the perimeter, two abreast, Tobin pointed back at Brian. “See, I’ve been thinking about the list of chemicals you handed off to us yesterday, Brian.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Make any sense of it?”

  “No, but I have a friend in the DEA. He’s quite the science geek. On a whim, I grabbed a copy of that list of chemicals and faxed it to him last night. Got a call from him just before dinner.”

  “The guy works on Christmas Day?”

  “No, but I sent the fax to his home office. Apparently the list, coupled with a short explanation as to why I was asking, was enough to make him take a break from hosting his in-laws for Christmas dinner to check some things and then call me. What he said about those chemicals soured my dessert but good. Turns out that the list has all the major ingredients for making carfentanil, a drug used to tranquilize elephants.”

  They halted in the path and stood in a little knot facing each other.

  “What, AGFA’s in the zoo business now?”

  “Ha ha. Good one, Rusty. No, what he said is that carfentanil is an analog of fentanyl.”

  “Hold up,” Jaz said. “I know what analog means relative to digital. What does analog mean when you say carfentanil is an analog of fentanyl?”

  “I had to ask, too. It can mean that two drugs are either structurally similar or, as in this case, that they have similar effects. Fentanyl and carfentanil have similar pain-relieving and sedative effects, only—get this—you know how fentanyl is fifty times more powerful than heroin and
a hundred times more potent than morphine? Turns out carfentanil is a hundred times more powerful than fentanyl—meaning it packs a punch a thousand times harder than morphine.”

  Rusty’s whistle was mirrored in Brian and Jaz’s expressions.

  Tobin added, “You can overdose and die just by handling carfentanil without the right kind of protective gear. Get it on your skin? The skin absorbs it and you die. Lick your finger or pick your nose? You die.”

  The shock on his companions’ faces told Tobin that they were processing the information and coming up with the same questions he had.

  Rusty spoke first. “So . . . we’ve got to ask ourselves why AGFA is in the business of manufacturing carfentanil.”

  “We know the reason. It makes total, twisted sense.”

  “What makes sense?” Jaz asked.

  “AGFA plans to use fentanyl to attack us on New Year’s Eve. The follow-on attack? They’re gonna use carfentanil.”

  Chapter 26

  LAYNIE’S DYSENTERY lasted for days. Days of fever, painful cramps, and endless trips to the latrine. She was vaguely aware that Ksenia had brought a bucket closer to their mattress so Laynie didn’t have as far to go. And she was aware of praying, although in her fevered state her prayers were a peculiar mixture of verses from Philippians . . . and Tobin.

  Over and over Laynie muttered, “I want you to know and remember, Quincy, that what has happened to me—whatever comes—has served to advance the gospel. It has become clear to these girls who do not yet know Jesus—well, one of them at least—that I share their chains for his sake.”

  Laynie considered every indignity and punishment she’d suffered since arriving in Tbilisi well worth it—knowing she’d led Ksenia to Jesus. And during the time Laynie was sick, God answered the prayer she and Ksenia had prayed together, for the guards did not take any of the girls to the soldiers. Instead, they brought additional latrine buckets for the others and extra jugs of water for Laynie and Ksenia. They even supplied hot water and rags to clean their bodies in an attempt to keep the sickness from spreading.