“Let me see what I can do. I will call you once I have someone who fits the bill.” To give Trevor’s name right now would sound too eager. He would play the game, letting Mikhailov grow anxious to get a name, any name. “I have some contacts that might be able to help,” he added.
“I am sure you do.” Mikhailov held his gaze with burning intensity as he extended his hand for another firm handshake before leaving the room.
Mikhailov’s last words stressed his expectation of the outcome. It had become Boris’s trial by fire. Deliver, or else.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pardon Me As I Check My Shoe Mic
MIKHAILOV WAS A VERY CAUTIOUS man. It was a given, considering his line of business. Reading the extensive profile Cassandra had put together on him with Jessica’s help, Trevor noticed there were no living family members on record. The file listed a wife deceased twenty years back. Her death, an unsolved murder.
His gang was rumored to be one of the most vicious in operation, but the police had never been able to prove his involvement in any of the many murders or high-profile fraud cases he’d supposedly orchestrated.
Tracking the mastermind of the theft and gathering all they could about his operation was crucial, but Trevor felt the need to learn more about him as a person before sticking his neck into the pit. Mikhailov’s history was fuzzy. Beside the fact that he had been born in Glazov, there was not much available about him. Very humble origins. Working-class parents. His trajectory from a child to ruthless mafia boss was marked by several incarcerations. With each visit to the slammer, he advanced to bigger and heavier crimes.
They had focused too much on his operation, how he conducted his business, and had forgotten to study the man behind it all. After spending a couple of hours going through the detailed report and George’s latest transcripts, he was anxious for the meeting to take place. The more Trevor read, the more he understood Mikhailov, but not enough to decode his frame of mind. Aside from being a vicious mafia boss, he was a man who had been pushed by unexpected events in his life to be what he had become. Maybe the result was caused by the grief, by the guilt of not having been there to avert disaster. Of not having been close to say goodbye. Trevor became lost in his thoughts. A heavy feeling crowded his chest. He had also lost people important to him under circumstances he could only hypothesize as violent. Strangely, he felt a connection with Mikhailov.
*****
A loud ring echoed through the apartment. When it continued unanswered, Cassandra looked around and realized Trevor was nowhere in sight. She pushed from her desk and tracked the sound, at last finding the phone by the teakettle, where Trevor must have last set it during his many excursions for tea. The man had been sucking it back like candy since the little surprise they’d captured on the surveillance feed.
Trevor entered the room as she glanced at the number and answered the call.
A brief silence followed before a male voice came across the connection. “Cassandra? This is Boris Kostas.”
“Boris! How are you?” Cassandra’s gaze shot to Trevor and she raised her eyebrows as she walked over to where he stood.
“I am well. Very well, actually.” Deep satisfaction emanated from his heavily accented voice. “Can I please speak with your husband?”
Cassandra didn’t like the cheery sound of Boris’s voice or the little laugh akin to what she imagined one would sound like having won the lottery. “Here he is,” she said as she put the call on speakerphone.
“Hello, Boris. Hope you have good news.”
Not knowing Boris’s game had become a hindrance to the whole operation. Before the little eye-opener a few days ago, they had only one source of concern—Mikhailov. Now, with Boris in the picture, it had become harder to gauge who to trust. Trevor felt like they were walking on eggshells at all times. They needed to pin down whether he was an asset or a drawback.
“Yes, I found a way inside. It means meeting Mikhailov himself.” Boris’s tone was jovial.
“Mikhailov? When?” Alarms rang in Trevor’s head.
“On Monday.” Boris paused for a few seconds before adding, “At the mansion.”
The location took Trevor by surprise. Mikhailov must be either desperate or softening up if he was allowing newcomers into his den so easily. That, or Boris had more influence in the Glazov, Mikhailov’s organization arrogantly named after his birthplace, than they’d ever imagined.
Trevor took a deep breath. Holding back his suspicion, he fished for more information. “How did you manage that feat?”
His reaction seemed to amuse Boris. “Secrets of the trade, son.”
Too many secrets.
As they talked, Cassandra became absorbed with the details on the identities of the mansion’s regular visitors. Some of them were small businessmen, like the banker who had left the mansion pulling at his collar and sweating buckets. Or the financial institute director they had seen leaving the mansion with blood dripping from his ear and wearing a glazed look as if he’d escaped the jaws of death.
Others were just “employees” who worked there. Several, as she’d found, were your typical run-of-the-mill hacker—young, vulnerable, and otherwise unemployed. Her final objective was to compile a profile of each employee to give Trevor an advantage once he made it in.
Trevor continued to address Boris over the speaker. “So, what’s the deal?”
“He wants to meet you. Decide for himself if he can trust you.”
I should be the one worried about who to trust, Trevor thought. “He’s a smart man.” His voice dripped sarcasm.
Boris proceeded, oblivious to what they knew of his connection to Mikhailov. “A very smart man. He knows how to keep his business under wraps.”
“Will it give me access to the computers?”
“Yes. He is desperate to get his hands on a skilled developer. You will need to prove your worth if you want to become his new one. I cannot help you there. It will not be easy. His last one left the project…unfinished.”
The whole story was too good to be true. Just a few days after their discussion and they already had a way into the organization? With the potential of full access to the servers? What were the odds? “Why can’t I shake the feeling that there’s more to the story than just the fact you have contacts in the right places?” Trevor’s voice was smooth as velvet, yet edged with steel.
“Just be glad the fates conspired to help your cause. And I never said I was doing this for nothing. I will have a favor in return.”
And there it was—the catch. “Go on.”
“I will tell you once you are cleared. No point in telling you now without knowing if Vladimir will hire you for sure.”
“What’s my story? You didn’t tell him who I really am, right?” Concern hit Trevor square in the chest. What if Boris had given his real identity to Mikhailov? What if Cassandra had been put in danger as a result?
“Of course not! He would kill me first if he knew I am consorting with someone who has close ties to people like Robert James, an ex-Navy Seal, and Cassandra, ex-CIA. That would guarantee us all bullets to the head. I have as much to lose as you do.” Boris’s disposition turned sour, clearly offended by Trevor’s insinuation.
Before Trevor could respond, Boris continued. “You are the son of a good friend of mine. Recently emigrated from London to his parents’ home country. A skilled hacker and software expert. Looking for opportunities in the new digital Mecca. Since you couldn’t find a job that paid you what you wanted, you decided to try other avenues for securing an income. You are not opposed to taking a job that is not legitimate, as long as it pays well,” he said sarcastically.
“Got it. Do I have a name?”
“Mark Ivanov.”
“Will I need papers?”
“I will take care of that when the time comes.”
“Okay, then.”
“I will call you if things change, but otherwise, prepare to meet the man.”
“Will do.”
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Trevor killed the call and turned to Cassandra. Excitement shone in his eyes and bled into his voice. “This is it, Cassie.”
Cassandra watched the play of emotions flow across Trevor’s face. She wanted to grin at him and his boyish glee sparked by the knowledge that he would soon be jumping into the fray, testing himself against the Russian bear. But she balked at the idea of Trevor behind the mansion’s walls with only Boris as his backup. The same Boris whose voice oozed satisfaction just a moment ago.
Deep lines of worry appeared between Cassandra brows. “This is way bigger than what we originally thought. You are not just going in covertly with a ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ approach.” Her voice was low, edged with concern. “In order to do what they need you to do, you’ll have to live and work among them for longer than just a visit. Chances are it’ll take days, maybe even longer, for you to get access to those files. You’ve never done something like this before, Trevor. This is new territory. There’s no way you’re going in there without real backup. No way you’re leaving me here without ears.” She shook her head and smoothed her brow with both hands. “No freaking way.” Her lowered voice held a silken thread of warning.
Trevor walked over to her and caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “I agree with your assessment, Cassie. But you are wrong. You will have ears. I have an idea that will keep you informed of what’s going on while I’m in there.”
Her frown deepened and he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear with a mischievous grin. “Good thing I read everything I could find on Russian intelligence,” Trevor commented as he turned and walked to his suitcase. He could feel Cassandra’s eyes tracking his every move as he pulled out a pair of loafers and returned to where she was sitting.
She shot him a confused look. “You need to get off the tea. You’re making no sense.”
He laughed, put the shoes on the table, and retrieved a few small pieces of equipment from the other suitcase. “Patience, grasshopper…you’ll see.”
Setting a small microphone on the table beside the shoes, he grabbed one of the loafers and unceremoniously pried off the heel. “Trevor! Those were a gift from me!” He watched her closely, waiting; suddenly her eyes brightened with understanding as the meaning of his words and actions finally clicked. She got where he was headed. She got him.
“Oh man. The old microphone-in-shoe KGB trick?” She smirked and shook her head at his ingenious idea. “Nice touch. Can I help?”
Trevor knew she’d planted more bugs than she could count in the past, so he immediately handed her the shoe. “Do the honors.”
“We’re going to use Russian techniques against Russians. That’s so wrong on so many levels. But so…you,” she laughed softly as she inserted the transmitter in the heel.
While she worked on it, Trevor set up the relay transmitter they had hidden outside the mansion to receive the shoe’s signal.
Cassandra replaced the heel and handed the shoe back to him. “Here you go, Agent 86. Looks like instead of, ‘Pardon me while I get my shoe phone,’ you’ll be saying, ‘Pardon me while I check my shoe mic.’”
Trevor burst out in rich laughter as he took the shoe from her. Cassandra’s humor cut through some of the tension that had hung in the room, and Trevor realized for the umpteenth time how well they worked together. It was a well-choreographed dance. He checked the signal from the microphone; it came across loud and clear on the computer.
“Are you sure I’ll be able to hear you?”
“You should have a clear reception. No worries there.”
He was fairly pleased with himself, so she enjoyed the moment with him. “Oh Max! It’s marvelous.”
Trevor snickered at her Get Smart references. Suddenly feeling the weight of the many days over the keyboard, Trevor straightened and stretched his sore back. His body still felt the ramifications of the fall; he ached all over.
Looking over at Trevor, Cassandra felt his exhaustion beating at her. From the way he was seated, she could tell the bruise on his back bothered him. All she wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep cradled in his arms. Her own exhaustion beat at her. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she closed her laptop. “I am out. If I look at one more piece of surveillance, I swear I’ll go blind.” She walked to him and rubbed his shoulder to get his attention. “Come on, babe…it will still be there in the morning—and then some. Let it go for a couple of hours. Come to bed.”
Releasing a deep breath, he stood to follow her. “I guess you’re right.”
Lost in their own thoughts, without a word they moved to the bed, stripped, and climbed under the covers. When their heads hit the pillows, they both groaned and lay there enjoying the sensation of stretching out after sitting long hours in the uncomfortable chairs.
With a deep sigh, Cassandra rolled and curled into Trevor.
“Hey, I meant to ask if you’ve heard from Jessie,” Trevor yawned as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her snug against him.
“We talked briefly when she sent over the information she researched for me. She said that Dublin is great and that she’s having the time of her life.” Cassandra’s tone was unsure.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Trevor chuckled. “Of course she’s having the time of her life. Pubs…Irishmen.”
Cassandra snorted. “No. For some reason I don’t think she’s partying hard. She sounded…I don’t know how to explain it. Something’s different. Something happened and I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Well, we better not walk in on somebody else’s white Irish ass keeping her company on our couch when we get back.” His humor rumbled in his chest and she could feel his silent laughter under her palm.
“Oh my god, Trevor. That is so wrong.”
“What? Just saying. Besides, any guy applying to date Jessie has to go through my seal of approval. She’s like a little sister to me now.”
Cassandra laughed out loud as she snuggled closer and slipped her arm around his waist, already feeling the fingers of sleep tugging at her eyelids. She could hardly wait to see Trevor behaving like the protective brother in the near future. It sure as hell would put Jessica’s panties in a bunch.
*****
Heart racing, Cassandra ran into the alley, trying her best to lose the tail she’d picked up about two blocks back. Looking down at her cell and the GPS application on the screen, she took a left, a quick right, and then sprinted all the way down the block to cross the next street. Once there, she glanced over her shoulder and saw she still had a buddy.
“Fuck!” she cursed under her breath, drawing a startled look from a passerby. Can’t shake him.
Not wanting to draw attention to their base location, she ran for the metro station only two blocks away from her. Her heart raced, sweat beading down her back as she weighed her options. If she could get there, she could fake catching a train and double back to the apartment unnoticed.
She caught a glimpse of the tail reflected on the window of a store she passed. The tail—a man of slight build, just under five feet tall, wearing a black trench and sporting a black fedora—looked familiar to her. Her pulse surged. Do I know him? She picked up her pace and, reaching the metro, jogged down the stairs.
As luck would have it, there wasn’t a line at the booth. She dropped some notes in the slot and pointed to the first stop on the map so the attendant would know what ticket she needed. Her Russian was spotty at best and she didn’t have time to mess around. The woman took forever to print the ticket.
“Come on, come on, come on!” she mumbled under her breath as her hand tapped on the counter and she threw glimpses toward the top of the stairs. Just as the tail’s loafers and trench coat came into view, she snagged the ticket out of the attendant’s fingers without waiting for change and took off for the platform.
She moved at a brisk pace until she reached the stairs to the second entrance. A flow of commuters crowded the platform, making it impossible for the man to catch up
with her. Her stomach turned in knots as she waited for her chance to get out of there. Just as the train barreled into the station, she sprinted up the stairs in the opposite direction of the flow of people boarding. Cassandra hoped he had lost sight of her in the commotion. She sucked in gulps of brisk fresh air as she reached the street and ducked into the nearest store—a bakery.
Her breath came in quick gasps as she bent over, resting her hands on her knees. Sweat ran down her temples in rivulets as she straightened and pretended to shop, looking over the pastries on display in the window, giving the illusion she was looking to purchase something, all the while keeping an eye on the metro’s entrance. A flash of black appeared in her peripheral vision. Shit!
She hid from sight and watched her “buddy” exit the station. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, head turning rapidly from one side to the other, looking for her. Catching a better glimpse of his face, her mind stumbled. She recognized him! “What the fuck?!”
Cassandra’s eyes snapped wide open as she sprang up in bed in the darkened room. Her heart filled her throat, beating wildly, making it hard to suck in air. Sweat coated her brow as she shoved her hair back from her face.
What the hell! Cartoon characters? A freaking nightmare with Boris Badenov from Rocky and Bullwinkle? Really? Damn, Cassie, get a grip. As she waited for her pulse to slow its frantic pace, she took it as a sign she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep until she dug deeper. Slipping out of bed, she mulled over the meaning of the dream.
Shivering in the dark room, she noticed the time on the clock: three in the morning—the witching hour. “Figures,” Cassandra muttered as the last cobwebs of the dream fell away. The need to find out more about Boris pounded in her head as she moved to the table and booted up the laptop.
Trevor was deep asleep, undisturbed by her sudden awakening. She shifted the laptop so that the glow from the screen wouldn’t wake him. Checking her email, she found two—one from her father and the other, oddly, from Nathan.
To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) Page 23