Dark Side of the Moon

by Alan Jacobson

  “Their thing?” Kirmani scoffed. “When Russia launched that rocket, everything went out the goddamn window.”

  Eisenbach clenched his jaw. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “This isn’t going the way we’d hoped.”

  “Doesn’t matter. None of this is our call. Our only job is to get our men through this and provide intel and analysis to the SecDef and the Joint Chiefs.”

  Kirmani leaned over and pressed a button on the panel. “I’ll keep trying to get a message through to Patriot. We’ve gotta somehow find a way of letting ’em know what’s going on. They’re flying into a fucking war. And they have no goddamn clue.”

  35

  Southeast Washington, Dc

  The dead letter box was in an industrial area in northeastern DC, in the neighborhood of the Union Market, a valiant attempt to gentrify the dilapidated, high crime area. There were indications that the effort was working.

  The crumbling, graffiti-covered brick wall of a local tile manufacturer contained a metal handled mailbox-style door. And Jason Lansford, with Karen Vail lying prone across the rear floorboards of Lansford’s Infiniti, was approaching the drop.

  “Remember, Jason, we’ve got men stationed all over the neighborhood. You try to run and we’ll have you back in that interrogation room—hooked up to that battery, just for trying to escape. And we’ve got other measures in place as well. Even if you get away, we’ll know where you are.”

  “Jessie’s very paranoid. And always very well prepared—the ultimate Boy Scout, so to speak. What if she sees your people? If this goes to shit, I want you to promise you’ll honor the deal.”

  “We’re paranoid too. This isn’t our first kidnapping,” Vail said, parroting Rodman. “But you already know that.”

  “What about your promise? No matter what happens, I kept up my end.”

  “You keep your end of the deal, we’ll keep ours.”

  Lansford pulled over and shoved the gearshift into Park.

  “Put the envelope inside and mark the box, then come directly back to the car.”

  “I thought I’d head over to the market and do some shopping. They’ve got some great Korean food.”

  And he still retains his sense of humor. Gotta admire that. “Remember, you’re being watched.”

  In her ear, she heard Rusakov say, “We have eyes on him.”

  “Roger,” Vail said into her headset. “Go on, Jason. Make the drop.”

  She felt the car rock as he got out and slammed the door shut.

  “Talk to me, Alex.”

  “He’s glancing around, heading straight for the box … he pulled it open … and he made an X with the chalk we gave him. He’s heading back to the car.”

  “Good,” Vail said, the hump in the floor starting to bother her ribcage. “I really thought he’d try to make a run for it.”

  “We’ve got his family.”

  “We’ll have them regardless of whether we have him. But without him, having them is useless to us. They’re our leverage. But we’ve gotta have him in custody for it to matter. Another reason to run is he may not believe we’re going to honor our pledge to him. He’s got no idea who we really are. He has no reason to trust us.”

  The door opened and the car sagged with Lansford’s weight. She looked up and saw the back of his head hit the seat rest.

  “Okay, let’s go. Back to Union Station. We’ll transfer cars and head back.”

  He pulled the Infiniti into gear and drove off.

  They had a dozen operatives in place prepared to watch the drop for days—construction workers, homeless men and women with canine companions—with two other shifts due to take over in succession throughout the evening and overnight hours. They had no idea how long it would take; it depended on how often Jessie Kerwin checked the box for the mark. Lansford said she generally responded within two days, so they had reason to believe it would be fairly soon.

  But until they had her in custody, they had no way of knowing if this lead would in fact lead anywhere.

  FOUR HOURS LATER, Vail got an encrypted group message:

  woman late thirties at box

  walked by looking around

  bundled up but looks a match to NYC pic

  i think this is kerwin

  passed dlb 3 times in 30 min

  1 careful sob

  Vail was parked only a block and a half away from the drop. An hour ago, she called Robby and told him she might not make dinner—something he was anticipating since she had not joined him for a meal since the case began.

  Vail brought the night vision binoculars up to her face and peered into the darkness.

  RUSAKOV SAT IN the car beside Troy Rodman. The sky had gone charcoal an hour ago, all remaining light eventually bleeding away and leaving inky blackness.

  She let her gaze roam until it found the Moon, bright and glowing. And somewhere between here and there, four of her colleagues were racing through space at ungodly speeds, their lives potentially hanging on the actions she and her team were about to take.

  Rusakov turned her attention back to the area in front of her.

  “You’re thinking about them,” Rodman said.

  “I am. Can’t help it. Can’t even fathom what it must be like, what they’re doing. I mean, they weren’t trained for this. It’s not what they signed on for.”

  “Isn’t it? They’re doing what needs to be done, what they’re told to do to protect the national security of the country. In the air, at sea, on land—in space, or on a planetary body—doesn’t matter. Risk is always there. Just different this time around. Probably no worse than some of the stuff our spec ops did in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, Iran … the list is long. As to what they were trained for, shit, teachers blasted into space on the shuttle. Our guys are infinitely more qualified than they were. I’m not worried about them—at least the things they can control. What the Russians are doing, that’s what’s got me concerned.”

  Rusakov could not argue. She glanced around and noted that most of the vehicles had disappeared from the streets—which spelled potential problems for them. Being an industrial area, it was harder to remain inconspicuous sitting in a car once most of the workers had gone home.

  They watched from a couple blocks away through infrared binoculars as the woman once again circled back and, satisfied she was alone, pulled open the metal door and extracted the envelope. With her left hand she wiped away the chalk mark Lansford had made.

  VAIL STARTED THE ENGINE and drove slowly toward the target. Over the radio, she heard the team: “Converge, converge, converge!”

  “Hello Jessie,” Vail said under her breath.

  As Kerwin settled into her car, two black SUVs careened around the corner and blocked her path: one in front and one in back. Four operatives were approaching from the sides when the woman flung her door open and ran.

  “Goddamn it,” Vail said as she stopped and got out of her Ford.

  She legged it across the street and joined the pursuit as Kerwin, faster than Vail would have given her credit for—she was likely an athlete of some kind—fired blindly behind her, forcing her pursuers to dive for cover.

  Vail, approaching obliquely, saw Kerwin squeeze between two buildings a block away, disappearing into the darkness.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Vail saw Rusakov and Rodman. “Go around to the right,” she yelled at Rusakov. “Hot Rod, go left, make sure she doesn’t get into a car on the other side of the alley.”

  Vail pursued Kerwin into the area where she was last seen. Her OPSIG sidearm in hand—a Glock like hers but untraceable with a special coating that reduced the likelihood of leaving behind errant fingerprints—she proceeded into the crevice. She turned on her pistol’s green laser and white LED light and sucked in her gut as she sidled into the tight space.

 
She did not see Kerwin, but garbage strewn about blocked her view to some degree. In her ear, the team was calling out their positions and providing SITREPS—situation reports—but thus far, no one had located her.

  Vail came out the other side, but before she could right herself after emerging from the cramped gap between the buildings, she felt a sharp blow to her wrist—and the Glock went flying.

  Vail dropped and rolled, got to her feet—and came face-to-face with Jessie Kerwin training a handgun on her. But Kerwin lurched forward, her head whipping backward violently into extension. She dropped to the ground, revealing Rusakov holding her HK P2000 around the barrel.

  “Looks like that thing is capable of landing an incapacitating blow without firing a shot.”

  “It’s real metal,” Rusakov said, “not like your plastic toy. Packs a punch.”

  And in fact, the woman’s scalp was bleeding profusely. Vail knelt down and handcuffed Kerwin, who was unconscious. Vail checked for a pulse and then radioed in their position.

  Rodman came running up to them, followed a few seconds later by the other team members, who arrived in a dark, windowless van. They loaded Kerwin into the back while another brought a bucket over and quickly bleached away the blood evidence that had spattered on the cement.

  Rusakov glanced around. There were no bystanders, but smartphones—and their video cameras—were prevalent. Because of the lack of light it would not be of much use to anyone—but it was still safer not to hang around unnecessarily.

  They jumped into the vehicle and were dropped off at their abandoned cars. Moments later, they were on their way to the black site.

  UPON THEIR ARRIVAL, the facility was a mass of activity. The sense was that they were about to get a major break. After removing Kerwin’s jacket and wanding her, a medic stitched her scalp wound.

  Vail was directed into the briefing room down the hall. When she entered, Rusakov, Zheng, and Rodman were seated around the no-frills oval laminate table. Knox, CIA director Tasset, and McNamara joined them a moment later.

  “Strategy?” McNamara asked.

  “We can take a number of approaches,” Zheng said. “Being Russian, Alex can try to establish a common understanding, a relationship based on inherent trust—although at the moment we can’t be certain Kerwin is a native countryman. I also don’t think she’d be amenable to that. I can talk spy to spy, which may be more to her liking—comrades who respect each other. Hot Rod can intimidate her. And Karen can be more nuanced about it, feel her out and help us determine which tactic would be most effective.”

  “We can always intimidate later,” Tasset said. “And going the colleague-leveling-with-colleague method is a good follow-on if we can’t get her cooperation with honey. Vail goes first.” He looked to McNamara and Knox, who both nodded agreement.

  “Name of Jessie Kerwin checks out,” Knox said. “On the surface, thirty-six years old, an employee of a custom tennis shoe manufacturer in Maryland. Works out five days a week in the evenings at a gym a mile from the DLB. She’s into Krav Maga. By the time we’re done, I’m determined to know everything there is to know about her—even her favorite food.” He handed an iPad to Rodman, seated next to him, and Rodman gave it to Vail. “Soon as we have more, we’ll pass it along. This is everything we’ve got. It’s not much.”

  Vail read the two-paragraph summary, then slid the device to Rusakov. “Okay, let’s do this.” Vail rose from her chair and walked down the corridor into the interrogation room.

  “I have nothing to say,” Kerwin said as the door clicked shut behind Vail.

  “That’s okay.” Vail paced back and forth in front of her. “I’ll do the talking—and I’ll get right to the point. We’re not the police. But we are after some information. And we’ll go to great lengths to make sure we get it.”

  “I still have nothing to say.”

  “We know you’re a spy. We know you’re Jason Lansford’s handler.”

  Kerwin glanced at the ceiling.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “How long have you been spying for Russia?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Jessie.” Vail stopped in front of her. “Give me a little professional courtesy here. I know you’re a spy. You know you’re a spy. I’m not a cop, so you’re not gaining anything by refusing to acknowledge what we both know.”

  Kerwin looked down and kept her gaze on the ground in front of her, as if Vail were not even present.

  “We know about the DLB. Obviously. Jason left an envelope there for you. You saw his mark and retrieved it.”

  “So what?”

  “We know about the software code you gave him to insert into the operating system. So let’s just stipulate that you’re a spy and move on from there, okay?”

  Kerwin brought her eyes up to Vail’s and tilted her head to the side. “Fine. I’m his handler. Again, so what?”

  “We work for a defense contractor who has a lot of business to lose if anything happens to that spacecraft. We need to know why Russia is involved in this.”

  “Ask them.”

  “Jessie, just tell us what we want to know and we’ll release you. We don’t care that you’re a spy. We only want to know who’s pulling the strings and why, see if we can get them to back off.”

  “I don’t know the answers to your questions. There’s a guy I’ve never met. He tells me what he needs and I get it for him. And he pays me. Very well.”

  “His name?”

  “Vladimir.”

  That narrows it down to a few million. Then again, she could be telling the truth. “Vladimir’s last name?”

  “Don’t know. But I wouldn’t get too excited. No way Vladimir’s his real name.”

  We finally agree on something. “How are you paid?”

  “Money is wired into an offshore account.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Anything you tell me helps us identify who Vladimir is—and how we can get in touch with him, make things right.”

  “Eleven years.”

  “Ever been to Russia?”

  “When he recruited me. And no, I don’t remember any of the people who trained me. It was all done in generic office buildings with no markings. Haven’t been back since.”

  “What’s your real name?” Vail asked.

  “No reason for you to know that.”

  “Can you set up a meet with Vladimir?”

  “I don’t think he’s who you think he is.”

  “You mean the Russian Federation?”

  “Just saying. You might be headed down the wrong road. I can’t arrange a meet for you but I can deliver a message and if he wants to contact you …” Kerwin shrugged. “That’s up to him.”

  “Vail,” McNamara said in her ear. “Come back into the briefing room.”

  Vail did as ordered.

  “She appears to be telling us the truth,” Knox said. “But it’s also likely she’s a trained liar.”

  Tasset removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We can continue interrogating her or we can plant a tracking device and see where she goes, who she meets with. I don’t think surveillance teams will work because these people are highly trained to spot that. She may even suspect the tracker and ditch it.”

  “We’d have to put her under, then inject the chip into her rear end,” McNamara said. “But when she comes to, her butt’ll be sore and she’ll know what we’ve done.”

  “We’d have to keep her sedated for a couple of days,” Knox said. “But we don’t have a couple of days.”

  “So let Alex go in,” Zheng said, “see if she can draw something out of her. Now that she admitted she’s spying for Russia, maybe having a Russian question her wil
l scare the shit out of her.”

  “I agree,” McNamara said. “Keep at her awhile, see if she knows more than she’s telling us. Sending Alex in seems like the right move. We can fall back on the tracking chip anytime we want.”

  Tasset nodded. “That also gives us some time to assemble a more comprehensive backgrounder.” He turned to Rodman. “Anything yet?”

  “Nothing’s come in from the Agency or Interpol. OPSIG’s digging. NSA said they’ll need an hour to get us something—if there’s something to get.”

  “What do we make of this Vladimir guy?” Vail said. “Or her training in Russia?”

  Rusakov shifted in her seat. “That’s the part I’m most skeptical about. If she went to Russia, that’s a huge commitment on someone’s part. And hers. Like she said, she’s likely being paid very well, and the most obvious party is the government. But private enterprise can’t be ruled out.”

  An alarm sounded. Zheng was first to the door but the knob would not budge.

  “We’re in lockdown,” McNamara said.

  Knox came up alongside Zheng. “Lockdown? Why? What the hell’s going on?”

  McNamara grabbed the telephone handset off the wall. “This is SecDef McNamara. Open the conference room door … I know we’re in lockdown … No, goddammit, just do it n—”

  A loud blast shook the floor. Vail almost fell to her knees but righted herself as the lock released and Zheng yanked on the handle.

  Rusakov followed Vail and Zheng into the hallway, where a fine mist and smoky cloud fogged the air. The alarm klaxon was louder, piercing and nearly deafening.

  “Suspect has escaped,” Rodman yelled into a wall-mounted intercom. He slammed his fist against it, apparently realizing it was no longer operational. He took off into the smoke.

  Vail figured the exits had been secured at the same time as the conference room door—which meant Kerwin could still be in the building, unless the explosion was designed to give her a way out. Vail was not taking any chances: she pulled her Glock as made her way down the corridor.