The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  “Okay, what do you have in mind?” she asked.

  He removed a man’s picture from his bag and handed it to her. “His name is Paul Walters. He’s in Los Angeles on business, staying at the Marriott in Century City. Last night at eleven he went to the bar in the hotel. He spent about an hour eyeing various women, but he never made a move. My guess is that he was thinking about trying to pick them up, but he’s too shy, and none of them went for him.

  “He’s supposed to be at the hotel for three more nights. Tonight, Monday, and Tuesday. Chances are he’ll be in the bar tonight. If he is, I want you to bring him back to your apartment and give him the wildest sex of his life. Stuff he couldn’t even imagine. But I don’t want you to accept any money from him. Make him think you’re attracted to him. I’ll pay you.”

  She looked wary. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You don’t have to know.”

  “There’s more to it. What else? I don’t want to end up in jail.”

  The woman was no dummy. “While you’re having sex with him, I’ll be hiding in your bedroom closet and filming it through a crack between the door panels.”

  She stood up, fixed herself a glass of ice water, and sat back down. “Why should I do shit like this? I’ll get into trouble.”

  “I won’t film your face. Just his.”

  “You’re going to put this on the Internet.”

  “Quite the opposite. He’ll want to keep it quiet. And I’ll agree to do that.”

  She was nodding. “Okay, I get it. But it’ll cost you.”

  “I’ll pay you ten thousand in cash.”

  “Twenty.”

  He thought of negotiating with her, but decided against it. “Okay, twenty.”

  “Ten now, and ten when he leaves.”

  “If I give you ten now, how do I know you’ll do it?”

  “You know where to find me. I imagine you’d know how to get your money back.”

  “True.”

  “And I’ll throw in a blow job when you give me the second ten.”

  “That’s good. But wait. There’s more to it.”

  “What else?”

  “The next two nights, Monday and Tuesday, Walters will still be in Los Angeles. I want you to make dates with him for dinner and sex. Both nights. I won’t be filming. Let him think you’re in love with him. As the Americans say, fuck his brains out. Really get him hooked so he doesn’t think tonight was a one-night stand. Tell him you’d like to see him whenever he comes to Los Angeles.”

  “If I have to have dinner with Walters, that means I won’t be able to see anybody else tomorrow and Tuesday. My time is money. So my price goes up when somebody wants to do dinner.”

  “I understand that. I’ll pay you six a night for each of those two nights.”

  “Eight.”

  She was a greedy little bitch. “Okay, it’s a deal. Call your broker. Figure out how to invest the money.”

  “I only buy bonds. I’m risk adverse.”

  He laughed. “By the way, I want you to know Walters doesn’t have any money. So don’t get hooked on him. I’m the one you have to satisfy.”

  Islamabad

  Craig’s Air Force plane arrived at a Pakistani airbase outside of Islamabad. Betty had arranged with the American Ambassador to have an armor-plated, bulletproof car with a driver and two security agents take him into the city for his meeting with the Colonel. She had also arranged to have a Marine helicopter standing by at the airbase. “Just in case,” Betty had told him.

  “How’d you pull that off?” he asked.

  “Ostensibly, in case you decide to tour Pakistani installations. They are supposed to be our ally. As you might imagine, it took a hefty payoff to the officer in charge of the base. It helped that he hates ISI and the Colonel.”

  Craig rode in the back with one security agent. The other rode up front with the driver. All four were constantly looking around, but Craig’s guess was that if the Colonel set up an attack, it would come after his meeting with Craig, not before. The Colonel had to be curious about why Craig made the trip.

  Craig had met the Colonel twice when he had been stationed in the Middle East. Both times, Craig was tracking Al Qaeda terrorists who had escaped to Pakistan. And both times, the Colonel gave them sanctuary and denied they were in the country. Not a damn thing Craig could do about it. Craig would have given anything to wipe the smirk off the Colonel’s face when he mouthed the denial.

  When Craig entered the Colonel’s office, he saw that same smirk.

  “In a strange quirk of fate,” the Colonel said, “We both became the head of our intelligence agencies at the same time.”

  “Congratulations to you.”

  “And you as well.”

  The Colonel motioned to a chair in front of his desk and Craig sat. He watched the Colonel lean back in his desk chair, putting his feet up on the desk, blatantly showing his disrespect for Craig. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Sarcasm was dripping from the Colonel’s voice.

  “I would like to move our relationship from mutual suspicion and animosity to cooperation.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “First, the United States would have to apologize for invading our sovereignty to kill Osama Bin Laden. “

  Craig had anticipated the Colonel’s words. He was ready with his response. “You mean after you apologize to us for giving Osama Bin Laden sanctuary and lying about what you knew about his location.”

  “See, I’m right. A grand rapprochement is not possible.”

  “Then let’s start with something simple.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your role in President Dalton’s assassination.”

  Craig felt as if he had thrown a live grenade on the Colonel’s desk. The Pakistani flinched. “We had no role,” he said, raising his voice.

  “Let me tell you what I know. The assassin was a cousin of yours. Asif Pasha. You arranged for him to move to the United States and become a sleeper. There, a former KGB agent, Dimitri Orlov, planned the assassination and persuaded Asif to fire a grenade launcher which you supplied.”

  The Colonel was gripping the arms of his chair tightly. The smirk was replaced by a grim expression.

  Craig continued, “Come on. You can’t be surprised that I know this. The grenade launcher had a serial number. You received it from us six months ago. No doubt you shipped it to the United States in the original crate.”

  “If you know everything, why did you bother to come this far?”

  “Because I’m missing one piece to the puzzle. Who persuaded you to supply the weapon and shooter? Was it President Zhou or someone from Chinese intelligence?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you telling me it was only Orlov and the Russians?”

  “This is all a fairy tale.”

  “I’m willing to compensate you for the information. Personally. With a considerable amount of cash. Or an electronic deposit in an account of your choice. Anywhere. No one will ever know.”

  The Colonel looked indignant. “I don’t do business that way.”

  “Since when?’

  Craig decided to take a different approach. “Let me lay my cards on the table. At this point, President Treadwell doesn’t know about your involvement and that of your government. When I go back to Washington and tell him and key congressional people, they’ll cut the funding and arms we supply to your government.”

  “Your president would never do that. He knows we could not defend ourselves from terrorists or safeguard our nuclear weapons. We’d have no choice but to turn to the Chinese. You can tell him that.”

  “They would not be as generous.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The Colonel picked up the phone, placed a call, and phone in hand, turned away from Craig, while speaking so softly that Craig couldn’t hear him or read his lips. He may be giving the order to
attack me, Craig thought. But meantime, Craig took advantage of the situation. He removed a small black object the size of a button. A very powerful transmitting device and attached it to the bottom of his chair.

  When the Colonel hung up the phone, Craig, though feeling frustrated, decided to take one more stab. “We can avoid all this acrimony. Just tell me about President Zhou and Chinese involvement in the Dalton assassination.”

  The Colonel stared coldly at Craig without saying a word.

  Craig pressed on. “I know that Orlov and Zhou are working together. I need you to complete the picture.”

  The Colonel stood up. “If you have nothing else to say, Mr. Page, our meeting is over.”

  As Elizabeth had predicted, Craig had struck out in his meeting with the Colonel. His only chance was picking up something from the listening device if the Colonel called Zhou or another Chinese official to tell him about Craig’s visit.

  But what if he didn’t? It was possible that Zhou had sent Orlov to deal with the Colonel, and the Colonel had no idea Zhou was involved. Another possibility was that Zhou hadn’t been part of the assassination. Craig refused to believe that. But now Craig had another concern. If he was right about the call the Colonel had made, then the Colonel had no intention of permitting Craig to leave the country alive.

  Craig climbed into the back of the car and told the three men, “Odds are great they’ll be attacking us. Arms out and high alert.”

  Craig removed his gun from the chest holster and gripped it tightly. The two security guards did the same.

  The driver started the engine. As he did, Craig pulled the audio receiver from a box concealed beneath the center arm rest. He activated the device and listened. The reception was clear. He heard the Colonel barking orders, but nothing involving Zhou or China.

  They were in heavy traffic on a road leading out of town when Craig, who was both watching the road and listening to the Colonel’s conversation, suddenly felt a powerful jolt from behind. He looked around and saw that a pickup truck had rammed into the back of their car. Two men jumped out of the truck and opened fire on Craig’s car. The bullets bounced off.

  Craig glanced through the tinted side window on the left. Two more gunmen were racing toward their car. On the right, three more were coming. Behind them, on the right, Craig saw a grassy cricket field. Cars in front had driven forward and moved to the side of the road to get out of the way of the shooting.

  Craig shouted to the driver. “The cricket field on the right. Get there.”

  “Okay. Tighten seatbelts.”

  He cut the wheel hard to the right, clipping the sides of two cars and barreling toward the wooden fence surrounding the field. The driver blasted through it, scattering the wood panels.

  Meantime, Craig was on his cell calling the Marine helicopter.

  “We need you now,” he called out.

  “We’re on our way. We can pinpoint your location from the tracking device we installed in your car.”

  “Good. We’re in the middle of a cricket field.”

  Craig told the driver to stay behind the wheel while he and the two security agents scrambled out. Craig was holding a gun in his right hand and the listening device, which he viewed as his line to Zhou in his left.

  Men in civilian clothes were running toward the cricket field and firing. Fortunately, they were all coming from one direction.

  Craig and the two security agents took cover behind the bullet proof car. Using that for protection, they returned the fire. Craig counted six Pakistanis down so far, but more were coming. One of Craig’s guards took a bullet in the upper arm. Craig crawled over to the man, ripped off his shirt, and tied it tightly around his arm to stop the flow of blood.

  Craig glanced skyward. Where the hell was that chopper?

  The other agent kept firing, but the Pakistanis were getting closer. All of them were in civilian clothes. No military or police. No doubt the Colonel wanted to say it was spontaneous. Craig resumed firing. He hit two more.

  Then Craig heard the most beautiful sound in the world. The inbound chopper. The pilot put it down about ten yards from their car.

  Two Marines, automatic weapons in hand, jumped out and sprayed fire at the onrushing Pakistanis. Some were hit, screamed, and fell to the grass. The others turned around and ran.

  Once the firing ended, the Marines grabbed the wounded man. With Craig providing cover, they ran toward the chopper. The driver and the other security man followed.

  They all climbed into the chopper which took off leaving the car alone in the field. As they flew, the Marines were manning guns, knowing well that they’d be no match for a Pakistani air force plane or even a surface to air missile. Craig thought about how vulnerable Dalton had been in his helicopter going to Camp David. Craig hoped the Colonel didn’t have enough clout or didn’t dare risk the response that would come if it was clear the Pakistani military killed the CIA Director. As it was now, the Colonel could apologize for those lawless elements beyond the government’s control. Maybe even say it was the Taliban who opened fire.

  Over the roar of the chopper, Craig held the listening device up to his ear. He heard lots of Arabic chatter, but no mention of Zhou or the Chinese.

  That chatter continued even when Craig boarded the U.S. Air Force plane and took off. Then suddenly, the listening device went dead.

  Craig pressed the troubleshooting button. The response was immediate. “Transmitter deactivated.”

  Shit, the Colonel had found the listening device and destroyed it.

  Craig’s mission to Islamabad was a complete failure. He didn’t breathe freely again until they were out of Pakistani airspace.

  After the shootout, Craig knew that word of his jaunt to Pakistan would reach the Oval Office. Craig would have hell to pay with the president.

  Los Angeles

  I should be a professional cameraman, Orlov thought, as he drove from the Four Seasons to the Marriott at five thirty on a chilly morning. The video was perfect and the stills he had made from it at a shop in the Valley that specialized in porn films, were crisp and clear.

  Briefcase in hand, he knocked on the door of Paul Walters’ hotel room.

  “Who’s there?” he heard Walters shout.

  “The bellman. I have an important fax from your company.”

  “Just a minute.”

  The door opened. Walters, with shaving cream on his face, was dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. He was five foot eight and twenty pounds overweight, his stomach protruding over the elastic band, with thinning brown hair and bulky black glasses. Orlov knew from Angie that Walters’s plane back to Washington was leaving at nine twenty this morning.

  “You’re no bellman,” Walters cried out. He raced toward the phone. “I’m calling hotel security.”

  “Not a smart move, Paul. I was a witness to your fun and games with Angie Sunday night. Three times. I’m impressed. For a fifty-one year-old man, you should be proud of yourself. And then, you had a great time with her Monday and again last night. You must be exhausted.”

  Walters grabbed a white terrycloth robe from a chair and hastily put it on. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Orlov pointed to two chairs next to a desk. “We have to talk, Paul. You better be sitting when you hear what I have to say.”

  “I have a plane to catch.”

  “I know. You’re on the nine twenty to Washington on United. You have plenty of time.”

  When they were both seated, Orlov reached into his bag and removed a folder and a DVD.

  “This DVD,” Orlov said, turning it over in his hand, “Contains a video taken from a closet in Angie’s bedroom Sunday night. In the folder are some stills that I made from scenes on the DVD.”

  Walters appeared too stunned to speak. Orlov pressed on. He opened the folder, removed the top three photos, and spread them out on the desk, close to Walters, who was leaning forward, looking through those heavy black glasses.

  In the first, Walters, na
ked, was standing up and Angie was on her knees sucking his cock. Her face was blocked by her blond hair. Walters’ expression was contorted with pleasure.

  In the second, naked Angie was on the bed on all fours, her face away from the camera, her rear end facing toward the side of the bed. Walters was standing on the floor at the side of the bed. He had entered her vagina from the rear, his hands at her waist. He had a wild expression on his face.

  In the third, Walters and Angie were both on the bed. She was stretched out on her back. Her face wasn’t visible. Walters’ head was over her bush; he was licking her.

  Orlov looked at Walters. He was as white as a sheet and trembling. Orlov hoped he didn’t have a heart attack on the spot.

  “I have more pictures if you’d like to see them.”

  Walters shook his head weakly.

  Orlov continued, “Looks like you had a good time with Angie.”

  “What do you want, you bastard?”

  “To help preserve your marriage. I know you’re happily married to Claire with two children, Paul Junior at Penn and Linda at Cornell. It would be unfortunate if any of them received these pictures or the video. Even worse, if your boss at Rogers Laughton saw them and knew how you were spending time on a business trip.”

  “What do I have to pay you?”

  “You have it backwards. I’m willing to pay you one million dollars, deposited into a Los Angeles bank so you can wine and dine Angie when you come out here. Also pay down the hefty mortgage on your Potomac, Maryland, house and cover tuition for Linda and Paul Junior.”

  “And in return for that?”

  “I want the CDs with the technology for PGS, Prompt Global Strike. And I want them delivered to me at Great Falls in Maryland, outside of Washington, tomorrow at midnight.”

  Walters’ jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  “Get the hell out! Right now! I’m no traitor.”

  “No. Of course not. You’re just a man who made a mistake. I’m helping you avoid damage.”

  “And if I don’t do it?”

  “I’ll destroy your life. I’ll not only deliver these photos and the video to your wife, children, and boss, I’ll put them on the Internet on aerospace sites.”