The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  Jiang raised his eyebrows.

  “Did you know the man?” Zhou asked.

  “We met once at an international aerospace conference. He was a competent engineer. No more. Seemed like an unhappy man. What happened?”

  “He took his own life. Plunged into the Potomac River.”

  “I see.”

  Jiang’s words and expression conveyed the sense that he had a general idea of what had happened.

  “Well, at any rate, Orlov wants to meet another member of the Epsilon Unit to obtain the CDs for PGS. What would you suggest?”

  Without hesitating, Jiang responded, “Next Friday in Las Vegas, Jill Morgan, one of the four, will be presenting a paper at the International Aerospace Association conference. I know that because I’m planning to attend. That could be a good opportunity for Orlov to meet her.”

  “Could you get Orlov credentials so he can attend as a Russian delegate?”

  “Easily. I’m friends with the British head of the organization.

  If Orlov gives me a Russian name, I’ll get him the credentials.”

  Zhou turned to Orlov. “I’ll have some make-up people change your appearance before you go back to the United States so they don’t recognize you from this Walters fiasco.”

  Zhou asked Jiang, “Is this Jill Morgan married?”

  “A widow with a twelve-year-old daughter.”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell them to make Orlov better looking. Perhaps he can romance Jill Morgan.” Then Zhou looked squarely at Orlov. “Talk to your sister, Androshka, she knows how to use sex to get what she wants.”

  Zhou watched Orlov roll his hands into fists. He’d like to attack me, Zhou thought, but he doesn’t have the balls to try.

  PART FOUR

  * * *

  The Endgame

  Las Vegas

  Following Jill’s advice, Craig arranged with Bill Merritt for Rogers

  Laughton to make a large contribution to the International

  Aerospace Association in return for a blast of publicity advertising Jill’s presentation entitled “Cutting Issues in Long-Range Missile Development.” Craig was hoping to lure Orlov to Las Vegas to meet with Jill. It made sense. This was a high visibility aerospace conference. Chinese and Russian delegates would be there. Jill would be speaking on a topic related to PGS.

  Rogers Laughton’s interface with the Association fed Craig information. Eight Russian delegates were registered for the conference. All were staying at the Hotel Sienna, the conference site. Working with the hotel management, Craig obtained copies of the passports of all eight, which were made when they registered Wednesday and Thursday morning for rooms. None of them looked exactly like Orlov. That didn’t dissuade Craig. He expected Orlov to change his appearance. Three bore a slight resemblance to Orlov.

  Craig also studied the video from the camera in the registration area which operated twenty-four hours a day by focusing on the times the three registered. He concluded that only two of them had a height and weight resembling Orlov’s.

  Craig had a CIA agent dressed as a maid take fingerprints from the rooms of the two. The prints were sent electronically to Betty in Langley. Moments later, he saw her return email: “Eureka!”

  Before Elizabeth’s anticipated arrival at the Sienna at three, Thursday afternoon, Craig had matched Orlov’s prints with the delegate claiming to be Vladimir Drozny, an aerospace engineer from RSR Industries in Volgograd.

  Craig then fired off an email to Jill in Gaithersburg asking her, “Does the name Vladimir Drozny mean anything to you? Attached is a picture of a delegate with that name.”

  With her photographic memory, Craig was confident she’d remember if she ever met him.

  Back came an immediate response: “Vladimir Drozny is an

  engineer with RSR, a Russian aerospace firm. That is not his picture.”

  Craig then turned to the Chinese delegation. He knew that Zhou was a control freak. After Orlov’s failure with Walters, Zhou might have insisted that one of the Chinese engineers team up with Orlov. Craig obtained the identifying information and photos of the Chinese delegation and forwarded them to Jill.

  A minute later, she responded: “Jiang Hua is the head of R&D for the Chinese military. I’ve never met him.”

  Craig’s guess was that if Zhou had recruited anyone to work with Orlov, it would be Jiang. He’d have to watch Jiang, too, to see if he contacted Elizabeth, thinking she was Jill.

  As soon as Elizabeth arrived in the suite, registered in the name of Jill Morgan, Craig explained all of this to her and showed her the

  photos of Vladimir and Jiang. She was stripping off her clothes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Changing into my bikini. I’m off to the pool. I want to see if Vladimir is looking to make new friends.”

  “Just be careful. Remember he’s dangerous. Don’t get over confident.”

  Three hours later, Elizabeth returned looking glum.

  “What happened?” Craig asked.

  “Nobody talked to me. A real blow to my ego, but I got a good suntan.”

  They had dinner alone in the suite. Once the room service waiter left the food and departed, Craig began talking. “I’ve been working with hotel security. It’s amazing how they have every inch of this hotel, except for the inside of guest rooms, covered with hidden cameras.

  I have Dale, one of my people, down in the hotel’s video control room where he can pull up live feed from any camera in the hotel in real time. The hotel security people are willingly working with us. Orlov is in room 1015. He’s now in his room. We followed him there with cameras. Room service arrived with his dinner half an hour ago.”

  “This is all incredible.”

  “I agree. When he leaves the room, we’ll follow him with the cameras. If he exits the hotel, we’ll pick him up as soon as he returns. The more likely scenario is that he’ll go to the casino. When he does, I want you to go there as well. Give him a chance to make contact with you there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s review the plan for the casino again.”

  “We’ve been through it a dozen times.”

  “One more won’t hurt.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I play craps and lose. Making it look like it hurts. When I’m cleaned out, I go to the bar.”

  “Precisely. I’ll be watching it all on video and giving you info about Orlov via a tiny device you’ll have in your ear.”

  Elizabeth looked annoyed. “Why do we need that?”

  “It’s a micro receiver. Even with your shorter hair, to resemble Jill, your hair covers the ear. He’ll never notice it.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s overkill, Craig. You don’t have to keep such tight control over me. Orlov won’t expect me to have the CDs in Las Vegas. What can he do to me?”

  Craig was ready with his answer. This was something that worried him ever since he had agreed to substitute Elizabeth for Jill. “Don’t

  forget. Jill has a photographic memory. If they’ve done their homework, they’ll know that, too. Which means they don’t need the CDs. They can force Jill to divulge all of the technical components in her mind.”

  “I guess so.”

  Craig could tell she wasn’t convinced. He didn’t care. He wasn’t taking any chances with her.

  Craig’s cell rang. It was Dale in the video control room. Craig had given Dale instructions to watch Orlov/Vladimir and Jiang. Craig put it on speaker so Elizabeth could hear. Dale said, “Russian subject is on the move… Left his room… En route to the elevators… Pressed down button… Entered elevator three… Two other women inside…

  Lobby floor is lit… Subject didn’t press any other buttons.”

  “Talk about big brother,” she said.

  Dale continued, “Russian exited the elevator and is in the lobby en route to casino. He’s wandering around the casino. Appears to be deciding where to play.”

  “What about the Chinese target?”
<
br />   “Just entered the dining room with three other members of the Chinese delegation. They’re having drinks. He’s in no hurry.”

  “I’m on my way down to your position. I’ll watch with you.”

  Craig ended the call and turned to Elizabeth. “Showtime. I’ll leave the suite first. You go five minutes later. Make sure you wear your delegate’s ID badge. We want Orlov to recognize you and make his move.”

  With his eyes glued to the screen streaming live video from the casino, Craig watched Elizabeth walk around for a few minutes, then settle at one of the craps table. Orlov was eyeing her. He moved over to the same table. Standing across from her. Craig watched Orlov watching Elizabeth.

  She reached into her purse, removed five thousand in hundreds, and converted them into chips. Across the table, Orlov bought five thousand in chips as well. In forty minutes, Craig watched Elizabeth’s pile shrink to a handful of chips, while Orlov’s remained about the same. Elizabeth placed her remaining chips on the come line. The point was eight and the shooter tossed the dice against the back of

  the table. Elizabeth strained to look. It was a seven. Her chips were scooped away. “Damn dice,” she muttered loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

  Looking distraught, she converted another five thousand. “Now I’m playing for my daughter’s college tuition,” Elizabeth said loudly, as she piled up her chips.

  “Easy, Elizabeth, don’t overplay it,” Craig said sotto voce.

  Elizabeth had the dice. She was betting heavily. Two thousand on each roll. Craig watched in dismay as she scored two points, recouping much of her losses for the evening.

  A beefy red-faced man at the table shouted in a Texas drawl, “Lady has a hot hand.”

  Unbelievable, Craig thought. She’s the only person in history who didn’t want to win, but suddenly was. Luck couldn’t be that cruel.

  Orlov was betting with Elizabeth and winning, too. Craig saw him smiling. With a reckless wave of her hand, Elizabeth left her winnings on the table.

  All the bets were down. She rolled the dice in her hand then tossed them. They came up as a six and a four, establishing the point. Another round of bets was placed on the table. Elizabeth put down another thousand on the come line.

  “Come one ten,” somebody yelled.

  She rolled again. Even from the screen, Craig felt the tension. He held his breath.

  “Seven and out,” said the tuxedo clad Hispanic croupier who swept up her chips and all of those who bet with her.

  “Damn! There goes my winter vacation,” Jill called out.

  The dice passed to someone else.

  Five minutes later, Craig saw a very sad looking Elizabeth place her last two chips on the come line. The point was an eight. The shooter tossed the dice against the back of the table. She strained to look. It was a seven. Her two lonely chips were gathered up.

  Across the table, Craig saw that Orlov had about as many chips as he’d started with. Perhaps a few more.

  Elizabeth grabbed her purse, left the table, and headed for a bar in the corner. Craig and Dale picked her up on another camera.

  Only two people were seated at the bar. In the center, a tired looking gray haired man in his seventies, Craig guessed, with a drink in front of him. On the right end, a buxom blonde in a tight-fitting, low cut, short black dress that exposed most of her thighs and half of her boobs. A glass of champagne in front of her. Craig thought the blonde resembled Angie, based on the picture in a bikini that Leeds had put on the screen during the Task Force meeting.

  Elizabeth sat down on a bar stool on the left side. Moments later, Orlov headed toward the bar.

  He’s taking the bait, Craig thought, feeling a surge of excitement. Elizabeth’s back was toward Orlov. Craig expected Orlov to sit down in the empty chair next to Elizabeth, but he didn’t. He eyed her for a few seconds, then passed her and sat down next to the blonde at the far end of the bar. He’s playing with us, Craig thought. He must suspect something.

  Eyes bulging, Dale said to Craig, “Look at the headlights on that blonde.”

  “You’re supposed to be working.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  Ten minutes later, Orlov left with the blonde, his arm around her waist. Elizabeth looked dejected.

  Craig didn’t see any sign of Jiang in the casino. He said to Dale, “Go back to the dining room. See if the Chinese target is still there.”

  A minute later, Dale said, “He and his buddies are still eating.”

  Craig said to Elizabeth over the two-way, “Time to shut down for the evening. Meet you back in the suite.”

  Craig got there first. When Elizabeth arrived, she kicked off her shoes. “I feel like a total failure,” she said. “Maybe I should have gotten those breast implants a couple of years ago. That’s all you men are interested in.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m serious. You’re not a woman.”

  “The hooker he picked up looked like Angie. You want to compete with that?”

  “I guess not.”

  She rifled through the mini bar. Found a bottle of cheap chardonnay and opened it.

  “You want a glass?” she asked, holding up the bottle.

  “Bad wine gives me a headache.”

  “Snob.”

  She poured herself a glass and gulped down half of it.

  “I’m afraid Orlov suspects something,” Craig said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What is it then? Orlov didn’t come all this way to get laid with a prostitute. He could have done that in Russia. He came to meet Jill Morgan and talk to her about PGS.”

  “The problem is the atmosphere in this damn Las Vegas hotel. It’s spooking him. With his KGB background, he has to know there are hidden cameras everywhere. After what he did to Paul Walters and Angie, I’ll bet he’s afraid to be caught on film making contact with me.”

  Craig thought about it for a minute. “You’ve got a point. But how do we get around it? This is the setting we have to work with.”

  She drank some more wine, then said, “Tomorrow, at the end of my speech, I’d like casually to throw in that next week I’ll be going to Monte Carlo for a vacation. If Orlov doesn’t approach me tomorrow, let him make his move on me there. Plan B. What do you think?”

  Craig was frowning and shaking his head. “I hate it.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you know how tough it would be for me to protect you in Monte Carlo?”

  “Use your friend Giuseppe. He could enlist Jacques. Together, they could provide all the bodies you need.”

  When Craig didn’t respond, she pressed him. “C’mon Craig. It’s the only way. You know that. We have to get Zhou for what he’s done to both of us. Not to mention what that lunatic will do to the United States if he gets his hands on PGS.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m convinced. But hopefully, he’ll make contact with you tomorrow and we won’t need Plan B.”

  Sated from sex, Orlov lay in bed in his hotel room watching the woman called Terry dress. He had paid her three thousand up front.

  Before leaving, she came over and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He reached into the night table drawer, pulled out five hundred and handed it to her. “A tip.”

  She gave him a card. “My cell and email address. Call me.”

  When she was gone, Orlov got up and poured himself a glass of vodka to clear his head.

  He had never been in Las Vegas before, and he’d always wanted to see it. Vasily Sukalov, the Russian oligarch he’d worked for, had told him that Vegas had the most awful heat, but the women were not to be believed. “Once they know you have money, you can’t keep them away. They’ll swarm over you like bees over honey. They’ll do anything you want. For one week, I fuck my brains out. I thought it would fall off. The next time I go, I’ll take you along.”

  That never happened. But Orlov had to admit that Vasily was right on both
counts. In terms of the weather, the place was a hot air oven. Walking from the air-conditioned airplane terminal to the cab, and later to the hotel, Orlov thought he would pass out from the heat.

  This place was hell without the flames. Terry, or whatever her name was, had given him one of the best times he’d ever had in bed. And he’d even won a few dollars in the casino because he bet a lot smarter than Jill Morgan.

  All of that was fine, but it wasn’t why he’d come to Las Vegas. His objective was to establish contact with Jill. She wasn’t at all bad looking. In fact, he found her attractive. Nice face. Good body. Tight ass. He’d come to Vegas with the idea of getting her in the sack and winning her over that way. He was confident that he’d be so good in bed she’d do whatever he wanted, including turning over the CDs from PGS. It had worked for him in the past; it would work for him again.

  Yeah, that was the plan he’d developed on the long plane ride to Vegas. The trouble was there were so goddamn many hidden cameras in this fucking hotel that he couldn’t make a move without one of them picking him up. People might have seen him entering or leaving Angie’s apartment building when he killed her. That place might have had hidden cameras as well. He knew that Americans were enamored with the damn things.

  Though the Chinese had changed Orlov’s looks, his physical characteristics, like his walk and how he carried himself, were the same. The FBI or CIA could have made an ID from the cameras. He couldn’t take a chance of someone concluding that the man who killed Angie was now hooking up with Jill Morgan. If that happened, they’d pick him up before he even got started with Jill, and his whole PGS project would go into the toilet.

  Orlov finished his drink and poured another. But that didn’t mean, Orlov thought, that this evening was a total loss. It wasn’t.

  In the casino, Orlov had learned something very valuable: Jill Morgan needed money. That was the hook he’d use to recruit her. Money, not sex. It might not be as much fun, but it was a lot easier.

  At nine thirty the next morning, Craig was back in the hotel’s video control room. The video stream he and Dale were focused on was coming from the cameras in the Grand Ballroom—set up in a theater format with a raised platform in front for speakers. Twelve hundred delegates were seated in chairs in the audience.