The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  “You’re even more beautiful than Vladimir told me,” Boris said.

  And you’re as full of shit as he is, she thought. “Thank you,” she replied demurely.

  “Please sit down,” Boris said, pointing to three brown chairs that belonged in an executive’s office, not on a boat. His English was spoken with an accent obviously Russian, just like Orlov’s, she decided.

  Elizabeth took one chair. The two men, the others, which they rolled on, sandwiching her in the middle of them.

  “I’d offer you a drink,” Boris said. “But you seem to be taken

  care of.”

  She had forgotten about the glass of champagne she had been holding, but never sipped. She put it down on a small table, leaning forward as she did and showing them enough cleavage for their eyes to follow her. Meantime, she was studying the layout of the room. If either of these two Ruskies made a move for her, she would punch him out and make a dash for the cabin door, which Orlov hadn’t locked. Not a good option. Even if she could handle one or both of them, escaping like that would save her, but blow the mission. No, she had to use her brains and talk her way around to what Craig wanted. He was such a control freak that he’d given her a script to follow in case she and Palmer became separated, but she knew that would only go so far. At some point, she’d be on her own.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name,” she said to their host.

  “It’s Boris.”

  “Boris what?”

  “Just Boris. That’s what my friends call me. I’m expecting you to be my friend when you leave here tonight.”

  She decided to get right down to business, which Craig’s script called for, consistent with the notion that she was hurting for money and possibly desperate. So she looked at Boris. “Vladimir said you wanted to make me a rich woman. I’m willing to listen, but not if it involves sex. I’m no prostitute. If that’s what you want, I’m out of here.”

  Boris smiled. “As I said, you’re a beautiful woman, but in that department, I have as many as I can handle and then some.”

  Russian pig, she thought.

  “Then what do you want with me?”

  “Vladimir said that you’re an engineer at Rogers Laughton in the United States working on long-range missiles.”

  “Yeah,” she said warily. “The whole world knows that. I just presented a paper on the subject in Las Vegas.” Her voice had a hostile edge.

  Orlov jumped in. “Ah, but the whole world doesn’t know that your Epsilon Unit has just completed Prompt Global Strike, or PGS, as you call it, and is preparing to implement it.”

  Elizabeth stood up and looked horrified. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want with me?”

  “We have a business arrangement to offer you.”

  “I’m no traitor to my country if that’s what you mean.” She sounded indignant. “I was an Air Force pilot. My father and my husband, too.”

  “Please sit down and listen,” Orlov said. “If you don’t like what we’re proposing, you can say ‘no’ and walk out of here. If you ever report the conversation to anyone, we’ll deny it. On the other hand, you stand to make a lot of money. Now will you listen?”

  Elizabeth acted hesitant, giving the appearance of a woman who was torn between her country and the money.

  Orlov said, “As an example of our good faith, Boris will give you ten thousand euros just for listening. No strings attached. No commitments on your part.”

  Orlov motioned to Boris, who reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a wad of Euro notes, and plunked it down on the small table next to her champagne.

  “That’s yours,” Orlov said, “whether you agree to work with us or not.”

  Without reaching for the money, Elizabeth sat back down. “Okay,” she said skeptically. “I’ll listen.”

  “Boris and I are working for an international consortium which wants to acquire PGS from you.”

  “Who’s in the consortium?”

  “We can’t tell you. And you don’t have to know. In fact, you are better off not knowing.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Deliver the CDs for PGS to me next Thursday evening at midnight at the Adams Mill in Rock Creek Park in Washington. And in return, I will electronically transfer to your checking account one million dollars.”

  She looked offended. “It’s a joke. An insult to me.”

  Orlov was taken aback. “Come again.”

  “I could be executed or put in jail if I’m caught. You want me to risk all of that for a puny one million dollars. And for the most important new military system in the world? I’m going back to the party.”

  She stood up and walked toward the door. As she did, she kept thinking: I hope to hell I’m not overplaying my hand. If I walk out of here without a deal, Craig will kill me. She had her finger on the doorknob when Orlov called to her. “What is it you want?”

  Great, she thought. Now she had credibility. She’d have to keep it. Negotiating wasn’t something she’d ever done much. She thought about how Harold, her book agent in New York, had successfully negotiated her contract with the publisher and decided to follow his approach. Start high and stay there.

  She wheeled around, looked Orlov in the eye, “One million transferred electronically to my account tonight as a good faith payment. Then twenty million on Thursday when I turn over the CDs.”

  “You’re insane,” Orlov responded.

  “I’m a young woman. It has to be enough for me to live on

  for the rest of my life because once you get PGS, I intend to leave Rogers Laughton and disappear from Washington and my present life. Maybe move to Brazil. I can’t take a chance of sticking around if it ever comes out. Starting a new life this way is expensive.”

  “But you have a daughter, Tracy,” Orlov said.

  Mentioning Tracy almost threw Elizabeth for a loop. She didn’t like them bringing Jill’s daughter into it. She struggled to keep her composure. “Precisely my point. I’ll take her with me. I’ll need more money.”

  Orlov walked over to the bar and poured a vodka for himself. He took a sip. Finally, he said, “I want to be fair. I’ll split the difference. Five hundred thousand; then ten million.”

  “The answer’s no.”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re willing to turn down that much money?”

  “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? The n or the o?”

  Boris laughed. Orlov’s face turned beet-red with anger. Elizabeth knew she was playing a dangerous game. She was on a roll now. There was no turning back. Harold’s approach had worked in New York. Hopefully, it would work now.

  “It was your idea to do this deal,” she said calmly. “Not mine. I’m perfectly happy with my life at Rogers Laughton.”

  “You’re in trouble financially.”

  She laughed. “Don’t underestimate me. I can borrow money and stop gambling. Interest rates have fallen. I’ll refinance my house. That’ll put me back on my feet.”

  “Seven-fifty and fifteen million,” Orlov said, again trying to split the salami.

  “One and twenty is my position,” she fired back without any hesitation. She picked up her arm and looked at her watch. “You have thirty seconds to accept.” Then she sat still.

  Orlov finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp. “Fine. I’ll take your terms.”

  “Good.”

  “I assume you don’t want it in writing.”

  “No, of course not. I think I can rely on your word.”

  She reached into her handbag and removed Jill’s checkbook, which she had asked to borrow and Jill’s cellphone. She tore off a blank check and showed it to Orlov. “Copy down the routing info and account number. Then transfer the one million dollars. I’ll use the automatic call in service at the bank. Once I learn the million is deposited, I’ll know you’re serious.”

  Five minutes later, it was done.

  Looking very satisfied, Elizabeth picked up the pile of eur
os Boris had put down next to her champagne. “I’ll take this for spending money in Monte Carlo.”

  She tucked the money into her handbag and lifted the champagne glass. She turned to Orlov and said, “I’ll see you Thursday in Rock Creek Park.”

  “Just give me your cell phone number if we have a change of plans.”

  She gave him Jill’s. Then she strutted out of the room. Orlov made no effort to take her back to the deck of the boat.

  Very proud of herself, she was now ready to deal with that jerk Palmer. When she climbed the stairs, she observed that the party was still going full blast. Not seeing him, she headed for the back of the boat, where that busty blonde had been fondling him.

  To her astonishment, Palmer was all alone, sitting on a deck chair, his head slumped over to one side. He looked like he was asleep. No sign of the blonde.

  At that moment, she realized what had happened. They had somehow drugged Palmer to isolate her for the meeting with Orlov and Boris. Probably with the Perrier he’d asked for. He hadn’t been doing anything with the blonde. She had just been moving the woozy, drugged Palmer to an out of the way place.

  With a struggle, Elizabeth managed to get Palmer to his feet. One of the other guests, a young man speaking French, saw her plight and helped her take Palmer off the boat. He signaled for a cab and assisted her in loading Palmer into the back seat.

  She thanked the man and told the driver, “Hotel de Paris.”

  She was confident that Palmer would be alright in the morning. Since Orlov wanted to do business with her, he wouldn’t dare kill the man he thought was her boyfriend.

  Craig was so furious at Palmer that Elizabeth was convinced he’d punch Palmer if Palmer had been fully conscious. Craig was mimicking Palmer. “I’ll be there to protect her.”

  “Forget it,” Elizabeth said. “Shit happens. Let him go to bed. I want you to hear what an amazing job I did.”

  Craig was smiling as she gave her report.

  “Damn. You did a great job, Elizabeth.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I just don’t like the fact that the exchange will take place in Rock Creek Park at midnight. It’ll be tough to protect you.”

  “God, you always find something to complain about. I did alright on my own. Let’s worry about your end now. How do you intend to handle this?”

  Craig said, “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll have Jill give us two sets of CDs containing technical info for long range missiles. Not PGS, but an earlier version that’s in the public domain. You’ll take the two sets to your meet with Orlov. Each set will have a micro tracking device that will let us follow its movement throughout the world.”

  “Why two sets?” she asked.

  “Hopefully, we’ll track one to Beijing and one to Moscow. By

  the time they figure out the CDs are phonies, we’ll have all the proof we need that Zhou and Kuznov are manipulating this. They’re both going down.”

  Beijing

  President Zhou was in his office meeting with the Minister of Finance when the encrypted phone he had given Orlov rang. Zhou answered and told Orlov, “Wait a minute.” Then he dismissed the Finance Minister and returned to the call. “What do you have for me?” he asked.

  “We hooked our fish,” Orlov said, sounding ecstatic.

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Easy. ‘A piece of cake,’ as the Americans say. I watched Jill Morgan gambling in Las Vegas. She was unhappy about losing. So I figured money was the key. She agreed to turn over the PGS CDs next Thursday night in Washington. There’s only one complication.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I had to pay her a million dollars, which I had, and I’ve agreed to pay her another twenty million on Thursday, which I don’t have.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? Twenty-one million. That’s ridiculous.”

  Zhou’s voice was cracking with anger. “You’re supposed to be so good. This girl took you to the cleaners.”

  “It’s small change for the world’s most valuable weapons system. But if you don’t want to send me the money, I’ll call it off.”

  “I can’t believe you’d agree to that. You should have found a way to bring her down to a lower price.”

  “You weren’t there. You have no idea what happened.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I would never let a woman push me around like that.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll contact her and tell her the deal’s off. Is that what you want?”

  Zhou was fuming. “No. No. Don’t do that. I’ll wire you twenty million, but if I find out that you’re skimming and she doesn’t get all the money, I’ll cut off your balls.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Of course you would, Zhou thought. All you Russians are thieves.

  When Zhou hung up the phone, the intercom rang. His secretary said, “Your visitor is here.”

  “Good. Send him in.”

  Zhou stood up and came forward to greet the American. He normally sat at his desk and waited for visitors to come to him as supplicants. But William March was special.

  March, who at the time was the U.S. Ambassador to China, had helped Zhou, then Commander of the Chinese Armed Forces, to plan and to implement a daring plot for Operation Dragon Oil to cut off the supply of imported oil to the United States, enabling China to leapfrog over the Americans to world dominance. They almost succeeded and would have, except for Craig Page and that asshole Kirby, the CIA Director. Zhou never blamed March, an old friend and New York investment banker for the Zhou family businesses before he became the United States Ambassador to China. Zhou was relieved when President Brewster decided not to prosecute March because of the damage it would do to Chinese American relations. That was a year and a half ago. Zhou had not seen March since, although Captain Cheng had met with March in San Francisco recently at a meeting arranged by Zhou. Then yesterday, Zhou received a call from March saying, “I’d like to see you about an urgent matter. I’ll fly to Beijing.”

  Zhou immediately made time for March. This could involve PGS.

  “Congratulations on becoming president,” March said. “I hope we’ll be able to work together in the future.”

  “I do as well. What are you doing now?”

  “I’ve gone back to Hansell Gray, my investment banking firm in New York.”

  “Happy to hear that. I’ll let my brother and our Finance Minister know. They are planning many large transactions in the United States. Your advice would be valuable.” Zhou paused for a minute. Enough about business. He was anxious to hear what information March had. “You said you wanted to speak with me about an urgent matter.”

  “Yes. I’ve learned that some foreign power, and I deduced it might be you, is making an effort to obtain an advanced United States weapons system known as Prompt Global Strike, or PGS. If I’m mistaken, and you’re not involved, then I made this trip for nothing and I apologize for wasting your time.”

  Zhou pointed to the chairs in a corner of the office. “Let’s sit down.” Zhou had no hesitation confiding in March. In their prior venture, March never betrayed a confidence regardless of the risk to himself.

  When they were seated, Zhou said, “You’re supposition was correct. How do you know about it?”

  “A man by the name of Hennessey worked for me at Hansell Gray before I became Ambassador to China. We’ve stayed close, though he no longer works with me. Hennessey is now in a senior position at the State Department. He’s also part of a Task Force headed by our old nemesis, Craig Page. They’re trying to find out who was responsible for the death of Paul Walters, a Rogers Laughton engineer, and who is trying to obtain PGS.”

  March coughed and cleared his throat.

  “Does Page suspect me?” Zhou asked.

  “Hennessey told me that Page hasn’t said whom he suspects. He’s playing his cards close to the vest. But that’s not what I came to warn you about.”

  “What then?”

 
“Page is trying to trick you, or whoever is working for you. He’s put out a dangle, Jill Morgan, an engineer with Rogers Laughton. Page wants you or your people to take the bait and focus on her. In fact, she’s working for Page. His hope is that by using her, Page will be able to get to who’s controlling this operation.”

  March’s words delivered a jolt to Zhou. “How confident are you of this information?”

  “One hundred percent. Hennessey sat in on a Task Force meeting when Page discussed it. Hennessey was upset that Page had used Jill as a dangle because she’s a single mother with a twelve-year-old daughter. Exposing her to this danger, in Hennessey’s view, is unjustified. Also, Page infuriated Hennessey, with his autocratic style. In Hennessey’s words, ‘Nobody elected Page to be president or anything else.’ He was so upset that he told me about it at dinner two days ago. I listened. Didn’t say a word and called you.”

  Zhou was stunned by what he had heard. Page had totally manipulated Orlov. The Russian fool, so pleased with himself, had no idea. Zhou would love to get rid of Orlov for his ineptitude, but at this late date changing horses wasn’t possible. Zhou was grateful to March for coming to him with this information, but he was also worried Page knew of Hennessey’s relationship with March and might be using Hennessey in an effort to reach Zhou via March. Zhou refused to underestimate Page. “How did you happen to have dinner with Hennessey?”

  “We had set it up before the Task Force was formed. Hennessey wants to leave the government and come back to the investment banking firm.”

  “Will you take him back?”

  “Probably. I have to talk to my partners.”

  Zhou was now satisfied he wasn’t being set up. “I appreciate your bringing this information to me.”

  “I’d also be happy to give you some advice about how to proceed if you’d like.”

  “First, tell me about Jill Morgan, the dangle.”

  “She’s a genuine patriot. Father was an Air Force pilot and hero in Vietnam. She flew fighter jets for a couple of years before a medical condition grounded her. Prior to that, she went to the Air Force Academy. She’s quite smart. Graduated top of her class in engineering. Has a photographic memory.”