The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  “We could pick him up at the airport.”

  “I don’t want to do that because I’m hoping Orlov will have high-ranking Chinese and Russian officials at the exchange. Having Elizabeth see them will enhance our case. Also, I want the exchange to take place. We’ve installed micro electronic tracking devices on the CDs Elizabeth is turning over.”

  Giuseppe was smiling. “Same old Craig Page. I’m glad you’re on my side.” Thoughtfully he added, “So that means following Orlov and Elizabeth to the rendezvous point. Not losing them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I assume she’ll be wearing a wire or tracking device.”

  “She refused. I argued with her, but couldn’t persuade her.”

  Giuseppe was shaking his head. “Elizabeth is one strong-willed woman. I admire that about her.”

  “I do, too… most of the time.”

  “Sexist.”

  Lunch came. Seafood salad for Giuseppe. “I’m trying to watch my weight.”

  Steak for Craig. And a bottle of Brunello from Antonori. They paused to eat and drink. Then Giuseppe said, “I’m worried. This could be a very difficult assignment for us.”

  “What resources has the Czech government put at your disposal?”

  “That’s part of the problem. Not much, I’m afraid. Four soldiers and an unarmed helicopter that I can call upon. For anything else, I’ll have to go back to the Defense Minister. To get even that much, I had to twist arms.”

  “What’s their problem?”

  “When Dalton was president, he made lots of enemies in Europe.”

  “Well, he’s not president any longer.”

  “Attitudes are slow to change in the old world.”

  “Okay. I’ve got it. I’ll have a helicopter on alert at the nearest American base in Germany and some combat Marines ready to climb into that chopper if I need them.”

  “My guess is you will. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “You worry too much. Didn’t we save the Pope?”

  “Saving Elizabeth may be more difficult.”

  Prague and Czech Republic

  At ten minutes to noon, Elizabeth bounded off the plane in Prague, full of adrenalin and not exhausted because she’d forced herself to sleep in a comfortable first class seat on the two flights. Somewhere over the Atlantic, she managed to brush aside her anxiety and stop thinking about the tremendous risk she was facing. She had learned from Craig to compartmentalize: focus only on completing the job.

  In the terminal, she headed toward passport control, clutching a leather bag that held the CDs and wheeling her carry-on. As she cleared customs and entered the arrival hall, a distinguished looking gray haired man in a suit and tie approached her. He was in his sixties, she guessed.

  “Come with me,” he said in English with a thick Czech accent.

  “Who are you?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Franz is my name. Vladimir sent me to meet you. I’ll help you with your bag.”

  He took the wheelie suitcase from her hand.

  Elizabeth didn’t resist. It contained clothes and cosmetics. She had no intention of parting with the leather bag containing the CDs.

  Outside, the air was hot and humid with thick clouds in the sky. It felt as if a fierce rainstorm was approaching. In front of her, at a distance, were a range of high mountains, with patches of snow near the jagged peaks.

  She followed Franz to a black Mercedes sedan in the parking lot. He popped the trunk and loaded her bag inside. As he did, she noticed two men, also in suits and ties, seated in front and no one in the back. Franz opened the back door and held it for her, motioning for her to get inside.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “We’re taking you to Vladimir. Isn’t that what you want? You agreed to meet him for your exchange.”

  “Why don’t we go into the airport coffee shop and make our exchange there?”

  Franz smiled faintly. “We’re just messengers. We can’t make any changes.”

  That narrowed her choices. She could get into the car and hope Craig would follow her as he promised. Or she could cut and run, hoping that Franz and his two friends didn’t overpower her and force her into the car. Not much of a choice. She was determined to follow Craig’s plan so he could obtain the information they needed. She climbed into the back of the car. Franz went around and sat down beside her.

  Once the door shut, the driver activated the rear door locks. No turning back now. The front passenger barked orders to the driver. They were moving toward the exit of the parking lot.

  The driver of the Mercedes sped along the highway that snaked around Prague, cutting in and out of lanes. After twenty minutes, they were climbing into the mountains. The air conditioning was blasting. Elizabeth was shivering.

  “Where are we going?” she asked Franz for the third time.

  Her question was again met with stony silence. I just hope to hell Craig has been able to follow, Elizabeth thought.

  She was afraid to look through the back window for fear of tipping them off.

  An hour later, they were driving through a forest. Rugged oaks and silver beech lined the narrow road. Looking through the front windshield, she didn’t see any other cars.

  Ahead was a narrow bridge over a deep gully. The Mercedes raced across. They were climbing higher.

  Fear was beginning to grip her. You’re being foolish, she told herself. Craig won’t lose you. He won’t let anything happen to you.

  Craig was in the front passenger seat of a gray BMW, the first of two cars following the black Mercedes. A Czech soldier was driving; another was in the back seat. Behind them, another gray BMW held two more Czech soldiers.

  As they traveled outside of town, Craig worried. Where were they taking her? Had he underestimated Orlov?

  Through binoculars, Craig watched the Mercedes speed across a narrow bridge over a deep gully. His car was about a hundred yards from the bridge when a large truck carrying hot asphalt moved off the apron and blocked the narrow road. A man climbed out of the truck and held up a stop sign. The driver of Craig’s car slammed on the brakes and pulled up next to the truck.

  “Ask him what’s happening,” Craig said to the driver.

  He got out, talked to the man with the stop sign, and returned to the BMW. “He said the bridge isn’t safe. They’re making repairs. I asked him to move over and let us cross before they make the repairs. He refused.”

  “Go around him,” Craig said.

  “I’m not sure I can. He hasn’t left us much room.”

  “Try it anyhow.”

  The driver shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, you’re the boss.

  He threw the car in reverse to swing around the truck. Then to Craig’s horror, he heard a loud explosion and part of the bridge collapsed.

  Craig knew exactly what had happened: Orlov had arranged to have the bridge blown to stop anyone from following. Helplessly, he stared at the deep gully in front of them, while metal and concrete fell through the air. No way they could drive down one side and up the other. He asked the driver if there was parallel road that they could circle back and take.

  “You would be adding fifty kilometers,” the driver said. “We would never catch the Mercedes.”

  Craig cursed under his breath, removed his cell phone and called Giuseppe to explain what happened.

  “I’ll get in the Czech helicopter,” Giuseppe said. “Try to find the Mercedes and get a fix on their location. It’ll be tough in these clouds. I hope to hell the storm holds up. Meantime, you might as well come back to Prague.”

  Feeling helpless, Craig followed Giuseppe’s instructions.

  Elizabeth heard a loud explosion behind the Mercedes. She guessed that Orlov’s friends had blown the bridge to stop Craig from following. Suddenly, the Mercedes slowed and pulled off the road.

  Franz said to Elizabeth, “Give me your tracking device.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You’re lyi
ng.”

  “Why would I have a tracking device?”

  “Get out of the car.”

  She dutifully obeyed.

  He removed a ten inch black instrument shaped like a cricket bat from his bag. She watched him open the trunk and run it over her suitcase. It never made a sound. Next over the leather bag she was clutching. Nothing. He passed it over her blouse rubbing against her breasts.

  “Pick up your skirt,” he said.

  “Go screw yourself.”

  He snarled, then ran it over her skirt, front and back. The device was silent.

  Franz took out his cell, made a call, and announced, “She’s clean.”

  Elizabeth guessed Franz was calling Orlov.

  How in the world would Craig find me?

  Elizabeth tried to keep her increasing fear under control. Don’t panic. Craig will think of something.

  Franz told her to get back into the car.

  They were moving again.

  After thirty minutes, looming ahead, she saw an old gray stone chateau with four turrets and two towers. Either it was from the Middle Ages or an incredible copy. She felt as if she were dreaming.

  Before they reached the chateau, the skies cut loose with a torrential downpour. The Mercedes turned onto a dirt road, leading up to the castle. A tree branch was blocking the center of the road. The driver braked, causing the car to skid into a ditch along the side of the road. He tried a couple of times, unsuccessfully, to blast out, the tires spinning and squealing.

  “Halt,” Franz said. “We’re close enough. “We’ll walk the rest of

  the way.”

  Dressed in brown pumps with a medium heel, Elizabeth wasn’t exactly ready to walk in the mud. But that was the least of her worries.

  Franz pulled her by the arm along the muddy road. She was gripping her bag tightly. The two other men from the car had guns aimed at her, fearful that she might try and escape.

  By the time she reached the entrance to the chateau, her hair was soaked and water was running into her eyes. All of her clothes were sopping wet. Half a dozen armed men, all elderly, dressed in Red Army uniforms, were standing outside the chateau, seemingly impervious to the rain.

  Once she passed them, Franz led her inside, then up an old wooden staircase that creaked. A rat scurried out of their way.

  At the top, they entered a large living room with a crackling fire. Armed soldiers in old Red Army uniforms stood guard in each of the four corners of the room.

  She spotted Orlov across the room. He came forward to greet her. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me. Let’s make our exchange and Franz will take you back to Prague. You’ll have your twenty million dollars. Then you can go anywhere you want.”

  Franz and the two who had been in the Mercedes remained in the living room.

  Orlov held out his hand. “Give me the CDs.”

  Reaching into her briefcase, she extracted two boxes of CDs and held them up. “I even made a duplicate.”

  “PGS is on these?” Orlov asked.

  She nodded.

  “Give them to me.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “My twenty million dollars.”

  “First the CDs.”

  “No! The money. I insist.”

  Elizabeth knew she was playing a dangerous game. They could shoot her at any time and take the CDs, but she wanted to reinforce her credibility.

  “Okay,” Orlov said. “We’ll do it your way, but if you’re trying to trick me, I’ll make certain you’ll never spend a cent of the money. And I’ll kill your daughter as well.”

  He said it a cruel, sadistic voice.

  She handed Orlov a piece of paper with a bank account in Brazil.

  “That’s different than the account you gave me for the one million and the two million. That was in Maryland.”

  “With the risks involved, I needed a place where I’m safe from United States extradition.”

  Orlov nodded.

  Once she confirmed the transfer to her account, she handed Orlov the CDs.

  “Before I can let you leave,” he said. “I must have them examined for authenticity to make sure you’re giving me what I paid for.”

  His words cut through Elizabeth like a knife.

  “How do you intend to do that?” She was trying to keep her cool.

  Orlov shouted, “Vladimir. Come in here.”

  A man entered from one of the back rooms. He was about Orlov’s height, but twenty pounds heavier. As the man approached Orlov and Elizabeth, Orlov said, “Vladimir, I’m sure you’ve met Jill Morgan at one of your international conferences.”

  Vladimir calmly replied, “Of course I’ve met Jill Morgan. But this woman isn’t Jill Morgan. I’ve been listening and watching from the other room. She looks a lot like Jill Morgan, but there are differences. And she doesn’t sound at all like Jill Morgan.”

  Orlov’s head snapped back in surprise. “What the hell?” He looked stunned, his face white as a sheet. “Who are you?” he said to Elizabeth.

  Midway back to Prague, Craig told the driver to pull over in a grassy area. The rain was coming down in sheets. The car behind pulled over as well.

  Craig called Giuseppe. “Were you able to locate them?”

  “I was getting ready to call you. We had to land the chopper because of the weather. But I managed to find out where they’ve taken Elizabeth. An old deserted chateau. I have precise coordinates.”

  “Good. I’ll call for the Marine helicopter on standby at our German base. Have them pick me up here. Then we’re going in.”

  “You have one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I called the Czech Defense Minister to get approval for your chopper in their airspace. He said positively not.”

  “Fuck him. We’re doing it anyhow. What’ll he do. Shoot the chopper down?”

  “That’s what he threatened. And I think he means it. You have only one way around it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have President Treadwell call the Czech president. The Defense Minister claims he’s acting on direct orders from the Czech president.”

  “I don’t fucking believe it.”

  Craig knew he had no choice. But time was precious. “I’ll get on it right away.”

  As he dialed Washington, he realized minutes were ticking away and Elizabeth was in great danger. The only good news was that the rain appeared to be passing. At least the chopper would be able to fly…

  if he managed to get approval.

  All I can do now, Elizabeth thought, is stall for time hoping Craig would be able to get to her. So she said to Orlov, “I work with Jill at Rogers Laughton. She was afraid another trip to Europe might make people suspicious so she sent me. But none of that is important. You have the CDs. That’s all you care about. Let Vladimir check them. He’ll confirm that.”

  “Okay. I’ll do that,” Orlov said. “But you better not be lying.”

  Vladimir went into the other room, brought back his computer and inserted a CD.

  Elizabeth sat down to watch him. If he asked her a technical question, she was dead.

  He was working for about thirty minutes. Jill had done a good job preparing the phony CDs. Finally, he stood up from the computer and told Orlov, “They’re phonies. Carefully done, but all public information.”

  Orlov raised his hand and slapped Elizabeth hard on the side of her face. “Lying bitch.”

  Then he said, “I want you to get Jill Morgan on the phone and have her explain the differences between PGS and what’s on the CDs.”

  “Jill may not be in the office. She may not have access to the

  PGS CDs.”

  Orlov was smiling sadistically. “So what? Jill has a photographic memory. She’ll be able to tell Vladimir from memory.”

  “I won’t call her,” Elizabeth said.

  Orlov walked over to the side of the room, picked up a met
al case and opened it. What Elizabeth saw inside terrified her: electrodes for torture.

  Orlov turned to one of the soldiers. “Tie her to the chair. We’ll test her threshold for pain.”

  I’m being stupid, Elizabeth thought. If I call Jill, she’ll be smart enough to know what’s happening. She’ll never give Vladimir the true PGS, but I’ll buy more time for Craig to get here. Elizabeth took out her cell phone. “What if Jill won’t give me the information?”

  “Tell her that I’m calling Russian friends of mine attached to the Embassy in Washington. They’ll go to Jill’s house, wait for her daughter to come home, and kill her.”

  Orlov then removed his cellphone from his pocket. He made a call, speaking Russian, which Elizabeth didn’t understand. Except she heard in English, “Jill Morgan… Tracy Morgan… and Jill’s address in Gaithersburg.” If Orlov was bluffing about the threat to Jill’s daughter, he was doing a good job. Elizabeth remembered Craig had stationed two CIA agents in Jill’s house, but she didn’t know how many Russians would be coming. It could be a real bloodbath.

  Orlov said to Elizabeth, “Stop stalling and make the call to Jill. Put it on speaker.”

  Hurry, Craig! Hurry, Craig!

  Elizabeth called Jill. In a shaky voice, she said, “They’ve discovered that the CDs are fakes. They’re threatening me and your daughter unless you explain over the phone to Vladimir Drozny, a Russian engineer, the differences between what’s on the discs you gave me and the true PGS. I have you on the speaker with Vladimir and some other people.”

  For ten seconds, Jill didn’t respond. She must be trying to evaluate what I told her and how to answer, Elizabeth thought. God, I hope she knows how to play it.

  Treadwell’s secretary told Craig, “Hold for just a minute. He’s in a meeting, but I was instructed to interrupt him if you called.”

  While he waited, Craig looked through the car window. The rain had stopped. He got out of the car. Cell phone plastered to his ear, he anxiously kicked his foot on the muddy ground. Then he heard, “Yes, Craig,” in Treadwell’s tense voice.