by Ethan Jones
“Many operatives claim such access, simply because they visited the Kremlin one weekend…”
Sokolov said, “Yes, but that’s not the case. And I can prove it.”
“I’m listening.”
Before Sokolov could say anything, the door opened without a knock. The aide walked in and handed Justin a pack of Camel cigarettes and a matchbox. Justin tossed the pack to Sokolov, who caught it with his right hand. He tamped the pack by rapping it against his left palm. He tore open the cellophane and the aluminum foil, then flicked the back of the pack until a cigarette had come out about half an inch. He picked it out with his teeth and lips, then lit it up with the matchbox that Justin had placed on the table.
After Sokolov had taken a puff on his cigarette, he blew out a thin ring of gray smoke, mostly in the direction of the aide, who had quoted the no-smoking policy.
“Where is his coffee?” Justin asked.
“Will come shortly,” the aide said in a curt voice.
“Okay, can you bring me one as well? Black, same as his.” He tipped his head toward Sokolov.
The aide nodded and said nothing.
“And the next time, knock on the door, would you?” Justin said.
The aide closed the door without a word.
Sokolov took another drag on his cigarette and said, “Are they listening to our conversation?”
Justin nodded. “You can rest assured of that. The aide would probably say that it’s not in the rulebook, but trust me, I know better.”
Sokolov returned the nod. “We do the same. All SVR offices are bugged, so the employees toe the line.”
“It doesn’t make betrayal less likely.”
“No, just harder.” Sokolov sighed. “I told you about my access to the Russian president’s desk, and here’s the evidence about it. Do you have a pen?”
Justin produced one and slid it across the desk.
Sokolov tore off the top of the cigarette pack and jotted down a few characters. “This is an online dropbox. The login info.” He turned the slip of paper over and moved it with his cupped hand toward Justin. “It has a recording that you’ll find very interesting and useful.”
Justin pocketed the piece of paper without looking at it. “What is it about?”
“It’s about the upcoming US elections … and some potential meddling by Russian intel services.”
Justin face remained emotionless. “Have you ever heard of deepfakes?”
“Of course I have. Videos or audio recordings that have been digitally doctored and that look and sound very authentic.”
“So, how do I know what you’re giving me is genuine?”
Sokolov smoked his cigarette for a long moment. “You don’t.”
“We can’t trust you…”
“That goes without saying.”
“But let’s say it, so we both know where we stand.”
There was a knock on the door, and the aide brought in their coffees. He set them on the table without a word and closed the door behind him, ghost-like.
Sokolov sipped his coffee, then returned to his cigarette.
Justin gave the defector a look of impatience. “Let’s start with something more concrete. You talked about names and operations…”
“Sure, something local?”
“Whatever proves you’re valuable.”
“Okay. The SVR has a safehouse in southern Helsinki. Here’s the address.” He began to write it on the cigarette box.
“No, type it here.” Justin took his personal phone out of his jacket and opened a notes file.
“Smart, so you can have my fingerprints as well.” Sokolov grinned.
“Unnecessary, but useful.”
Sokolov sipped his coffee and typed hunt-and-peck on the phone’s screen. “The address and the names of the operatives. There’s an operation taking place as we speak. A Russian dissident, former investigative journalist, very outspoken about the corruption in Russia, especially among the high government ranks. She’s hiding in Helsinki. Well, she thought she was hiding. But the Internet world isn’t as anonymous as we think it is. We followed her digital tracks and found her. She lives at this address.” Sokolov typed again on the phone.
“What operation?”
“The dissident is scheduled for elimination, made to look like an accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“Hit and run, most likely. But it would depend on the circumstances. The dissident’s time is up. She thought she could badmouth the government and suffer no consequences…”
“And they’re executing this op at the moment?”
“It was supposed to start earlier today—”
“But you’re not sure…”
“I wasn’t the agent in charge. Besides, given the recent changes in my standing with the SVR, I can’t be absolutely certain. You can find out if you dispatch a couple of men to the dissident’s address…”
“Could they be pulling the plug, considering your defection?”
“They might, if they suspect I knew about it, which I don’t think they do. I was extremely careful.”
“Like when you came to the embassy?”
Sokolov’s face tightened into a frown. “Have you never made a mistake?”
“Plenty.”
“So you understand, then…”
“I understand that if we don’t intervene, this woman will be dead, if she isn’t already.” Justin pushed his chair back and stood up. “Write down her phone number as well.”
Sokolov typed on Justin’s phone and returned it to the operative. “Where are you going?”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
“I have, but do you have to go in person?”
Justin retrieved his phone. “Unlike Russia, we don’t have a legion of spies operating in Helsinki…”
Sokolov grinned. “You should. It’s a hotbed of activity…”
“I’ve noticed. But our budgets are being cut, and our resources are stretched to the limit. Besides, I was told that almost nothing ever happens here…”
“Really? By who?”
Justin shrugged. Those were the exact words of his boss, but he wasn’t about to reveal that to the defector. “I’ve got to attend to this matter.” He looked at the phone, then glanced at Sokolov. “For your own sake, pray this isn’t a trick…”
“Why would I lie to you?” Sokolov shrugged, and his face formed an expression of disappointment mixed with a certain amount of surprise.
Justin shrugged again. “No reason. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
Sokolov pulled on his cigarette. “I’ll wait right here.” He tapped the table. “If you survive this, we’ll talk about other Russian covert ops, assassination attempts, and even something much, much more sensitive that could have lethal, global consequences…”
Chapter Seven
Southern Helsinki
Finland
Arian was still tied up with the situation at the airport, so Justin only had Erik to rely on to provide assistance in preventing the Russian dissident’s assassination. Of course, Justin could inform the Helsinki police and his counterparts in the SUPO, the Finnish Security and Intelligence Service, and accept their help or hand over this case. But he wasn’t fully convinced that Sokolov was telling the truth. And if he did, the involvement of local law enforcement agencies could bring about a series of pointed questions that Justin had no inclination to handle, yet.
So, he gave Erik the address and asked him to come to the dissident’s apartment. It was in the southern part of the city, in an up-and-coming neighborhood, on the second floor of a three-story building, just across from an intersection. As he drove as fast as he could, Justin put a call through to one of his contacts at the Helsinki Daily News , the largest newspaper in the country. It was a trusted investigative journalist with whom Justin had an arrangement of mutual benefit. They facilitated each other’s assignments and, on occasion, like in this case, exchanged intelligence.
Justin asked the journalist to call the Russian dissident, whom he’d heard about, and inform her about the Canadian operative’s visit to her apartment. Circumstances had made the dissident very distrustful of authorities and strangers. Justin hoped the journalist could ease the process of delivering the warning and of the ensuing extraction.
Erik had been closer to the dissident’s apartment building, so when Justin rounded the corner and entered the intersection, he noticed a blue Fiat parked across from the gray-brick complex. Justin stopped behind the Fiat and waited until Erik walked over to meet him.
Justin said, “Anything suspicious?”
Erik shrugged his large shoulders and shook his blond head. “Nothing. I combed the whole area.” He waved his arm around. “No one waiting in cars, or loitering. No one has set up positions on rooftops or windows across from her apartment.”
Justin knew Erik had been on the site for about ten minutes, so he hadn’t had a chance to check and double-check everything closely. But a trained operative like him could do a lot in such a short time.
“Good. Any sign of the woman?”
“No, but I haven’t checked the apartment.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“I’ve got you covered.”
Justin walked to the apartment complex front door. He opened it and looked to the left, at the directory with the residents’ names. Buzzers were lined up along the names and the corresponding apartment numbers. Justin knew that Danica Drugova lived in apartment 209. As expected, there was no name next to that number.
Justin rang the buzzer.
No answer.
He waited for ten seconds, then rang it again.
Again, no answer.
He waited for thirty more seconds and rang the buzzer longer.
Drugova wasn’t home, or if she was, she had decided not to open the door.
Justin frowned. Is she listening to music or watching a loud movie? Or have the Russians already taken care of business? Sokolov said the assassins were supposed to make this look like a hit and run. What if that didn’t work, and they changed plans? What if Sokolov is wrong?
The last thought gave Justin pause. He stepped to the side to allow a young, bearded man to open the entrance door. He stepped through, bobbing his head to the loud sound of hip-hop leaking out of red, wraparound headphones, without giving Justin even a second glance.
That was fine by him.
He pretended to study the directory and, when the man turned his back, Justin caught the door before it closed. He entered the square-shaped hall and made his way up the stairs. When he came to Drugova’s apartment, he placed his ear against the white wood-paneled door and listened.
No music, movie, or any sounds came from inside.
Could she be in the shower?
He glanced at his wristwatch. 10:30. Anytime is a good time for a shower or a bath. He thought about picking the lock, but worried his presence might terrify Drugova. If the Russians had bugged the dissident’s apartment, they’d be warned.
He shrugged and listened for a few moments.
Nothing.
Justin shrugged. Change of plans.
He reached for his phone inside his gray windbreaker and dialed Drugova’s cellphone number. He stayed near the door, in order to hear if the phone rang inside the apartment.
It didn’t.
Instead, a female voice answered in Russian after the third ring, “I’m listening…”
“Ms. Drugova, my name is Justin Hall. I work for the CIS, which is the Canadian Intelligence Service. You should have received a call from my friend with the Helsinki Daily News …”
“I did, but I was totally confused … You are a Canadian operative working in the city … Why aren’t the police contacting me? Why the intelligence service of another country? What business do you have with me?”
“Those are all good question, Ms. Drugova, but this matter is quite sensitive, and I’d rather not discuss that over the phone. And it’s very urgent. Can you meet me right away?”
A moment of tense pause.
“How do I know what you are telling me is true?”
Justin nodded as he walked down the hall. The dissident had probably received phone threats or strange phone calls, and it was only reasonable for her to want a degree of certainty about the caller. He thought about his reply and how he could word it so that he didn’t scare her away. “I have some information about your work and your reporting on Russian corruption… Would it be possible to discuss this in person?”
“Not if you don’t give me more details…”
“Fair enough. We have received information that leads us to believe your life is in danger—”
“That’s nothing new, Mr. … What did you say was your name?”
“Justin Hall.” He began to climb down the narrow, brown-carpeted staircase.
“Yes, Mr. Hall. I receive threats on a daily basis. I don’t check my Facebook or Twitter accounts anymore. The emails … They’re full of venom as well.”
“This time it’s serious. The Russians are taking action—”
“They’ll never silence me…”
Justin sighed as he reached the apartment building’s entrance door. “Listen to me: They will kill you. Today.”
“What?” Drugova’s voice had lost some of its initial confidence.
“Yes. A hit squad is on their way to your apartment. Where are you?”
“Eh … I’m at the café, Monaco Café, just a short distance from my home.”
“Stay there, in plain view of the patrons. Or chat up the barista or one of the employees.”
“Could they be here already?”
“I hope not.” Justin waved at Erik, who was standing near the Fiat. “But we’re coming to you. Should be there soon.”
“Eh … alright.”
“Call this number if you see something, anything suspicious, okay?”
“Okay.”
Justin ended the call and gestured to Erik. “Monaco Café, do you know where it is?”
He shook his head and pulled out his phone. “No, but I’ll find out.” He pulled up Google Earth on the screen.
“Drugova is there. I warned her…”
Erik nodded and studied the map. “Three blocks north, seven blocks east.”
“A short walk, she said…” Justin got into the driver’s seat.
“Ten minutes, maybe.” Erik hurried to the other side of the Fiat.
“Let’s do it in five.”
“It’ll depend on traffic…”
“We’ll pay the fines. Her life depends on us getting there quickly…”
Chapter Eight
Outside Monaco Café
Southern Helsinki
Finland
Justin drove hard and fast, pushing the Fiat to the limits allowed by the streets and the traffic. He zipped through an intersection and almost flattened a bicyclist, who had decided to use the pedestrian crossing light. The operative then swerved at the last moment, to avoid scraping a black SUV as they fought for the same lane. Up ahead, Justin entered a two-way street and crossed into oncoming traffic, risking a head-on collision more than once. But as luck would have it, the Fiat rounded the last corner and fishtailed in front of the Monaco Café.
He would have preferred a less grandiose entrance, but there was no time to lose. They might already be too late. “Cover the back,” he said to Erik while they parked illegally in the loading zone. “I’ve got the front.”
Erik nodded.
Justin looked at his wristwatch and said, “If we’re not out in two minutes, come get us.”
“I’ll burn up the place to get both of you out alive…”
Justin smiled at the young man. His tight facial muscles told Justin those were not just words. “Not yet. We’ll extract her surgically and stealthily.”
“If possible.”
Justin nodded. “If possible.”
He stepped outside and walked toward the ca
fé. His driving had attracted the attention of a handful of patrons who were sitting along the café’s windows. He thought about unzipping his jacket, but was concerned someone might notice the pistol in his shoulder holster. He scanned the parked vehicles in front of the café, along the other stores, and across the intersection.
A red-haired woman wearing sunglasses was waiting in the front passenger seat of a silver Nissan Qashqai SUV. Justin slowed down his steps and glanced further away. Whom is she waiting for? Is she one of the assassins?
He pulled open the heavy wooden door and entered the café. He had no idea about the popularity of the establishment. It seemed to be full of young people, with no one over his age. Justin shrugged, as he felt old. He glanced around, trying to spot Drugova, and realized he hadn’t given her his description. She didn’t tell me if she was alone… He had seen her picture, so he kept scanning the café until his eyes found the dissident sitting next to a corner near the back of the café.
She had turned her back to him, but she wasn’t alone.
Drugova was talking to a man who appeared to be in his thirties, or about ten years her junior. He had a petite goatee, small black eyes, and a large forehead. His medium-length hair was gelled and slicked back. Justin couldn’t help but think he looked like a gangster in a movie about the thirties. What if he’s the second member of the hit squad?
He peered and looked over the man’s shoulders. He appeared to be fully immersed in the hushed conversation with Drugova and paid no attention to Justin. The agent continued to look around, walking closer to the table, but in a tangential direction, so as to not draw the man’s attention.
He could now see Drugova’s profile. Her shoulder-length hair had turned gray at the temples and at the top of her head, and she had embraced her middle-aged looks. She had high cheekbones, a finely pointed nose, and green-blue eyes. She was wearing a black sweater, and a black coat was hanging behind her chair.
Justin cast another sweeping gaze around the café, but no suspicious patron caught his eye. He shrugged and headed toward Drugova’s table, keeping a close eye on the young man.