The Russian Defector

by Ethan Jones

  Kharkiv, Ukraine

  Justin claimed he was all right, but the doctor stationed at the Donetsk Airport took a closer look at Justin’s bruised and swollen ankle and came to the opposite conclusion. He was certain there was extensive ligament damage, which was confirmed by an MRI scan. Fortunately for Justin, he had broken no bones, but the doctor suspected torn tendons. Without an ultrasound, he couldn’t be certain. He was adamant that the CIS operative should be immediately flown to Kharkiv. “I’ve seen too many young men lose their limbs, and I don’t want you to be one of them,” the doctor said.

  Justin appreciated the doctor’s concern, although he wished he could spend more time with Ihor, Ava, and Lazar. They had spoken very little during the short helicopter flight, because of the Ukrainian army soldiers. When they landed at the airport, Ava had given him a tight hug, and had promised to call, so they could chat. Who is this woman?

  Carrie had flown with Justin after that, and they were both admitted at the Kharkiv Military Hospital. She had injured her lower back during the ejection from the MiG fighter jet. She hadn’t truly felt the pain until the violent vibrations of the helicopter. It was probably a dislodged disc or something minor, she hoped.

  Justin told his surgeon about the complications with his other leg injury. Four hours later and after a series of long tests, the team of doctors had arrived at the same conclusion as Justin’s unauthorized Finnish doctor. It was ACS, or acute compartment syndrome. Muscles around the wound site weren’t getting the correct amount of oxygen and nourishment. They had grown weak, and Justin was starting to lose control of them. Surgery was strongly recommended, but it didn’t have to be done immediately.

  The sprained ankle took priority. Both the surgeon and Justin had witnessed situations when a small wound had caused serious consequences to the patient. Even in minor surgery many things could go wrong.

  As fate would have it, nothing did.

  Justin was wheeled back into his room, where Carrie was waiting for him. She jumped out of her seat and said, “So, how did it go?”

  Justin smiled. “The surgeon said I was lucky. The lateral ligaments were torn, but the tears were tiny, minor, not complete. At least that’s what I remember.” He shrugged. “The joint is good. Slight damage to the cartilage and the bone, but nothing’s broken. Otherwise, I would have needed a cast or a brace and six to twelve weeks of rest.” He looked at the elderly nurse pushing his wheelchair.

  She shook her head and said, “The kids these days… Ain’t nobody got time for rest.”

  Carrie smiled. “I can take over from here.”

  The nurse returned the smile. “You’ve got a good woman here. Don’t let her go.”

  Justin didn’t try to correct her. He waited until the nurse had left the room and said to Carrie, “I have to keep this splint on until it gets better, and they’ll bring me a walking boot.”

  She helped him out of the wheelchair and into his bed, moving him slowly as to not injure his leg. When she was finished fluffing his pillows and sliding them behind his back, Justin asked, “How’s your back?”

  “Better than what I thought. Nothing broken. A couple of slipped discs, which pinched nerves and squeezed muscles. My right leg is weak and tingling, but it could be worse.” She winced.

  Justin offered her a sad look. “How’s the pain?”

  “Unbearable without these.” She showed him two white pills. “I’ve got to take two every two hours.” She swallowed them and took a sip of water. “How’s your other wound?”

  Justin frowned. “That one’s not good. I’ll need surgery.”

  “When?”

  “Don’t know. Not right away, but sooner rather than later…”

  “What will Moretti say about it?”

  “Not sure. Not much, I imagine. He was very happy with what we did in…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at a young female nurse who had just pushed open the door and entered their room.

  She gave Justin a look of confusion, as if she had the wrong patient. She looked at her clipboard, then at the room number. “Mr. Boss, right?”

  Justin had insisted they be registered under aliases, so Carrie had chosen Ms. Springfield.

  “Yes,” Justin said. “That’s me.”

  “Good. I’ll come back in a minute. Blood tests.”

  “Again?”

  “Doctor’s orders.” Her voice left no room for objection.

  Justin glanced at Carrie and shrugged. He said, “Yes, Moretti—I hope he’s reasonable. I want some time to recover from this.” He gestured at his ankle. “I don’t want to go through surgery again, not right away. It’s not safe…”

  Carrie gave him a sideways glance. “What, you’re a doctor now? You just don’t want to be away from the field.”

  Justin offered her his best poker face.

  Carrie waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t work with me; you know that.”

  He shrugged. “On the topic of field ops, who do you think Ava is?”

  “What do you mean? She’s former Spetsnaz…”

  “No, that’s what she used to be. But what does she do now? Where is she going after this operation? Who is she working for?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Justin gave her a puzzled look. “Aren’t you curious?”

  “I am. I just don’t think it matters that much. But we can find out.”

  “Unofficially.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you think will happen to Sokolov?”

  “When he returns to Russia? Nothing good… He failed his op. SVR doesn’t like failed ops.”

  “He was so close to fooling us all.”

  “True.”

  “What about the ones who sent him?

  “We might never learn about them. Something about Russians and dirty laundry.”

  “They’ll disappear in an accident, a plane crash, a fall from a balcony.”

  “Heart attacks are an easy way out.” Carrie shrugged.

  Justin gave her a thoughtful look. “Another thing I wish we’d found: the missile’s target.”

  “We’ll keep looking. It has to be a soft target. We’ll find it.” Carrie stood up and took another sip from her plastic cup. “I’m getting some water. Do you want anything?”

  “A porterhouse steak?”

  She grinned. “Something healthier.”

  “It’s the healthiest thing God ever made.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Do they have coffee?”

  “I saw a coffeemaker in the staff room. I’ll get you some.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. Despite the painkillers, his entire body hurt as if he had fallen off a tall building. He felt like his bones were going to pull apart, and his body was going to crumble, like a Lego tower falling onto the floor. I should take a break, a long break. Go somewhere warm, with Karolin. Maybe Hawaii. Never been to Hawaii…

  He was daydreaming of snorkeling around the Molokini Crater just off Maui, when Carrie came into the room. She handed him a porcelain mug. The strong aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room. The coffee was too hot to drink, so he held the mug with both his hands.

  Carrie asked, “Now what?”

  “We wait for our flight. We leave at ten a.m. Should be in Vienna in the evening.”

  “Have you talked to Karolin?”

  “Not since Donetsk.”

  “Call her. What are you waiting for?”

  “I will.”

  “Right now. Don’t let the woman wait.” She gave Justin her phone and stood up. “I’ll be outside.” Carrie closed the door behind her.

  Justin dialed Karolin’s number. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said when she answered.

  “Justin, how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m doing well.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m coming home…”

  Epilogue

  Three Week
s Later

  ECS Headquarters

  Vienna, Austria

  The sprained ankle was almost completely healed, and, during the last two days, Justin had been able to move around without his walking boot. He hadn’t had any dizzy spells or episodes where he had struggled for balance. He hoped he wouldn’t need surgery, but the agency’s surgeons thought otherwise. “We shouldn’t wait long. Two, three months at the most, sooner if the events continue.”

  Moretti hadn’t pressed the matter. He seemed to be glad to have Justin around the office, and Justin didn’t mind taking things easier for a while. He filled the days with reviews of intelligence reports and spent the evenings with Karolin. He went out for lunches with Carrie and tried to exercise at the local gym, as much as he could, to stay in shape. Near the end of the second week, he began to feel antsy. He couldn’t sit still for long, and this had been the longest he had been away from the field.

  When Moretti called him and Carrie for a meeting early Monday, he knew it had to be an operational briefing. Officially, the Ukrainian operation was still unfinished. Justin hadn’t been able to learn much during the last few days. He hadn’t tried too hard, wanting to remain in Moretti’s good graces. After hiding the truth from his boss about his health condition, Justin wanted to do nothing to put himself into a vulnerable position. He pulled no strings, asked no questions, stayed in the dark.

  He met Carrie outside Moretti’s office, in the oval foyer. It looked darker than what he remembered it, and Justin couldn’t decide if the lights were dimmer or if it was cloudier. He looked at Carrie, who was sitting across from him in a cream-colored armchair, and said, “Is it me, or is it dark in here?”

  “It’s you. What color is my jacket?”

  “Black?” He grinned.

  “See? It’s you.” She laughed and flattened the front of her navy-blue jacket.

  “No, I think someone monkeyed with the lights.” He looked at the six-pronged bronze chandelier hanging from the ceiling, then at the Venetian red walls. He shrugged. “What kind of operative am I if I can’t figure this out?”

  Carrie smiled. “The kind that doesn’t care about things that don’t matter.”

  Justin opened his mouth, but had no smart-aleck comeback. So he shrugged and sat further back in his armchair.

  Moretti’s office door opened, and he stepped outside. He gave Justin a curious look, as if he was surprised to see him there. Then his face lit up with recognition. “Yes, yes, our meeting. Come in, come in. How are you doing this fine morning?” Flavio’s strong voice rang out with his pronounced Italian accent.

  “All right, sir. You?” Justin waited for Carrie to walk in front of him.

  Moretti’s small corner office was about ten by ten and no bigger than the other offices in the headquarters, a nineteenth-century gray-brick building on the Landstrasse, a short walk from Vienna’s diplomatic quarter. The building had been renovated and upgraded to the necessary safety and security standards required by the CIS. But the original blueprint had been kept, along with most of the building’s baroque façade, gabled roof, and arched windows.

  “I wish it was still Sunday.” Moretti looked at Carrie. “How is it going?”

  “Things are great, boss.”

  “How’s your back?”

  “Almost completely healed.”

  “Ten percent left?”

  “Five, maybe?”

  They’d been playing a percentage game since the first day Carrie had returned to full duties, which had been the first day she had returned to Vienna. At that time, she was at seventy percent.

  “And you, how are you feeling?” Moretti turned to Justin, who had taken one of the straight-back seats across from Moretti’s small and meticulously clean dark mahogany desk.

  “Ready to get back to work.” He tightened the knot of his black tie and gestured out the window with his head.

  “Have the docs cleared you?”

  “They have.”

  “Problems with your loss of balance or anything else?”

  “No, not since I started the new meds. They’re working wonders.”

  Moretti nodded, but seemed unconvinced. “When’s the surgery?”

  “We don’t have a date.” Justin gave the well-rehearsed reply. “I hope I can do it when things are slow.”

  Moretti snorted. “Slow … That’s never going to happen.”

  Justin stifled the grin that had almost started to form on his face. That was exactly his point: no time for surgery, so no surgery.

  His boss sat on the white swivel chair and unlocked one of the desk drawers. He pulled out a red folder, and Justin smiled. He liked the red color, the indication that whatever report was there was for an operation that was, at least in theory, concluded.

  “The Helsinki op, first.” Moretti flipped through the pages. “I know you’re going to ask about it, so before you do… The girl wounded at the airport, she’s recovering well. She’s up on her feet and is walking around, almost as good as you.”

  Justin smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Yes, the Finns have great healthcare and excellent doctors.” He shrugged and flipped one of the pages. “The terrorist, he had an accomplice, a baggage handler who was able to slip a pistol past security. SUPO busted the entire Helsinki cell, six men in all.”

  Justin felt like saying that if his boss had given the order, Justin and his team could have avoided the entire airport shooting. Instead, the CIS operative said nothing.

  Carrie said, “How’s the dissident?”

  “Still in Estonia, but she’s planning to return to Helsinki. Turns out she wasn’t such a pain as Sokolov and the Russians made us believe she was. It was part of their strategy to hoodwink us. Along with the fake recording and the bogus intel. It almost worked.” He said his last words with a clear tone of regret.

  “But then the Russians turned good. They went through with the operation, at least half of their team. They fought well and came to our rescue,” Justin said.

  “I don’t get it,” Carrie said. “What happened there?”

  “I don’t have the correct answer,” Moretti said. “But I have a few ideas. It could be that they didn’t get the memo, but I doubt it. Russians make sure nothing is lost in communication. It can’t be that Ava went rogue; the price would be too high for anyone. That leaves the option of her truly believing the mission was to retrieve or destroy the missile.”

  Justin nodded. “The traitors in her team were supposed to derail her mission. In this way, the Russians would appear as if they wanted to ‘assist’ us in this mission, when they really didn’t.”

  Moretti nodded. “Yes, but Russia will never admit that. In fact, they’re publicly saying that there was no Yars missile in the Lugapol military base. The series of explosions is blamed on an accident, a fire started by someone smoking a cigarette.”

  Carrie grinned. “Well, they’re right that smoking kills…”

  Justin asked, “But who is that woman?”

  “Ava?” Moretti shrugged. “It’s interesting. When I inquired, I received a call from the D-G.”

  “The big boss? The Director-General?”

  “Yes, I’ve never talked to him on the phone in my years of service.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said to stop asking questions about her.”

  Justin arched his eyebrows.

  “Why?”

  Moretti frowned. “I didn’t ask ‘why.’ When the D-G says to stop something, you just stop doing it. But it appears she works for an important secretive organization. The D-G’s order was for us, all of us, to stop looking for answers. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Justin said.

  Carrie said, “We haven’t done much, but we’ll cease right away.”

  “Good. Let’s leave this woman be.”

  “Back to Sokolov. What’s going to happen with him?” Justin said.

  Moretti sighed. “Yes, he’s turned out to be a real pain. He�
�s asked for political asylum, claiming he’d be killed if he was sent back to Russia. His lawyers are turning this whole thing into a circus, since they have the media’s ear.” Moretti flipped a couple of pages through the folder. “It doesn’t really matter. The Russian government has already branded him a traitor. No matter what happens, Sokolov isn’t getting out of this alive.”

  Justin nodded. Political asylum wasn’t going to do Sokolov much good. The Russians wouldn’t stop looking for him until they found him. Sokolov simply knew too much. He leaned forward and asked, “What about the others who instigated the defector’s operation? What happened to them?”

  Moretti shrugged. “As you can imagine, we don’t have much intel on specifics, since this seemed to have been orchestrated at the top level in the Kremlin. If Sokolov’s fate is an indication, whoever was expected to execute the botched operation has been dealt with, or will be shortly. And it’s not going to be pleasant.”

  Carrie said, “They had it coming.”

  “What do we know about the potential missile’s target?” Justin said.

  “Nothing conclusive. There were several potentials. One is the most probable: a Polish aircraft that flew over Ukraine. The aircraft was carrying the newly elected Polish prime minister and most of her cabinet. The prime minister has been quite vocal, aggressively so, speaking loud and clear against Russia’s meddling in Ukraine. According to her, Russia presents an existential threat to the region, especially Poland, considering their history and the largely undefended border.”

  Justin said, “Really? Poland is a NATO member. The Russians wouldn’t dare invade or interfere with Poland.”

  “Oh, they will. Russia’s view is that NATO is a toothless tiger. Its resources are stretched too thin, it’s underfunded, and there’s disunity amongst the members.”

  Carrie said, “There’s no evidence Russians were involved in the terrible incident that decimated Poland’s government a few years back.”

  Justin nodded. “Right, but there’s no need for evidence to blame Russia nowadays…”

  Moretti said, “That’s why I think it’s unlikely for Russia to try the same thing. However, if the separatist rebels, who are under no one’s control, did it, it would be different.”