“Please, Piotr, spare me the manufactured shock. You may have been hoping for a different outcome, but inside you’ve known all along how this was going to end.”
He hung his head. Shook his head again in disgust but didn’t argue.
“And your analysis is erroneous, anyway,” she added.
“Is that so? Would you care to share how I erred before condemning me to weeks of suffering, followed by an agonizing death?”
“You are incorrect in your conviction that I’m going to subject you to radiation poisoning. Even though you, and Marinov, and everyone along the chain of command above him inside the KGB seemed to feel it an appropriate way to deal with your rivals, I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to the effects of radiation. I simply couldn’t do that, not after having seen its effects up-close and in person.”
“So that ugly scene with the spray bottle of Polonium last night was—”
“It was the most effective way to extract the information I needed. No more and no less. I decided that physical pain alone would not provide sufficient motivation for a longtime pro like yourself to cough up intel.
“But the prospect of suffering from radiation poisoning,” she continued, “well, I thought that might be a different story. And I was right.”
“So you were never going to spray me with the suspension.”
“Oh, I would have sprayed you, absolutely. Perhaps you would have crumbled after receiving the dose. It would certainly have been worth a try, anyway.”
“But you just said—”
“Come on, Piotr, use your head. I know you’re tired and in pain and heartbroken to have been beaten at your own game by a woman—and an American woman at that—but still, you’ve been doing this a long time. Think about it for a second.”
His forehead wrinkled in concentration, but only for a moment. Then his eyes hardened. He ground his teeth together so hard Tracie could see ropy muscles bunching along his jawline. “There was no Polonium-210.”
“Congratulations, you’re a winner. I figured when I took that little lead-lined bottle from the Arzamas-16 plant that if you saw it you would immediately associate it with the deadly radiation you’ve been carrying around inside identical bottles for the last three years-plus.”
She grinned. “And you didn’t disappoint me, Piotr. P.T. Barnum supposedly said ‘there’s a sucker born every minute.’ Well, you lived your minute to the hilt.”
“What was in the bottle?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Just tell me.”
“If I’d sprayed you, you would have gotten a mixture of water and a little honey forced up your nose. Harmless. Hell, maybe it would have been good for your sinuses, I don’t know.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“I’m sorry, Piotr, I missed that. Could you speak up?”
“I said you are nothing but a dirty little cyka. When I get out of here…”
“You’re not getting out of here, Piotr. Ever. At least not while you’re breathing. I said I wouldn’t inflict Polonium-210 on my worst enemy. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to complete my mission.”
She drew her Beretta.
Examined the still-attached suppressor with a critical eye.
Tilted her head and nodded theatrically. “I think this will still work just fine.”
Speransky tried to shrink back into his chair but there was nowhere to go.
“It’s time,” Tracie said.
She lifted the weapon and trained it on the Soviet operative.
33
January 25, 1988
11:35 a.m.
CIA safe house
Moscow, Russia
“Stop! Please! Do not shoot!” He was panting and cringing and trying to escape but there was nowhere to go.
Tracie ignored him and began to squeeze the trigger.
“I can tell you where we got the list!”
Tracie had long preferred a weapon that required substantial trigger pressure to fire, and that preference saved Speransky’s life.
At least for now.
She eased off the trigger and lifted the Beretta’s barrel toward the ceiling. Stared unblinkingly. “What did you just say?”
Sweat stains soiled Speransky’s shirt, giant dirty arcs that testified to all he had suffered through since the staged traffic accident yesterday outside Kremlyov. He’d done a good job of maintaining his dignity and professionalism right up to the last moment, but then he had cracked.
He took a deep breath and blew it out shakily. “I said I know the source of the leaks that cost the lives of the American operatives.”
“That cost the lives of American operatives? Don’t you mean the operatives that you murdered?”
“Fine. Yes. The operatives I murdered. But changing the phrasing does not change the point. I can provide you with the name of the man whose actions permitted the KGB to identify and execute American operatives.”
Now it was Tracie’s turn to narrow her eyes.
Speransky paused to catch his breath. He’d been panting like a tired dog as Tracie began squeezing the trigger and it seemed clear he was more than a little surprised to still be alive.
“With Marinov dead,” he continued, “I am the only person left who knows the source of the leak.”
“Bullshit,” Tracie said.
Speransky shrugged slightly and nodded. “You are right. There are others who know. But those others are positioned so highly on the KGB chain of command you could never access them. You were lucky to get at Marinov. Extremely lucky. But it would have been nearly impossible to access high-ranking KGB officers before today. After your murder of Slava Marinov, it will be impossible. They will close ranks. Disappear. You will never even find them, much less kidnap and torture them like you have done to me.”
The flood of words emphasized Speransky’s desperation. Tracie understood his reasoning because she had employed it herself in his position. Get your captors talking and keep them talking.
Talking was much less dangerous than shooting.
She cleared her throat, stalling for time while she considered this new development.
Then she shook her head. “You’re full of shit.”
“Not true. Kill me now and you will never know what I know.”
“You said you had no idea where the list had come from, that Marinov would never share such a secret with a lowly field operative.”
“You are not the only one who sometimes finds it expedient to lie.”
“Fine. But I still don’t believe you. Your ‘information’ is nothing but a pathetic attempt to save your own worthless skin. No handler would allow his operative access to that kind of intel.”
She wasn’t lying. She believed everything she had just said—it would serve no purpose for a superior to share the source of intel with his operative.
But still…
A little voice in the back of her head told her Speransky was telling the truth.
He was desperate to save his life. That fact was obvious and indisputable. But desperation did not automatically translate into his words being untruthful.
This was a dilemma of the sort she had never before faced. Of the sort she had never imagined facing. Her orders had been explicit: eliminate the evil behind the radiation-poisoning deaths of a half-dozen American patriots over the last three-and-a-half years.
She had succeeded thus far against all odds. Had eliminated Slava Marinov and was one squeezed trigger away from completing her assignment.
There had been no equivocation to her orders. Stallings had been very clear, and there had been no misunderstanding on Tracie’s part as to the nature of her mission.
She had accepted it and traveled to the Soviet Union with every intention of completing it.
But wouldn’t the CIA director want to learn the source of the leak so it could be plugged permanently? Wouldn’t this entire mission be rendered moot if the KGB retained the ability to acquire the i
dentities of American assets?
Today’s mission success would slow them down, certainly, but eventually they would dust themselves off and assign another operative the task of assassinating American assets one by one. And all she had accomplished here, at great personal risk, would be nullified.
She made her decision.
Lowered her gun and once again trained it on her captive.
“Talk.”
Tracie knew there was no way Speransky would be able to guess whether she was about to put two slugs into his skull or not, because she had no idea herself. She had steeled herself to eliminate the KGB operative, had been prepared to complete her mission and get the hell out of Russia despite her aversion to the notion of executing an unarmed man.
“Why would I say another word when I know you will only kill me once I have given you what you seek?”
Tracie almost laughed out loud. Despite the stress, despite the tension crackling in the air like an electrical storm, invisible and deadly, Tracie almost laughed out loud.
Now that he had successfully gained her attention, Speransky needed to negotiate for his life, but the KGB man made a valid point. Tracie’s credibility had evaporated with the promise to let him live if he gave up Slava Marinov. She had reneged on the deal, and that fact threw the current situation into chaos.
She could promise to spare him if he revealed the source of the CIA leak, but why would he believe her?
It seemed an unsolvable puzzle, but there was one last possibility. Speransky had kept his mouth firmly closed about the CIA leak until milliseconds away from a 9mm execution. Only then had he offered up what must be his final bargaining chip.
“Why would you say another word? Here’s why, Piotr. Because if you don’t reveal the leak, I’ll pull the trigger in the next three seconds. It’s your choice. Talk or die.”
The blood drained out of his sweat-soaked face. Again.
Tracie gave him a moment to start talking, but all he could manage was “Please…no…please…”
She squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed weapon coughed and a slug ripped into the wall behind Piotr Speransky. It blasted a hole in the plaster and showered the defenseless man with fine white powder.
He screeched, and piss began to flow onto the wooden chair and the smell of urine filled the room as Speransky’s bladder released.
But still he didn’t speak beyond the nearly incoherent, desperate pleas for his life.
Goddammit.
The threat of violent death had been Tracie’s last gambit. She had nothing left to hold over the man’s head. He seemed willing to take the secret of the CIA leak to his grave.
Goddammit.
But…
What about the truth? What if she could convince him that he actually could escape with his life and that all it would take to do so would be to rat out one more person?
He likely wouldn’t believe her. He had absolutely no reason to believe her. But if the choice was to believe in the possibility of life or face her Beretta again and the certainty of violent death, with the knowledge that this time she would not aim for the wall…
She had nothing to lose, and even if the odds of failure were high she decided she had to try.
“It seems we’re at an impasse, Piotr, wouldn’t you agree?”
His head hung as he took in the sight of his soaked trousers. He didn’t seem to have heard her, or if he did he had chosen to ignore her.
“Comrade Speransky, look at me.” She spoke softly, her voice almost a whisper.
After a moment he lifted his head and met her gaze. He looked as exhausted and terrified as he had before, but now he looked defeated as well.
“Just finish me and be done with it,” he mumbled. His eyes skittered away from Tracie’s and he started to drop his head again.
“Piotr!” This time her voice was strident and he jumped. His nerves were shot to hell. But he locked eyes with her again and this time held her gaze.
Tracie figured it was the best she was going to get. She said, “You’ve heard of the concept of going after the big fish, I assume?”
He shook his head, confused. “Big fish? What are you talking about?”
“I already told you my mission. To eliminate the men causing the horrific deaths of American CIA assets in the Soviet Union.”
“Da, you did. Which is why I wish you would just get on with it.”
“Listen to me, Piotr. You might find my words valuable.”
“I’m listening.”
“I fully admit I lied to you. I did what I had to do to get you to give up Marinov. I had no intention of allowing you to live. I admit that, and as a fellow espionage professional, I have every confidence that you can understand my reasoning.”
He said nothing, but his eyes glittered with the beginning of what Tracie hoped was understanding.
“But now,” she said, “things have changed. I want to go after the big fish. If you truly know the name of the CIA employee whose treason had resulted in the deaths of those American operatives, I want it. The ability to apprehend that person means far more to me than does killing you. Give up that CIA name and I give you my word I will walk out of here without pulling the trigger on you.”
Suspicion clouded Speransky’s eyes and Tracie continued.
“No bullets in the head. No execution. I swear to you as a fellow professional. I want the American whose treason has cost my people their lives much more than I could ever possibly want you, Piotr.”
“Fellow professional, eh?”
“That’s right. A fellow professional.”
“There is one big problem with your reasoning, above and beyond the fact that you have demonstrated already you are completely untrustworthy. As a ‘fellow professional,’ I understand in a way no one else could that you are not in any position to make the offer you just made. If your mission is to execute Marinov and me, then that is exactly what you must do or face severe consequences upon your return to Langley.”
Tracie blinked in surprise. Even as rattled as he clearly was, Speransky had instantly seized upon the weakness in her argument. Once more she realized that despite the oceans worth of differences between their governments’ worldviews, their two intelligence organizations were not as dissimilar as either would like to believe, and Speransky had grasped that fact immediately.
But she wasn’t about to go down without a fight. “As a longtime field operative, surely you have been in situations where you were required to make judgment calls that may or may not have gone against your specific orders.”
“Of course. But why would you risk potentially severe consequences when you could avoid any chance of suffering those consequences by shooting me in the head after I tell you the name?”
“Because that’s not how I operate.” She knew how lame the words must sound to the man she’d already lied to once, and hurried on. “I could also avoid those consequences by lying to my superiors when I get home. I could advise them that I succeeded in eliminating the two men responsible for the Polonium-210 and they would never know the difference.”
Speransky’s eyes wandered, focusing on something—or perhaps nothing—over Tracie’s right shoulder as he considered her words.
“Think of it that way if it makes your decision easier, Comrade. And remember this: you have nothing to lose by trusting me, and potentially everything to gain. If you do not surrender the name of the American traitor, you will die, alone inside this depressing little room, within the next few minutes.”
She turned and walked away, giving the KGB operative a little time and space to think. She wandered into the tiny kitchen and poured a glass of water. She had given it her best shot and now the ball was in Piotr Spernasky’s court.
She waited three minutes.
Four.
Five. Then she wandered back into the living room. “It’s decision time, Piotr. What’s it going to be? Do you want to live or die?”
34
January 26,
1988
8:40 a.m.
Alley near the CIA safe house
Moscow, Russia
Tracie had no desire to return to the cramped, dark and uncomfortable crawl space beneath the Russian-made ZiL-157 delivery truck. The hour or so she’d spent inside the hiding spot while being smuggled into Kremlyov had been more than long enough for this lifetime or any other.
But leaving the nerve center of the Soviet Union would have been challenging under the best of circumstances, and after the chaos she had wrought in and around Moscow over the last few days Tracie knew her chances of escaping the USSR without use of extraordinary measures would be virtually nil.
She could cut and dye her hair. She could add lifts to her shoes and artificial bulk beneath her clothing to transform from slim and petite to tall and heavy. She could wear glasses and change her complexion using makeup, but none of it would matter. Red Army personnel would be blanketing every airport within a five-hundred mile radius of Moscow, checkpoints and roadblocks would be established and manned with heavily armed security.
She would be sniffed out.
Captured.
And then she would be executed. That would have been the likely outcome if apprehended before her elimination of Slava Marinov. It was a certainty now.
So when Ryan Smith backed the truck into the alley half a dozen streets away from the safe house Tracie had been using as a base of operations, she clamped her jaws together and tried to prepare for the better part of a day’s journey locked away inside a space that felt roughly the size and dimensions of a desk drawer. The engine rumbled and coughed, diesel fumes filling the dirty Moscow air, and then air brakes squealed and the truck shuddered to a stop.
The rear bumper clunked off the frame and then Smith was climbing down from the cab. He approached Tracie with a smile that never made it to his eyes and she was reminded how much was at stake, not just for her but for him as well. If her hiding place were to be discovered at a roadblock, Tracie Tanner would not be the only one to suffer a brutal and lonely fate.
Ryan Smith would disappear without a trace as well, fated to spend the rest of eternity in an unmarked Russian grave.
Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set Page 115