Cooper mentally counted to one hundred before getting up. He did as Mike instructed and ordered a black coffee with a sesame bagel, cream cheese on the side. He was about to sit down at a table set exclusively for the use of the bagel-shop patrons when movement next to the Mercedes caught his eyes.
“Mike, someone’s getting out of the vehicle,” murmured Cooper into his mic. His heart was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach. His vulnerability and the thought of spending time in prison made him nauseous.
“Okay, James,” Mike responded. His voice was reassuring and it had a calming effect on Cooper. “Use your smartphone to snap pictures of them if they come inside the terminal. Don’t worry about zooming, your guys will be able to enhance the photos for us—”
“I know that, Mike,” Cooper said, positioning his phone in a way that would allow him to photograph anyone coming through the terminal door.
“Of course you do. I’m sorry,” Mike said. “One more thing, though. Make sure the flash isn’t set at auto.”
Cooper was about to reply that he knew that too, but checked anyway. Holy crap! The flash was indeed at auto. “Done,” he said. “Thanks, Mike.”
“Drink your coffee and eat your bagel, James,” Mike said. “Act like you belong.”
Cooper looked at his right hand. It was shaking. I’m so much better in front of a computer screen. He wondered how Jasmine Carson felt the moment just before she entered the room where she was ultimately killed.
“Did anyone enter the terminal?”
Cooper raised his eyes from his shaky hand and focused on the swivel door. “No,” he answered, “but there are two people standing outside the vehicle.”
“What are they doing, James?”
Cooper squinted. “One of them is smoking, I think,” he said. For a moment, the lights of a passing car illuminated the couple.
“Mike, I believe Dr. Votyakov is one of the people standing outside the Mercedes.”
........
Mike Walton’s brain went into overdrive. Why would Dr. Votyakov come to the airport to pick up Dr. Galkin? But at the same time, why not?
“You got that, Charles?” Mike said.
“We did,” Mapother replied. “That doesn’t change why you’re there, Mike. Proceed as planned.”
Capturing Dr. Lidiya Votyakov would be a game changer. There were ways he could make her talk. He’d need a secure environment to do so, though. And right now, his cover was wearing thin. It was one thing to do an exfiltration out of Russia with someone who wanted out; it was another to attempt it with somebody who didn’t.
God, I wish Lisa was here instead of James.
“Charles, are you sure Dr. Galkin is privy to all the data related to Votyakov’s research.”
“Don’t even think about it, Mike,” Mapother replied. “It’s too dangerous.”
“What is too dangerous?” James Cooper interjected. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Shut up, James,” Mike said. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
“And so will you, Mike,” Mapother said. “You won’t attempt to abduct Votyakov. Is that clear?”
“Who said anything about abducting her? I want to put her down.”
CHAPTER 29
IMSI Headquarters, NY
Charles Mapother looked in disbelief at Jonathan Sanchez. “Did he lose his mind?”
Sanchez shrugged. “I doubt it.”
“How the hell does he think he can successfully kill Votyakov, who’s protected by the FSB I must add, and capture Galkin without being caught?”
“Don’t ask me, ask him,” Sanchez replied.
“He’s not Ethan Hunt, and we’re not the IMF, for God’s sake,” Mapother said, slamming his fist on Anna Caprini’s desk, the effect of which was to spill her coffee all over her lap and keyboard.
“What the hell, Charles?”
Mapother shook his head. “You’re not supposed to have a coffee so close to your workstation,” he yelled before walking out of the bubble.
........
Jonathan Sanchez placed his hand on Caprini’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Anna. I’ll go talk to him. Are you okay?”
“It wasn’t hot, if that’s what you’re asking,” Caprini replied. “What got to him?”
“I have no idea.”
“What are we gonna do about Mike?” she asked.
“Patch me to him,” he said.
“You’re good,” she informed him half a second later.
“Mike, this is Jonathan.”
“Go for Mike,” his friend replied.
“I don’t need you to elaborate, but I need to know if you’re confident about this,” he asked.
“It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up, Jonathan,” Mike replied in a hushed tone. “In his briefing, Mapother told us she’s probably the brain behind the scientific research that led to the discovery of the new pathogen agent they want to use against us. It’s a no-brainer, buddy.”
“It’s not, Mike. Not if you can’t get away.”
“I can do this, Jonathan. Trust me.”
If Dr. Galkin indeed had access to all the research data, and if Lisa was successful at convincing his wife to come with her so that Mike could get an actual shot at extracting Galkin out of Russia, then yes, it could be worth the risk. But that’s an awful lot of ifs.
“If you tell me you can do it, I’m green lighting whatever you think is necessary to do in order to complete your task,” Sanchez said, taking his first important real-life decision as the newly minted IMSI second-in-command.
“You have the authority?” Mike asked.
“I do,” Sanchez lied, hoping his trust in Mike’s capabilities wasn’t misplaced.
........
Charles Mapother heard the knocks on his door. “Come in,” he barked, knowing full well who it was. He had heard everything through the intercom linking his office to the bubble. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Sanchez going over his head. Truth was, he had lost it in there. It had never happened before.
“I had to make a judgment call, Charles,” Sanchez said, standing somewhat at attention in front of Mapother’s desk.
“I know. You made a good call.”
The IMSI director looked at the man he had chosen to succeed him. Sanchez was built like a tank. Even though he needed a cane to walk after what happened in Kosovo, he was in top shape. His fitness level was proof of his dedication to a healthy lifestyle. Not overly tall, his blond hair and green eyes didn’t betray his Hispanic heritage. Mapother was aware that Sanchez had himself crafted his cane while he was in rehabilitation.
Mapother had brought Sanchez to the IMSI not only because he had been one of the best operators he had ever known, but also because of his high intellect and power of deduction. The bullet that had shattered his left leg and forced him out of the field had in no way lessened Sanchez’s first-rate tactical instincts. Mapother’s plan was to have Sanchez by his side for a few years and to teach him what it took to run an agency like the IMSI.
“What happened in there?” Sanchez asked.
Mapother sighed. He was tired. Since the loss of Sam Turner, he hadn’t been the same, and he knew it. Am I fit to run this organization? Without Sam and the quick intervention of Mike, he’d be in the ground.
Mapother rose from behind his desk and fetched two bottles of water from his mini-fridge. He threw one to Sanchez who caught it with his free hand.
“I could tell you a lie and that I did that just to push you to make a timely decision,” Mapother started, “but I don’t think you’d believe me.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Sanchez replied with a smile.
“Good,” Mapother said, opening his bottle of water. “But believe me when I say this won’t happen again.”
CHAPTER 30
Moscow, Russia
Mike Walton had no illusions about what would happen to him if he got caught. That is why he had asked James Cooper to leave the terminal and to pick up his car from the parking lot. Mike didn’t know yet the exit he would take but he needed Cooper to be on standby and ready to go at a moment’s notice.
He had told his friend Jonathan that he was confident he could pull it off but his plan was fragile. His number one objective remained the capture of Dr. Galkin, but if the opportunity to take care of Dr. Votyakov presented itself, he’d take it and wouldn’t have time to ask for permission.
The Domodedovo airport was one big terminal and it was presently undergoing important renovations. Mike had read that the idea behind the overhaul was to add an extension to the current concourse. It seemed that most of the construction was being done at night as he could hear the specific sound of a jackhammer being used in the background. Mike was about to stop by a leather shop that had a good view of the door but a rude clerk stopped him in mid stride, speaking loudly in Russian.
Mike didn’t understand what the woman was saying, but she showed him her watch and shook her head. The shop was closing. And, unfortunately for him, so were most of the other stores, at least those with a good vantage point on the Mercedes. Shopkeepers were sliding their doors closed while others were putting away their displays. That was going to complicate things a little. With nowhere to go, Mike felt like a sitting duck.
........
Dr. Lidiya Vodyakov inhaled deeply and blew a stream of smoke out of the corner of her mouth. The light gray smoke stood out against the night. She hadn’t been out of the car for three minutes and already her fingers were almost frozen.
Victor, standing next to her, hadn’t move at all, except for his eyes that were in constant motion. Did Victor know the plan her Qasim had concocted? Was he aware that Russia, using Qasim’s network, would wage biological warfare against the United States? She huffed one last time and flicked the butt into the street.
“How long?” she asked her bodyguard.
“Another half hour,” Victor replied without looking at his watch.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said. “Lead the way.”
........
Mike Walton saw the pair enter via the swivel door. The tall bodyguard was switched on. As soon as he set foot inside the terminal, he scanned his immediate surroundings and waited for his charge to walk in front of him. He followed about three steps behind while peeking behind him every twenty steps or so. He wasn’t going to be an easy mark.
Dr. Galkin’s flight wasn’t due to land for another thirty minutes, and Mike wondered why they were here so soon. Surely the bodyguard had suggested they remain inside the Mercedes, by far the most secure place they could wait out the arrival of Dr. Galkin. Mike had no choice but to follow them from further away than he would have liked. The bodyguard’s continued rear scans complicated Mike’s job. If the bodyguard was half as good as Mike thought he was, he was mentally cataloguing everyone following his charge and would be suspicious of anyone approaching.
“James from Mike,” he said.
“I’m listening.”
“Votyakov’s in the terminal. She has her bodyguard in tow.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“For now, nothing. Where are you?”
“I’m in your car, engine running. I prepaid the exit ticket. I’m good to go.”
“Lisa’s handgun is in the glove box, James.”
Cooper didn’t answer right away. “Okay, I got it. As I said, I’m good to go,” he finally said. Cooper sounded confident and focused. Gone was the shaky voice.
The bodyguard suddenly stopped and turned around. Mike was still fifty meters behind him but saw the universal sign of a public bathroom above the bodyguard’s head.
Votyakov had to go to the bathroom. That made sense. With only two people between him and the bodyguard, Mike had no way out. Any evasive maneuvers would only make him even more suspicious. He had no choice. He had to walk in front of the bodyguard and he knew he couldn’t do it again. It would be extremely hard to follow them again.
Unless I move now.
Mike dropped his pen behind him and turned around to pick it up, using the moment as an excuse to see how many people were behind him. Two businessmen with tiny carry-ons were walking toward the screening point. They were engrossed in a conversation and didn’t pay any attention to him. With his pen back in his pocket, Mike continued to walk toward the men’s bathroom located right next to the ladies’. He could feel the bodyguard tense as Mike approached him. Trying to look as non-threatening as he could, Mike nodded to the bodyguard as he walked past him. He didn’t get any nod back. The bodyguard was taller than Mike had originally thought. The man was over six and a half feet tall and was larger than a side-by-side refrigerator. Conscious the bodyguard had his eyes glued to his back, Mike pushed the door of the bathroom and entered a small enclosure with a garbage bin. He pushed through another door and a powerful scent of industrial disinfectant hit him right away. A janitor, whose back was turned, was mopping the floor. A quick look under the stall doors confirmed no other passengers were there. When Mike looked up, the janitor had a silenced pistol pointed at his head.
CHAPTER 31
Moscow, Russia
Makhmud Geremeyev looked at the man standing in front of him. He was clearly surprised and his body language indicated he was terrified. Unfortunately for him, Geremeyev wasn’t duped. A former member of Chechnya’s Kadyrovites, a pro-Moscow paramilitary unit known for its involvement in the kidnapping, torture and murder business, Geremeyev knew a soldier when he saw one, and the man’s eyes had betrayed him. Sent as extra security by the Sheik to ensure Dr. Votyakov’s safety, Geremeyev hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling the trigger as he pondered if the man was friend or foe. The man’s actions gave him the answer he needed.
........
The man was out of Mike’s reach and he’d be shot dead before he could pull his own pistol from the holster in the small of his back. It was no good trying to grab the man’s gun so he let himself fall to the floor while extending his right leg in an attempt to sweep the other man’s legs from under him with a low, spinning kick. Mike’s foot connected with his opponent’s left ankle at the moment the man fired his pistol. The bullet went over Mike’s head as the man fell hard on his side. Mike jumped on him with both hands reaching for the man’s wrist. Another shot went off and the bullet lodged in the wall between the last stall and the hand dryer. Mike used his left elbow to smack the man’s head several times against the tile floor. Mike tried to angle his body in a way that would allow him to hit the man in the throat but only managed to hit him in the chin. His second and third efforts had better results. Using his body weight, he kept the pressure on and thrust the tip of his elbow deep into the man’s throat with all his might. The gargling sounds coming from the man’s mouth told Mike his windpipe had collapsed and that he had only a few seconds to live.
But Mike didn’t have the luxury of waiting out those precious seconds. He had no idea if the commotion had alerted Votyakov’s bodyguard, so he let go of the dazzled man’s throat and wrestled the gun away. He placed it under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger. Brain matter splattered against the back wall of the bathroom. The whole encounter had lasted less than twelve seconds.
Mike got to his feet just as the bathroom door burst open. A middle-aged man stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes moved from the gun in Mike’s hand to the bloody corpse on the floor. Mike took two quick strides and smacked the butt of the pistol on top of the man’s head. Mike caught him as he fell and gently laid him on the floor. The man had no luggage so he was probably there to pick up someone. He dragged him next to the urinals. He hoped he hadn’t killed the man, because if he had, this poor man would be the second innocent he’d killed that day.
&n
bsp; Mike looked down at the pistol he was holding. It was a Russian-made PB silent pistol. The pistol used an integral suppressor, which, unlike most similar systems, consisted of two parts. It allowed the pistol to be carried and kept concealed without the front part of the suppressor attached. Mike ejected the eight-round magazine and confirmed it had five rounds remaining.
He had already spent too much time in the men’s room and he could only hope Dr. Votyakov wasn’t done with her business. Mike quietly pulled on the door leading back to the terminal and peeked outside. The bodyguard hadn’t moved but he was speaking into a smartphone he was holding against his ear with his shoulder. He was still in the same position Mike had seen him in a minute ago. Mike remembered what the bodyguard had done earlier this morning when Lisa had slipped in front of him outside the terminal as Dr. Votyakov climbed into the waiting vehicle. He had rendered assistance to the fallen old lady, and Mike wanted to capitalize on the fact that the bodyguard was most probably a kind man.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mike started in English, doing his best to look like a frightened tourist. “Please call the police. I think someone had a heart attack. Please help me.”
The bodyguard turned toward him and placed his phone in his coat pocket. Mike knew he was being gauged. “Quick,” Mike added, trying to press the issue. The bodyguard replied something in Russian but Mike shook his head. “I don’t speak Russian, sir, but you need to help me.”
With that said, Mike reentered the bathroom. The ball was in the bodyguard’s court.
CHAPTER 32
Moscow, Russia
Victor Simonich understood English perfectly. His father, a Russian diplomat and brother to current Russian president Veniamin Simonich, had made sure of that. He wanted his son to speak as many languages as he could master. Having sent him to the best international schools, his dad had longed for him to become a diplomat and to join the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But the FSB had a long reach, and they recruited young Victor with the promise of a life filled with excitement. And they hadn’t lied. Victor had enjoyed every minute of his time with the FSB. He loved his country, and honestly believed in the work he was doing.
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