by Brian Drake
Raven and Tracy listened to Clark Wilson’s update during their layover at JFK. Raven wasn’t surprised by the result of Berry’s meeting. He wasn't surprised the Russians didn’t want their help. The cover identities they traveled under would now be critical for staying off the radar. Wilson did have some good news. The CIA had managed to ping Aaron Osborne’s cell phone. He was in Kerch on the waterfront, and Wilson promised to text the location to Raven’s phone.
Wilson’s update was top of mind when they touched down in Kerch at for-sale-and-currently-bankrupt-but-still-functioning airport named after the city it served. Raven and Tracy cleared customs and headed for baggage claim. They paused midstep as two people approached them at the carousel. They showed Russia federal identification. The man and woman claimed to be from the FSB, the internal security agency of the Russian Federation.
“I am Nadiya,” said the woman, “and this is my partner Petro. We’re here to take you to your hotel and coordinate your search effort.”
Raven started to object; Tracy stopped him. “Much appreciated,” she said. “Lead the way.”
The two “Russians” walked ahead of them. Raven glared at Tracy. She mouthed, “What of it?”
He wanted to tell her everything wrong with following the pair. The Russians were a stubborn lot; no way they had changed their minds in such a short amount of time. This was a trap. They were compromised before stepping off the plane.
Which of course made perfect sense since the enemy knew they were coming. But Raven had at least wanted a chance to slip through the initial defense screen.
He also understood Tracy’s willingness to go forward. Why look for the enemy when he could march you straight into his lair?
Best to see how it played out. But be ready for sudden and violent action, Raven decided.
The two agents helped them load their bags. Raven and Tracy sat in the back seat of the small sedan. No screen leapt from the floor to seal off the back while Petro switched on poison gas. The drive was actually uneventful with only light traffic. The terrain between the airport and city was undeveloped, and mostly untidy dirt lots dotted with unkempt greenery. Train tracks ran parallel to the road, and a cargo train kept pace with them for a while before disappearing into a tunnel. Raven noticed the huge presence of Russian troops once they entered city limits. The soldiers carried Kalashnikovs and appeared ready for action on every street. Some walked foot patrols. Others stood stationary. All were happily greeted by civilians going about their business.
At a stop light, Raven watched a young woman in an apron emerge from a coffee shop. She brought steaming cups to four soldiers stationed outside the door. The troops accepted the gift with smiles.
“They don’t act oppressed,” Tracy said.
Their hosts remained quiet despite the remark. Either they had nothing to say, or they weren’t Russians. No Ruskie Raven had ever encountered would miss an opportunity to brag about the Motherland’s military prowess.
“Any trouble here lately?” Raven said.
“Army makes sure there is no trouble,” said Petro, who rode in the passenger seat. He was a wiry mouse-looking man with a narrow face framed by black hair. His eyes weren’t the shifty, beady type, but they appeared dull and lifeless. As if he had been born to take orders from somebody else.
And perhaps Nadiya qualified as his master. She was shorter than Petro but her striking features and bright smile made her seem larger. With her petite figure and ponytail, she looked as if she might belong to a softball club instead of the Russian FSB. Then Raven laughed. He’d forgotten for a moment who they really were.
“What have you learned about Osborne?” Raven asked. “Any sign of him?”
“As far as we can tell,” Petro said, “he has not arrived. The man with him, Draco, is known to us as well. In fact, he’s wanted for questioning regarding the murders of two army sergeants. He won’t slip through our net.”
“You’re watching the airport and the docks—”
Nadiya jumped in with a fiery glance at Raven in the rearview mirror. “We are watching everything, Mr. Raven. We do not need an American to tell us how to do our jobs.”
“Hey. I’m only asking. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” the woman said.
“Then you shouldn’t mind me asking, Nadiya.”
“While you are here, you will not do anything without first informing us. Do you understand me?”
“You’re speaking English so I understand you perfectly.”
“I am not in the mood for your jokes, Mr. Raven.”
“And Tracy and I are not in the mood to be hamstrung. If Russia isn’t taking this issue seriously, take us back to the airport and we’ll leave on the next flight.”
“No,” Petro chimed. “We have our orders to help. Please understand the situation. It is very stressful here.”
“I can tell.”
Tracy said, “How much further to the hotel? I don’t know about you all, but I sure need a drink.”
“A fine idea,” Raven echoed. “Let’s have Uncle Sam buy the round. I’d hate to think we started on the wrong foot, right?”
“Yes,” Nadiya agreed. “We will drink and settle down. There is much to do and we don’t know how much time we have.”
Raven glanced at Tracy. She was already looking at him. He winked.
35
At the hotel, Petro accompanied Raven to his room. Nadiya went with Tracy. Neither wanted them out of their sight, which was obvious to Raven as he set his suitcase on the bed. He didn’t unlock the X-ray proof bottom of his suitcase where his replacement pistol resided. Better to not let the opposition see too much.
Raven announced he liked the room and they left. Tracy had the bug scanner. He was eager to see what the other side planted while they were out.
Raven and Petro stepped into the elevator for the ride to the lobby. There was a bar and lounge there. Raven had insisted they visit it instead of leaving the hotel.
“Did you grow up in Moscow?” Raven asked.
“Yes.”
“I like Moscow. My favorite restaurant is right on the river. The Copperhead. Best steak in the world.”
“Yes, it is very good. My father likes us to take him there for his birthday every year.”
“How nice.” Raven grinned. Petro didn’t look at him. He watched the numbers above the door tick down to the lobby.
The women were already seated when Raven and Petro arrived. They sat on a small couch along a wall facing two plush chairs. A box-shaped table sat between them. Raven and Petro took the chairs. Tracy said she’d ordered everybody vodka on the rocks.
“Excellent,” Raven said.
The bar wasn’t full so they kept their voices low. The bar wanted to evoke a nightclub motif without the noise. The decorators had blacked out the walls, floor, and ceiling. Walkways outlined by strips of shrouded lights lined the floor. The parallel strips made the floor look like crisscrossing airport runways. Is this a bar or the runway at LAX? Raven thought.
“So your superiors told you what's going on,” Raven said to their escorts, “and you know who our suspects are. Where do we find the big man, Chumachenko?”
“Try the phone directory,” Petro said. “He’s not hard to find.”
Raven smiled at Tracy. “Never would have thought of that. You?”
“It might have shortened the hunt for bin Laden if only we’d looked in the phone book,” she said.
Raven faced their escorts. “You’d think a fellow planning a catastrophe might hide in a volcano or something.”
“No volcanoes here,” Nadiya said.
“Good to know.”
Raven watched the pair. Their faces remained stoic, not one hint of a smile. Language barrier? They spoke good English but didn’t detect the sarcasm between Raven and Tracy. Typical Slavic Resting Bitch Face? Likely. Did they suspect they were being toyed with? Absolutely. They weren’t trained operatives. They were point and shoo
t gophers. Petro had proved so in the elevator. Raven couldn’t wait to tell Tracy how Petro miffed a simple trick.
Their escorts didn’t stay for a second round and the invisible tension between the four did not loosen. All Raven knew was the opposition had them close; he supposed the opposite was true, as well. He and Tracy had to work the odds in their favor before the enemy closed the trap.
Raven unlocked the bottom of his suitcase once he’d returned to the alleged safety of his hotel room. He removed the autoloader and shoulder harness provided by Clark. The gun was a Browning Hi-Power with several spare 13-round magazines. A box of nine-millimeter ammo accompanied the kit. Raven would have preferred a .45 pistol. But Clark knew Raven appreciated hand-crafted precision handguns; the Hi-Power qualified. He set the gun, ammo and harness in the nightstand drawer.
Tracy knocked on the door using a coded tap. He let her in. She had her right index finger in front of her mouth and the bug detector in her left hand. The small RF signal sweeper wouldn’t only pick up bugs. If the enemy had planted small cameras, the RF sweeper would find them too. Tracy moved around the room with the device. A red light flashed. Devices present. Raven and Tracy went to each spot in the room where detection had occurred. They found no cameras. Bugs were in the nightstand phone, behind the dresser, and under the wall-facing desk.
Raven motioned for Tracy to follow him into the bathroom. He turned on the shower. As the noise of the rushing water filled the small space, he felt free to finally talk.
“Do you think we overdid it?”
“Oh, they know we’re onto them,” she said.
“Your phone bit was funny.”
“I’m going to tell Clark we should try it some time.”
“Petro blew it with me on the way down. I mentioned a restaurant in Moscow. It doesn’t exist. He played along and said his father liked eating there.”
“We’re dealing with rookies!” she said. “Who falls for that old trick?”
“They’re only meant to watch us. The other side thinks they have us in a box.”
“Do they?”
“No way,” Raven said. “But we need to hustle. Let’s give it a few hours, and then I want to check out the address Clark sent. Follow behind me because I’m sure Nadiya and Petro aren’t the only ones assigned to watch us.”
“When do you think they’ll make a move?” Tracy said.
“When they can control the hit,” Raven said. “Too risky with all the army guys around. They’ll take us somewhere saying they found a lead, and leave us there.”
“Not if we shoot first.”
“This will be fun.”
“Not the word I’d use, Raven. But I know what you mean.”
Tracy left and Raven locked the door behind her. He’d left the shower running, and turned the water from cold to hot.
After relaxing under the spray, he stretched out on the bed. No sense calling Clark. The bugs would hear everything he said. Raven texted him instead with the update.
Clark: Can confirm no change from Moscow. Proceed with caution.
Raven: Duh.
Clark: I trust you’ll work this situation in your favor.
Raven: Have I ever let you down? Wait, don’t answer.
Clark: Ha.
Switching off the light, Raven went to sleep. He wanted a few hours of rest before checking the waterfront where the CIA had picked up Aaron’s cell phone.
36
Raven left the Kerch Hotel after one a.m. There was still street traffic, but not much. As he stood in the front courtyard, the icy wind off the Kerch straight sliced through his jacket. He watched the winking port lights in the distance. The cranes were well lit; between the hotel and the port was Detskiy Park. The park's trees blocked most of the port, but not the cranes scratching against the black sky.
The cranes weren’t the only sights against the black. Raven looked to the right. The twin arches of the Crimean Bridge were lit in bright white light. He pressed his lips together. The bridge so reviled by Ukraine while cheered by Moscow. The presumed target of Aaron Osborne and Yakiv Draco.
The span connected Russia to Crimea, solidifying the Motherland’s hold on the peninsula. It was a source of pride for the Russians and a thorn in the side for Ukraine.
Construction began in 2014 with completion in 2018. The bridge reduced travel time between the two nations to fifteen minutes. You could drive or take a train. Russia loved it. Ukraine had claimed, even as construction took place, the bridge would never be completed, and was nothing more than Ruskie propaganda. When the first cars from the Russian side made the crossing, Russian media mocked Ukraine for doubting the determination of the Kremlin.
Blowing up a portion of either side of the span would make Russia’s blood boil. The business of war demanded one know how to manipulate opposing sides into going full speed ahead with an already simmering conflict. Raven figured Osborne, Draco, and Chumachenko had calculated such manipulation to an expert level.
He had to stop them.
Commotion caught Raven’s attention. Voices, laughter. He crossed the courtyard to the sidewalk and followed the sounds. Next door to the hotel was a nightclub. “Cherri” the sign said. A cluster of young men and women outside suggested the inside was too full, so they partied outside. None of them were dressed for the sharp breeze; none seemed to notice. Raven figured he was too old to be immune to cold any longer. Or maybe they were used to it. They lived in Kerch, after all. Two taxi cabs made U-turns down the street and pulled up at the club. Three young women climbed into one while the other deposited a lone man who greeted pals waiting for him.
Nightlife wasn’t huge in Kerch. Most of the city’s sites were best seen during the day. Nature areas, the wide landscape beyond the city, and the coast. Most of the city turned in after nine at night. But it was nice to see some activity. Raven didn’t feel alone.
He had no car. He planned to catch one of the late buses. He carried no gun. He didn’t want any potential entanglement with the Russian army. And if they found him with a firearm, there'd be trouble no cover ID could explain. He carried his passport, visa, and ID. If need be, he was an American tourist taking a walk because of jet lag.
Such a strategy presented other problems, but Raven wasn’t sure he’d face such issues yet. Time to find out. Worst case, he’d take a gun off any member of the opposition who felt like taking a shot at him.
He glanced around the courtyard behind him. The light of the hotel’s sign gave the space an orange glow. Right away he spotted two others hanging around. Trees concealed them, but they were no doubt waiting for him. Watchers left behind by Nadiya and mousy Petro. Time for a little fun.
At a break in traffic, Raven jogged across Kirova Street and hopped over the low wall of Detskiy Park. A children’s playground greeted him. Off to the left, a grassy area; plenty of trees filled the landscape. There were a lot of trees in Kerch, Raven noticed. The city builders had not chopped down every single one in the establishment of the city. It presented the idea of urban and nature co-existing. New York City might learn a thing or two from the idea. Of course, they wouldn’t. Chop it all down! Bye, bitches! Steel, glass, and concrete forever!
Streetlamps on the sidewalk lit the way as he cut left toward the grass. Part of the interior had little illumination, but some light from the port spilled over. The low light created moving shadows as trees rustled in the breeze from the strait.
Raven jogged across soft grass and stopped behind a tree trunk. He looked back. The two men from the courtyard were sprinting across the street. They ran through the playground, then turned in Raven’s direction. Their hands were still empty. Raven waited. Behind him, the dark ended at another street; beyond the pavement, the port. He could lose the pair, or deal with them. A fight was not what he wanted. Yet.
Raven left the tree and continued. His shoes scraped on a concrete path dividing the grass, and he rolled to a bush. He scanned the semi-darkness but no moving outlines announced themselves. The
n a man began speaking, fast, acknowledging a radio call. The pair were part of a larger team. Great. He’d told Tracy to wait a half hour before leaving so he could get the watchers away from the building. Now he knew there were others waiting for her too. She’d have to be on her toes. Raven didn’t dare risk a text message to warn her. His phone screen would light up his position in the park.
But the pair still remained concealed, until one crossed into view. He was alone. They were splitting up. The man Raven watched approached the strip of concrete. He paused, taking a knee, and scanned the area. Raven wore dark clothes, and Watcher One had the port lights to mess with his vision. Raven might as well have been invisible. But his fortune would change as soon as Watcher One moved closer. He’d deal with Watcher Two later. While he had a chance to take one out of action, he decided to do so.
Watcher One rose and advanced in a path taking him wide of Raven’s spot. Raven shifted as a blast of wind shook the trees. Watcher One stopped, turned Raven’s way, and pulled something from under his jacket. The port lights glinted off the stainless-steel of the man’s handgun. An extension on the barrel was a suppressor. They didn’t have orders to take, or leave, Raven alive.
Raven waited and watched. The man approached the bush. Raven wondered if his legs created a different kind of shadow, one out of place with the rest. He couldn’t hide forever. If he wanted a look at the spot where the CIA detected Aaron’s cell phone, he had to get rough sooner rather than later.
Raven moved his left hand. He grabbed a handful of dirt from under the bush. Pulling his hand back, he snapped a twig. Watcher One ran at him.
Raven jumped up and met the watcher midway. He threw the dirt. Watcher One dodged, but some of the dirt hit where intended, in the face. He let out a yell as flecks entered one of his eyes, and Raven closed a fist and swung.
37