The President’s Dossier

by James A. Scott

  “We already did that position on the cruise ship.”

  “I think I should just start hurting you.”

  She rolled over. I kneeled on her forearms while I reached back and pulled the laces from her boots. They made a nice cord to bind her wrists together. I hauled Jill up by the collar and sat her in a chair. She gave me a look that combined fatigue and disgust.

  I went to the bar sink and got a wet towel to wipe the blood out of her eyes.

  She asked, “What now?”

  “Now, tell me about the Russian who keeps crossing your path.”

  “What Russian?”

  “The fucking Russian in the limo in Mexico City, that Russian!” A flash of anger seared me. I shoved Jill over backwards in the chair.

  She rolled away from the chair and lay on her back looking up at me. “Max, you’re a private citizen. I work for the CIA. I can’t read you in on classified operations!”

  “Yeah, I get it. You could tell me, but, then, you would have to kill me. Who do you think is most likely to get killed here? You need to reassess your situation. Nobody is coming to save you. Nobody’s recording what you say. Either tell me everything about our time together since we met in London or I’m going to assume that you’re a Russian spy and I’m going to shoot you.”

  I set the chair upright. Jill got up slowly and walked to it.

  We sat facing each other. I laid the pistol on my thigh, barrel pointed in her direction. “I know way more about your stop in Mexico City than you think. Do you want to start over? Tell me about all the Russians.”

  Jill ran her tongue over her lips, stalling. I let her. “When I arrived in Mexico City, two Russian intelligence officers were waiting for me. They asked if you were on the plane. I said, ‘no.’ They knew we were the shooters at the bank in Moscow. They said that was not their concern. There were other considerations. They said someone wanted to speak to me. We went out of the terminal to a limo. There were two men in the car.”

  I showed her a photograph of the smoker by the limo. “Was he one of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Konstantin Zabluda. His nickname is ‘Kostya.’ He’s a colonel in the Russian special forces, on temporary duty with their military intelligence service. He runs a network of assassins. The Agency and MI6 believe he’s leading a hit team that’s been killing ex-Soviet spies in London on orders from Putin.”

  I warned her. “Think carefully before you answer my next question.” I fingered the trigger. She noticed. “Where had you seen Zabluda before Mexico City?”

  Jill hesitated, stalling, again. “He was with the Russian hit squad at the warehouse in London when we rescued you. Zabluda was the outside man.”

  “You fired three shots at him and missed. Why didn’t you kill him?”

  She took another long pause. “When I told my Agency boss that Bowen was sending me to London with you, he warned me that Zabluda was a threat. Langley believed Zabluda was in London for the same reason as you, to track down Ironside’s sources. His job was to kill them, on orders from the Kremlin.”

  “How did Langley know why I was going to London?”

  “Bowen told me. I told Langley.”

  “In London, you pretended not to know what I was doing. Why did you lie?”

  “I wanted you to see me as an ally, not as Bowen’s spy.”

  “So that it would be easier for you to spy on me?”

  She didn’t have to answer.

  I was confused. “If Zabluda was a threat, why didn’t you kill him at the warehouse?”

  “I was told to avoid him. If our paths did cross, my orders were not to engage him.”

  “Why was Langley giving this guy a pass?”

  “After the last Russian assassination in London, the prime minister was really pissed at Putin. She wants a show trial that ties Zabluda and his team to a specific hit on direct orders from Moscow. The Brits have cracked Zabluda’s communications system and they want to keep him operational until they deliver the package that the PM wants.”

  “All right, let’s hear about your meeting in the car with Zabluda in Mexico City. What did you talk about?”

  “Nothing. He was in the car; he didn’t speak. He listened. Bowen did the talking.”

  “Bowen?”

  “Yes. Bowen thought you and I flew to Mexico together and you were bringing him the Walldrum kompromat from Russia. He wanted to know what you had.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I lied. I said you didn’t trust me enough to share your findings. You were afraid I would steal what you had collected and claim the ten-million-dollar reward.”

  “Did he buy that?”

  “Did he have a choice? I told him you were meeting me at the hotel and we were going to Cancun for a quick vacation. He wanted me to stay with that plan. I left him and went to the hotel.”

  “Why was Zabluda there?”

  “Why do you think? He was there to kill us after you gave Bowen the dirt on Walldrum.”

  “What’s your assessment of the Bowen-Zabluda relationship?”

  “Bowen obviously works for the Russians. I’m with Langley on that. I think the purpose of your ten-million-dollar reward was to have you smoke out Ironside’s sources so Zabluda could kill them.”

  Jill gave me a hard look. “You suspected that, didn’t you? That’s why you sent Bowen and the Russians to meet me at the airport.”

  “I wasn’t sure about Bowen. I thought you were working for the Russians. Maybe you are. Anyway, I wanted to see the reactions when all of you met in Mexico City.”

  Jill gave me a grim smile. “In your shoes, I’d have done the same thing. It’s not personal. It’s just business, right, Max?”

  It felt damned personal to me when we made love on the cruise ship, but I’ve been criticized for being a romantic.

  There was a knock on the bungalow door. “It’s Tony-D. You ready to go?”

  I opened the door. “Come on in, Tony. Meet the worst shot in London.”

  Tony-D glanced at me, the gun, Jill, and the wreckage that used to be my living room. He said, “I guess we’re not going to Mexico City. What the hell happened here?”

  I explained. “Jill failed her internship.”

  Tony-D’s eyes held a question, but he didn’t go there. Instead he observed, “Jill needs a few stitches to close that forehead wound.”

  Tony-D drove to the hospital with Jill and me in the back seat.

  Jill kept up her pitch for God and Country. “Max, you’ve got to turn over the stuff on Walldrum to the special prosecutor.”

  “How much is the special prosecutor going to pay me?”

  “He’s not going to pay you anything; neither is Bowen. Bowen will take the Walldrum kompromat, give it to the Russians, and Zabluda’s going to kill you.”

  Tony-D asked, “Who is Zabluda?”

  I answered. “Mexico City. The smoker leaning on the limo.”

  Tony-D nodded.

  Jill was agitated. “Were you listening to me? Zabluda was in Mexico to kill us.”

  “Stiffing me and putting a bullet in my head may be Bowen’s plan. I have a plan of my own. Did anyone from Mexico follow you here?”

  “No. There were a couple of surveillance teams sitting on me at the hotel, one Russian, the other local. I slipped by both when I left.”

  “Where’s Bowen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need some time. Give me twelve hours before you contact anyone here, in Washington, or Mexico.”

  “Why should I give you a head start? I don’t approve of what you’re doing.”

  I pressed the replay button on my body cam monitor. Jill saw and heard herself say:

  His name is Konstantin Zabluda. His nickname is “Kostya.” He’s a colonel in the Russian special forces, on temporary duty with their foreign intelligence service. He runs a network of assassins. The Agency and MI6 believe he’s leading a hit team that�
��s been killing ex-Soviet spies in London on orders from Putin.”

  Jill was livid. “You bastard! You said you weren’t recording me!”

  “I also told you I play dirty, but I won’t ruin you. Stay quiet for twelve hours, and I’ll erase this video. If I think you contacted anyone, this goes to your boss at the CIA.”

  “That video could send me to jail.”

  “When you get out, you can work exclusively for Bowen.”

  Jill was smoldering. “How will you know if I stayed off the grid for twelve hours?”

  “I’ll just have to trust you and you’ll have to trust me.”

  We dropped Jill at the Hospital Regional Docente 24 de Diciembre on our way to Tocumen Airport. I brought Tony-D up to date on my fight with Jill, and he called ahead to have our pilot file a flight plan to Washington, D.C. I had to get the Tula man’s Ritz photographs from Sherri and figure out how to get my ten million dollars from Bowen.

  CHAPTER 29

  TONY-D AND I arrived at Dulles Airport six hours after wheels up in Panama. The twelve-hour clock on my grace period with Jill Rucker was half over. Tired or not, I had to move fast. I called workaholic Sherri at her office from a terminal pay phone.

  She had good news. “Your chip and prints are the gold standard.”

  “How much is that info going to cost me?”

  “Only our silence. The examiner wants nothing to do with your product. It’s too controversial. She could lose clients. I don’t know whether you’re cursed or one lucky son-of-a-gun.”

  All of the above, so far.

  “Sherri, I’m bunking with Tony-D tonight. Can you bring the chip and the photographs to his house when you leave the office this evening?”

  “Can do.”

  “Make it late. I need some rest.”

  “We’re all going to need some rest. My house is being watched.”

  “You sure?”

  Sherri didn’t answer me because that was a stupid question. I had no idea why anyone would be watching Sherri’s house. But she was an experienced operator and if she said they were watching, I had to believe her.

  Sherri ignored my question and told me, “There’s something odd going on. Nobody followed me to the office. They’re just watching my house. It’s creepy.”

  “Any signs they entered your home while you were away?”

  “No. All my tells were intact.”

  “Then, they’re waiting for someone to show.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  “Why would they be looking for you at my place?”

  “I need to think about that.”

  Sherri added, “Vanessa called me.”

  Vanessa was my Agency sweetheart, reassigned to Australia months before I lost my job. I hadn’t heard from her even after I got fired. You would think that someone who had been that close to you would call and say, “Sorry to hear you lost your job.” Maybe even, “Come to Australia. Let’s figure out how we can be together.”

  Instead, Vanessa went dark, not a word.

  Sherri snapped me out of my thoughts. “Did you hear me, Max? Vanessa called.”

  “Yeah. I’m just surprised. What did she say?”

  “She wanted to know if you were out of bed yet?”

  Code for, “Is Max still undercover?” What the hell was Vanessa talking about?

  “You need to call her.” Sherri gave me Vanessa’s number and we broke off.

  I used the same public phone to call Vanessa in Australia. When she answered, I didn’t waste time on polite greetings.

  “This is me. Are we on a clean line?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you ask Sherri if I was out of bed yet?”

  “I heard that you were leaving work temporarily for a serious operation and would be bedridden for several months. I heard Dr. Leamas is caring for you.”

  Dr. Leamas? What the hell is she—Then, I got her message. Alec Leamas is a Cold War fictional spy who, to appearances, was fired from MI6. In reality, he went undercover for the Brits so the Russians would recruit him. His mission was to give the Russians information that would lead them away from a MI6 mole in the East German security service. Had someone told Vanessa I’d gone undercover?

  “Who told you about Leamas?”

  “Your French-speaking colleague.”

  Fucking Rodney!

  “When did he tell you?”

  “In August.”

  That was months before Rodney fired me!

  Vanessa continued. “Your illness was the reason I was sent to Australia. Your French-speaking colleague told me it would be better if I went away while you were in bed recovering. He made me promise not to tell you or contact you. I was promised that my posting here was temporary until you were no longer bedridden.”

  So, Rodney told Vanessa that I was going undercover and it would be best if she went away until my assignment was completed. Then, she would be reassigned to Langley and we could continue our relationship.

  “Van, listen carefully. I’m involved with some bad people. They may try to use you to get information from me. You need to disappear right now.”

  “What? What about my job.”

  “Your job won’t matter if you’re not alive to go to work. Take sick leave. Did you keep your D.C. bank account?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll wire some money to that account. Withdraw it immediately. Pay cash for everything. Stay out of sight and off the grid.

  “In ten days, call Sherri’s office and give her a number where I can contact you. If there’s no message from me, go to the Agency inspector general and tell him everything that my French-speaking colleague told you and what we discussed on this call.” I hung up on Vanessa’s protests.

  I was concerned and a lot angry at Rodney. There were two possible explanations for his actions. One, he had permission from the Seventh Floor to run me in a deep cover operation without my knowledge. Or, two, he was in bed with Bowen, and that put Rodney in bed with the Russians. In the latter case, that meant there were three people who wanted what I had on Walldrum and all of them wanted me dead. I needed to know which door Rodney was behind. My live-in, Claudia, was the key to Rodney.

  The clock on my twelve-hour grace period with Jill Rucker was ticking down.

  Tony-D was making a purchase at the newsstand and must have picked up on my stress.

  He ambled over. “Something wrong?”

  “Yeah. Can you put a tap on my landline at home?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Now, before my live-in gets home. She’s usually there after seven.”

  Tony-D looked at his watch. He pursed his lips and exhaled. “Let me make a call.”

  We took a cab to Tony-D’s townhouse near Crystal City and napped until his cell phone rang at 8:30 p.m.

  Tony-D listened to his caller, broke the connection, and announced, “Your tap’s in place. The bad news is your landline already had a tap. What the hell’s going on, Max?”

  “Damned if I know, but I’ll tell you what I do know when Sherri gets here.” My guess was that the first tap was Rodney’s work.

  Tony-D meticulously placed pepperoni slices on a frozen cauliflower pizza and popped it into the oven. We had cold beer and pizza while we waited for Sherri. She arrived by the second slice. Tony-D gave her a beer and a plate, and we settled down to eat, while I told my story. I needed objective input.

  “I think Claudia set me up so Rodney could fire me. Then, Rodney handed me off to Bowen who sent me—us—to England and Russia to find Ironside’s sources.”

  “Who is Claudia?” Tony-D wanted to know.

  “She’s a high-six-figure D.C. lawyer. I met her at Rodney’s after Vanessa—my girlfriend—was sent to Australia. Claudia sort of moved in six weeks before the three of us went to England.”

  Sherri asked, “How does one move in, sort of?”

  I gave the obvious answer. “She spends more time at my house than at hers.”

  �
��Did she bring clothes and flowerpots?” Sherri was enjoying my discomfort.

  Tony-D wasn’t. He said, “I don’t underestimate your charm, Max, but there’s a lot of cash-connected testosterone in D.C. Why did she choose you?”

  A bit too gleefully, Sherri said, “If it’s too good to be true, it’s too good to be true.”

  I admitted, “It was Claudia’s email that caused the Agency to fire me.”

  Sherri asked, “Did the Agency fire you or was it Rodney? If Rodney conspired with Claudia, that was definitely a setup.”

  “Well,” sighed Tony-D, “I’m giving odds that Rodney and Claudia set you up. The only question in my mind is, did Claudia know about Bowen and his Russians?”

  I doubted she knew. “Rodney wouldn’t have told Claudia she was part of a CIA operation. I just want to know if Claudia used her email to set me up so Rodney could fire me, or if her email was a coincidence and Rodney took advantage of it to fire me.”

  “Why do you care?” asked Sherri.

  “I just need to know how badly I’ve been played.”

  “If Claudia deliberately set you up,” said Sherri, “she had a motive. What would she gain by getting you fired? Does Rodney have something she wants? Are they lovers behind your back?”

  I didn’t believe either motivation. “Claudia doesn’t need money. I checked her out when she moved into my house. Rodney has his own love life and Claudia is too busy to cheat on me.”

  Sherri uttered an unconvinced grunt.

  Tony-D wondered aloud, “If Rodney has nothing to offer her, who does? Could she be doing that someone a favor by helping Rodney fire you?”

  Sherri liked that argument. “Yeah. Maybe someone Rodney knows has something Claudia wants.”

  The possibility that Claudia knowingly set me up stoked my anger. “You’re asking if there is something she wanted badly enough to sleep with me and destroy my career.”

  Sherri said, “This is Washington, Max. Don’t make it personal. At the Agency when we were trying to turn somebody, we always asked, ‘What would he sell himself for?’ So, what does Claudia want badly enough to ruin you?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “A partnership at her law firm.”

  Tony-D got enthused. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Does Rodney know someone at Claudia’s law firm who could improve her chances of becoming a partner? If there is such a person, he or she is the reason Claudia stiffed you.”