Black Ghosts (33 page)

“We should do business one day,” Sergei smiled. “You have an honest face. That is good. Now we have to teach you to lie and keep the same face.” He chuckled, enjoying himself. “I tell these Black Ghosts I want more money for you. That way we buy time, they will think I'm bluffing and still search for you, but not as hard. They want to catch you very much, which in my book makes you a friend.”

Edward massaged his wrists and stood up. The armed guard raised his gun and stood in a ready position. Sergei signaled him to relax. “I'd love to sit and chat,” Edward said, “but we have things to do.”

“All right, I am no fan of those who occupy the Kremlin at present, but at least they don't interfere in business. We will do all we can to help you.”

“Good,” said Edward. “I need to use your phone. And where is my friend?”

Sergei stood up and pushed the phone across the wide desk to where Edward stood. “He's fine, don't worry. He is well taken care of.”

Edward took Sergei's word for it, for the moment. While he dialed, Sergei paced the carpeted floors of his office suite. Outside, beyond the glass doors, high-heeled secretaries and well-dressed clerks in imported suits milled and circulated, had meetings, did deals, and took notes, despite the lateness of the hour. In this building, business was extremely good.

The headquarters of the Pozharsky Corporation was like any well-heeled office building in the West, except for the large number of uniformed guards who lounged around the lobby downstairs, their Kalashnikovs hanging from their shoulders. Another unusual feature of Sergei's office was the second entrance, private and also heavily guarded, via which Edward and Sparky, handcuffed and blindfolded, had been brought in half an hour earlier.

The first person Edward called was Larry, at the office building in New York.

“Thank God it's you,” Larry said. “I've just spoken to Natalie. She's worried as hell. Where are you?”

“When did she call?”

“Less than ten minutes ago. Why?”

“Her name isn't Natalie. I believe the real Natalie is dead. The woman you have been calling Natalie was working for the Black Ghosts all along. No wonder you kept losing every agent you tried to get in Russia.”

Larry was silent, trying to digest what he had just heard. “Are you sure?”

“I'm lucky to be alive. What did you tell her?”

“I told her about the airport switch.”

“Don't worry, she knew about that from me anyway. Did you tell her the location of the airstrip?”

“No. She asked. She said she wants to go there and team up with you. She said you were separated when the safe house was raided. She wasn't sure if you'd made it.”

“So how come you didn't give it to her?”

“I don't have it here. I have one copy at the house and the other I gave to the pilot. Just lucky, I guess. What about your friend the colonel?”

“They got his driver, but I'm hoping he's still out there. He has your number. If he calls you, send him to the airstrip.” Edward gave him the directions. This time he was reading it from a map Sergei had placed before him.

Larry gave him the radio frequency to Air Force One that he had gotten from Fenton. “Shit, I just remembered something,” he said. “I also gave the frequency to Natalie.”

“So get ahold of your friend Fenton and warn him. Tell him that when I call in, I'll identify myself as Dagger One. He is to disregard any other calls on that frequency.”

“I hope I can reach him. He might already be on his way. How come I didn't notice a goddamn thing?”

“Forget it, Larry. She was good, very good. You just try and get your man. I have to run now. Stay where you are. I'll be in touch.”

Next, Edward tried Sokolov's apartment. There was no answer. That in itself was probably a good sign: It could mean Sokolov had received Edward's message and was on his way to the airfield. On the other hand, it could mean he was dead or in the midst of spilling his guts, giving them the location of the field. Edward had to admit the possibility that his men were heading directly into a trap.

When he had finished phoning, Edward went over to where Sergei was standing by the window, which offered a panoramic view of Moscow. As he gazed at the multitude of lights twinkling in the darkness, Sergei's expression was sorrowful.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he said morosely. “It would be a shame to turn it back into a prison.”

“Yes, indeed.” Edward cleared his throat. “Listen, Sergei, I'm going to need a powerful radio transmitter.”

Sergei stared at him blankly, a remote look in his eyes. Then he seemed to come to his senses. “Yes, of course. That can be arranged.”

“Is there a transmitter at the airfield?” If there were, it would be too good to be true.

Sergei shook his head. “I'm afraid not. But I can get you access to the Brosny radio station. They have the largest transmitter in the country and it's not in use at the moment.”

“We'll have to get Sparky over there.”

“No problem.”

“How will I be able to communicate with him?”

“By phone from the airfield.”

Sparky had been hit over the head, not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to keep him quiet in the car. He had been released from his cuffs and allowed to stand up and stretch. Soon he was drinking tea and being made a fuss of by two of the secretaries, who applied a dressing to the bump on his head and soothed him with laughter and soft words that he could not understand but enjoyed listening to anyway.

Edward went into the reception area, where Sparky was still enjoying the company of the two pretty secretaries.

“I hate to drag you away,” said Edward, “but we have work to do.”

He literally had to pull him by the arm to get him into the office. It seemed to Edward that he had done nothing but drag Sparky by the arm all day long.

Sergei had one of the secretaries go out for some food. She came back a short while later with burgers, fries, and coffee from the newly reopened McDonald's.

Edward put Sparky through a thorough briefing. He provided him with an outline of the overall plan and gave him the radio frequency that would put him in touch with Air Force One. After Sergei had made the necessary arrangements, Sparky, still looking slightly lost, was led away by one of the uniformed guards. Edward could only hope that he knew what he had to do and would get it right when the time came.

Sergei put at Edward's disposal a Jeep Cherokee and a couple of men who would drive him to the airfield. He also provided some useful intelligence. The recent troop movements around the city meant that most of the major highways were now controlled by checkpoints. His men would try to guide Edward away from the most likely locations for roadblocks, but even on the back roads there was no guarantee they wouldn't be stopped and searched. For that reason, the men would be in plain clothes. Edward was advised to carry no arms. Sergei had received information that the police were looking for Edward as a fugitive from justice. It was being said that he was behind one of the recent terrorist acts and was armed and dangerous.

“They have a photo of you.” Sergei showed him a photocopy of an enlarged photograph with a Russian inscription underneath.

“My own personal wanted poster,” Edward said bitterly, recognizing the photo as the one in his passport which was missing from the hotel. “So what now?”

“Nothing. Just avoid talking to the police. And get out of the city as soon as possible.”

Once they arrived at the airfield, a man named Yuri would assist them. Sergei had briefed Yuri by phone and impressed upon him the importance of giving the American every cooperation. He also gave Edward a number and told him to call anytime if there was something Sergei's people could do for him. They shook hands and Edward left.

It was around nine and raining when they got on the road. Traffic was heavy until they cleared the Sadovoye Koltso, the city's Garden Ring, when it began to thin out. Edward vigilantly watched the road from the back seat. It was going to be a long night.

 

After dinner, James Fenton returned to his suite. He pulled off his tie, undid his shirt collar, and sat in an armchair, pondering the evening's events. Townes had confessed to a passing knowledge of the Patriots but had volunteered no information about an operation to neutralize them. Bud Hays had denied all knowledge of them. That in itself was legitimate. If the Patriot threat was as widespread as Larry had suggested, the operation would have to be kept very discreet.

On the other hand, if what Larry had said was true, then at least one of these men would have a more compelling reason to remain silent about the Patriots. Which was the more likely suspect, Townes, who had casually acknowledged their existence, or Hays, who had not even done that?

At the same time, Fenton had noticed they were staring at each other, as if looking for answers in each other's face. He knew they were both lying to him, each for his own reason, but it confirmed to him that Larry probably wasn't. He was going to have a chat with the president in the morning. After all, he was the one who had asked for the investigation, according to Larry. For the moment there was nothing else he could do. He had no authority to cancel the trip or he would have done so, as he would with just about every trip the president took, including his daily jogging and the occasional night visit to a fast-food restaurant.

There was a quiet knock at the door. Surprised, Fenton got to his feet and peeked through the spy hole. He was even more surprised when he saw the black hair and pale face of Angela Baines. He opened the door.

“Hi,” said Angela, smiling nervously, her voice soft. “Can I come in?”

He opened the door wider, unsure what this unexpected visitor was after.

“It's about what you said at dinner,” said Angela.

“I said many things,” returned Fenton. “Please have a seat.” He pointed to the sofa.

“I'm talking about that thing you asked about the Patriots.” She sounded unsure of herself, treading in unfamiliar territory.

“What about them?”

“Well.” Angela hesitated. “Bud and I . . . let's say that in the past we've had more than a working relationship. Okay?”

Fenton smiled. “Okay.”

“I was in his room earlier. He took a call from somebody. He said something about the Patriots, like he knew what they were.”

“Any idea who the call was from?”

“No. But I'd say it wasn't anyone he deals with in his normal line of work. His voice sounded different, somehow.”

He leaned forward. “Different how?”

“I don't know.” She frowned. “Like he was talking to the president, except he wasn't.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“Not too much. He mainly listened and said yes, yes. But then he asked something about the Patriots. He said something about making sure they were in the best interests of America, or something.”

This was starting to get interesting, Fenton thought. “Did he say a name?”

“No, he just kept calling the man sir. You know, like he was someone very important?”

“Is there anything else you can remember?”

“No, I just thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you, Angela. You've been most helpful. Let's keep it between us. If you hear anything else, I want to know. Okay?”

“Mr. Fenton? Could I ask you something in return?”

“Of course.”

“I'm trying to get out of my present position like, I mean, I feel like I'm not going anywhere, like you know?”

Fenton smiled indulgently. “I'll see what I can do,” he said.

 

 

CG Command Bunker, outside Moscow

 

General Rogov was feeling better. He had been disconcerted to learn that Yakov's men had failed to capture the American and had succeeded only in killing the occupant of the house he was staying in. They had also retrieved the corpse of a driver who had been in the act of delivering a visitor to the house but who had poisoned himself before he could be interrogated.

The men he was staying with were members of the Moscow underworld and were working for a kingpin he had himself used to do dirty work on occasions. Yakov had made contact with the man and offered him a reward for the American. It was now a matter of negotiating a price, if in fact Pozharsky had the man. That parasite was known to lie when it suited him, and since he was not aware of the new world order that was about to come into being, he thought this was business as usual. If he didn't hand the American over by midnight, the general told Yakov, he was to raid the offices of the Pozharsky Corporation and get the American himself. The time for games was over. He could not afford to have anything stand in his way.

Still, the general was reassured to know that even if Pozharsky did not have him, the American would not be able to do much now. Rogov's elite commando troops were scheduled to fly in early in the morning. Then they were to be driven to the Kremlin, where they were expected, and they would “secure” the place.

Looking at the large video screen depicting the capital, he could see that virtually all the highways in and out of Moscow were controlled by his checkpoints. They had all been alerted to be on the lookout for the American and had been issued photos of him. It was now a matter of principle for the general, more than a real need to catch the man. If the American tried to leave the city by road, he would not last long.