Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (19 page)

Arsov took a deep breath and struggled to calm himself.

“I discovered the accounts only shortly before Nazarov set us up and disappeared. So I DID get the proof, but I didn’t have time to let you know before Nazarov sprang his trap. I came here as soon as possible after I escaped.”

Arsov saw the head of the silhouette nod and relaxed a bit. Perhaps he could sell his story after all.

“That sounds… possible,” the Chief said, “but there are still many little ‘loose ends,’ as the Americans say. For example, Nazarov has been in London for over four years, mostly as number two in that operation, but these offshore accounts you’ve discovered were opened only two months ago, and the balances are really quite small. If our Nazarov is an embezzler as you say, he must be quite incompetent or very patient.”

“It makes perfect sense if you think about it,” Arsov countered, warming to the discussion. “Nazarov was put in charge of the London operation for two months when Tsarko rotated back here to St. Petersburg and I had not yet arrived from Prague to replace him. I think Nazarov seized that opportunity to set up his skimming operations, assuming he could steal enough to escape before I discovered the problem. I just caught him sooner than he anticipated, that’s all.”

Again the silhouette nodded, and Arsov relaxed a bit, his hopes growing, only to be dashed.

“That is one explanation,” the Chief said. “Nazarov is not a particularly clever fellow. But then again, I think he understands his own limitations. So, you will perhaps understand why I find it difficult to believe that he had the
yaytsa
— the balls — to steal from the Brotherhood.”

The Chief paused, and even though Arsov could not see his face clearly, he felt the man’s eyes boring into him.

“But you, Arsov. You are quite clever. Perhaps even as clever as you THINK you are. I can easily envision a scenario in which you convinced yourself that appropriating a little of the
Bratstvo
’s money as your own was a good idea. And it hasn’t escaped me that these offshore accounts were opened AFTER your arrival in London. Perhaps YOU were the one skimming the money and our now absent friend Nazarov caught you? And interesting theory, is it not?”

“Never! I assure you, sir, that I—”

“Calm yourself, Arsov. Your assurances, however passionate, are meaningless, so don’t bore me. Be content to know that with Nazarov missing, I will accept your story for the time being, but know also that your loyalty is now suspect. Because of your previous outstanding performance, you will be given a very rare second chance, but do not disappoint me again. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, sir! I will do everything in my—”

“Save your assurances, Arsov. The only acceptable assurances are your actions. You will perform or you will die a slow and painful death. It is that simple, and no flowery speech will change it. Now. Tell me how you managed to attract such intense scrutiny from the police.”

“I… I’m sorry if it seems like I’m repeating myself, but it was Nazarov.”

The Chief sighed. “The absent are always guilty, it seems. So how did the conveniently absent Mr. Nazarov bring the police down upon us in such force?”

“We had a girl from Volgograd named Karina Bakhvalova. We seasoned her in Prague, but she was a real spitfire and needed additional work in London. Two ex-
Spetsnaz
showed up looking for her — one of them was her uncle — and evidently, and unbeknown to us, they had influential friends in London. They kidnapped Tanya—”

“I thought you said the girl’s name was Karina?”

“I did. Tanya is a different girl they were questioning in the club. When Nazarov sent in a man to break it up, the
Spetsnaz
overpowered our guy and kidnapped Tanya. When I sent Nazarov and some men to get Tanya back, he also kidnapped another girl at the house where Tanya was staying. It turns out she was the daughter of a very influential and well-connected Brit, and the shit hit the fan.”

“Am I to understand that after years of low-profile operations, you and Nazarov thrust us into the limelight with one incredibly stupid move?”

“Not me. Nazarov.”

“And just who did Nazarov work for?”

Arsov said nothing, and the silence grew to the point that he feared the Chief might have a change of heart about giving him a second chance.

“We’ll be toxic in the UK for months, if not years,” the Chief muttered before addressing Arsov again. “Very well. What happened to this Tanya, or Karina, or whatever her name is, and this British girl? I trust you at least took care of them in a way that will not lead the police back to our door?”

Arsov’s mind raced. He hadn’t spared a thought for the troublemaking little bitches since he’d shoved them in the container. However, now was not the best time to appear uncertain and indecisive in front of the Chief.

“Absolutely. Dead and buried where they won’t be found.”

The silhouette nodded. “Well, at least you didn’t screw that up.”

Arsov hesitated a long moment and then ventured the question he’d been holding back.

“Where will I go next?”

“We’ll put you back in your old position in Prague. You seemed to do well there, at least. But before you go, we have a few loose ends to clear up. Give me what you have on the whore that started all this trouble and the
Spetsnaz
idiots.”

“The girl was Karina Bakhvalova from Volgograd. One of the
Spetsnaz
was her uncle, Ilya Denosovitch. He was formerly a sergeant, I believe, but I’m not sure what unit. The other was his commanding officer, a man named Borgdanov, first name unknown. However, I’m sure he won’t be difficult to find.”

“And the Brits?”

“Actually one was an American, Thomas Dugan. He’s a business partner with a Brit named Alex Kairouz. It was Kairouz’s daughter that Nazarov kidnapped.”

“Anyone else involved?”

Arsov hesitated and briefly considered telling the Chief about the dead MI5 bitch, but was pretty sure that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He was apparently getting out of this interview alive, and he didn’t want to do anything to change that. Besides, he was the only one who knew she’d been MI5, and if that fact turned up later, he could just pretend he hadn’t known.

“No. That’s it. Are you going to retaliate?”

“Of course we’re going to retaliate. We can’t have people thinking they can fuck with the
Bratstvo
, now can we? But we have to consider how to go about it. We need to send a clear message, without making the situation worse. We’ll have a difficult time getting reestablished in the UK as it is.”

“I’d like to participate in the strike,” Arsov said, the first honest statement he’d made since he walked in the door.

“Oh, you’ve done quite enough, Arsov. Now get out of here and get your ass on a plane to Prague. And remember. We’re watching you.”

Arsov nodded and turned for the door, hurrying before the Chief changed his mind. The guard thugs turned and scowled as he opened the door, then moved to block his exit.

“Let him go,” said the Chief’s voice in the gloom behind him, and the two men parted, their disappointment obvious. Arsov gave them a smirk. Who was laughing now?

His brief elation died in the elevator as his thoughts turned to the troublesome bitches en route to the US. Had Nazarov informed the receivers in the US of the girls’ names? He doubted it. The receivers probably had no clue who the girls were, just another shipment of whores as far as they were concerned. The unorthodox method of delivery might generate some local curiosity, but other than that, his secret was probably safe. Or was it? None of the girls were stupid, and if they somehow escaped, it might come to the Chief’s attention that Arsov had been less than forthcoming. And both the Russian girls could identify him to the authorities if it came to that. No, he had to make sure the shipment never arrived.

***

Vladimir Glazkov, Chief of the St. Petersburg and Leningrad Oblast Directorate of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, AKA “the Chief,” watched Arsov’s retreating back as the fool fled. Meeting with the idiot was perhaps unwise, but he really needed a better sense of the London debacle, and some things could not be communicated via underlings or even video. Sometimes you needed to be in the same room with a man, to sense his tension, to smell his fear. And besides, he had been juggling his dual identities as St. Petersburg’s chief policeman and head criminal for so long, the deception was second nature to him.

One thing was clear — nothing was quite as this fool Arsov related it. While there was no doubt that Nazarov had somehow been compromised, the circumstances of that treachery were very much in question, and Arsov had likely played a role. He would have to be killed in time, but he was good at training the whores, and the Brotherhood might as well get as much use out of him as possible for the time being. It wasn’t good business to squander resources, and Glazkov was nothing if not an astute businessman.

Which brought him back to this UK disaster. That there had to be retaliation was clear, but the scope and targets were problematic. These
Spetsnaz
bastards and their families would die, of course, but beyond that, things became more difficult. The
Bratstvo
operated with impunity throughout Russia and many of the former Soviet satellites, on the back of generous ‘gifts’ to politically connected ‘friends.’ But in those countries where bribery was not an accepted way of doing business, the model (which he had developed) always involved flying well below the radar. The sex trade was staffed by foreign talent acquired outside of the country being served, and drugs were sold primarily to the bottom tier of society, in both cases the ‘victims’ being persons held in low regard by the general population. It boggled the imagination that Arsov and Nazarov had managed to violate the most basic tenet of their operation.

And not just by targeting some common Brit — oh no — they had to kidnap the daughter of this Kairouz, who was obviously not only wealthy, but politically connected as well. The sheer idiocy of it made his head hurt.

Well, at least the girl was no longer a problem, and if Arsov was to be believed — a somewhat doubtful assumption — there was nothing left to lead the authorities back to the
Bratstvo
, except, of course, unprovable suspicion. But therein lay the rub. If everyone suspected that this Kairouz and his American partner had brought ruination down on the
Bratstvo
, their apparent weakness would encourage rivals to muscle in on the UK business. Viewed from that angle, retaliation against this Kairouz and Dugan seemed mandatory. However, if they DID retaliate, would that not raise their profile with the authorities even more and make reestablishment of their UK operations that much more difficult? He cursed Arsov once again for putting the Brotherhood in this difficult position.

Then again, things were going to be hot in the UK for some time anyway, so if they intended to eliminate the Kairouz family and this Dugan, there was no time like the present. The sooner things heated up, the more quickly they would cool down. He picked up the phone and pressed a preset. Halfway across the city, a voice answered.

“Arkady,” Glazkov said, “get me everything you can find on an Alex Kairouz and Thomas Dugan in London. They’re partners in a shipping company, I believe. I want everything on them and their families. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Boss. Since it’s outside Russia it may take a bit longer, but I should have you a full report by tonight. Anything else?”

“Yes. Do a similar search for Ilya Denosovitch, who was previously a sergeant in some sort of
Spetsnaz
unit. He’s from Volgograd, I think. And also check for a Borgdanov, first name and hometown unknown. However, he is also ex-
Spetsnaz
, and I believe he was Denosovitch’s commanding officer, so you should find him in the records for the same unit. He was likely a field grade officer, a major or a lieutenant colonel.”

“Much easier. I should have those within the hour.”

***

Arkady Baikov, Chief Data Analyst for the Federal Security Service for St. Petersburg and Leningrad Oblast, looked down at the name on his scratch pad. Borgdanov. He didn’t have to look up the name. He knew it. Andrei Nikolaevich Borgdanov, Major Andrei Nikolaevich Borgdanov.

“Whatever you’re doing, Dyusha,” he said softly, “you’re making a big mistake.”

Arkady sighed and turned to his computer.

Chapter Twenty Three

Container Ship Kapitan Godina
En route to Jacksonville, Florida

Tanya’s hand was dark bluish black, the discoloration visible well up the inside of her right arm, almost to the elbow, and the festering wound leaked thick foul-smelling pus into the makeshift bandage they’d tied around her hand. The girl burned with fever and lapsed in and out of consciousness, rousing only enough to swallow small sips of water Cassie gently trickled into her mouth from one of the few remaining bottles of clean water. She slept now with her head in Cassie’s lap, a troubled sleep punctuated by whimpers between labored breaths, and Cassie gently stroked her forehead with a wet rag, attempting to soothe her fevered brow.

“She’s getting worse, I think,” Cassie whispered.

In the dim light leaking through the holes near the top of the container, she saw Karina nod agreement.

“
Da
,” Karina said. “The infection has spread, and there is nothing more we can do. Without treatment soon she will not survive.”

“But she CAN’T die. Not like this. Not from a little cut!”

Karina shook her head sadly and laid a hand on Cassie’s arm. “I don’t want her to die either, Cassie, but you must be prepared. If we do not reach port today, I think she will not last the night, and even if we do, I think she will lose at least her hand and maybe part of her arm.”

“But we’re not even close. Look at the food, we have four or five days left,” Cassie said.

“I honestly don’t know, Cassie. We weren’t eating much when we were seasick, and Tanya has hardly been able to eat at all. The days have run together, and I’ve lost track. I don’t even know how long we’ve been in this damn box.”

“We’ll get there soon. We HAVE to. And then they’ll treat Tanya. I mean if they intended to kill us, they wouldn’t have bothered to put us on a ship, would they?”

Karina nodded, more to placate Cassie than because she believed it.

Airborne
En route to Jacksonville, Florida

Dugan fidgeted in the leather seat of the Gulfstream and considered having a drink from the bar, then decided against it. His stomach already boiled from too much coffee, and he was wired on a potent combination of adrenaline, caffeine, and anxiety. Alcohol would hardly improve things.

He worried for the hundredth time if he’d done the right thing leaving Anna in the hospital, even though she’d insisted he do so. Then he suppressed a pang of guilt at his insistence that Alex and Gillian stay behind to watch over Anna, arguing that they could do nothing ashore in the US. It was a totally logical argument, and they reluctantly agreed, even though they clearly wanted to come on the flight.

Dugan looked over at Nigel and Ilya, both apparently lost in their own thoughts. Leave-taking had been an emotional affair all the way around, with the two Russians embracing before Ilya climbed aboard the plane ahead of Dugan.

“Do you think Andrei will have any trouble in Russia? I’ll bet these mafia bastards have eyes and ears everywhere.”

Ilya looked up and shook his head. “
Nyet
. Part of the time the major and I were on counter terrorism assignments, we worked undercover. He has many contacts where he can get new identity papers, and with your generous support, he has all the money he needs. Is no problem, I think.”

“Still, with automated video surveillance at all the international airports, I think it’s dangerous. He can’t change his appearance that much.”

Ilya laughed. “More than you think,
Dyed
. But the major will not use any primary entry point. Since the end of Cold War and breakup of Soviet Union, our border is not so secure anymore. There are hundreds of possible overland entry points, and after he gets inside, traveling on domestic transportation with false papers is not big problem, especially if he keeps changing identities.”

“I’m still worried. He’s completely on his own.”

Ilya shook his head again. “No,
Dyed
. We have many
tovarishchi
— comrades — there. Some will help him, some will not because of concern for families or similar things, but none will betray him, I think, especially not to
mafiya
scum.”

“Do you know his plan?”

“He has no clear plan — yet,” Ilya said. “First he must do reconnaissance. Then he can form plan and figure out resources he needs to proceed. He will contact us when he is ready, not before. Then we strike,
da
?”

“We?”

“Of course, I will be there. This rescue operation will be over in a day or two at most, one way or another. Then I go to Russia as soon as the major needs me.”

Dugan scowled at the Russian fatalism inherent in the ‘one way or another’ but ignored it. He was much more irritated by what Ilya had just revealed.

“Christ! If that’s the case, why the hell didn’t he wait until we finished up here like I suggested? Then we could have all gone together?”

“Because we would have to separate anyway. The major and I can move about Russia independently with false papers, but together we would be very obvious,
da
? So — if we must separate anyway, is better the major goes ahead and gets things started.” Ilya paused. “And besides,
Dyed
, you are not coming to Russia.”

“What the hell do you mean I’m not coming? I want this asshole Arsov as much as you do.”

“Forgive me,
Dyed
, but you are not Russian. The major and I can sneak across border and move freely in disguise, especially if we separate, but you, I think, will stick out like sore finger.”

“I think you mean sore thumb.”

Ilya shrugged. “Whatever. You are not going. The major was clear on this.”

“I guess he forgot to tell me that part.”

Ilya shrugged again, but said nothing.

We’ll see about that
, thought Dugan, but he didn’t press the point with Ilya.

***

An hour later, Dugan dialed the satellite phone.

“Maritime Threat Assessment,” Ward answered.

“Jesse, where do we stand?”

“You’ve got clearance to land at Cecil Field, which is a joint civil-military airport on the west side of Jacksonville. It’s also the home base for the Coast Guard’s HITRON, so that worked out well.”

“Hit what?”

Ward chuckled. “HITRON. It’s an acronym for Helicopter Interdiction Tactical Squadron. They’re the Coasties that support ops against drug trafficking and that sort of thing. I have some contacts there because they also support the USCG Maritime Security Response Team. I ran a few drills with them right after we set up the Maritime Threat Assessment group here at Langley.”

“Any problems arranging it?”

“Yes and no.”

“That’s not very illuminating, Jesse.”

“No, it wasn’t difficult to get you a chopper. These guys jump at any excuse to get some air time, especially if it can be back charged to some other agency’s budget. And by the way, you’re welcome. I was able to sneak this little joy ride on to what remains of my rapidly dwindling black budget.”

“And that’s much appreciated,” Dugan said, “but what about the ‘yes’ part?”

“Yes, it was tough to figure out a plausible cover story, but I managed. This is being billed as an AOR — and before you ask, that’s ‘Area of Responsibility’ — familiarization flight. In other words, an excuse to go up and fly around somewhere they might reasonably be expected to conduct operations someday. You guys are members of a ‘multinational task force’ going along as observers.”

“How’s that work?”

“There’s an ongoing cooperation between our guys and the Royal Bahamian Defense Force called Operations Bahamas, Turks and Caicos or OPBAT. Since the Turks and Caicos Islands are still a British Overseas Territory, it’s not too much of a stretch to think the Brits might send some observers to the operation from time to time.”

“So we’re all supposed to be Brits?”

“No, you’re billed as a company man, working for me — which is partially true since you do that on occasion. The others are British intelligence. Lou and Harry are going to backstop us and confirm that if necessary,” Ward said.

“That might work for Nigel, but what about Ilya. He’s carrying a Russian Federation passport.”

“Don’t worry about it. I called in another favor. An immigration officer will board the plane on landing and take care of everything. After that, just tell Ilya to keep his mouth shut and nod a lot around the Coasties.”

“Okay. I follow. And the Coasties know we’re going after the
Kapitan Godina
?”

“Uhh… no.”

“What do you mean, no? How the hell are we supposed to get to the ship if these guys don’t know the target.”

“I mean my imagination is tapped out, and I’ve stretched this about as far as I can. You have the AIS number for the ship, so after you get airborne, you’ll have to use your boyish charm to convince the pilot to take you there. I can get you in the room, Tom, but you have to close the deal yourself. I’m sure you’re up to it. By the way, are you armed?”

“Harry got us an assault rifle, which I gave to Ilya so I don’t shoot myself in the foot. He also got us a couple of Glocks, but I’m not too worried about that. This is a merchant ship, and I doubt they’re armed, or heavily armed anyway. I’m more concerned with what I’m going to tell the Coasties. What do they think they’re supposed to be doing, anyway?”

“Right now they think they’re just going to fly around offshore and pretend to be intercepting drug-traffickers for the edification of a group of their British cousins. If I push any harder, this whole thing could fall apart in a hurry.”

Dugan was quiet a moment before responding.

“I understand. Thanks, Jesse,” he said at last.

“Look Tom, these are good guys. I suspect that after you’re in the air and all the bureaucrats are out of the way, you won’t have any problem. Use your own judgment, but I suspect if you level with them, they’ll find a way to help you.”

“Your lips to God’s ears, pal. And however it turns out, I appreciate the help.”

“No problem. What’s your ETA?”

Dugan looked at his watch, suddenly worried. “About 2100, I think. Listen, since the Coasties think this is a bullshit show-and-tell operation, do you think they’ll be ready to deploy tonight? They may want to wait until daylight since they don’t know it’s urgent.’

“Damn, I didn’t think of that. Do you want me to try and push from here?”

Dugan thought a moment. “No, you can’t really push without setting off alarms, and like you said, it might all unravel. It’s 1900 now, so we’ll be on the ground in a couple of hours, and I’ll see what I can do face to face.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me to run interference.”

“Will do,” Dugan said and hung up.

He unfastened his seat belt and headed for the cockpit to tell the pilot to change his flight plan to Cecil Field.