From Filth & Mud (17 page)

Eckert answered the secure teleconference feed in his office. It was Secretary Long, and it was probably not good news. Ever since they had consummated their relationship, Long seemed to only call with complaints, and money seemed to be the only thing that could soothe his chafing ass.

“Secretary Long, I’m glad that you called.” He wasn’t.

“It is my pleasure, Mr. Eckert.” It wasn’t. “Mr. Eckert, are you trying to destroy me?” Long was ever the melodramatic queen.

“I don’t understand, Mr. Secretary, we delivered the package and made a generous contribution to your business accounts.” The business accounts to which Eckert referred were slush-fund accounts that Long kept under the name of several family-owned business ventures in Macau. These were, until recently, beyond the reach of the Chinese Government’s authority. Not, that China did not previously retain the power to investigate these types of business ventures, but they simply had never exercised it. Most, if not all, of the high-level, party officials kept similar accounts, or were unnamed benefactors of such accounts.

Long replied coyly, “The contributions were well received indeed however, the samples were not as expected. Now this marks the second time that the deliveries have failed to meet expectations, Mr. Eckert. My board is not pleased, and I will not suffer such embarrassment.”

Eckert was confused. He had ensured that this batch of Lilith samples had been delivered correctly. The first delivery had not survived the transport due to the unforeseen failure of a portable cold-storage delivery system, as Bill had informed him. To think that millions of dollars’ worth of cutting-edge biotechnology could have been destroyed by a lack of frozen CO
2
packets. Fucking geniuses!

“Secretary, can you explain the problem?”

“Mr. Eckert, it appears that you delivered used samples to us.”
 

“Used? That’s not possible. In fact…”

“This is what I was told by our head scientist. The samples were made to appear as if they were the primary stage Lilicytes, but they are not. It appears that someone went to great lengths to alter their identity. Now, either we are being played with because your company cannot deliver the necessary samples, or you are the subject of sabotage, Mr. Eckert. Are you being lied to, or am I? Neither is a good option.”

“I will get to the bottom of this Mr. Secretary.” Eckert was fuming. He had cultivated this relationship over years of back-channel discussions, and now it was about to wither on the vine.

“You’d better, for your sake Mr. Eckert. In the meantime, my laboratory will work diligently to understand what happened to the samples in order to uncover whether or not this was a deliberate act, or perhaps something less nefarious.” The Secretary disappeared from the screen.

Eckert was immediately on the phone to Syracuse. The phone rang incessantly in Bill’s office, but went unanswered. Eckert called building security and demanded that they find LaPierre. After a few minutes, LaPierre appeared at his office desk looking extremely nervous. His security escort remained closely behind.

“Leave us,” Eckert instructed the security officer.

William stiffened in his chair. He knew that his treachery was going to be uncovered.

“Bill, we have a problem.” Eckert paused for dramatic effect, just long enough for Bill’s deceit to be revealed in his panicked response. Bill shifted nervously in his chair and swallowed hard. His hands came up to his face and covered his mouth. He was trying to hide the truth, afraid that his tongue would betray him, as he had betrayed Eckert.

“What’s… what seems to… be the…the problem?” Bill barely managed to get the sentence out because he was worrying about the lies that he was going to tell. He was a bad liar, like most people, and this disgusted Eckert even more.

“The Lilith samples that we delivered to our Chinese client.”

“Oh? What could possibly… ”

“I was contacted about the samples. It appears that the client did not receive what he expected. He believes that this is probably just some unfortunate error. Actually his lab thinks that it might have unlocked some new permutation of the Lilicytes.”

“Oh.”

“However, I assured them that we,
you Bill
, knew the Lilicytes inside and out, and that there is no new permutation. The Lilicytes only do what you’ve coded them to do. Isn’t that right?”

“Well of course, we created them, but you can’t always predict the outcome. Maybe something happened during transportation, or maybe the Chinese don’t fully understand what the issue is.”

“Come on Bill, their labs are pretty resourceful. They’re trying to reverse-engineer the Lilicytes as we speak. I’m sure that they’ll know what happened to the samples soon enough.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would be better for us to do that work in house. I have some time and I can work on trying to figure out what the problem is. I’d just need the samples back. It’ll be a quick turnaround, really.”

Eckert could see the panic surfacing. The doctor’s brow was glistening and it was evident through the teleconference camera. “Nonsense, Bill, I won’t hear it. You’ve got much more pressing matters to attend to. We’re getting ready for a delivery to a new client. We need Lilith worked up for delivery in a few days. You’ll have as much staff as possible for this. I’m authorizing overtime for all lab personnel.” Eckert paused looking for a change in Bill’s body language. There was none, Bill was still worried. His mind was stuck on the investigation. “I’m sure this will come as good news for your lab guys.”

“Yes, good news… ”

“Oh, and before I let you go, can you gather the logs from the lab for the last couple of weeks. I want to know who was working on the Lilicytes so that I can ask them about the issue. I want to get some feedback on what they think might have caused the problem. Oh, and Bill, I’d like you to be by my side when we conduct the interviews. Let’s make a day of it. We’ll have everyone come down to the city. Thanks Bill.” Eckert terminated the call. Bill was guilty and he’d make him pay for it. Eckert paced around his office for a moment, his mind torn between swift retribution and methodical bloody reprisal. He chose the latter and called Jak. He would not show Bill any weakness.

- - - - - - -

Isaac was tied up when he came to. The blindfold was strung tightly around his eyes pulling them back into their sockets. He could hardly breathe, and the panic was just starting to set in as he gagged into the dirty rag that was stuffed into his mouth. His tears were temporarily obscured by the thick, burlap sack that was garroted around his neck. He was naked. He shivered uncontrollably against the shackles that pulled his limbs in four different directions, while his legs frantically tried to find support on the wet, tile floor. A lock clunked back into its recessed position and then a heavy metal door swung open, clattering against a metal bulkhead. A latch suddenly unhooked, releasing a rush of clinking, chain links that loosened Isaac’s hands and feet. His muscles immediately seized in spasms as they were forced to bear his weight for the first time in countless hours. He collapsed, but the chains suspended him at the waist.

A woman’s voice asked him something, but he was confused, nauseous, and his ears still rang with the din of the chain’s links. Isaac heard the banging of metal against metal as his torturer struck the walls around the echoing room. Suddenly a pain shot between his legs, piercing into the deepest part of his consciousness. He screamed as the pain seared deep inside of him. An object was violently pulled out of him, causing yet another explosion of pain. Isaac could feel the warmth of blood and urine run down his shaking legs. His respite was short-lived however, as his torturer began to strike him repeatedly across his thighs. The crushing blows fractured his femurs in multiple places though mercifully, he’d lost consciousness after a half-dozen blows.

The questioning was incessant, “Is it reversible? Isaac, is it reversible?”

He wept with what little tears he had left. “No.” The denial was barely audible, gagged by a bolus of blood that clung like a clotted lump of molasses to his swollen throat.

“Who did it? Who changed it?”

“I did.”

“You’re lying. I can tell, Isaac. You don’t have the brains to do it.”

“I did it.” Pain came crashing; unforgiving, unrelenting and unmerciful.

“It was Dr. LaPierre. He asked me to… ”

“Thank you, Isaac.”

- - - - - - -

Jak knew that torture rarely ever led to the discovery of some unknown truth. She had never coerced any new information from a person that was under physical duress. She already knew everything that her subject would likely confess to, but she rather enjoyed taking confession—
it was good for the soul
. Isaac’s admission had earned him his freedom. Jak loosened the chains around his mangled wrists and ankles, and hoisted him up onto her shoulders. She carried his limp body with one arm as she opened a steel hatch with the other. The hatch clanged against the bulkhead and opened out onto an undulating deck. Her powerful legs balanced against the ship’s uneasy motion in the choppy ocean; unfazed by the nearly two hundred pounds that she supported on her back. As she paced toward the side of the ship, Isaac came to and quickly realized his fate: his worst fear, drowning. The panic was immediate. Isaac flailed his broken legs and attempted to free himself from Jak’s vice grip, but she continued toward the side of the ship. Without breaking stride, she reached up toward her back with both arms and grabbed Isaac. She swung her hips backwards and drove her torso forward simultaneously, snapping him like a whip: a textbook two-armed shoulder-throw. Isaac’s neck snapped instantly against the top side rail of the ship. His lifeless body carried the inertia of the judoka’s throw toward the gray, watery grave below. Jak was not without mercy.

- - - - - - -

The bitter night’s wind funneled furiously through the glass sliding-doors as they parted for the lone hooded figure. He was a shade, a dark soul consumed by vengeance. The rain slipped off of his dark poncho and poured onto the tile floor beneath his boots. He paused at the laboratory entrance and listened intently for the sounds of men. The figure moved past the deserted security desk with purpose and entered the laboratory unnoticed. The night watch had been given a rare night off and the building’s autonomous security systems had been disabled. A twisted smile formed within the figure’s obscuring cowl as he drew closer to his moment
.
He glided stealthily past several sets of sliding, security doors until he reached the perimeter of the Level 4 facility. He stalked past the lockers which were full of protective clothing and ignored the various hazard warnings, emerging silently into the deadly sanctum within.

There, hunched over a pair of microscope objectives, was the target of his revenge. His release would soon come. The figure stalked behind the elder scientist and wrapped an arm firmly around his neck. The scientist reared back, panicked by the constricting limb. 

“Give my regards to Darcy, Bill.” A few, final seconds passed, and the scientist struggled no more.

Alexi arrived in Moscow just after midnight. The small jet bounced along and skidded to a stop on an unlit airstrip located on the outskirts of the city. The pilot navigated the touchdown with a helmet-mounted, forward-looking infrared system, FLIR, which allowed him to see the pitted, dark runway below. The pilot emerged from the cockpit, opened the cabin door to the frigid night, and quickly retreated from whence he came. Alexi ran headlong into the cold blast of air toward a waiting sedan. Dima threw the door open from the inside. The car, a beat up Soviet-era Lada, offered little reprieve from the bitter cold.

“How was your flight, Alexi?”

“The same as usual, bumpy as hell, and no inflight movie. The pilot is an idiot! I swear we almost died just now on that landing.”

“Mine wasn’t any better. By the way, I already called command. They are expecting us to report right away on the Kiev operation.” Dima looked worried and avoided making eye contact with Alexi. “Look Alexi, I know that I messed up back there. I really thought that Sasha was on to me, and that he was going to kill me under that archway so I got him first. Maybe I panicked, I don’t know. Maybe it was good instinct?” Dima was pleading.

“Dima, you fucked up let’s be honest about that. As long as we are honest to each other, that’s all I care about. If you know you fucked up and can accept it, then you can learn from it. That’s what I want from you. You don’t need to apologize for it. Apologies are worthless in PRYAMO. If you start your career apologizing, then pretty soon you’ll be begging for your life before command, or someone else.”

Dima nodded and relaxed a little bit, “Thanks.”

“Ah durak! There’s nothing to thank me for.” Alexi jabbed Dima for his moronic act under the archway and the issue was completely forgotten by the time they arrived in Moscow.

- - - - - - -

The two men arrived in Lubyanka Square in Moscow’s city center and pulled up to the first of many checkpoints of the Federal Security Service Headquarters. The FSB was appropriately housed within the KGB’s old Headquarters building that sat just a stone’s throw away from the Kremlin and Red Square. Dima and Alexi produced identification badges that identified them as high-ranking FSB officers, and they were waved through. After clearing the remaining checkpoints without anything more than the cursory I.D. check, they entered the FSB’s headquarters building. Once inside, cameras equipped with facial recognition software identified them as special guests and tracked their every movement. All PRAYMO operatives were given such careful scrutiny. A sophisticated surveillance code that ran on top of the normal security system’s operating code would immediately alert PRYAMO’s command staff to the presence of the new arrivals.

Alexi and Dima walked through the lobby for only moments before they were met by an escort; always a young attractive woman who would raise no suspicions. Katerina was her name,
today
. She escorted the men to an empty conference room where they waited for several minutes before she returned. Katerina nodded slightly, signaling to the men that their PRYAMO commander was ready to see them. The subterfuge was elaborate, but necessary. She escorted them through the building where they passed by dozens of offices which were full of FSB agents who would have loved nothing more than to have arrested them on the spot for treason, and yet other offices full of agents who would have instantly given them a fatal case of lead poisoning.

Katerina led them to the door of Lieutenant Colonel Yuri Golovkin, where two incredibly large guards stood post. She spoke quietly to the guards who never took their eyes off of Alexi and Dima. One of the guards nodded and waved them forward. As Alexi and Dima approached, the guard on the left opened the door and headed inside, while the guard on the right followed the group with his hand on his high-capacity Strizh pistol. Once inside, the guards patted-down Alexi and Dima before passing a magnetometer wand over them. They were made to sit and wait in front of an empty office desk. Lt. Col. Golovkin was undoubtedly watching them on monitors in an adjacent room. The group sat in silence for five minutes before another guard, equally as big as the first two brutes, burst through a side door with a pistol in hand.

Dima shifted nervously in his seat. He was not accustomed to meeting high-level PRYAMO commanders. Alexi smiled calmly at Dima, encouraging him to relax. A moment later, Lt. Col. Golovkin entered the room with broad arms, and welcomed them in an exaggerated pantomime that was his customarily, unique flair. Golovkin was a little on the eccentric side and to the uninitiated, his eccentricities were rather disturbing and though he had a penchant for the flamboyant, he was deadly serious where PRYAMO matters were concerned.

“Please tell me why because maybe I’m a
mu’dak
, but why in
hell
is Sasha dead?” Golovkin glared at Dima, who quickly averted his eyes to the floor. “I’m waiting! Am I an asshole, or what? One of you too
su’kas
better start talking!” Golovkin’s searing eyes narrowed in on Alexi.

“Sir, of course you’re not an asshole, sir.” Alexi had never found Golovkin particularly frightening. “I can report that my young comrade here was escorting Sasha to the rendezvous as planned. I was waiting on the other side of the underpass, just beyond the south side archway. As the two walked through the tunnel, Sasha turned around and sucker-punched Dima with a collapsible baton that he had hidden in his pocket. Dima defended himself as best as he could, but Sasha is, well was, a rather large man. I tackled Sasha and his head hit the cobblestones. He was dead on impact. We searched the body, but did not find anything on him that would prove useful to our investigation.”

“So what is your plan to un-fuck this situation?” Golovkin returned his glare toward Dima who was still searching the floor for an escape hatch.

“Sir, I believe that Sasha knew more than what he was letting on about the old research program. I just haven’t been able to put the pieces together quite yet. Give me a month to follow some leads. I need to track down his former colleagues at the Soviet Academy of Sciences, Special Biological Projects Division.”

Golovkin winced at the use of the word,
Soviet
. It was not good custom to use that word openly in public, let alone within the halls of the FSB. Alexi knew this, but he didn’t give a damn about custom, and that’s what made him Golovkin’s best agent. Alexi was among the elite cadre of PRYAMO’s finest field agents, and this is why he’d been passed over for promotion. Golovkin needed him in the field: working, not sitting behind some desk jockeying like some eunuch for his position. Golovkin feared Alexi’s talents, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before the inevitable promotion came. Alexi would be fast-tracked to a position of high authority by PRYAMO’s politicians. Alexi was the kind of man that PRYAMO liked, Golovkin on the other hand, was the kind that they tolerated, so long of course, as he kept everything locked within a tightly-sealed closet.

“Alexi, you can follow up on that trail later. I have a new, high-priority assignment for you and dumbass here. Our comrades at the FSB have been notified by their sources that an American software company CEO, Aiden Collier, will be arriving in Moscow in two days. They suspect that he is trying to find a hacker that goes by the name of Tovarich. The FSB also wants Tovarich for a number of hacking incidents which caused them and the army some embarrassments over the last couple of years.” Golovkin reached across his desk and handed Alexi a cigarette lighter. “You can read through the files at your leisure. There isn’t much information on Tovarich. Mostly some suspected activities and some geographical triangulations where Tovarich’s signals have been intercepted. I need you to follow our American friend to see if he makes contact. If he does, find out what he’s up to and who he meets with. Our friends at the FSB have assigned agent Yulia Annikova to escort Mr. Collier around. Agent Annikova is also looking for Tovarich.”

Alexi nodded. “Of course, we will get right on it, sir.”

“Tak!” Golovkin exclaimed and stood. The meeting was over. Alexi and Dima stood at attention as Golovkin left the room. The two large guards escorted the two men back out of the room and Katerina scurried them through the building unnoticed.

Once outside, Alexi and Dima retrieved their vehicle from the underground parking garage where it had undoubtedly been x-rayed and physically inspected by both man and canine. Neither man spoke a word about what had been discussed at the meeting. Alexi began to talk about visiting a nearby whorehouse later that evening, and Dima played along. The car was inevitably bugged, and Alexi thought to give the eavesdroppers some scintillating information.

Dima pulled up to a café a few miles down the road where the two men dismounted and walked inside for a cup of coffee. A few minutes later, a pair of PRYAMO junior officers drove away in the car, taking the FSB surveillance team with them. Alexi and Dima exited the café through the rear and jumped into another beat up, late-model Lada and drove past an FSB agent who was sitting in a surveillance van. The agent didn’t notice the newly bearded driver or the passenger who now wore a wool-knit cap and looked like someone’s drunken grandfather.

Dima drove the buzzing Lada to their PRYAMO safe house which offered semi-comfortable living arrangements. The safe house was a studio apartment located above a deli in the neon light section of Moscow, which housed many youth hostels and recently shuttered gay bars. The apartment had an ill-functioning kitchen, poor electrical wiring, and substandard heat. This one came with the luxury of two cots, most did not. In fact most PRYAMO agents furnished the safe houses with chairs, coffee tables, and whatever plastic furniture they could get their hands on. Some necessities were always available: cigarettes, dirty magazines, and vodka.

After a quick meal of Big Macs and fries, Alexi and Dima smoked untaxed Marlboros around the makeshift kitchen table that they’d constructed out of a couple of cardboard boxes, a rusty piece of sheet metal, and a plastic table cloth. Alexi reached into his pants’ pocket and removed the lighter that Golovkin had handed to him. He struck the igniter and lit a fresh cigarette until it glowed with embers. He did the same for Dima then set the lighter down on the table. Alexi pushed forward on the ignitor wheel which sprung a latch on the bottom of the lighter. He turned the lighter upside down and teased a small roll of paper out of a hidden compartment. He unfurled the roll and studied the contents which appeared to be nothing more than a series of small dots.

Dima rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and found a magnifying glass. That was also standard issue for all PRYAMO safe houses. Unlike the FSB, or the American and European intelligence agencies, PRYAMO avoided technology like the plague. Rumor had it that PRYAMO did not own a single computer. This was rumor of course, but from what Alexi had seen throughout his career, the rumor could very well have been true. Alexi and Dima took turns reading the files, memorizing them as they went. One benefit of operating without modern technology was that each agent had to have an almost eidetic memory and therefore relied less on technological crutches to help them complete their missions. This also left less of a footprint of PRYAMO’s activities, especially for the unblinking eyes of Western intelligence agencies that now relied almost entirely on electronic surveillance and communications.