The Russian Deception (17 page)

CHAPTER 38

Lefortovo prison took its name from the Moscow district where it was located. Vysotsky always felt uncomfortable when he visited Lefortovo. It wasn't just the prison smell of unwashed bodies and fear. The building was saturated with an atmosphere of hopelessness and despair. Countless numbers had been tortured in Lefortovo during Stalin's reign before being taken into the courtyard and shot. It had been the last stop for thousands. It was still the last stop for many. One of them was Boris Vishinski.

Vysotsky's former boss had asked to see him. Alexei had thought about refusing. He had no desire to see Vishinski's humiliation. It could only remind him of his own vulnerability. In the end he'd decided to go.

Vishinski was housed in the wing for common criminals, a further attempt to humiliate him. It meant there was little chance his cell was monitored with microphones and cameras. Prisoners were held inside single cells. The cells had steel doors covered with layers of thick, yellow paint. Chips in the paint showed decades of indifferent maintenance. A single row of light bulbs in metal cages ran down the center of the hall. A guard dressed in a gray and black camouflage uniform and a beret escorted Alexei to Vishinski's cell and opened the steel door. Vishinski looked up from where he sat on his narrow bunk. Alexei stepped inside and turned to the guard.

"Close the door. Wait outside."

"Sir." The guard saluted.

The door clanged shut behind him, a sound that let you know you were trapped. The room was narrow and high and cold. The walls and ceiling of the cell were concrete, painted the same sickly yellow as the doors. A metal cage with a single bright bulb that never went out was mounted in the ceiling. There was no window. A metal shelf with a thin mattress projected from the rear wall. The room stank of human waste and stale sweat. A lidless metal toilet crusted with excrement was the only other feature of the room.

Vishinski wore gray prison clothes and paper slippers that matched his complexion. Alexei was shocked by his appearance.

"Alexei Ivanovitch. You came. I wasn't sure that you would. Or even if my message would reach you."

"Boris Nikolayevich. I am sorry to see you in this circumstance."

Vishinski laughed. "Yes, I'm sure you are, Alexei. And now you have my old job. Take a good look because it might be you sitting here next month."

Vysotsky suppressed his irritation. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

"We've had our differences, you and I. But there was always one thing we had in common."

"What's that?"

"We are both patriots. We both believe in the Motherland. Insects like Orlov may come and go but it is people like you and I who make sure that Russia endures. Why do you think I've ended up here? Because of my sexual preferences? Because of corruption?"

"There is evidence."

"False evidence. But of course it will look real enough."

"There are pictures of you and your aide in bed together."

"False."

"If there is something you have to tell me, you had better do it now," Alexei said. "Save your denials for your trial."

Vishinski gave Alexei a hard look. "Orlov is getting ready to start a war that will destroy us. But it's not him who is leading us into the fire. He's being manipulated by Golovkin."

Golovkin!
"Go on."

"Golovkin has been moving money into accounts under Orlov's control. A lot of money. Much of it has been used to speed up modernization of our military. He's encouraging Orlov to begin a war with the West. We both know that we can't win such an encounter."

"Where's the money coming from?"

"From the West. I traced it to a bank in Germany. Golovkin found out that I was looking into his affairs." Vishinski waved his hand at the cell. "This is the result."

"I have only your word that this is true," Alexei said.

"Have you moved into my old office?"

"What of it?"

"There's a bookcase there. Are the books still in place?"

"Yes."

"There is a copy of
War and Peace
on the third shelf. Look inside the book. On page 386 is a short notation of letters and numbers. Access the restricted section on your computer and search for them. It will bring up a file with the proof you need. I was about to move on Golovkin when I was arrested."

"If what you say is true I will find a way to get you out of here," Alexei said.

"You must be very careful, Alexei. If Golovkin suspects you are looking into his activities you will join me in this fine hotel."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Do you have a cigarette?"

Alexei reached under his tunic and withdrew a package of Golden Fleece cigarettes. The cigarettes were a nostalgic revival of a brand wildly popular during the Soviet era. He handed the packet to Vishinski, along with a small box of matches.

"Spasibo,"
Vishinski said.

Alexei banged on the metal door with his fist.

"I will visit you again. After I have confirmed what you told me."

The guard opened the door. Alexei stepped out into the hall and the cell door boomed shut behind him, a harsh, metallic sound that sent echoes down the hallway.

Alexei returned to SVR headquarters and went straight to the bookcase. He hadn't paid much attention to it. Since he'd moved into Vishinski's old office he'd been too busy with his new responsibilities to think about changing the furniture, with the exception of bringing in Beria's desk. 

The copy of War and Peace was on the third shelf as Vishinski had said. Alexei had read Tolstoy's epic as a young man but remembered little of the story. He turned to page 386. Penciled on the side of the page was a series of numbers and letters. Alexei took the book over to his desk and sat down in front of his computer. He entered the password that allowed him into the restricted area reserved for the director and entered the coded string. Vishinski's hidden file appeared on the screen. Alexei began reading.

Half an hour later he closed the file and reached for the vodka in his desk drawer. He poured a drink and thought about what he'd just learned. Vishinski had been thorough. He had identified a German named Kepler as the source of money used to boost Orlov into power and purchase new equipment for the military. The large transfers were broken into manageable sums and concealed in false accounts. Golovkin had siphoned off millions of euros into a personal account in a Swiss Bank. That was enough to arrest him but Alexei knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

He's corrupt. I never suspected him of corruption. Arrogance and ambition but not corruption.

Corruption had always been part of Russian life. But this was corruption on a different level, operatic in scale.

Why?
Alexei asked himself.
Why would this Kepler give Golovkin control of so much money?

There was only one way to find out. He couldn't very well ask Golovkin to explain. The only other person who would know was Kepler. The man had to be interrogated. Vishinski's file noted that Kepler was a recluse, an invalid who lived in a guarded compound near Leipzig. A man that wealthy was certain to have the best kind of security. It would be difficult to get to him.

He would send Valentina.

CHAPTER 39

Jaques Dupree followed the team out of the city. They drove to an exclusive enclave some distance from town and stopped on a street dominated by a large mansion. Satisfied his prey had reached their destination, Dupree parked where he could see his targets when they left. He'd decided to eliminate them when they were away from the hotel. Like now, when they were all together in their vehicle. There was a long stretch of highway between here and the city that was perfect for the ambush.

A Heckler and Koch MP7 lay on the seat next to him, hidden under a blanket. The weapon was compact and efficient, an upgrade to the aging MP5. Modern body armor had made the standard pistol cartridges used by the MP5, the Uzi, the Czech Skorpion and the others obsolete. The MP7 announced a new day in personal warfare.

The MP7 fired armor piercing, high velocity rounds that could drill through twenty layers of Kevlar. An armored vest made no difference. They could just as easily punch through the steel door of the Mercedes his targets were driving. The one on the seat had a 40 round box magazine extending out of the pistol grip, an innovative feature. Like they said, you could never be too thin or too rich or have too much ammo. Dupree liked having the extra ten rounds ready to go.

He leaned back in the seat and waited. Dupree was in a good mood, thinking about what he'd do with the money he'd get for taking them out of the picture. It was hard to beat his occupation. Where else could you earn a million euros for a few minutes' work?

*****

The temperature outside the car hovered just above freezing. Selena had on a dark blue jacket lined with fleece, a matching wool hat and a colorful scarf. They all wore winter jackets and warm clothes. Nick didn't like winter much. The thick jackets could get in the way when reaching for a weapon. It was one thing in the military, where weapons were always accessible. It was another when you were dressed as a civilian.

Gutenberg's house was set on several acres of land away from neighbors. Big and sprawling, four stories high with dormers and steeply pitched roofs, the house had a solid look of respectability. The exterior was white stucco framed by dark timber accents. A large portico shielded the entrance from the weather. A railed veranda ran along the front on the second floor, past a row of tall windows. The building was set back from the road at the end of a long drive. The landscaped grounds were covered with snow. The drive had been plowed.

A stone wall bordered the property. Elaborate black iron gates blocked entry. An intercom and camera were mounted on the wall next to the gate.

"No guardhouse," Ronnie said. He scanned the property through binoculars.

"He doesn't need one." Selena pointed.

Two large German shepherds were playing in the snow on the other side of the gate. A third sat nearby, watching.

"Big dogs," Lamont said.

"That's just for openers," Nick said. "He'll have guards up there at the house and sensors covering the grounds. There will be cameras everywhere."

"Going to be tough to get him in there," Ronnie said.

"But not impossible. I'm not going in there blind. He could have fifty men inside."

"There's someone," Ronnie said.

He handed Nick the binoculars. A tall man in a winter parka and a dark blue watch cap pulled down over his ears came around the far corner of the building. He had a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. The dogs ran up to him, scattering snow in the air as they vied for attention. He reached down and patted the leader and said something. They ran off toward the back of the building.

"Just like we figured," Lamont said. "We knew he'd have guards."

"But how many?" Ronnie said.

"More than one, you can count on that," Nick said. "We need to find out if he ever leaves the property. It would be easier to take him if he was away from the house."

"Can we get Harker to put a satellite on it? That way if he does leave we'd know it."

"I already asked her. Let's go back to the city. We can't do anything until we have more information."

Nick was driving. He put the car in gear and started back toward Leipzig.

Traffic was light. The roads were clear of snow except for a few blowing flakes. The freeze had left patches of ice here and there on the pavement. They were still in the suburbs. Nick kept the speed down.

Selena was looking in the side mirror. "I think someone is following us."

"The blue Volvo?" Nick said. "I've been watching him. He showed up right after we left Gutenberg's house."

The Volvo was keeping back, never getting too close.

"Maybe it's just a car," Selena said.

"Maybe it's not. Let's find out."

Nick speeded up. After a brief hesitation the Volvo kept pace. They came to an intersection just as the light was changing and Nick turned right. The Volvo was caught at the light. Nick drove two blocks and turned left. He saw a gas station and pulled in behind the pumps, facing the way they'd come. The engine idled, the only sound in the car coming from the heater.

The blue Volvo went by.

"Let's play tag," Nick said.

He let several cars go by and then pulled out into traffic. Nick kept two or three cars between them and their quarry. Suddenly the Volvo picked up speed.

"He's made us," Ronnie said.

Nick sped up after him.

"He's turning onto the autobahn," Selena said.

Nick followed him onto the A14, headed away from Leipzig. The plows had been out in full force, clearing the six lane highway. A narrow median divided the blacktop road, bracketed on both sides by a low steel guardrail. Ahead, the Volvo accelerated away.

"Man, he's really moving," Lamont said.

"Most of the traffic's going the other way, into the city," Selena said.

They passed a speed limit sign. It read 130.

"That's in kilometers," Selena said. "Eighty-one miles per hour."

"We're going faster than that," Nick said.

They'd moved out of the suburbs and into open countryside. The Volvo continued to accelerate. They passed a car that had skidded off the road. The surface of the highway appeared clear of ice and snow. They came over a rise. Ahead, the road dipped down toward a low bridge crossing a canal. On the near side of the bridge a small group of people clustered near an ambulance. A police car was parked next to it with flashing lights. The rear end of a car stuck up out of the canal. Several more cars had skidded off the side of the road into the snow.

Ahead of them in the Volvo, Dupree was going over a hundred miles an hour. He saw the police and hit the brakes. The car went into a violent spin. Dupree tried to brake and steer. Nothing happened. The steering wheel felt as though it wasn't connected to anything. The Volvo spun down the slope, out of control. Frantic, Dupree pumped the brakes and twisted the wheel, with no result. People scrambled out of the way as the car hurtled toward them.

The Volvo slammed into the ambulance. The gas tank ruptured. A dull boom rolled along the highway. A balloon of orange flame wrapped itself around Dupree's car.

Nick started to brake and the car went sideways. He took his foot off the pedal and tried steering into the skid but nothing happened. The Mercedes was sideways in the middle of the road and sliding down the slope at eighty miles an hour. There was nothing he could do. He left the wheel where it was.

"Oh, shit," Ronnie said.

Next to Nick, Selena sat rigid in her seat. She gripped the dash as they sped toward the bridge and the canal. They flashed by the flaming wreckage, still sideways in the middle of the road. Two cops in black leather and peaked caps stared open-mouthed at the car as it went by. On the other side of the bridge Nick felt the wheels grip the road. He swerved and straightened out and kept going, leaving the crash scene behind.

"Holy shit." Lamont looked back at the wreckage. "What was that?"

"Black ice," Nick said. "No way to see it."

"Did you see the look on the faces of those policemen?" Selena asked.

"We better get off this road in case they still have a radio that works," Ronnie said. "There's an exit coming up ahead."

Nick left the Autobahn and pointed the car in the general direction of Leipzig. Selena turned on the GPS.

"I wonder who he was?" she said.

"I don't know but he was trouble."

"You think he was waiting at Gutenberg's for us to show up?"

"I'm not sure, but I might have seen him behind us after we left the hotel. He probably followed us from there. If he was waiting for us, it means Gutenberg knows we're on to him."

"That's not good," Ronnie said.

Watching the GPS, Selena said, "Take your next left and follow that road for the next twenty-five kilometers."

Nobody said anything for the rest of the drive back into the city.