The Russian Deception (5 page)

CHAPTER 11

Elizabeth and Stephanie watched a string of reports about Macedonia on the monitor in Elizabeth's office. Stephanie had deep shadows under her eyes. It hadn't been that long since she'd been shot during an ambush on the Project team. She'd lost the child she was carrying and almost died.

Steph's long brown hair had been cropped short in the hospital. She'd lost a lot of weight. Elizabeth thought it looked good on her but there were better ways to go on a diet. The outer wounds were healing. Elizabeth wasn't sure how long it would take for the ones that didn't show.

"This is a mess," Stephanie said.

"I talked to Nick. Things are really tense in Skopje. The word on the street is that there's going to be a war with Albania. The government is blaming an Albanian terrorist group for the bomb."

"You think that's what really happened?"

"It's always convenient to blame terrorists. It might be a set up by Mitreski, something to divert attention from the 11 October movement."

"A false flag."

"Exactly," Elizabeth said.

"Nothing is what it appears to be anymore." Stephanie's voice was weary.

"It sounds like a typical move. Every leader in that part of Europe is corrupt. I wouldn't trust any of them, no matter what they said. Whoever is behind that explosion just upped the ante in the region. Look at this."

Elizabeth entered a command on her keyboard. The image on the monitor shifted to a live satellite shot over the Balkans and the mountains between Macedonia and Albania. She zoomed in. Military convoys were moving on the highways on both sides of the border, headed toward each other.

"Troop movements," Stephanie said. "They have tanks and artillery with them."

"It didn't take them long, did it?"

"You think they'll start shooting at each other?"

"Not yet. There will be a lot of posturing and accusations going back and forth between Tirana and Skopje before it really heats up. Unless somebody does something stupid. That's always a possibility."

"Are you going to pull the team out?"

"No. Right now they're our best source of intelligence. I want to leave them in place until we get a better idea of what's happening. They're supposed to be reporters. No one will think anything about them asking questions."

"What is it that you want them to find out?"

"Anything they can about whoever set off that bomb. If it exists, sooner or later someone will be willing to talk about them."

"What if they don't discover anything?"

"Then the probability goes up that Mitreski is lying. We have to find out. This has the potential to bring in NATO and the White House needs accurate intelligence. If the group is genuine and they did it, that's one thing. If not, it requires a different response. The Balkans are simmering with old hatreds that can erupt into another war. That would mean intervention on our part."

"You mean intervention by NATO."

"It really isn't any different. If NATO gets involved so will we, either with air strikes or sending ground forces. The Europeans will dither and argue and stall until things really get bad. They hate the idea of contributing troops and if they do, they'll put such stringent rules of engagement on them that they'll be worse than useless."

"They're not the only ones that do that," Stephanie said. "Look at the rules we put on our people in Afghanistan and Iraq. The politicians have crippled their ability to carry out the mission. All because politically correct people think war should be clean and polite and we shouldn't offend anyone. There's never been a war that was polite. No wonder we can't win."

"Better hadn't let anyone from the media hear you say that. They'll crucify you."

"I'm not the only one who thinks it's stupid to fight a war with one hand tied behind your back."

"No, you're not."

They watched the convoys streaming toward the border.

"Where do you think Nick should start?" Stephanie asked.

"That's a good question. I'm not sure. The convoys are headed toward the main crossing checkpoint near that big lake on the border. It's on the only decent highway between the two countries. If I were a terrorist, I wouldn't go anywhere near there."

"You want them to go look for terrorists?"

"Not exactly," Elizabeth said. "I doubt they'd find them. All I'm interested in is trying to confirm their involvement in the bombing."

"Nick and the others can't cover the entire border."

"They don't need to, they just need to talk to some people."

Elizabeth studied the monitor and pointed.

"That city close to Albania, the one on the western side near that smaller lake. What's it called?"

Stephanie entered a search on her laptop. "Debar. It says here that the population is almost completely Albanian, even though the city is in Macedonia."

"That sounds like a good bet."

"Does Selena speak the local language?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth said. "Let's ask her."

She made the connection to Macedonia. Nick answered.

"Yes, Director."

"Nick, I'm going to send you to the western part of the country. Ask Selena if she speaks Albanian."

"She's right here." Nick handed her his encrypted satellite phone.

"Elizabeth."

"Selena, do you speak Albanian?"

"Which dialect? There are two main ones. I speak some Tosk. That's the most common one. The other is Geg, but I only know a few words."

"As long as you speak one, that's what counts. You might want to brush up on it."

"Are you sending us to Albania?"

"No, but I'm sending you to a part of Macedonia that might as well be in Albania. Put Nick back on the phone."

Selena handed the phone back to Nick.

Elizabeth said, "You're going to a city called Debar in the western part of the country. It's a hotbed of Albanian anti-government activity. Find a hotel for a couple of days. Talk to people. Find out what you can about this group that is supposed to have set off the bomb. Use your cover as reporters. Since Selena speaks the language, it shouldn't be too hard to convince people to open up a little. Everyone likes to give their opinions. Your cover fits with the increased border tension. It gives you a good reason for being there."

"Does Langley have anything?"

"No. That's another reason why it's suspicious. No one wants another Bosnian war and CIA has been monitoring everything in that region for some time. There hasn't been a hint of the Albanian National Front planning something like this."

"Copy that, Director. Anything else?"

"That's it for now. Keep me informed."

Elizabeth broke the connection.

Stephanie said, "If they find anything out, it could be dangerous."

"It's possible."

"You do remember that they don't have weapons?"

"Then we'd better hope they don't need them."

CHAPTER 12

The drive through the heart of Macedonia was scenic and coldly beautiful. The road from Skopje was modern and wide. They drove their rented VW west to Tetovo and south to Gostivar, past Kicevo, then west again to Drugovo, names that spoke of the Slavic heritage of the country. From Drugovo, a secondary highway led to Debar.

Western Macedonia was a land of mountains, lakes, rivers and wide valleys, scenery straight out of a 19th-century landscape painting. In warm weather the forested slopes would be green, the roads lined with orchards and crops. Now winter had set in and everything was coated with white. Black outcrops of rock broke through the snow, hinting at the essential hardness of the ancient land. The temperature outside hovered below freezing. The air felt raw and wet.

"Reminds me of survival training," said Ronnie. "I'm glad I'm not running around out there with all my gear."

"Not exactly Hawaiian shirt weather," Lamont said.

Twice they pulled over to make way for a military convoy of covered trucks hauling troops and equipment.

"We should be coming into Debar soon," Selena said.

"Not soon enough for me." Nick yawned. "We'll need a hotel."

"I already made a reservation. We're staying at a hotel right in the middle of town."

"I hope they've got a restaurant," Lamont said.

They reached the hotel after dark. From the outside it looked modern and fairly new. Streetlamps marched along the façade, throwing light over a row of snow coated evergreens across from the entrance.

The lobby was deserted except for the desk clerk. He looked bored. He took their passports and handed them their keys.

"The restaurant will be closing in an hour. If you are hungry, the food is good here."

"Thank you," Selena said.

The clerk watched them head for their rooms. When they were gone he picked up his phone and dialed.

"Yes."

"Tell Josef a group of reporters has arrived."

"Let us know when they leave the hotel."

The clerk hung up.

In the hall outside their rooms Nick said, "Let's meet in the restaurant in ten minutes."

"Man, I'm hungry." Lamont rubbed his stomach. "I could eat a horse."

"Might be what they've got," Ronnie said.

Nick looked at them and shook his head. "See you down there."

The hotel room was large and clean. The walls, doors and closets were white. The floor was polished, dark wood. There was no carpeting. The lighting was subdued. No one staying here would think they were in a hotel in America.

"I don't like the way that clerk looked at us," Selena said.

"What way?"

"He had a sneaky look," she said. "Like he was saying one thing and thinking another."

"All he did was give us our keys and take our passports."

"He was looking at our press passes."

They were still wearing press credentials on their jackets.

"So?"

"How come he didn't ask us what we were doing here? Or who we worked for? It can't be every day they get reporters staying here."

"Maybe he didn't want to be nosy."

"I don't believe it. It would've been natural to ask us, especially with the situation the way it is. Albania is right across the border and most of the people living here are of Albanian descent. If a war starts, this city will be on the front line. It will be an uncomfortable place to live. If I were him, I would have asked us if we knew anything about what was happening."

Nick set his carry-on down on the bed and opened it up.

"It could be that he doesn't like foreigners. They can't get many Americans here. This place is really off the beaten track."

"I suppose so. All the same, I wish we had our weapons with us."

"You really are worried about him, aren't you?"

"Worried isn't the right word. Something doesn't feel right about him. He makes my skin crawl."

"You ready to go downstairs?"

"Give me a minute."

Selena went into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her. There were dark circles under her eyes and what might be new stress lines forming at the corners. Her age was beginning to show.

Not a spring chicken any longer,
she thought.

She used the toilet and splashed cold water on her face. Maybe Nick was right and she was overreacting to the clerk. But something still bothered her.

CHAPTER 13

In a wealthy enclave outside the city of Leipzig, Germany, a deeply disfigured man sat in a wheelchair in a darkened room staring out at the distant glow of the city. A morphine drip was plugged into the back of his left arm. His face and neck were scarred by terrible burns. The fire had left a face that could give you nightmares.

He wore a tailored silk robe of purple silk embroidered with gold thread. Under the robe most of his body was covered with scar tissue. His left arm was held up close to his chest. He had been burned so badly that the muscles had contracted and the arm was now all but useless. The room was always dark. In daytime, the blinds were kept closed.

People knew him as Johan Kepler, a retired businessman who had suffered an unfortunate car accident. His real name was Johannes Gutenberg. He had been the leader of AEON, a group of powerful men that had been accumulating wealth and manipulating events since the time of the Knights Templar.

Now he was the leader of nothing.

AEON was gone, brought down by the Project and by the Russians. Gutenberg's wife was dead, killed in the same fire that had left him hideously scarred. His name was gone. His beloved Swiss château was gone, a charred ruin. What wasn't gone was his enormous wealth, the secret accounts and hidden contacts. His power had been reduced but he could still make things happen on the world stage.

He'd almost made it to the end of the escape tunnel under the château before the flames blasted down the passage and over him. The tunnel had ended in a detached garage set apart from the main building. His chauffeur had been polishing a Bentley in the garage when Gutenberg stumbled out of the hidden entrance, his clothes on fire. The chauffeur had pulled an extinguisher from the wall and put out the fire but the damage was done. Gutenberg had gasped out instructions before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The pain had been agonizing, the treatments as bad as the injuries. Even now, the burns were not completely healed. Several times a day a nurse covered them with a foul-smelling ointment to keep the skin from cracking.

He was alive in Hell.

The Leipzig house had been built in the middle of the eighteenth century by a prosperous merchant as a country retreat, in the middle of extensive landscaped grounds and surrounded by a stone wall. Nothing of the exterior hinted at what was within. One wing of the house had been turned into a barracks and given over to a squad of former special forces soldiers turned mercenary. They provided twenty-four hour security and were paid well to ask no questions. Cameras monitored everything. No enemy was getting close to him again.

No one thought anything about Gutenberg's reclusive existence. All it took was one look at that face to understand. It would've been bad form to display such horror in public. It helped that the man everyone knew as Kepler seemed to have unlimited funds at his disposal.

It was amazing that he was still alive. The power of hatred and the contemplation of revenge was strong motivation. Planning revenge kept him going through each day, through the unending pain, the looks of pity he caught when no one thought he was looking. Elizabeth Harker's Project had put him in this chair, in this body. Along with the Russians, they had destroyed a glorious plan that would have given him control of the world's future.

What had kept him alive through the agony of the surgeries and skin grafts was planning his revenge. He would have it, no matter what. He and many others would die in the process but that was of no concern to him. Death would be a welcome release. Before he died, he would see to it that Harker and her team and their Russian counterparts were annihilated.

He was no longer able to move about freely in the outer world but technology and money made that unnecessary. Everything could be arranged with enough money. You could even buy a government like Russia's. Of course it couldn't look like that. Gutenberg had co-opted important players in the Federation. Through them he had propelled Orlov into power. Through one of them he would drive Orlov to make a fatal mistake. Only one man in Orlov's inner circle had actually met with Gutenberg. Through him the others were drawn in without realizing where they were being led.

Gutenberg knew Orlov dreamed of a new Russian empire, one to rival the czars at the height of their power. His towering ambition had blinded him to the ways he was being shaped by Gutenberg's hidden intermediary.

Gutenberg dabbed with a tissue at the constant drainage from his left eye, the movement of his right arm awkward and painful.

In the old days, before the Project had ruined everything, Gutenberg and his secret organization of conspirators had been close to achieving world domination. In the modern world that meant control of the global economy. He'd been on the verge of success when everything had come crashing down around him. Now he couldn't care less what happened to the economy. What mattered was his revenge.

He had been burned and suffered unspeakable pain. Before he was done he intended to see his enemies suffer the same fate.

He would destroy them all.