CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
The room was a perfect square with a dome ceiling. Two walls had massive doors. A desk with piles of paper was along a wall next to one of the doors while a sitting area was in the center of the room. A bookcase covered the wall without a door and seemed to be filled with old leather tomes. Bobby went to the desk and picked up the phone. He dialed a number and waited.
Henry looked around, “Do you live here?”
Bobby handed the phone to Henry, “Here, it’s Ivan.”
“Who?”
“The handyman. He hooked up your phone. Tell him what you need.”
Henry knew who Ivan was but didn’t know why he was on the phone now. Bobby seemed to be losing his mind. Henry took a breath, not sure what he was supposed to need. “Ivan, Henry here, give me just a moment.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Why am I talking to Ivan?”
Bobby took the phone back, looking disappointed in Henry. “Ivan, this is Bobby. Have you seen what is going on in the lobby?”
“No. I heard sirens but went back to sleep. They are here?”
“Yes, I need a favor. I'll explain later. Could you route Henry’s phone to my basement phone? It’s important.”
“Dah, I can do it for you. Now?”
“Yes, it's an emergency.”
Henry realized that Bobby was one step ahead of him. His strange little friend had come through again. “Bobby, you're something else. That was quick thinking.”
“Thanks, Henry. I figured the guy who has Celine will try to call because he wants something. If he didn’t, he would have waited until they got to the office and killed all of us.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s my home. It isn’t much.”
Henry looked around. “It is quite nice. I like it. Where did you come up with the idea about the phones?”
“Ivan is very helpful.”
Henry realized that the tour would need to wait. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see any more of the underground labyrinth. “Okay, I need to work out what just happened.” Henry started to pace, “Why would Jack kill two CIA agents? He is a spy, obviously.”
“I agree. So he works for the Russians. What do you think they are doing at the CIA right now?”
Bobby nailed it.
Henry picked up the phone and dialed the same number from earlier. The phone rang and rang. Nobody picked up for ten rings, then, finally, a voice. Henry asked, “Are you breaking down the office?”
“Who is this?”
“You heard what happened to your two agents from the bugs in my office. I imagine you're in crisis mode.”
The man on the line didn’t say anything. The sounds of chaos in the background could be clearly heard. Henry thought he might hang up, but he didn’t. “This is Agent John Stockman; we met the other day.”
“What can you tell me about Jack Abrahms?”
“Everything about him is classified, and…”
“Listen, he has my secretary and obviously is working with the Russians, and they are about to steal secrets which could put our Navy years behind theirs. I’m the only one who knows what is going on, and you need to work with me now. It’s a matter of national security.”
“I don’t have clearance to run an op.”
“Who ordered the tear down of the office?”
“Okay, I did, but…”
“But nothing, you were his partner. Maybe you're a Russian spy, too? Fine, I'll call the Bureau and let them deal with you.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Go.”
“I can give you his address, though I doubt he would go back there now.” He read the address and said, “There is one more thing, I don’t know if it will help, but here you go.”
Henry wrote down everything he told him and hung up the phone.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Oleg was not happy. He didn’t know who this person was or why he was watching her. Surely this was a task that was more suitable for someone less accomplished. He seethed at the thought of taking orders from this young guy who he knew nothing about, but it was his duty. He had never failed to follow orders and wouldn’t do so now.
He looked at the woman tied to the bed. She was young, very pretty, and unconscious. Killing was part of his job. This one would haunt him, he thought to himself as he cleaned his gun for the third time.
Jack bounded up the stairs and into the room. “I have much to do tonight before we tie up the final loose ends.” He looked at the expression on Oleg’s face and stopped. “You don’t know who I am or why this is my mission. If I were in your position, I would be most unhappy.”
Oleg hadn’t realized his disgust was showing through. “I'm sure that you were given this mission for a good reason.”
“I was, quite literally, born for this mission. There are others, a small group, who have been raised to accomplish one task for Mother Russia. I am the first to be called into action.”
“When did you find out about the mission?” Oleg asked, feeling less animosity towards the young agent.
“I was happily making my career in the CIA, not knowing when it would be my turn to serve. One day, about a year ago, I got the call.”
Oleg simply nodded. There had been rumors about children as young as nine or ten being completely immersed in the cultures of the major powers. They would grow up and learn everything about the country and be motivated and successful until the day they were called. “How did it work? I mean, the training.”
Jack looked at his watch. He had some time. “I was put into the orphanage system in Philadelphia at age eight. I was a real orphan as my parents had died when I was six. For two years I was taught to speak English, so, when they shipped me off to America, I would be a typical kid. When I got my American family, there was an uncle who would take me on these long fishing trips. He was my handler. He was also the one who killed my American family.”
“Why did he do that?” Oleg was fascinated now.
“I don’t know, but he always told me they were being paid well to be my family, and, that like all Americans, their greed and lust for money was the only thing they loved.” Jack paused for a moment. He thought about his family and, for the briefest moment, wondered if they had ever loved him. He realized he didn’t care. “I would have done it myself if I had been asked.”
Oleg smiled, got out a bottle, and poured two shots. He raised his glass and said, “To my comrade Jack.”
Jack drank the shot and left without another word.
CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE
He no longer sensed the chill as he stood smoking in the shadow. He wasn't sure of the day. He was sure that nobody had left the building.
William had spent all of Sunday looking over his shoulder. It seemed everyone was watching him. He remembered Monday; he hadn't gone to work, and his clothes were in pretty bad shape.
Was that yesterday?
He thought. With several days’ growth on his face, he was starting to blend in with the people nobody notices. He looked at his watch, which had broken the day before. He kept expecting it would start up again. It didn’t.
When he noticed the averted eyes it changed his disposition considerably. If the people on the street won’t look at me, it will be much easier to tell who is trying to kill me, he thought. All afternoon he had wandered the streets and eventually realized he was not being chased. William figured it was his clever evasive tactics which had won the day, so he decided to eat some dinner at an Italian place, but they wouldn’t seat him. He found a street vendor and the hot dogs tasted better than anything he could remember. He tried to recall his previous meal, but that, too, was beyond his grasp.
His head clear, he decided he needed to do something. William had made his way to Henry’s office building but couldn’t bring himself to enter the building. He had simply walked around the neighborhood talking to himself. Nobody noticed. He had rounded the corner and seen the man get out of his car and approach the other two. It looked suspicious. The three men talked briefly, then walked into the Flatiron building. William heard the shots.
William had remained in the shadows. One man exited the building. William watched him walk away, get in his car, start it up, and drive away. William noted the license plate. It was strange; the man stopped after only two blocks. William started walking after him, though he didn’t know why. The man in the car got out, tossed the keys in the gutter, and walked away. It was all very bizarre yet seemed to make perfect sense in William’s addled brain. William’s instincts told him to follow, but his lingering fear kept him well back of the man.
He followed for six blocks, then lost him. William wandered around for a few minutes and saw the man again. Apparently, he had doubled back. This frightened William. This man was probably some sort of professional killer. He decided to give up his chase. The man headed south, so he went east. William walked a few blocks, stopped, smoked a cigarette, and walked a few more. He kept checking to see if the man was following. Each time he checked it was clear. Of course, if he were a professional, it would be, so William kept checking. After about ten blocks, he grew tired and was sitting on the steps of a red brick building when he saw the man again. He wasn’t behind him but up ahead. The man was two blocks away and going into a brownstone. William wanted to leave but didn’t know where to go.
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
Martin was exhausted after the flight back to the US. He had left for Switzerland on Saturday. After a quick stop in Zurich to deposit his two million in cash, he had gone to Finland to check on the arrangements for the shell company. Everything was exactly as they had planned. The building’s foundation was being completed and the next stage would be to install the plumbing. It was a rather ingenious design as the plans called for miles and miles of piping. The invoices for the shipments would seem perfectly legit.
From Helsinki he had crossed the Baltic sea and purchased a property in Tallinn, Estonia and another in Riga, Latvia. Martin was a cautious man and planning ahead came naturally to him. He had anticipated that once the first plant was done, he would create similar factories in the other locations. By his calculation, the additional properties would allow their little scheme to run for years without raising any eyebrows.
Now in a taxi, he had just one more stop before returning home for a much needed rest. In a very short time he would have wealth enough to make even the Rockefeller’s and Vanderbilt’s jealous.
Martin had endured the looks of disapproval from the other boys at school. He hated their judgment. He was smarter than all of them combined, yet they made him feel like dirt. In college, he had excelled in physics but realized that it wouldn’t bring him the type of success he wanted. His skill with numbers and analysis made him formidable in the real estate business. His command of languages allowed him to deal all around the world. During his years of building modest wealth, he was fueled by one desire, one all-consuming passion: the thought of looking down on those who had rejected him. He could see the day when he would be the toast of the New York elite and would rub it in all their faces.
Martin wasn’t in the habit of being generous, but the cabbie had not said a word to him on the drive, and he appreciated it. He paid the fare and threw in an extra twenty. “Here you go, buddy. Have a great night.”
The cabbie tipped his hat, “Thanks, mister. If you ever need a cab, my name is Peter. I’ll be there before you know it.”
“Thanks, Peter.” Martin watched the cab roll away and felt strangely happy. It was not like him. He walked up the drive of Matthew Kerwin’s house and saw a light on in the study. Matthew wasn’t expecting him until the morning, but Martin was anxious to bring him up to speed. He also wanted to be updated on the others. The pavement was wet, and the night air was cool. As he rounded the row of finely trimmed hedges, he saw there were two other cars parked by the front door. He didn’t recognize the one, but the other was the same car Pytor had been in on Friday.
The curtain was only open a few inches, but he could see in as he walked past. The window was cracked and he stopped at the sound of the harsh words.
“I don’t know why you're shutting it down! I told you, everyone is on board. There isn’t any problem!” Matthew was yelling.
“You don’t need to raise your voice, comrade, I'm well aware of the situation. It’s my call and I'm shutting it down. You will be richly rewarded for your services.”
“That is crazy,” Matthew said, still yelling. “The value to the Navy is too great to cut the mission short. I've devoted my life to this mission. I will not let you…”
A third voice, from a man Martin didn’t know, also yelled. “You do NOT let us do anything. You will do as you are ordered, and that is final.”
Pytor said, “He is right, Matthew. Please calm down, and get ready to leave.”
Martin stood frozen. He couldn’t believe his ears. They were giving up, leaving tonight, ruining all of his plans.
Matthew threw something and screamed, “We will see about that! I am sure that Moscow would not want you to give up so easily.”
Pytor calmly replied, “Then I guess we will continue on without you.”