To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (36 page)

N
EITHER THE SOUNDS OF TRAFFIC from the street below nor the hum of voices from the other apartment units could soothe or dampen Cassandra’s worry. She sat at her desk and stared blindly at the dark screen of her laptop, holding her usual cup of coffee, after Trevor had left for his first day at the job. The warmth cupped in her hands was not enough to chase the chill that had burrowed into her chest.

Her mind burned with the memory of the events from the day before, reviewing and picking apart the conversation she had been privy to, the same way a scientist studies a nasty strain of bacteria. Even though she was confident Trevor could bluff his way with flying colors, her gut still clenched at the element of danger still uncharted when dealing with combustible individuals like those in that room.

As she had listened in, she had paid careful attention to voice intonations and other details that would give her a better idea of who they were dealing with. The majority of her focus had centered on her new target: Boris. She had listened to the entire meeting and had captured her observations—the unspoken anger that threaded through Mikhailov’s voice, Boris’s caution, Trevor’s cockiness, and the eeriness that oozed from Sergei when his clipped tone pierced the connection. Her sense was that the mafia boss and his henchman were pure evil, without an ounce of guilt or remorse. Her greatest disappointment had been her inability to ascertain more of Boris’s intent.

The searches she’d conducted while the meeting had taken place had also come up empty, and George and Jessica hadn’t yet contacted her with any additional findings. Cassandra had to admit that Boris intrigued her. There was very little to be found on him. She had been able to track down copies of both military and police force records; his honorable discharge from the military validated her father’s praises. She uncovered information showing that, a number of years later, he had retired from the police force and started his own security business similar to Robert’s. It was a couple of years after opening the agency that Boris’ name became linked to Mikhailov’s.

What Cassandra had not found was the event that had brought the two together in the first place. It had to have been something major to instill the sense of trust Mikhailov had demonstrated during the meeting—trusting in Boris’ referral of Trevor and allowing him to watch the bank transaction take place.

Boris’ comments around what he needed from them in return had been the biggest surprise. “Great favor,” she scoffed. His use of the mafia boss’s words
you belong to me
as his own threat to Trevor had left her blood frozen in her veins. Cassandra knew in her gut it would be something tricky, but she never imagined it would have Trevor toeing the line with danger so intimately.

The unhappy turn of events weighed heavily on Cassandra’s shoulders and she wanted to get a handle on what they could be up against. “You never know when these things will bite you in the ass,” she muttered as she initiated a search on Pavel Zarev, the new player Mikhailov had so strategically placed on their game board. Data available on Pavel and his organization was fairly easy to access, and the file she’d created grew by the minute.

Trevor would be interested in seeing more on the mafia boss he had inadvertently shafted. Zarev’s organization was an even bigger monster, more diversified than Mikhailov’s. He had deep ties with major banks, oil companies, and other considerably sized entities, as well as a member of his gang in the local government.

“Talk about having your finger in every pie. Pavel could start his own bakery,” she mumbled.

Cassandra’s pulse jumped when a flashing light appeared on the application bar. She opened the chat window and found a message from George.

Cassie, I think I’m onto something. Still digging. Hang tight.

Her shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. She had been hoping for more. Something that would get her closer to figuring out what Boris was up to. Hanging tight was all she seemed to be doing lately, and she chafed at the bit.

Will be waiting,
she responded, hammering the keys.

Cassandra had no time or inclination to wallow in frustration. While she waited, she went into action. Calling up the video feeds from their own surveillance cameras, she searched for any frontal views of Boris. She planned to analyze the footage, find any possible hook on him, but to no avail. There were no useable shots.

Trevor’s voice boomed over the speaker and Cassandra’s eyes darted to the video feed on her screen. He had reached the mansion

*****

The invigorating chilly morning wind greeted Trevor as he walked out of the apartment building. He lifted the collar of his wool coat and braved the rain on the short walk to Mikhailov’s mansion. Standing by the iron gates, he pressed the button above the speaker and waited until a voice demanded in Russian, “What do you want?”

Trevor answered in kind, pretending to stumble over the words any newly arrived immigrant would know, “Hello? I was told to be here today. Mark Ivanov.”

The speaker went silent. A few minutes later, the gates opened and he sauntered up the drive to the front door. He spoke, just loud enough for Cassandra to hear, “So far so good,
a ghrá
. Hopefully, this will be a walk in the park.”

The door opened on cue with his approach. Deminov stood inside and nodded at Trevor, speaking in heavily accented but clear English, “Inside.” The order was given in a cold, severe tone.

Deminov slammed the door shut behind him. Standing in the foyer, he noticed another man immediately behind the henchman.

The second man extended his hand in greeting. “Hello, my name is Dmitriy Vlasov. Vladimir asked me to show you the computer room and explain the rules.”

“Nice to meet you, Dmitriy. I’m Mark.” He grasped his hand in a firm shake. For a split second, Trevor felt welcomed to the place, an illusion destroyed when Deminov shoved him from behind and gave him a full pat down. Trevor stood motionless, arms outstretched, in wide stance as Deminov checked every single inch of him for weapons. He felt molested to a certain degree. Trevor froze when Deminov patted his back pocket and yanked out his ticket bundle.

“What is this?”

“Sightseeing tickets?” Trevor grinned, his humorous tone hiding the inner agitation at having the E&E tickets taken from him.

Deminov scoffed and shoved the bundle back. Once he was satisfied Trevor wasn’t packing or carrying any other devices, he nodded at Dmitriy and slipped off down the hallway. Dmitriy directed Trevor with an extended hand in the opposite direction. He continued his dissertation in fluent English, not the least bit affected by Deminov’s rough handling of Trevor. “No cell phones are allowed, no pouches, or anything you can use to take components out of the room. Things are tight here after a developer was caught stealing hard drives.”

Trevor nodded. “That sounds reasonable.” Addressing Dmitriy lightly, Trevor tried to assess his role and level of dedication to the organization. “You speak English perfectly. Have you just recently arrived in Russia?”

Dmitriy glanced at Trevor, his face beaming at the compliment. “I was born in England to a Russian mother and English father. I speak both languages fluently.” Dmitriy artfully avoided answering the second question.

Considering how quickly Deminov had left him in his hands, Trevor guessed he had been there a while and held some level of trust within the Glazov. They continued down a long hallway to the back of the mansion toward what appeared to be a solid core steel door, in front of which one of Mikhailov’s soldiers stood guard.

Guarded entrance.
That was an unexpected turn of events. Trevor had anticipated he’d be working in a simple computer room with easy in-and-out access. The whole operation was becoming a big-ass onion full of deep and intriguing layers.

At Dmitriy’s nod, the man pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the heavy door. As soon as the door opened, Trevor instantly knew Cassandra was going to freak. At a glance, he had a fairly good idea what the security measures were for the computer room. Hoping to give Cassandra a heads up, he commented, “Damn, this is
off
the hook.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and the lock clicked; the bolt slamming home echoed loudly in Trevor’s ears. The image of Cassandra’s panicked expression when she realized communications had been severed burned him. He could only hope that she had caught his double meaning.

*****

Cassandra couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Darkness crowded her vision and an electrifying shudder reverberated through her. She shook as fearful images flooded her and an acidic tang reached up her throat. When her mind and body finally reconnected, her numb fingers fumbled across the keys, double-checking the feeds.
Shit! Okay. Chill. Think
. Panic rioted within her. She took a deep cleansing breath and licked her lips nervously.
Okay. He didn’t say the words. Good sign. Or is it?

She drew her legs up and hugged her knees as thoughts careened from one possibility to another.
Damn, this is off? What did he mean by that?
Frustrated and anxious, Cassandra scrubbed her face with her hands and, pulling it back, tied her hair in a knot at her nape.
Stick to the plan. Hold tight. If he doesn’t show by midnight, I’ll head for the safe house as planned.

Lifeline

D
MITRIY EYED HIM CLOSELY. "THIS computer room is totally isolated from radio waves. Nothing can be transmitted from down here. No cell signals and, as I mentioned, no radio frequencies of any kind can penetrate these walls.”

Trevor pushed his concern for Cassandra to the back of his mind; there was nothing he could do for the moment. He needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand—the files and his life. He schooled his features and maintained a casual, unconcerned visage as his adrenaline spiked in reaction to the thoughts exploding in his head. That room was another layer of the onion.
Fuck
!

Dmitriy lead the way down into a surprisingly vast, empty room. Trevor observed a long, narrow table off to the side shoved against the wall and peppered with several computer workstations. He was puzzled by the lack of users and by the mainframe—a very large and expensive computer, capable of supporting hundreds, even thousands, of processes simultaneously—inside a glass-paneled temperature-controlled room taking up most of the right end of the lab. Opposite the mainframe’s glassed room was a large metal cabinet.

Trevor frowned. The size of the operation caught him off guard. This wasn’t the sign of a small criminal mind but something more complex. No wonder Boris had his sights on Mikhailov. The mainframe staring Trevor in the eye was the most surprising part yet in the “I Spy in Russia” game into which he and Cassandra had stumbled.

“The loo is here.” Dmitriy pointed to a door immediately to the right of the stairs—practical if one didn’t want employees wondering around the house, sticking their noses where they shouldn’t. “Home sweet, home,” Dmitriy voiced sarcastically as he led Trevor to the workstations. “You can use this one,” Dmitriy indicated one of the computers and moved off to take his own seat at another.

“Where is everybody?” Trevor asked, taking ownership of the machine.

“Who?”

“Come on, Dmitriy. Anyone in the programming business with a little bit of hacking skills knows Mikhailov has a finger in online fraud.” Trevor used widely known information to chat him up. “I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that, considering the size of the mainframe and the mentions he made during our conversation yesterday, he has to have others under his thumb.”

Dmitriy narrowed his eyes. “You see too much. It can get you in trouble.” He paused just a moment and added, “They’re in a separate area of the house. You won’t be working with them.”

“Okay, then. Better this way. Fewer distractions.” Fewer eyes on him. Perfect, actually. He stretched his hands and fingers in front of him and dove in. The system was already logged on, so Trevor took his time, thoroughly checking and inventorying the programs installed and the applications available at his fingertips.

“The files you’ll be working on are located on the external storage drive under a folder named ‘Koschei,’” Dmitriy chuckled; “A poetic reference to the Russian mythological creature that can’t be killed.” Dmitriy observed as Trevor located and checked the contents of the folder. After a long pause, he commented, his tone full of curiosity, “You don’t look the type.”

Assuming an air of innocence, Trevor countered, “What type? Geek type?”

“No, criminal type. You do know who you are dealing with here, right?”

Trevor was still interested in how deep Dmitriy was in bed with the organization and eyeballed him. “I had no choice. I needed this job. How about you? You don’t seem the type either. For one, you smile an awful lot for a Russian.”