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“And your co
“Gary Lawlor is my new boss,” said Harvath, hoping that the bone he had thrown them had enough meat on it to make them happy.
“So no more Secret Service?” asked Herman.
“No more Secret Service,” responded Harvath.
“I guess that will have to do for now,” said Sebastian.
“So you’re in?” replied Harvath.
“Yeah, we’re in. Here’s what I am prepared to do. Since we are apparently going to continue without official sanction, I want this contained. If it blows up in our faces, I don’t want to drag my entire team down. I will let the rest of the men go. Max and I will get a hold of the bank and traffic footage-”
“How do you plan on doing that?” asked Harvath.
“I think we’ll let the police do it for us.”
“Won’t they be suspicious of the involvement of two MEK operatives?”
“Not if they think we’re fellow investigators,” said Max as he fished a set of authentic looking credentials out of his pocket that identified him as a special federal investigator.
Sebastian walked over to Max’s BMW and as he opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat, said over his shoulder, “We’ll call you on Herman’s cell phone as soon as we have everything and tell you where to meet us.”
Max followed, slapping the side of the trunk to make sure Heinrich hadn’t fallen asleep and said, “Time to get back to work, Liebling.”
Moments later, all that was left in the parking lot was a pair of tire tracks in the light snow that had begun to accumulate.
“Back inside?” asked Herman.
“No. I’ve got someplace else in mind.”
“Really? I didn’t think you knew Berlin very well.”
“Actually,” responded Harvath, “I don’t. This is a place a friend of mine used to frequent. Let’s get going. I’ll explain in the car.”
Chapter 19
AIDATA ISLAND, GULF OF FINLAND
Frank Leighton had called the number from his satellite phone two times more than he probably should have. Nothing was making sense. He was completely isolated. He had had no human confirmation of his assignment at all and that made him even less comfortable than he already was about what he was preparing to do. If his handler failed to make contact, he would have no choice but to assume the worst and put the final plan into action. He would get the device as close as he could to his target, set the timer and run like hell. God, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Once again he heard the words as if they had just been spoken to him, “The protocol is infallible. The protocol will never be wrong.” Frank Leighton had been trained to follow through on his orders and that was exactly what he was going to have to do. Still, if he could just get some sort of confirmation…
There was no choice but to slam the iron door back down on his misgivings and focus his energy on the task at hand. According to his initial readings, the device was still stable even after all these years. Good, that only helped to make his job that much easier. He didn’t want this to turn into a suicide mission.
Leighton used nothing more than the light from a filtered headlamp to illuminate the rocks he was clearing to create a makeshift path down to the beach. Once the slope was clear, he unpacked what could best be described as a child’s wagon on steroids. The lightweight, brushed aluminum cart boasted knobby rubber tires attached to a sophisticated air shock suspension system. Frank Leighton wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
He loaded the wagon with stones, equivalent in weight to the deadly payload he knew he would soon have to transport, and maneuvered it down to the beach where his dinghy was moored. He went back and forth several times, memorizing the terrain, paying close attention to every potential pitfall until he knew it well enough to make the trip with his eyes closed.
His task complete, he disassembled the wagon, covered over its tracks and rowed the dilapidated dinghy back out to the rusting fishing trawler. On board, he brewed a small pot of strong Fi
He took his meal to the wheelhouse and listened to the marine radio chatter of lonely Fi
Chapter 20
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE ZVENIGOROD, RUSSIA
It had taken Milesch Popov two years to find the weapon he now held in his hand. He had been watching an American documentary on modern-day gangsters when he first saw it-the Thompson ZG-51 Pit Bull. The.45-caliber pistol was the rage with all the high-level crime kingpins in East L.A. While lesser wa
Popov had an engraver give the Pit Bull on the pistol’s slide a huge set of balls. Then, carved right in front of the animal, was the outline of a naked woman on her hands and knees with a huge set of tits covered by the letters O.G. for original gangster. What Popov lacked in class, he definitely made up for in creativity.
As he pulled back the slide of his Pit Bull to chamber a round, Popov made a mental note to invoice Stavropol for this recent purchase of custom ammunition. After all, it was a legitimate expense, one which Popov couldn’t imagine conducting his business without. The armor-piercing rounds were made from hardened machined steel that had been hand-dipped in Teflon. With his enemies relying more and more on heavily armored cars and bulletproof vests, complete with titanium trauma plates over their hearts, he needed every advantage he could get.
The armor piercing rounds had become his signature and though they did seem a bit of an overkill for what he was about to do, he had modeled his career on the old Russian proverb,while fame travels slowly, at least notoriety travels fast. The runaway orphan from Nizhnevartovsk had learned much during his short time in this world.
The missing general had been easier to find than Popov had expected-though he wouldn’t inform his current benefactor of that fact. No, he would let the famous General Sergei Olegovich Stavropol believe that he had moved heaven and earth to track down his quarry. In reality, it had been as simple as driving to certain shops in and around Zvenigorod, making inquiries.
After having examined the empty grave at the hunting lodge, Popov had decided to operate under the assumption that General Anatoly Karganov was indeed wounded, but not dead. Either he had escaped under his own power, or someone had helped him. Under the circumstances, Karganov would not have been able to return home. It would have been too dangerous. In fact, if his injuries were serious enough, he might not have been able to travel very far at all.