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Once outside, Kornev scanned the surrounding landscape for a signal. He figured one of two things would happen. Either he would be cut down by a trigger-happy militant, or Zain Shallah would recognize him and provide him a signal to follow.
Kornev scanned the darkness and discovered a flashlight blinking on and off several times. It shone through a window inside Safe House One. The closer he got to his safe house, the more destruction he observed. The window in the front was missing, and the area was demolished where once the front door had stood. As he approached his home, he kept his hands in the air while blinking his own flashlight.
Within ten yards of the house, two soldiers appeared from the front corner of the home, and using the rifle muzzles, the men indicated the direction Kornev was to walk. Kornev strode to the front of the home and lowered his hands. He stepped into the home through the shredded doorway, making sure not to fall into the deep pit that lay just beyond the threshold. Kornev sidestepped the hole and saw a familiar face.
Zain offered his hand to the Russian. Kornev gave it a firm shake.
“How have you been?” the Pakistani terrorist asked his arms dealer.
“I have been better,” Kornev said in a tired voice.
Zain said, “And may I ask what you are doing here? You were the last person I expected to see walk out of that house.”
The banker delivered the question with a high degree of suspicion for which Kornev couldn’t fault him. If the circumstances were reversed, he would also be wary.
“I tracked the person—the woman is in that home.” He had never disclosed to Shallah he owned safe houses in the city. Telling Shallah now would only increase his suspicions. He might think Kornev was working with the woman. To Kornev’s knowledge only the inspector (and Kara) knew about his safe houses.
Shallah was quiet for a moment. His silence unnerved the Russian, but it was understandable since he was now technically a prisoner of his client, in his own home, as opposed to being a prisoner of Kara.
“Who’s in the other house?” Zain asked.
If Kornev had to have guessed the first three questions the banker would ask, that would have been the first question. The question would be followed by Why is she here? and lastly, What does this have to do with you? Fully understanding those questions would soon follow, Kornev had to carefully choose his answers, knowing that connected logic would follow.
“She’s a crazy woman who works for the CIA,” Kornev told Shallah.
Zain asked, “Why is she here? Why did she kidnap my son?”
It was typical the man used the word son and not the word children. That nuance didn’t alter Kornev’s answer.
“She believes you are the man who shot down American Airlines Flight #264 departing Mexico City. That you pulled the trigger on the missile. Her parents were on that plane. She is here to kill you.”
“And who would have given her that information?” Zain asked distrustfully.
Kornev shrugged, “She’s with the CIA. They have paid informants in every corner of the world.”
Zain tapped Kornev on the chest with his rifle and asked him, “Are you a paid informant, my friend? Did the CIA pay you off to tell them I took down that plane?”
“Why would I do that?” Kornev said, reaching to shove away Zain’s rifle. “I know Naveed, your brother, took down the plane. You weren’t even part of that mission. You were presumably at the bank.”
Zain smiled but then the smile disappeared. He was unsure if the Russian was providing him truthful information. Granted, Zain had trusted him for years. Zain knew Victor Kornev had supplied his brother with about every type of weapon used in modern military warfare. The Russian had never given Zain a reason to distrust him. Millions of dollars had changed hands. Kornev was as solid a businessperson as Zain had ever known. But things changed. People changed as did alliances. Your partner and friend today might well be your enemy tomorrow.
Zain wanted more answers. “Why did she let you go?” Zain asked even though he had already deduced the answer.
Kornev confirmed Zain’s assumption: “She wanted me to strike a bargain with you for the lives of your children.”
“Let me guess,” Zain said. “She would like me to walk in there, and if I do, she will release my son, right?
Kornev responded, “She also has your daughter.”
Zain waved away Kornev’s comment like he was wiping clean a chalkboard with a damp rag and demanded, “Where is she holding my son?”
“In a bedroom at the back of the house.”
Zain considered the information and pondered the best course of action.
Kornev stood silently inside his freshly demolished home and waited to see how the night would play out.
Confidently, Zain said, “The home is surrounded. She is but one person. We need to plan a coordinated attack that will avoid hitting my son’s room and prevent him from being caught in the crossfire. You need to draw me the layout of the home so we can identify breach points.”
“I can do that,” Kornev said.
Zain asked one of his men for a pad of paper and a pencil which he gave to Kornev. The Russian brushed away chunks of drywall from the couch and sat down to draw a rough blueprint of Safe House Two.