MOSCOW,
AUGUST 15, 8:11 P.M. MSK
Mike Garin’s credit card transactions, the electronic log of the radio call the Dallas police officer had made regarding Garin’s traffic violation, as well as millions of other bits of electronic communications were intercepted and processed by one of Spetssvyaz’s Inter-Ghost Surveillance Program’s supercomputers located in a massive underground facility beneath the buildings that housed Piotr Egorshin’s nameless enterprise. An algorithm flagged the transactions and displayed them on a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling screen in a room on the fourth floor of the facility. Seated at a desk before that screen was Major Valeri Volkov, who, upon viewing the data, typed a series of commands on his keyboard prompting the screen to display a satellite image of the city of Dallas, Texas, USA. A series of red arrows pointed to the locations from which the transactions emanated. Beneath the locations were rectangular boxes containing text descriptions of the various locations, along with the times of the transactions.
Volkov picked up the phone, paused, and then put it down again. This was important enough for a personal visit with his boss. An opportunity to ingratiate himself with the rising star.
Volkov strode out the door, past the guards, and took the elevator to the eleventh floor. The doors opened, revealing a large bullpen-style area filled with scores of analysts seated before banks of computer screens. Volkov approached Colonel Piotr Egorshin, who was standing near one of the screens, hunched over to get a closer look.
“Sir, he has been located.”
Egorshin turned to Volkov, a momentary look of incomprehension on his face. Egorshin remained a bit rattled from the Stetchkin demonstration.
“Michael Garin, Colonel,” Volkov said helpfully. “He is in the Dallas Fort Worth airport. He has purchased a ticket for an American Airlines flight with an eleven A.M. central departure to Cleveland, Ohio.”
“Yes. Very good,” Egorshin replied. In addition to being rattled, he was irritated. The event would occur within three days and all of his energies were concentrated on its execution. This was a distraction.
“Would you like me to inform Stetchkin so that he may inform Mr. Bor?” Volkov asked eagerly.
“No one contacts Bor but Vasiliev,” Egorshin said, referring to President Mikhailov’s chief of staff. “Not even Stetchkin.”
“Do you prefer to inform Stetchkin yourself, sir?”
Egorshin preferred to avoid contact with Stetchkin under any circumstance. “You have my permission to do so, Major. He is in General Maximov’s office.”
Volkov, like most Spetssvyaz, was aware of Stetchkin’s reputation but had never had personal experience with him. The major’s eyes gleamed as if he were being given a promotion, or at least a coveted opportunity to earn a promotion. Idiot, thought Egorshin.
Volkov excused himself and practically ran to General Maximov’s provisional office down the corridor. Through the glass door, Volkov could see both Stetchkin and Maximov standing next to Maximov’s desk, engaged in conversation. Maximov saw Volkov and waved him in.
“Yes. What is it?” Maximov asked curtly.
Volkov looked at Stetchkin. “I have information regarding the location of Mr. Garin, sir. He is in the Dallas Fort Worth airport, and based on the fact that he purchased an American Airlines ticket for an eleven A.M. departure which has been delayed slightly, he will be at the gate for only a few more minutes.”
Volkov was pleased with himself. He had conveyed vital information to the president’s closest ally. Stetchkin, however, did not appear pleased.
“Egorshin sends you to give me this information? A major? A major to speak to me? Does he consider such a task beneath him?”
The gleam faded from Volkov’s eyes. Egorshin had sent him into a buzz saw.
“Mr. Stetchkin,” Volkov sputtered. “Garin presently is at DFW Airport. He will be at the gate for American Airlines Flight 1212 for the next five to ten minutes.”
“And why was it so difficult for Egorshin to tell me this, Major?” Without waiting for a reply, Stetchkin turned and pointed at General Maximov. “Contact Vasiliev. Tell him.” Then he looked back at Volkov. “Where is the colonel?”
“In the main room, sir.”
Stetchkin brushed past Volkov in search of Egorshin. The colonel spotted Stetchkin before the tyrant could locate Egorshin among the scores of bodies in the room. Egorshin knew immediately that sending Volkov was a mistake, the impact of which he sought to lessen by quickly walking toward Stetchkin.
“May I help you, sir?”
“Come with me, Colonel Egorshin.”
The two men walked down the hall out of earshot of the analysts in the main room and Egorshin’s subordinates. When they were out of sight of the analysts, Stetchkin turned to Egorshin.
“Colonel Piotr Egorshin. Ivan Uganov thought very highly of you. He thought one day you would be his successor. He wanted you to be his successor.” Stetchkin paused for several moments, looking malevolently at Egorshin’s eyes. “Do you think you will be?”
“I have not thought about it,” Egorshin lied. “I suppose it is up to you.”
“Everything that transpires in this building is up to me, Colonel. Whether or not you have dinner tonight is up to me. Whether or not you defecate afterward is up to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut your mouth,” Stetchkin said softly. “I know everything there is to know about you, Colonel. I know how smart you think you are. I know your family. I know, for instance, of your uncle, who provides you with information that has contributed to your rapid advancement. I know that you’ve used the vast resources of this unit to gather compromising information on various members of the Duma as well as certain vory.” Stetchkin raised a hand to wave off a protest of denial. None came. Stetchkin continued. “You’ve done nothing your predecessors and others in similar positions have not also done. It is an insurance policy. Protection. But consider how well it has protected Uganov.”
Egorshin’s heart was racing. He tried his best to mask his fear, but he sensed Stetchkin could smell it.
“For the next three days your welfare will be of extreme importance to the president,” Stetchkin continued. “Then . . . who knows? For your information, I do not like weakness, Colonel. And I do not like disloyalty. In you I see a weak, soft, cowardly individual. An embarrassment to Russian manhood. I wonder if you are also disloyal?”
“No, Mr. Stetchkin.”
“You were not disloyal to Uganov, true.” Stetchkin nodded. “He is sitting in a small room in Black Dolphin. He does not know he is sitting in a small room in Black Dolphin. He does not know he is sitting. He does not even know that he is.”
Stetchkin stepped back a pace and looked Egorshin over. Disdain covered the tyrant’s face.
“You resent being distracted by what you regard as inconsequential. Now, a smart boy like you can do more than one thing at a time. I will not bother you with trivialities. In fact, I will not bother you at all. Your unit is dedicated to the event. But if I need information for the Zaslon Unit and I cannot get it from other methods, I expect to be able to get it from you. And I expect that you will be able to provide such information without compromising or delaying your primary mission.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stetchkin walked in the general direction of Maximov’s office, then stopped and looked back at Egorshin. “You belong to President Mikhailov for the next seventy-six hours. After that, your continued existence belongs to me.”