Vektor (31 page)

“I don’t see any other way. It’s a timing issue for my team. They can’t be in two places at once,” Farrington said.

“Bullshit,” Viktor said, rising from behind his desk in a cloud of smoke. “You need me to do the dirtiest part of your job.” Farrington started to protest, but Viktor continued. “I wondered when you would come crawling to me for this. Your people may be super-soldiers, but they’re not cut out for street murder and dismemberment.”

“I call it targeted killing of enemy personnel. Assassination. You call it street murder. I guess it depends on where you’re sitting,” Farrington countered.

“It’s murder no matter how you look at it, and I don’t get the sense that your team is up for dragging people out of their homes in front of their loved ones to kill them. Two million dollars. Final price. You take it or leave it,” Viktor said.

Farrington was relieved to hear him make an offer within the range he was immediately authorized to pay. He didn’t feel like wasting time debating the distinction between the Solntesvskaya’s concept of murder and his own. He agreed with the basic reality of Viktor’s simplistic view that “murder is murder,” but differed vastly in his interpretation and justification of killing in the course of executing his duties.

Viktor’s people killed to secure the dominance of their organized crime network, employing individuals that embraced murder and violence. Farrington’s people killed to safeguard lives, utilizing men and women that had to be convinced and conditioned to kill without question. He was grateful to spare his team the exposure to what would be an extremely unpleasant and morally confusing job, but he wasn’t the least bit swayed by Viktor’s dime-store comparison.

“There won’t be any room for error on this,” Farrington said.

“Lucky for you, we’ve been watching them closely. Do we have a deal?”

“No casualties outside of the scientists,” Farrington said.

“I can’t promise that, but I can assure you that it is in my best interest to limit the killing to the scientists. See, I knew this wasn’t your cup of tea. If this were my operation, I would make it a point to kill everyone present to send a message. How many scientists would be eager to sign up for the same job after learning what happened?”

“I think limiting the damage to the scientists will send the right message. Shall I have the money transferred to the same bank?”

“No negotiation? I should have started at three million. We’ll use a different bank this time,” Viktor said.

Thirty minutes later, Farrington confirmed the transfer of two million dollars from one of Sanderson’s accounts in the Cayman Islands to a bank account number traceable to Switzerland. He suspected that Viktor had made this deal without permission from his superiors. The initial payment to guarantee Solntsevskaya cooperation had been made to a bank in Moscow, where the money had presumably been transferred to one of the world’s more discreet banking havens. If Viktor was siphoning money into his own account, it meant that he was violating orders by helping them kill the scientists. This eased Farrington’s concerns about trigger-happy Russian mobsters. Viktor couldn’t afford the extra scrutiny guaranteed to come with an execution-style family massacre linked to the evening’s festivities at Vektor.

Chapter 37

6:52 AM

Benny’s Diner

Newport, Vermont

Pamela Travis balanced four plates of hot food using a combination of her hands and arms. She had been working at Benny’s for over a decade, never missing a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings, even in the dead of winter, kept the tables packed well past noon, which in turn put good tip money in her pocket. The summers were insane, when vacationers turned up to enjoy the Lake Memphremagog waterfront and boaters drifted down the lake a few miles from Canada to dock in Newport for the afternoon.

Arriving at any time past eight in the morning on a Saturday or Sunday morning guaranteed a minimum one-hour wait for a table. Any later than that and a party of four might be stuck outside for two hours, free to wander Main Street and window shop, but under constant threat of losing their table. Benny’s waiting policy was strict. Each party received one announcement followed by a half-minute wait before they moved onto the next name on the waiting list.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure why anyone would wait so long for Benny’s food or put up with his wait-list shenanigans. The food was standard American breakfast fare, with little variation or panache. She made better corned beef hash at home, in half the time, and her pancakes were gourmet compared to Benny’s. She supposed the long lines were more a function of the competitive market than tastiness.

They were the only game in town for breakfast, having dominated the market for as long as any of the locals could remember. Every now and then a Canadian family would stop in, and a misty-eyed mother or father would reminisce about their summer vacations as children, and how they never missed a Saturday breakfast at Benny’s, no matter how long they had to wait. It made her wonder if the food up in Canada was bad.

Defying gravity and several equally important laws of physics maneuvering through the crowded diner, she arrived at a cramped table of slightly unpleasant-smelling men. Russians, by the sound of them, probably up from New York City on a fishing trip. She’d heard about large pockets of Russian immigrants living in a place called Brighton Beach, near Brooklyn. A lot of New Yorkers vacationed in the area during the summer, but they typically arrived in July or August. Families from New York or Massachusetts owned a good number of the cottages ringing the lake. Judging by the look of this group, they must be up early to take advantage of cheaper rental prices. They were pleasant enough, but certainly not part of the well-heeled New York crowd.

She had to admit, they were by far her most entertaining group this season. The spokesman for the group, a stocky, muscular gentleman with a long scar running down the right side of his jaw, asked if they served alcohol. She checked her watch and laughed. 6:52 in the morning. She wished they served booze, but Benny was too cheap to seek a liquor license. Acquiring a limited license might have made sense given the number of requests for mimosas during the summer. The New York crowd seemed to be enamored with the idea of champagne and orange juice for breakfast, even during the middle of the week. Another opportunity lost. She’d quit making suggestions long ago.

Upon her arrival, one of the men furtively concealed something under the table. She gave him a slightly disapproving look, followed by a wink. He grinned and brought the flask back to his orange juice, dumping a good portion of the contents into the half-full glass. She had seen the rest of them violate Vermont’s liquor laws in a similar manner over the past thirty minutes, but said nothing. Who was she to spoil their vacation?

She offloaded their meals in less than five seconds, announcing that she’d be back with the rest of the order in a minute. The men thanked her in choppy English, nodding happily. As she turned from the table, she caught one of them swigging directly from his flask.

“Discretion, boys,” she said over her shoulder, headed back to the kitchen.

Looking back at the table while loading up the rest of their plates, she could see the guy with the scar explaining what she had said to a gathering of approving faces. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to arrive in a strange country and try to make a new life. With that thought, she delivered the rest of their food and made sure their coffees were full until they left. She hoped they enjoyed their stay in Vermont. They really looked like a group that could use a vacation.

Chapter 38

3:45 PM

Desnyans’kyi Park

Kiev, Ukraine

Feliks Yeshevskey’s car cleared the row of gray apartment buildings towering over Nikolajeva Street, revealing the near impossibility of the task at hand. His mood instantly changed from morose to furiously enraged, led by a string of obscenities that would have offended the Federation Navy’s crustiest chief ship petty officers. Desnyans’kyi Park was packed with families enjoying the unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon. Finding their man in this vast sea of trees and picnickers was going to take the rest of the afternoon.

He briefly considered abandoning the search and waiting back at the man’s apartment building, but the neighbor directly across the hallway told them that Boris Ilkin liked to take his family out to dinner on Saturdays. They would typically return before sunset, when the common areas between buildings of their apartment block filled with drunks looking for trouble. Feliks dismissed the plan. He didn’t have the patience to wait another five hours. It had already taken them most of the day to track down the names and addresses of service tellers that had worked shifts at Kiev Central Station on Tuesday, when Richard Farrington landed and presumably acquired transportation to Russia.

They were dealing with too many presumptions and assumptions in this case. Farrington had entered the Ukraine posing as an Australian, proceeding to vanish into thin air. No record of him beyond customs could be found, leading Feliks to assume that he had shifted identities. Ardankin was convinced that he would try to enter Russia, which made his job slightly less complicated. Transportation to Russia was plentiful on any given day, but the options were finite.

The easiest and most expedient way to enter Russia was by train, but he could also have chosen from several regular bus routes. Worse yet, he could have rented a car from any of the hundreds of rental agency locations around Kiev. They hadn’t begun to explore options beyond rail travel yet. He had limited resources and had been specifically warned not to involve Ukrainian authorities. With a handful of agents, they would concentrate on one mode of transportation at a time. His agents were spread throughout the city tracking down the few remaining ticket agents on the list.

He signaled for the driver to pull over into a residential parking space across the street. Turning in his seat, he addressed the timid-looking woman in the back seat.

“We’re going to walk through the park looking for your neighbor. I better not find him before you do. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“This is a matter of state security. When you see him, I need you to be discreet. You’ll stand back at a distance, and once we have him in custody, you are free to go. You wait for me to signal that it’s all right for you to leave. If you leave earlier, I’ll assume you are involved. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Let’s go for a walk in the park,” he said, stepping out of the vehicle.

Forty minutes into their search, Feliks had lost any remaining vestige of patience for the woman, who pinched her face together and squinted looking for their target like she needed glasses to see more than five feet in front of her. This had become intolerable, made worse by the citizens of Kiev, lounging around on scattered blankets, not making the slightest effort to get out of their way. He was about to kick a bottle of vodka out of a rather insolent-looking man’s mouth, hoping to remove most of his teeth with the gesture, when the woman grabbed his shirtsleeve.

“I see him. We almost walked past. He’s directly to our right, maybe thirty meters. Dark red blanket with white tassel ends. He’s kicking a soccer ball with his son,” she whispered.

“White collared shirt. Untucked. Brown pants?”

“Yes. That’s him. Can I go now?” she pleaded.

“Not until we verify,” Feliks said.

“Why would I lie to you? You know where I live,” she said.

“That’s right. I know exactly where you live. You wait, or we’ll pay you a visit. Maybe smash your husband’s skull with that bottle he lives in,” Feliks said.

“Promise?”

For the first time today, Feliks allowed his face to change expression, displaying the faintest hint of a smile. He would have preferred to bring her husband, but judging by his belligerent demeanor at the door and the bottle in his hand, the man would have been more trouble than help. Besides, he was probably seeing double at this point, judging from the bright red glow plastered on his face. He had little doubt that Elena would take a beating when she returned. The kids too, probably. He’d like to escort her back and threaten the husband with a life sentence in a wheelchair, but he didn’t have the time. She would have to fend for herself. He just hoped that this unusual disruption of their weekend routine didn’t lead to something outside of the normal abuse that she and her children surely suffered on a daily basis.

“Wait here,” he said, pressing several banknotes into her coat pocket. “Those are for the ride back.”

He had given her five times the amount it would cost to take a cab back to their apartment block, hoping she would use the money to seek a little happiness with her kids during the day. He could tell by the look on her husband’s face that they saw no peace at night. He signaled for the other agent to proceed, and they walked over to have what he hoped would be a friendly chat with Boris Ilkin. He didn’t want to get heavy-handed in front of the Ilkin family in such a serene setting, but he was running out of time. A rogue CIA agent responsible for the recent deaths of several FIS operatives had resurfaced, raising the frightening specter of an even deadlier operation on Russian soil.

“Mr. Ilkin?”

He spoke loudly enough to be heard by the family, hoping to avoid additional unwanted attention from the civilians nearby. He harbored no illusions about appearing to be just another carefree Ukrainian out for an early June stroll. He wore a dark brown suit over a light blue shirt. The absence of a tie was the only concession he allowed in his disguise as a Ukrainian Security Service agent. Since it was Saturday, the sight of two nearby men in suits, with or without ties, broadcast one word: Police. Mr. Ilkin nodded and whispered to his son, patting him on the back. While Ilkin was distracted with his son, Feliks nodded discreetly to the woman waiting behind a tree in the distance.