Brian Drake - The Glinkov Extraction

THE LIGHTS went out.

“Down, Ray!” Susan shouted. She dropped flat and heard Ray’s body hit the ground as the fusillade of rounds came their way, bouncing off the walls and whistling down the length of hall behind them. Susan grabbed her pocket flash and shined the light ahead, getting up to run, her pistol at the ready. Ray said something behind her but she didn’t hear. Another burst and another miss and then Susan saw the green glow ahead.

Sunlight flooded the hall as the door opened, Susan and Ray hitting the deck again as Siyana fired. This time she was a target framed in the doorway and Susan triggered a shot. The round sparked off the doorframe. Siyana turned and ran. Susan and Ray sprinted for the door, Susan easing the door open and poking the barrel of her gun through. Siyana was running along the side of the building. Susan and Ray gave chase, shouting for her to stop. She was a handful of yards from the street when she turned and fired, sweeping the muzzle left-to-right, Ray crying out as slugs cut through him, falling, Susan firing back, Siyana’s head splitting as the nine-millimeter projectile crashed through. Her body arched back, a flow of blood and chunks of skull and brain flying out the back of her skull, the submachine gun slipping from her fingers, and she hit the ground hard.

Susan ran to Ray. Blood seeped from a leg wound.

“I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth.

Susan ran to Siyana. The pool of blood beneath her head looked like a lake. Her eyes were still open. There was nothing to be learned from the woman now.

Sirens and screeching tires on the other side of the building signaled the arrival of the cavalry.

Susan scoffed. Just in time. Not that it would have made any difference.

JIM BRODY, Susan’s boss, had smoke coming out of his hears.

Maybe not literally, but if there was a time where that was going to really happen, this was it.

“You had no business pursuing that lead,” Brody said.

“What were we supposed to do, Jim?”

“You were supposed to stay in your seat and wait for me.”

“Your meeting was taking forever.”

“I don’t understand your attitude, Susan.”

“Maybe I’m pissed that Ray got shot.”

“He only got shot because you two went into a situation you had no control over, against a dangerous suspect with an automatic weapon. It falls under the category of shit happens. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Ray was still at the hospital getting his wound treated; he’d probably be off his feet for a week or two.

“I expect you to turn over that report to OrgCrime by the end of the day.”

“It relates to my case, Jim.”

“Not your case anymore.”

“What?”

“That’s what the meeting was about. Those men were top dogs at Justice and State. They want us to lay off the Russians. Diplomatic problems and all that. They have a special investigator lined up to handle the Zubarev case and we’re not needed any longer.”

“You accepted that garbage?”

Brody didn’t shrug or make any kind of a snide remark. His eyes remained soft as he looked at Susan.

“They pulled rank, Susan.”

“They threatened you.”

“Maybe.”

“And this office?”

“Just me.”

“Why?”

“They have their reasons. I know we have an investment in this, especially you and Ray, but it’s not worth getting demoted or shucked off to nowhere because the government wants to go about this their own way.”

Susan’s mouth hung open.

“I tried,” Brody said, “but the decision was final.”

“This is a cover-up.”

“Might be. But it’s out of our hands now. This office has other responsibilities, and we’re expected to carry them out.”

Susan closed her mouth and felt a red flush crawling up her neck.

“Take a few days and recharge,” Brody said. “Go see Ray. When you return, we’ll be back to normal, and forget this whole thing.”

Susan rose from the chair and left Brody’s office. She had no plans to “forget about it.” It wasn’t in her nature. There were other ways of balancing the scales.

RAY, LAYING in his hospital bed with his leg in a cast, stared dumbly once Susan finished her update.

“Well that sucks,” he said.

“You have an amazing way with words, Ray.”

Susan stood beside his bed. The hospital room was the usual white and antiseptic décor, a wide doorway for the bathroom, and a TV mounted on the wall in front of the bed. Susan noticed a stack of books on the night stand. Ray preferred reading to television.

Every few minutes they heard a page from the hallway speakers, each page preceded by a ding.

“Well,” he said, “it’s not the first time we’ve had a case taken away.”

“Something about this one, though, Ray. It’s different.”

“We have our orders.”

“I know that.”

“You’re gonna hand over that file, right?”

“Sure,” Susan said. “After I make a copy.”

SUSAN LEFT the hospital and returned to the hotel, figuring on moving back to her apartment the next day and getting that cleaned up over her forced time off. She ordered dinner from room service and changed into a pair of sweats.

After she ate, she sat and read her copy of the Olinov file, beginning to end, soaking up the information. There were things she wanted to check out on her own time, but she’d have to be careful.

Before turning in she used the hotel phone to make one call.

To her Uncle Ike.

C.I.A. Headquarters

CARLTON WEBB was the Director of Central Intelligence and his office was on the seventh floor of the headquarters building.

General Ike sat before the large desk.

“You have no idea where Stiletto has gone?” Webb said.

Light blazed in through the window that took up the wall space to their left; the rest of the office was a mixture of wood for the floor and walls and leather for the furniture with the United States flag behind Webb.

But General Ike did not sit in a leather chair or on the leather couch; he sat in a hard wooden chair before Webb’s desk.

“He’s off the installation, sir.”

“And he’s heading to Russia.”

“I don’t have any doubts about that.”

“How can he get there?”

“David and I have been bouncing around possibilities,” Fleming said. “Groups or individuals on the fringes may be of help, if he can afford them.”

“They’ll also be the ones to try and cash in the bounty.”

“Exactly. He can’t offer as much as we can.”

“Any bites?”

“Nothing yet, sir.”

“Should we alert the Russians?”

“Not at this time.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“He can’t enter the country through legal means,” Fleming said. “If our bounty doesn’t uncover him, we can have our people in the region watch for him. He’s good, but he’s never faced the weight of this kind of search.”

“That’s too many ifs, for me,” Webb said. “I want our embassy in Moscow alerted, at least.”

“If that’s the case, not through the usual channels. If the Russians are listening, they’ll know the score.”

“Send whoever you want.”

“I’d like to send David McNeil, sir. He and Stiletto are friends. If David can’t talk him out of this, nobody can.”

“And hopefully he can do it without a fight.”

“Stiletto won’t fire on our people, sir.”

“He beat the hell out of one of them.

“Note that the man is still alive.”

Webb took a breath and said, “Ike, we need to zip this up before it goes to hell. That may mean using force. On our end.”

“I understand, sir.”