Barry Lando: Deep Strike

“Quantum’s only purchase was Lakeshore Views. It’s a huge residential development on the outskirts of Houston. The original developers ran out of money. So, smelling a big opportunity, Stokes contacted Kozlov and Lakeshore Views became Quantum’s first purchase for six hundred million dollars.”

“That was in 2014,” said Borovik, “that is when I started collecting information on what Kozlov and the oligarchs were up to.”

“You did a huge public service,” said Steve. “Just before the elections last November, Quantum sold the development for almost a billion dollars. But it was Kozlov, remember, who had administrative control of Quantum. And he distributed only three hundred fifty million to Stokes. He kept six hundred fifty million for himself. According to Quantum’s files, Stokes immediately reacted. He demanded an equal share in the profits. Kozlov refused.”

“The two deserve each other,” said Borovik.

“Kozlov said that Stokes had only put up fifty million in cash,” continued Steve. “The remainder of Stokes’s stake in the company came from a loan to Stokes from a bank that Kozlov controlled. Kozlov said Stokes should consider himself lucky. After repaying his loan to Kozlov’s bank, he was still going to make a hundred million thereby doubling his money. In other words, Stokes had nothing to complain about.”

“How did Stokes react to that?” said Maya.

“About as you would think,” said Steve. “He completely rejected Kozlov’s argument. Stokes is used to robbing others; not being robbed himself. He can’t take Kozlov to court because he can’t admit that offshore company is his. But his private communications to Kozlov have been increasingly menacing. He’s going to get the hundred and fifty million that’s due him, whatever it takes.

“So that’s where my plan starts,” said Steve.

“And where does it go?” said Borovik, still skeptical. It took an hour more of animated discussion before the general finally agreed. “Yes, it could work. In any case, there is no other solution.” They reviewed the next steps to be taken; then the general embraced Maya and her children, wished them a safe trip, and shook hands with Steve. “Good luck to us all,” he said before they left. “We will certainly need it.”

As soon as he returned to the hotel, Steve set his plan in motion. He dispatched an encrypted message to Sarah Levin. Over the next few hours, she was to create the media background for their next move. She was also to come immediately to London.

Later that evening, after receiving a text message from Maya that she had safely passed through Russian border control at Sheremetyevo, Steve boarded his flight to London. As the Airbus climbed from the runway, he sat back in his seat, contemplating his next moves. His scheme was bold, as likely to fail as succeed. But at least he’d saved Maya, her family, and his son.

Unknown to Steve was the fact that, at that very moment, Maya and her mother and two terrified children were in a black van of the FSB heading back in to Moscow. Her Mexico City flight had been delayed for two hours because of engine trouble. Maintenance was a constant problem with the cash-strapped airline. That delay was long enough for the Russian border agents to receive the special alert that had been sent out by the president’s office; long enough to discover that Maya and her family had just cleared their post; long enough to board the waiting Aeroflot flight and forcibly remove Maya, her children, and her mother. And charge Maya with treason.

It was just after 7:00 a.m. in London when Steve arrived back to Heathrow’s sprawling Terminal Four. As soon as the plane landed, he checked his cell to see if there was any text message from Maya. Her flight to Mexico City made a stop in London. She would have to remain in the transit area, but had promised to send a text message confirming that, so far at least, everything was okay. Her flight had been scheduled to arrive in London an hour before his, but there was no message from her. According to the incoming flight board in the terminal, the Aeroflot flight from Moscow was running two and a half hours behind schedule. That could mean problems, thought Steve. On the other hand, she had sent a text message the evening before saying that she and her family had passed through the police checkpoint at Sheremetyevo with no trouble. Still, he couldn’t rid himself of a nagging fear for her safety.

That angst would only disappear after she’d landed in Mexico City. She was due to arrive there at 7:20 a.m. Mexico time, which meant 1:20 p.m. in London. He had another six hours to wait for her message. But even far from the Kremlin, she and her family would not be totally secure. They might never be safe, as long as Kozlov was in power. He’d had no qualms about ordering his enemies assassinated on the streets of London. Hopefully, if Maya kept a low profile, or completely changed her identity, the Russian president would direct his vengeance elsewhere, but she would always have to be alert, looking over her shoulder. And what of her children?

One thing Steve was sure he wanted to do was recognize Evgeny as his biological son. That would be the first step to the boy’s becoming an American citizen. But before that, Steve would have to prove to immigration authorities he was an American citizen himself. In that lengthy bureaucratic process, it was almost certain they would discover he had faked his current identity. He would have no choice but to admit that his suicide was a sham, and that Doug Robb was an imposter. This would put Steve once again in the crosshairs of Stokes’s killers.

Which was another reason he had to take down Stokes, and he had to take down Kozlov with him. That was the goal of the audacious plan he’d developed in Moscow. It would require a secure site from which to operate. No place better than the sophisticated reinforced bunker in Pearlstein’s Belgravia mansion. As far as Steve knew, Stokes’s intelligence services hadn’t spotted the bunker when he and Ed Diamond were operating out of it. Charlie Doyle had not been discovered at 51 Belgrave Place, but when he returned to his apartment in Notting Hill, which had been under surveillance. For the time being, then, the Belgravia mansion was safe. Steve sent an encrypted message to Pearlstein asking if he could continue to use his Belgravia home for another couple of days. “If it takes any more than that, we’ve failed,” he’d written.

“Be my guest,” replied Pearlstein. “Best use the place has been put to since it was built.”

Mike Rourke and Edith Jones welcomed him back to the white stucco mansion like a long-lost member of the family. “Quick trip, sir,” said Edith brightly, as she served Steve scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Less than two days,” said Steve, “but it feels like two months. Plenty of coffee, thanks, I’m going to need it.”

It was then that he opened an encrypted message from General Borovik and finally learned that Maya and her family had been picked up at Sheremetyevo, because of a freak engine problem.

“Trying to find out where they’ve been taken,” wrote the general, “But, as I warned, I cannot become involved. I have not yet been contacted regarding the special pass. But that should be just a matter of hours. Your plan has to launch soonest.”

Steve had just absorbed that message when Sarah Levin arrived. Steve accompanied Mike to the front door and then stood speechless, staring at the male figure in the entrance wearing a black Borsalino hat and carrying a suitcase. “I’ve come all this way and you’re not even going to invite me in?” said Sarah smiling. She removed her hat and coat. Her hair was close-cropped and dyed blond; she was dressed in a bulky blue cashmere sweater, loose slacks, and men’s shoes