James Huston - Fallout

Now that the government did not assert such authority, were people better off? No. The authority vacuum had been filled not with autonomy, with freedom, but rather with the Mafia, thugs and criminals with their own vicious ambition, not even paying lip service to doing what is best for the country. They did what was best to line their pockets.

Stoyanovich looked up and saw the two young men walking quietly out of the dark woods. They hurried over to his car, nodding enthusiastically. Stoyanovich rolled down his window to talk to them.

The taller one spoke. “He has arrived.”

“Is he alone?”

“There is a woman with him.”

The Colonel smiled. “Perhaps we should wait awhile. Perhaps catch them in a compromising position.”

“That would make it too hard to kill only him. Now she will just think it is some Mafia dispute.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go inside the dacha with you?”

They both shook their heads. “No. You stay outside. If he kills us both and runs outside, then you can shoot him like a dog. Feel free.” They smiled.

Stoyanovich was troubled. “You are taking this too lightly.” He looked at their faces. “Has either of you ever killed anyone? It is not easy, you know. To look someone in the eyes and just shoot them.”

“This will not be a problem,” the other man said. “Let’s get this over with. I’m cold.”

Stoyanovich pulled the keys from the ignition and struggled out of the small car. He put the keys in his pocket. He took the pistol out of another pocket and chambered a round. The other two men did likewise with their guns. “Lead the way,” he said to the eager man already heading back to the dacha.

They tried to be as quiet as they could as they walked through the woods. They could see the lights of the dacha half a mile away. The lights were like beacons. Gorgov certainly wasn’t trying to hide.

Stoyanovich stopped to catch his breath. He looked around for any signs of activity, any cars or people, but saw nothing. He nodded, and they continued walking. They closed to within a hundred yards of the house, stopped, and knelt down on the hard dirt. He whispered to them, “How many doors are there?”

“Three” came the reply, but not from either of the two men with Stoyanovich.

His blood stopped as he realized that someone was behind them. His head snapped around as he looked. Three men were standing there wearing night-vision goggles and watching them. The one in the middle took off his goggles and shone a light in Stoyanovich’s face. “Colonel, what are you doing here, outside my dacha with a gun?”

“Gorgov!” Stoyanovich exclaimed. He stood up slowly, as did the other two men, who had panicked looks on their faces.

“Put your guns down immediately, so we can discuss whatever problem you have with me. And please don’t move quickly. I have several men behind me whom you can’t see. They have rifles with night scopes and will shoot you immediately.”

Stoyanovich dropped his handgun next to his foot. The other two men did likewise. Gorgov smiled in the darkness. Stoyanovich could barely make out his face.

“So what is the meaning of this? Who has put you up to this very unwise action?”

“No one.”

Gorgov looked puzzled. “No one? You came out here to murder me all on your own? Why? What have I ever done to you?”

“I’m not here to murder you. I am here to talk to you.”

“Colonel, I am many things, but I am not stupid. Do you always approach the home of someone you want to talk to by walking through the woods in the dark with a gun?”

“No, not always. Just when I think it is necessary.”

“Nonsense. Who sent you to kill me?”

“No one.”

Gorgov shook his head. He suddenly raised his gun and shot the man standing to Stoyanovich’s left. The man fell in a heap as his life drained away from him.

Stoyanovich blanched as he acutely felt his own mortality. “Why did you do that?”

“Who sent you?”

“No one!”

Gorgov breathed in loudly. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Stoyanovich’s mind raced for anything that was believable. “Major Petkov called me about how to help you…”

“What? He called you?” Gorgov asked, concerned. “When?”

“Just yesterday.”

“What did he want?”

“He said you had asked him to allow this American pilot to be a hero. He thinks Khan, that Pakistani pilot, is going to attack an Indian nuclear plant.”

“They know Khan is alive?”

“I think they suspect it.”

“Go on.”

“And he asked me to get our intelligence people to contact the Indian intelligence people and suggest to them that Petkov and this American would be of use in defending the Indian plant without too much movement on the part of the Indian forces. He didn’t want to give away that we know Khan’s coming.”

“They know when he’s coming?”

“I think they suspect he—”

The other man with Stoyanovich suddenly dropped to the ground and reached for the handgun he’d found with his foot in the dark. As soon as he moved, four men behind Gorgov opened up on him, and he was knocked to the ground. Gorgov watched his last movements. “I don’t think he believed I had others with me. Now, you were saying?”

Stoyanovich looked at his two friends lying dead beside him. He knew he was next unless he thought of some way to remain indispensable to Gorgov in a hurry. “I think they had some indication of timing. I don’t know when.”

“And?”

“So I did as he asked.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“I called our intelligence people and asked them to call their comrades in India.”

“Did they do that?”

“Yes.”

Gorgov smiled. “Perfect. Then it is all set, isn’t it?”

“It appears to be.”

“And is Major Petkov planning on doing what I asked?”

“Yes.”

“He is.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came to buy his freedom.”

“His what?”

“His freedom. Once he has completed the task you have given him, he owes you nothing, and he is free to do as he wishes.”

Gorgov had never heard anything like it. “Your offer is rejected.”

“But—”

“You called the intelligence people?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Thank you,” Gorgov said. He raised his handgun to Stoyanovich’s chest and shot him dead.

Luke lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He listened to Katherine’s breathing next to him. He couldn’t sleep. Too much had happened. Dust on the furniture was all that was left of the FBI’s visit. Helen Li was sure they’d found Khan. The idea of him being back in Pakistan, operating as a Pakistani pilot again under a different name… But such thoughts couldn’t compete with the self-condemnation Luke felt for having let it all happen in the first place.

Luke jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the front door. He slipped on his flight suit that lay on a chair next to the bed, walked to the front door barefoot, turned on the porch light, and peered through the peephole. He recognized the man with the large folder of submarine pictures from the brig at Miramar. There was another man behind him whom Luke had never seen before, carrying a thin briefcase. He had the collar of his blue nylon windbreaker folded up against the cold Nevada night.

Luke threw back the bolt and opened the door. “Yes?”

“Mr. Henry. Good morning. My name is Bill Morrissey. You know Mr. Lane. May I come in?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m with the CIA.”

Luke suddenly was able to see Helen Li behind them, standing by the car fifty feet away. For reasons he couldn’t explain, her presence reassured him. “You with her?”