Matthew Dunn - Sentinel

Will said loudly, “Turn the lights on and the television off.”

The man seemed startled. He scrambled for a controller, switched off the TV, and simultaneously switched on a table lamp. “I thought you guys were coming tomorrow.” The American looked hesitant as he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa. He was slight, in his midtwenties, hair shaven at the sides and back, barefoot, and wearing tracksuit pants and a sweatshirt that had U.S. NAVY BASE KITSAP, NOT SELF BUT COUNTRY emblazoned on its front. He picked up a bottle of beer and took a swig. “I’m an important person now. I don’t need fucking surprises.”

Will stepped forward. “There’s a lady present. I won’t tolerate foul language.”

The American seemed to relax. “Well, fuck me.” He took another slug of beer.

Will moved closer, but Korina put a hand on his forearm and said to the American sailor, “You’re clearly a stupid man. If you don’t change your attitude, I’ll make sure you stay here forever.”

The American grinned broadly. “Good, because things have never been better for me. Twenty-four/seven protection, free food, booze, and cigarettes.” He lit a cigarette, sucked on it, and then tapped ash into an overflowing ashtray. “Plus the SVR has given me American cable TV.” His smile vanished and was replaced by a look of contempt. Directing his gaze at Korina he muttered, “The only thing the Russkies haven’t given me yet is any Eastern pussy. Is that why you’re here, lady?”

Korina looked urgently at Will and said, “No, William-”

But Will ignored her, took two steps toward the sailor, and slapped him hard.

“God damn it!” The sailor put a hand to his red face.

Will stepped back. “Next time it’ll be worse.”

The American spat angrily. “How come a Russian speaks perfect English with no accent?”

“Because that’s how it has to be.” Will threw himself down into one of the other armchairs.

Korina said, “We’re here to ask you about the intelligence you supplied to Taras Khmelnytsky. We want to know if you were aware that the intelligence is no longer true.”

The sailor sniggered. “I only answer to Khmelnytsky and”-he looked around-“my new SVR hosts.”

Korina snapped, “You’ll answer to whoever has authority over naval intelligence matters. And right now that person is me.”

Korina was about to speak again, but Will interrupted. “How did Taras recruit you?”

The sailor glugged beer. “He told me, ‘You don’t need to live like scum anymore. If you give me what I want, I’ll make sure you live a life that would be the envy of your arrogant officers.’ ”

“So that’s it?” Korina leaned forward. “You spied on America because Khmelnytsky could deliver to you your vision of domestic bliss and maybe even”-she smiled, though her look was venomous-“Eastern pussy.”

The American said nothing, his face defiant.

Korina pointed at him. “We’ve learned that the three Ohio submarines will be entering Russian waters on a different date, but that’s all we know. I’m here to find out if you know anything about this.”

The sailor shook his head. “The dates of deployment were specific. I never heard anyone say that the subs might sail on another date.”

Will asked, “Were there any protocols in place in case the deployment was delayed for whatever reason?”

The American looked puzzled. “No.”

Will sighed and looked at Korina. “This has been a waste of time.”

A s they reached their BMW sedan rental car at the end of the driveway, Korina spoke to Markov. “Join Vitali, Roger, and Laith on surveillance detail. Let me know the moment the target leaves the dacha.”

Markov disappeared into the night. Will and Korina jumped into the vehicle. The GRU major looked at Will and said softly, “Thank you.”

Will shrugged. “It was nothing. Getting a stupid man to do something rash is hardly worthy of thanks.”

Korina shook her head. “That’s not why I’m grateful.”

“I know.”

She touched his hand and let it rest there for a moment. “It felt nice to-to have someone stand up for me.” She faced forward, moved her hand to the steering wheel, and started the engine. Her next words were strident. “We need to take up position.” Engaging the gears, she drove the vehicle forward. “We’ll wait out of sight a mile up the road. The moment the rest of the team spots the foul-mouthed cretin leaving the dacha, we’ll follow him until he leads us to his master.”

I t was pitch-dark both in the car and outside. They were a few feet away from the road, on rough ground surrounded by trees. Will and Korina had waited in the vehicle for hours, barely speaking. Only occasionally had she turned on the ignition to generate some more heat.

Korina’s cell phone rang. She listened in silence. “They watched him walk out of the house, argue with his SVR guardians, who wanted him to stay, then get into a car alone and drive off. Our team is tailing him in their two vehicles. He’s heading toward Moscow.”

Will muttered, “We’ll let them pass us, wait a few minutes, and then follow team and target.” He briefly opened his door to trigger the interior light and checked his watch. It was a few minutes after four A.M.; they had entered a new day. Everything rested on the sailor making contact with Razin, but so far everything that Will and Sentinel had done to try to trap him had gone wrong. He began to sweat, his mind racing with uncertainty before landing on one thing that was a certainty.

In three days, the U.S. submarines would be entering Russian waters. When that happened, Razin would detonate his bomb to make it look like a U.S. strike. For Russia, that would be an act of war.

Fifteen minutes later, Korina was driving fast while Will used a small flashlight to study the rental car’s road map of Moscow. He noted that the city was surrounded by an outer, a central, and an inner ring road and that nine motorways led into and out of the metropolis. His cell phone rang; he put the map and flashlight down to listen to Roger’s voice.

“We’re on the M-10, approaching Moscow from the northwest. We’ve just passed signs for Skhodnya. Target is driving at normal speeds.”

“All right.”

Keeping her eyes on the road, Korina said, “We’re only three or four miles behind them.”

Will spoke again into his phone. “We’re going to gain speed and try to overtake your two cars and the target. Instruct all of the team that we need to switch to military comms.”

“Understood.”

Korina further depressed the BMW’s accelerator, switched lanes, and sped up the motorway. Will leaned to the rear passenger seats, rummaged through his Bergen rucksack, and withdrew two waterproof tactical communications systems. Pulling open his upper garments, he placed one of the sets on his body, using strips of black masking tape to fix the flesh-colored wire containing the earpiece and throat microphone to his skin. As he finished buttoning up his shirt and jacket, he said, “I need to put the other one on you.” He smiled. “Either I can tape the cord on you, or I can get close and personal and fix it to your body in the manner that most female surveillance operatives prefer.”

Korina also smiled. “My skin reacts badly to tape.”

Will opened her jacket and blouse and strapped the set onto her waist. Holding the wire, he threaded it underneath her bra, alongside one breast, and out of the top of her underwear until the system was secure. After turning on the set and selecting the correct channel, he gently fastened her clothes and said, “Right, we should all be linked in.” He turned on his own set and spoke into the throat mic. “Roger, Markov: can you hear me?”