Andrew Kaplan - Scorpion Winter

“Close the window,” Scorpion told him in English, frisking him as he went by. Gabrilov closed the window and turned around.

“You!” Gabrilov said, his eyes narrowing.

“Call your man by the elevator with your cell phone. Tell him to come in. You need help with something. Remember, Ya govoryu na russkom. ” I speak Russian.

“You speak govno shit Russian.”

“True, but if you say the wrong thing, I’ll kill you.”

Scorpion could see Gabrilov calculating, his eyes darting. He was putting it together, realizing that he had gotten to Li Qiang.

“What is it you want?” Gabrilov said.

“Call your man,” Scorpion said, coming close and touching the silencer muzzle to his head. Gabrilov took out his cell phone and called him.

A moment later there were two knocks on the door, followed by two more knocks. Scorpion moved beside the door and nodded to Gabrilov, who came and opened the door.

“Ostorozhna!” Gabrilov cried out. Look out! But it was too late. Scorpion had put the Glock to the SVR man’s head while grabbing the man’s pistol with his other hand and twisting it out of his grip. He kicked the door closed and pushed his knees against the back of the knees of the SVR man in front of him, forcing his legs to buckle. He pushed the man facedown to the floor.

“Ne dvigat’sya.” Don’t move, he told the SVR man, glancing at Gabrilov, who started to back away. The look in Scorpion’s eyes stopped him. Covering both of them with the Glock, Scorpion grabbed his pack, took out the plastic ties and, using one hand, tied the SVR man’s feet together and his hands behind him. Then he got up, Gabrilov’s eyes never leaving him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Scorpion said, twisting Gabrilov’s wrist while keeping the gun to his head to force him to sit on the floor. He kicked Gabrilov’s legs apart. “Remember. Zatknis,” he said. Shut up. Then he kicked Gabrilov between his legs as hard as he could.

“Oyyyy! Sukin-sin!” Gabrilov moaned. You son of a bitch!

“You have no idea,” Scorpion said. He crossed back to the SVR man and duct-taped his mouth, eyes, and ears. “Call the other one,” he said.

Holding his groin with one hand, Gabrilov did as he was told. In a few minutes Scorpion had both SVR men bound, taped, and tied together, facing each other so one couldn’t use his hands to try to help the other. He took Gabrilov by the arm, and after checking the hallway, walked him to the room next door, Gabrilov gasping in pain at every step. Once inside, Scorpion used another plastic cuff to tie Gabrilov’s hands behind him and then propped him to sit on the floor against the bed. He sat down in a chair facing Gabrilov.

“Now we can talk,” he said.

“What you want, zhurnalist?” Gabrilov said, spitting out the word like an epithet.

“Who killed Cherkesov?”

Gabrilov shrugged. “How I should know?”

“Pyatov was the bolvan- the idiot, the decoy. You used him to set up Iryna Shevchenko and me so Kozhanovskiy would lose the election. Except it wasn’t you. Russia wanted Cherkesov to be president.”

“Is maybe Kitaiskim.” Chinese.

“Get a new song. That one’s getting old,” Scorpion said. “The Chinese aren’t going to risk a war. Not over a pipeline that’s got to go through Russia anyway. So who did it? Who had something to gain by killing Cherkesov?”

“CIA.” Gabrilov smirked. “You want assassin, look in mirror.”

Scorpion shook his head. “The Americans don’t want a war in Europe any more than the Chinese.” He aimed the Glock at Gabrilov. “No more twenty questions, you mudak son of a bitch. Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

“Even you kill, I not telling,” Gabrilov said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Not even when I tell Yasenevo about the money the Guoanbu’s been depositing in your Pravex account?”

Gabrilov stared at him. Scorpion could see his hands tremble.

“It’s no longer a matter of the SVR and maybe just a bullet in the back of the head, is it? It’s the FSB, you fool,” Scorpion said. He waited. You can’t just lead the Joe all the way to the Promised Land, Koenig used to say. When it comes time for him to drop his pants, you have to let him come to it himself. People would rather die than face who they really are.

“I not know,” Gabrilov said.

Scorpion shook his head. “No good. Everything about the assassination came from you. No matter which way I turn, the compass needle points to you.” He stood up. Time to play his hole card. “I have to end this. Do I contact Checkmate?” he asked, referring to Ivanov, the legendary spymaster of the FSB.

Scorpion waited for Gabrilov to get the picture. The FSB hated the SVR even more than they hated the CIA. He wanted Cherkesov to picture himself being questioned in Lubyanka. Especially about the money from the Chinese. From somewhere in the hotel, he heard the sound of a TV commercial, something about Obolon beer.

“What you want, mister?” Gabrilov said at last.

“No more lies. Who killed Cherkesov?”

Gabrilov licked his lips. He looked lost. “His own peoples,” he said.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“I not sure. You will find.”

Jesus, it made sense, Scorpion thought. A power struggle within Svoboda. He was about to question Gabrilov about what the Russians really wanted when his cell phone vibrated. It was another message from Iryna.

She texted: come now. urgent.

Darnytskyi

Kyiv, Ukraine

“Who’s the ski jacket in the van across the street?” Scorpion asked.

“Danylo. Viktor sent him to-” Iryna started, but couldn’t finish because they were kissing, tongues searching, exploring, tearing off their clothes as if it were the first time; if anything, more intense. Bittersweet too, as if they sensed their time together was coming to an end. Afterward, in bed, she lit a cigarette and told him more.

“You heard there was a riot in the Verkhovna Rada? Anyway, it’s settled. The elections will be postponed for three weeks. It hasn’t been made public yet, but Svoboda is going to announce that Lavro Davydenko will be the party’s new candidate for President.”

“Who’s Davydenko?”

“A nobody. A nonentity. He’s the kind of man that when he enters the room, you get the feeling someone just left,” she said, exhaling smoke angrily.

“Why’d they pick him?”

“He’s Gorobets’s man. If Gorobets sent him to fetch coffee, he’d do it. Ask him a question and he turns to Gorobets and says ‘What do you think, Oleksandr Maxymovych?’ Such a man-not a man, a thing! President! Now of all times!”

“What happened?”

“Didn’t you see the news? As prime minister, Viktor sent a request to NATO to stop the Russian invasion. NATO is meeting in emergency session. Viktor spoke on the phone with the American president. The Americans say they will issue a stern warning to the Russians. A stern warning!” She turned to him “The Americans. Can we trust them?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t do politics,” he hesitated. “Then too

…”

“Then too what?”

“America has its own interests to look out for.”

She stubbed out her cigarette in a jar top she was using as an ashtray.

“I smoke too much.”

“You do,” he said.

She turned to him on her side, her naked breast nudging his arm.

“Did you find out anything?”

“It’s not the Guoanbu. The Chinese made a show of interest in the new gas pipeline to distract the Russians from what they really want: new markets and gas for China.”

“So who killed Cherkesov? The CIA?”

“That’s what the SVR is trying to sell. Except you and I both know it’s not true.”