Steven Gore - Final Target

Ninchenko returned ten minutes later and Gage rolled down the window.

“You’re right,” Ninchenko said, leaning down toward Gage and glancing back toward the entrance, “Matson met with two air force generals in the bar, then they headed off to the sauna. They must be pretty far along in the deal. They wouldn’t have taken Matson with them unless they considered him part of the team.”

“Who are they?”

“Traitors. They raided their own squadron and sold off a dozen MIG fighters to Iraq, then tried to keep all the money for themselves. They must’ve kicked back a lot of it to Hadeon Alexandervich after they were caught in order to stay out of jail.”

Ninchenko’s cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said, “The plate 0087 isn’t used by the State Property Fund, but by the Ministry of the Military Complex.”

He disconnected and reentered the van. “Do you think Matson brought the devices and code with him to Ukraine?”

“Probably. They’re easy to carry. The video and audio detectors are each about the size of a VHS cassette, and all of the documentation fits on a DVD. Schematics, software, everything. I suspect that Alla is guarding it all in their hotel room.”

Ninchenko’s eyes focused on the medical center. “Those generals may be crooks, but they’re smart. Their mistake was in their greed, not in their cunning.” He looked at Gage. “Is Matson smart enough not to get taken?”

Gage didn’t answer immediately. “Smart” wasn’t the right word. “It’s more a matter of instinct. He knows sales better than anything else and his instinct will make him hold something back until he gets at least part of the money.”

“And that would be?”

“The software. The code that gets embedded into the hardware. If I were him, I’d let them examine the devices and look at the schematics. That way they’ll know it’s real, but he keeps complete control over it because it can’t be reverse-engineered.”

Ninchenko said something in Russian to the driver, then glanced at Gage. “Let’s go. The others will stay with him. We’ll set up along the road so we can follow him back to the city.”

Gage took a last look at the medical center and then said, “Maybe we should tell Slava what’s going on.”

Slava was waiting for them in his Land Rover a half mile down a forest road on the outskirts of Kiev.

Gage climbed into the backseat with Slava, and Ninchenko got in front.

Slava reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a copy of the arrival card Matson submitted to Ukrainian immigration.

“Interesting thing,” Slava said, handing it to Gage. “My people get this at airport.”

Gage read it over. “Matson is traveling under a Panamanian passport and he’s using Alla’s last name. He can disappear anytime he wants.”

“You underestimate this man?”

“Maybe.” Gage passed it back. “But not who he’s involved with.”

Ninchenko related to Slava what they had discovered at the sanatorium.

“Does the meeting with the generals mean that the deal is done?” Gage asked.

Slava shook his head. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Not simple to do.”

Ninchenko nodded. “Since it would be a national security matter for the U.S., it becomes a diplomatic issue for Ukraine. Take Israel. If SatTek targeting devices were discovered in missiles landing on Haifa, it would lean on the U.S. and the U.S. would not only cut off foreign aid, but would pressure the World Bank and the IMF to cut off loans, and soon the poorest of Ukrainians would be starving.”

Slava pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Many more people in Independence Square if that happen.”

“Does that mean Ukraine wouldn’t buy it?” Gage asked.

“Not necessarily,” Ninchenko said. “Ukraine has only one reason for maintaining a defense industry. Export. The world only wants two things from Ukraine: steel and weapons. And that will be true even if the opposition takes power.”

“Ukraine not make radar and missiles because we think somebody attack us or we attack somebody,” Slava said. “Ukraine do because other people attack each other.”

“So the decision to buy would need to be made high up.”

“The highest. All of these decisions, what to buy, what to sell, are made by the president. Gravilov would take the deal to Hadeon Alexandervich, then Hadeon Alexandervich would take it to his father. It is his calculation how much diplomatic pressure the country will be able to withstand when the U.S. finds out.”

“And who to kill to hide president part in deal,” Slava added.

The words snapped the subject back from the abstractions of diplomacy to an image of Matson lying dead in a Kiev alley. Gage looked first at Slava, then at Ninchenko.

“Meaning what?”

“Remember when the president ordered the sale of the Kolchuga radar system to Iraq?” Ninchenko asked. “It was during the arms embargo against Saddam Hussein.”

“Sure. Through Jordan.”

“You know what happened to the link between the president and the deal?” Ninchenko asked.

“Malev. His name Malev, Valeri Ivanovich,” Slava said. “Head of State Arms Export Agency.”

“Murdered. Three days after the U.S. started investigating. It was made to look like an auto accident.”

“Murder not solved. Investigation end.” Slava spoke in a tone that reported a rule, not an exception. “Matson not understand that they always break chain.”

Lovers’ quarrel,” Ninchenko said after he disconnected his cell phone. He and Gage were parked a block away from the Lesya Palace. “Alla just ran out of the hotel restaurant where they were having lunch.”

“What did Matson do?”

“Apparently just turned red and sat there eating his borscht.”

“Any idea what the argument was about?”

“The only thing Slava’s people heard was her crying as she got into the elevator.”

“It’s out of character. Gangsters don’t cry.” Gage thought for a moment. “It may have something to do with the meeting at Puscha Voditsa. Maybe a little you-don’t-trust-me-with-the-money manipulation.” He glanced over at Ninchenko. “I’m not sure we understand all the ways she may fit in.” Gage smiled. “And what acting school she went to.”

Gage recalled Slava telling him in Geneva that he and Alla’s father had sat together on an underworld tribunal.

“Slava and Petrov Tarasov served on a skhodka last year. Maybe he can pry some information out of her father without alerting him that we know what she’s up to.”

After Ninchenko made the call to Slava, Gage asked, “Do you know where Gravilov and Hadeon Alexandervich are this afternoon?”

“Gravilov has been in his apartment since he arrived in Kiev. The radio reported that Hadeon Alexandervich was at Rima Casino until 5 A. M. I expect he’s still sleeping it off.”

“Sounds as though the Destroyer likes to party.”

Ninchenko shook. “Not party. Humiliate women. The strippers at Rima dread him. They never know if he’ll stuff thousands of dollars in their thongs or urinate on them. Or both-and his father isn’t much better. Once he made all of the cabinet ministers strip to their underwear at a banquet and sing the national anthem.”

“Why would they put up with that?”

“You mean why would they pay to do it? It costs anywhere between a million and five million dollars to buy a spot in the Cabinet of Ministers, depending on how much money can be made in the position. Energy and defense are the most lucrative, so they’re the most expensive. One energy minister skimmed eighty million dollars in just one year. Whenever the president needs a little money, he just fires an official and sells the job to someone else.”