Steven Gore - Final Target

“And that would be?”

“Hadeon Alexandervich’s ninety-year-old great-aunt.”

“I take it she’s a spry old lady who possesses special skills in hotel management.”

“She possesses special skills at keeping her mouth shut and in staying alive. She’s already outlived the average Ukrainian by thirty years.”

“What’s the layout? We’ll need a plan to get Alla out of there. I don’t want her paying for Matson’s crime with her life.”

“It won’t be easy. The perimeter is composed of high brick walls and wrought-iron fences. She’s in good shape, but I doubt that she could climb over either, especially with them iced over.”

The waiter reappeared and whispered in Ninchenko’s ear.

“The van has arrived,” Ninchenko said, pushing his plate away.

Ninchenko led Gage down a staircase and out to the parking lot where a gray, long-haul delivery van was waiting. It bore red lettering and drawings of fruit and vegetables.

Ninchenko introduced Gage to their driver, Kolya, a slight, middle-aged man with deep-set eyes and the earnest expression typical of uncomplaining men devoted to executing the orders of others.

Ninchenko and Kolya engaged in a short conversation in Russian.

Kolya handed Gage a cell phone and charger and gave a thumbs-up. He then walked around to the back of the van and opened the swinging doors, inviting Gage and Ninchenko to climb in. Once inside Gage found a metal table and two chairs bolted to the floor, along with a small refrigerator, a metal cabinet containing a monitor and recorder, and a case of mineral water.

Ninchenko turned on the video and picked up a joystick. The image on the screen scanned a full 360 degrees.

“Impressive,” Gage said.

“If we’re going to battle State Security, we need to match their tools.”

“What conceals the camera?”

“An air vent on the roof.”

Ninchenko knocked on the blackened divider and the van began to move. Gage sat down while Ninchenko pointed the camera toward the front of the van, giving them a wide-angled view of the road ahead, illuminated by the van’s headlights.

Gage watched the monitor as the van drove down Karl Marx toward the river, following it north past Lenin Street, across a bridge over the Dnepr, then southeast. Bordering the river on each side were aging factories that made the city the heart of the Ukrainian defense industry, starting in Soviet times.

The van slowed after traveling ten blocks. Ninchenko directed the camera toward a concrete two-story building half the size of a football field, then activated the zoom, first focusing on the plant sign, “Electro-Dnepr Joint Stock Company.” Razor wire glinted in the perimeter lights. Towers stood at the corners and a guardhouse protected the main gate.

Ninchenko zoomed in, then swept the walls of the building until slowing to track two uniformed guards and their German shepherd. He then focused on each tower and the guardhouse at the main gate, hesitating at each until he confirmed that it was occupied.

“There’s no way we’re getting in there,” Ninchenko said.

Gage thought for a moment, then punched a string of numbers into his new cell phone.

“Professor Blanchard, this is-”

“Mr. Green, I presume?”

“I’m back to Mr. Gage.”

“What going on?”

“The video amplifiers are about to be installed in Hellfire-type missiles.”

Blanchard’s breath caught. “No…”

“I need you to be close to your phone for the next forty-eight hours.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe just advice. There are too many parts in motion and I’m not yet sure where to aim.”

L ow clouds hanging over Dnepropetrovsk muted the daylight that met Gage and Ninchenko as they walked from the hotel to the van where Kolya was waiting. Smoke from industrial stacks towering above the auto, steel, and missile plants in the distance rose until it encountered the denser atmosphere above, then curled downward, filling the air with a leadish haze and a sour and acidic odor.

Ten minutes later, Kolya pulled to a curb southeast of the city along the route from the airport. Matson and Alla would have to pass them whether they drove first to their hotel or to the Electro-Dnepr Company. Ninchenko stationed one surveillance team a half mile from the plant and another a half mile from the hotel.

At 10:25 Ninchenko’s phone rang. He answered it, listened, then covered the receiver.

“It’s Alla. She’s calling from the Dnepropetrovsk Airport bathroom.”

“Let me talk to her.”

Ninchenko handed the phone to Gage.

“Are you okay?”

“A little nervous,” Alla whispered, her voice brittle and edgy. “I’ve had too much time to think-hold on…It’s okay. Just someone passing by outside.”

“I need to know the car you’ll be in.”

“Gravilov’s driver brought the G55 from Kiev overnight. Gravilov will meet us at the hotel, then we’ll go to the plant. What about you?”

“We’ll be close by, but it’s better if you don’t know the vehicle we’re in.” Gage didn’t want her inadvertently drawing attention to them. “Any talk about price?”

“That’s close to being settled.” Alla’s tone firmed, as if strengthened by her accomplishment in finding out. “Stuart is still telling them that he has to fly back to London to get the code-and they’re not happy. I’m pretty sure he’ll break down and tell them he’s got it with him, just to get this over with. But he’s afraid they’ll try to force him to return the money after they get it. The result is that he’s starting to flail around.”

“Just tell him you know how Ukrainians think and you’ll guide him through it.”

“I will?” She laughed softly. “I don’t remember a class in arms trafficking at my college.”

“It was an elective.” Gage gave Ninchenko a thumbs-up, as if to say that Alla had recovered the confidence they’d originally seen. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.” He glanced at Ninchenko. “What’s the area around the hotel like?”

“It’s on a large lot, facing a wide street,” Ninchenko said. “The back borders a large park. Lots of trees and benches. There are always people out there, lovers and drunks, even in winter.”

Gage spoke into the phone. “Ask for a lower floor room facing the park. That’ll be the easiest route if we need to get you out of there.”

He confirmed that his new number was saved in her phone’s memory, then disconnected.

“Matson is getting a little spooked,” Gage told Ninchenko.

“So you’ll need to tell him how to commit the crime?”

“Looks like it.”

Ninchenko raised his eyebrows, a little grin on his face. “You know any Yiddish?”

“A few words.”

“You know shmegegi?”

“No.”

“It’s like putz.”

Gage laughed. “You use that one over here, too?”

“We’re a lot closer to the source than Brooklyn.”

Twenty minutes later, Ninchenko and Gage were parked in the van a half block away from the Grand Domus with a view of the driveway and entrance. The white building, set back about fifteen yards from the street on a half-acre lot, looked more like a small townhouse complex than a hotel. Tall brown-brick apartment buildings flanked it.

Kolya joined them in the back. He curled up in the corner and fell asleep.

A few minutes later, a blue four-door Opel sped past, then pulled to the curb between them and the hotel, but neither of the two men inside got out. They slid down in their seats. Gage watched their heads swiveling, attentive to their surroundings. There were no other vehicles near them on the street.