Peter Kirsanow - Second Strike

There was a short rap at the door and Vasiliev entered.

“Piotr Egorshin is dead.”

Mikhailov showed no reaction. His face was impassive. Vasiliev had seen the look many times before. It wasn’t indifference. It was cold, shrewd calculation. The ultimate poker face. Mikhailov’s mind was assessing the implications and formulating a strategy. Several questions and commands would be forthcoming.

Vasiliev said, “He was found in Palinieva’s apartment a short time ago. He’d been shot in the head.”

“Stetchkin,” Mikhailov said.

“Evidently.”

“I want to know who Stetchkin commissioned to kill Egorshin and where that person is within the next thirty minutes. Direct FSB to send me transcripts of all of Stetchkin’s communications—whether by landlines, cell phones, laptop—for the last twenty-four hours. I want transcripts for the communications of all of his principal assistants also. Tell FSB Stetchkin is not to leave their sight. And then tell Stetchkin to be here at precisely 7:00 A.M.”

“Anything else?”

“Does Egorshin’s death affect our plans in any way?”

“Stetchkin was right. Everything is in place. Egorshin’s death is immaterial to the success of the event.”

“I told him he could take no action against Egorshin. I was clear about that.” Mikhailov paused. “Where is Palinieva?”

“She was the one who found Egorshin’s body in her apartment upon returning from a meeting. She placed the call to Moscow police. I assume she is still at the apartment.”

“Make sure there is sufficient security with her at all times. She is to be kept perfectly safe. And Stetchkin must not be permitted anywhere near her.”

Vasiliev nodded and began to leave.

“Wait.”

Vasiliev stopped, turned, and nodded deferentially.

“Who will execute the event now that Egorshin is dead?”

“It is my understanding it is a Major Volkov, Egorshin’s second.”

“I assume he is highly competent; otherwise, he would not have been in such a position.”

“All reports indicate he should be more than capable of handling the task. He is not in Egorshin’s class, but Egorshin trained Volkov well. It is my understanding that Egorshin planned for such a contingency—not necessarily his death, of course, but some form of incapacity or circumstance preventing him from personally handling the matter. He was very thorough. In fact, Volkov is only one of three individuals Egorshin trained to act in case of an emergency.”

“Very good. Have Volkov and the other two individuals Egorshin trained—what are their names?”

“Major Gennady Tokarsky and Major Igor Starpov.”

“Have all three of them report here no later than 7:00 A.M.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Where is Bor at this moment?”

“I believe he is at the embassy in Washington.”

“Contact him. If he is not at the embassy, find him—and have him contact me. No one, either here or at the embassy, must know. Alpha protocol.”

“Understood.”

“To whom do you think Stetchkin assigned the task of killing Egorshin?”

“Unknown. Stetchkin has used a variety of individuals in the past. On occasion, depending on the situation, he has used vory. ”

“He would never do so in this case. He knows very well vory would never undertake an assignment such as that. Who did he consider his best?”

Vasiliev’s eyes narrowed in thought. “It is rumored that his favorite person is Eva Kuznetsova.”

“She is former SVR?”

“Retired, but not so retired. She has a unique ability to get close to her targets. She favors small-caliber handguns.”

“I want her located also. Have her watched. Tell FSB to put enough personnel on her that she could not possibly disappear. Inform them to be prepared to eliminate her if I so choose.”

“Of course.”

Mikhailov shook his head. “Reckless and unnecessary. Unconscionable. When the event is passed, we will purge all of the undisciplined fools who put themselves before Russia. They cannot be tolerated. We will need leaders who act only for the greater good of what will be the most dominant power in the world.”

MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,

AUGUST 17, 3:20 P.M. EDT

“What’s your next move, Mikey?” Dwyer asked.

Garin shook his head. “I thought I might be able to get some answers by flushing out Bor’s people, but now I have more questions than answers. And I’m not any closer to finding Bor.”

They were seated in Dwyer’s library with Max, Bear, and Diesel. The others were in the kitchen eating chili. Diesel was lying across Garin’s feet, asleep but with her ears perked straight up. Dwyer pointed at Garin’s arm. “Simple five-step plan, Mikey. Let Coe take care of that for you before it gets infected. Then get some chili, fuel up. Then put the big brain in gear. Then do some of your famous death-and-destruction routine. Then beer.”

Garin pulled the paper with the series of letters and numbers from his pocket, leaned forward, and handed it to Dwyer. Diesel made contented groaning noises.

“Got this off of one of Bor’s men. At least I think he was one of Bor’s. What do you make of that?”

Dwyer studied the paper for a few seconds, head cocked to the side. Then he looked up pensively at the ceiling before looking dramatically at Garin and returning the paper to him with a flourish. “No clue.”

“I’ve got a mental block,” Garin said. “It looks like something I’ve seen before, but I just can’t place it. Maybe one of your tech guys can run it and see if we get any hits.”

“First, let’s get Ike in here to properly dress that monstrosity on your arm. Then I’ll scan that sheet and send it to Quantico while you eat.” Dwyer pointed to Diesel lying contentedly at Garin’s feet. “You want her? She seems to have taken a liking to you. Not surprising. You’re both unmanageable SOBs. In her case, almost literally.”

“Dan, I might need help tracking and stopping Bor.”

“So the president’s not going to officially reconstitute Omega—at least not without Congress. That’s not surprising. In fact, it would be astonishing if he did. Can you tell me what he is willing to do?”

“No.”

“Vague assurances, at least?”

“I can’t make any representations on his behalf.”

Dwyer nodded. “I understand. Once again, if things go south, we’re on our own.”

“Not necessarily, Dan.”

“Mike, I think the world of Marshall. He’s a stand-up guy, unlike his predecessor. Hell, unlike most in this town. But you’ve been in this situation more than just about anyone. You know when the operation blows up, everyone on the White House staff is going to insist that the president plead ignorance. And for the greater good, he’s got to. Because it’s not about his character or honesty or commitment to you. It’s about what’s best for the country. The country can’t afford to think that the president of the United States authorizes secret kill teams—and make no mistake, that’s how it will be portrayed. So even though I believe Marshall’s got the best of intentions, we’re on our own. Again.”

“You’re such a cynic.”

“But I’m way ahead of you, Mikey, as usual. I polled a few of our guys I know I can trust. Asked them whether anyone was interested in embarking on a kill-or-be-killed mission with the Myth, the Legend, the Man All Women Want and All Men Want to Be, to save democracy, the country, and the American way of life. And inexplicably, a bunch of them raised their hands.” Dwyer sported a quizzical look. “Now that I think of it, it’s pretty clear we need to do a better job vetting these guys for mental stability during the hiring process. Anyway, I picked Ike, Ty, and Congo before you even got here.”