Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

So, as he did with everything else in his life, Chernin had planned and prepared meticulously. A pessimist when it came to human nature, Chernin anticipated that there was a fair chance he would be betrayed by Park. Chernin, therefore, had done three things.

First, using a series of fake identities he had created over the years, he wired equal amounts of the bonus he had received to accounts in Zurich, Nassau, and Montreal. He had amassed a considerable sum from both the project and general frugality over the years — enough to preserve his anonymity and live very comfortably for the remainder of his life.

Second, using a different series of false identities, he purchased several airline tickets — each with multiple connections to camouflage his ultimate destination, a place that had held his fascination since early adulthood. It had all the amenities he required — chief among them impenetrable obscurity.

Third, he coordinated his escape with Mansur. After providing Mansur with the details of the project earlier in the night, he accepted Mansur’s offer of a Puros Indios and the two walked onto the balcony for a smoke while Park examined Mansur’s rather forlorn collection of poetry inside the apartment. Chernin quietly explained his suspicions that he was being set up by Park along with either Russian or Iranian intelligence — perhaps both. As Chernin expected, Mansur already had a plan in place for getting them both out of the country, if, in fact, Chernin’s suspicions proved accurate. The entire discussion on the balcony took only a few minutes. The two had agreed upon a code to activate the plan, extinguished their cigars, and rejoined Park in the living room.

Chernin climbed from the backseat of the Subaru and punched in a number on his cell. Mansur, having heard the gunshots from the street below, picked up immediately. If the caller was Chernin, he knew he would hear him utter a single word.

“Run.”

MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA

JULY 16 9:00 P.M. EDT

Dwyer took Garin’s call in the subbasement.

“Your timing couldn’t be better,” Dwyer said.

“Been trying to reach you for a while. I need you to check something for me.”

“Before getting into that, you should know that Olivia Perry is going to try to take some heat off of you. She or Brandt is going to tell the FBI your side of the story. No guarantees that it will cause them to go in a different direction, but it will give them something to think about.”

“Good. Good. What about Delta?”

“That, as you might expect, is a bit more complicated. But she’s going to do what she can,” Dwyer replied.

“And what does she want in return?”

“A meeting. She hopes you might be able to shed some light on what the Russians and Iranians are up to. And before you start questioning my sanity, I think you should take the meeting. It’s a calculated risk. But you take those all the time.”

“In this case the risk might be too high.”

“Then focus on the reward. You get the help of the national security advisor. Risk-reward, buddy. Besides, you don’t have many options, and no good ones.”

Silence, punctuated by a sigh. “You’re right,” Garin agreed, surprising Dwyer. “I need allies and it sounds like Brandt and Perry want to form a coalition. And they’re right to suspect the Russians and Iranians are up to no good.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Various streams of information. I’ll tell Ms. Perry when I see her.”

“Does any of it involve Taras Bor?”

“Bor?” Garin asked, a wisp of concern in his voice. “How did that name come up?”

“Clint Laws. You were right — he was trying to tell us something. Apparently, the Iranians who shot Laws report to this Bor. I’m going to have my people run his name first thing in the morning.”

“Let me give you a head start. He’s Russian. Former Spetsnaz, Vympel unit. As formidable as they come. Supposedly has a scary IQ. I’ve heard he acts at the specific direction of the Russian president. An assassin, but more than that. He ran terrorist cells in Germany and specializes in regime destabilization. This is not good,” Garin said quietly.

“Heard from whom?”

“Contacts at GSG-9. You probably know some of them,” Garin responded, referring to the highly regarded German special operations unit. “I’ll fill in Ms. Perry when I meet her and she can give you the details. But I suggest you have your people run the name right now and gather all of the information they can possibly get. I don’t think we can wait.”

Dwyer had known Garin for nearly fifteen years. He had observed him in situations that would make some men freeze and others panic. Throughout, Garin had remained unflappable. It was a quality that helped keep those around him calm and focused on the task at hand. Hearing concern in Garin’s tone was an unfamiliar experience, one that made Dwyer uneasy.

“Just how serious do you think the situation is?” Dwyer asked.

“I don’t have enough information to say for sure,” Garin dodged.

“Right now, ” Dwyer insisted. “With what you know, on a scale of one to ten. How serious?”

“Russians. Bor running Iranians. My entire team wiped out. Look, buddy, you and I don’t deal in tooth fairies and unicorns. I’d say it’s pretty damn serious.”

Dwyer rubbed the back of his neck and abruptly changed direction, a show of resolve, as much to himself as to Garin. “What do you need me to do?”

“I got a flash drive off one of the Iranians. It may be nothing, but I need the contents checked. I don’t want to insert it into any of the network computers you have here at the house in case of malware. I’d like one of the tech guys to analyze it and tell me what’s on it.”

“Not a problem. I’ll come right over and pick it up.”

“No, you won’t. You’re smarter than that. Right now you’re probably the most surveilled man in the US. If you come here, the FBI, and who knows who else, will follow. So that can’t happen. Hell, I’m still having a hard time accepting that your phones are secure.”

“My systems are impenetrable. If someone tries to listen in—”

“I know. They’ll end up listening to the French prime minister placing an order for truffles with his mistress’s chocolatier,” Garin finished. “I’ll talk to you on your internal lines, but as far as getting you the flash drive, I’ll give it to Ms. Perry when I meet her and ask her to give it to you. How soon do you think she and I can meet?”

“She’s pretty anxious. You name the time.”

Garin needed to get out of his muddy clothes, shower, and grab a quick meal. “Three hours?”

“Midnight it is. Nice. Very dramatic. If that’s not good for her, I’ll call you back. She lives in Crystal City, so she can get to the house pretty easily.”

“Not here. Although I doubt she’s being watched, I don’t want to take the chance of her coming here.” Garin thought for a moment. “Make a reservation at your favorite hotel. Have Ms. Perry call you with the room assignment after she checks in. Then call me back with a room number.”

“You don’t want her to come to the house, but you’re going to march into the highest-profile hotel in Washington,” Dwyer declared, shaking his head.

“Would you look for me there?”

Dwyer conceded to himself that the man had a point. “By the way, I take from your comment about where you got the flash drive that there may be a few more room-temperature Iranians about?”

“There may be,” Garin replied warily, wondering where Dwyer was headed.

“Piece of advice. Try not to mention that to Olivia when you meet her.”