Daniel Silva - The defector

“When was it taken?”

“Midday. The analysts can see tracks going in both directions.”

“Shift changes?”

“I suppose so. Or reinforcements.”

“What about communications?”

“The dacha is electrified, but NSA is having trouble locating a landline telephone. They’re certain someone in there is using a sat phone. They’re also picking up cellular transmissions.”

“Can they get to them?”

“They’re working on it.”

“What do we know about the property itself?”

“It’s controlled by a holding company based in Moscow.”

“Who controls the holding company?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ivan Kharkov?”

“But of course,” said Carter.

“When did he buy the land?”

“Early nineties, not long after the fall of the Soviet Union.”

“Why in God’s name did Ivan buy a parcel of birch trees and swampland a hundred miles outside Moscow?”

“He was probably able to get it for a couple of kopeks and a song.”

“He was a rich man by then. Why this place?”

“CIA and NSA have many capabilities, Gabriel, but reading Ivan’s mind isn’t one of them.”

“How big is the property?”

“Several hundred acres.”

“What’s he doing with it?”

“Apparently nothing.”

Gabriel rose from his seat and walked over to the screen. He stood before it in silence, hand pressed to his chin, head tilted to one side, as if inspecting a canvas. His gaze was focused on a section of the woods about two hundred yards from the dacha. Though the woods were covered in snow, the aerial view showed the presence of three parallel depressions in the topography, each precisely the same length. They were too uniform to have occurred naturally. Carter anticipated Gabriel’s next question.

“The analysts haven’t been able to figure out what those are. The working assumption is that they were caused by some kind of construction project. They found several more a short distance away.”

“Is there a photo?”

Carter pressed a button on the console. The next photo showed a similar pattern: three parallel depressions, overgrown by birch trees. Gabriel cast a long glance at Shamron and returned to his seat. Carter switched off his laser pointer and laid it on the table.

“It’s clear from the vehicles and the presence of so many guards that someone important is staying at that dacha. Whether it is Chiara and Grigori…” Carter’s voice trailed off. “I suppose the only way to know for certain is to put eyes on the ground. The question is, are you willing to go in there based on the word of a Russian assassin and master kidnapper?” Carter’s eyes moved from face to face. “I don’t suppose any of you would like to go into a little more detail about how you were able to track down Petrov so quickly?”

The question was greeted by a heavy silence. Carter turned to Gabriel.

“Should I assume Sarah took part in the commission of a crime of some sort?”

“Several.”

“Where is she now?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“With Petrov, I take it?”

Gabriel nodded.

“I’d like her back. As for Petrov, I’d like him, too-when you’re finished with him, of course. He might be able to help us close a couple of outstanding cases.”

Carter returned to the satellite photo. “It seems to me you have two options. Option number one: go to the Kremlin, give the Russians the evidence of Ivan’s involvement, and ask them to intervene.”

It was Shamron who answered. “The Russians have made it abundantly clear they have no intention of helping us. Besides, going to the Kremlin is the same as going to Ivan. If we raise this matter with the Russian president-”

“-the Russian president will tell Ivan,” Gabriel interjected. “And Ivan will respond by killing Grigori and my wife.”

Carter nodded in agreement. “I suppose that leaves option two: going into Russia and bringing them out yourself. Frankly, the president and I anticipated that would be your choice. And he’s prepared to offer a substantial amount of help.”

Shamron spoke two words: “Kachol v’lavan.”

Carter gave a faint smile. “Forgive me, Ari. I speak nearly as many languages as you, but I’m afraid Hebrew isn’t one of them.”

“ Kachol v’lavan ,” Gabriel repeated. “It means ‘blue and white,’ the colors of the Israeli flag. But for dinosaurs like Ari, it means much more. It means we do things for ourselves, and we don’t rely on others to help us with problems of our own making.”

“But this problem really isn’t of your own making. You went after Ivan because we asked you to. The president feels we bear some responsibility for what’s happened. And the president believes in taking care of his friends.”

“What kind of help is the president offering?”

“For understandable reasons, we won’t be able to help you execute the actual rescue. Since the United States and Russia still have several thousand nuclear missiles pointed at each other, it might not be wise for us to be shooting at each other on Russian soil. But we can help in other ways. For starters, we can get you into the country in a way that doesn’t land you back in the cellars of Lubyanka.”

“And?”

“We can get you out again. Along with the hostages, of course.”

“How?”

Carter dealt an American passport onto the table. It was burgandy colored rather than blue and stamped with the word OFFICIAL.

“It’s one step below a diplomatic passport. You won’t have complete immunity, but it will definitely make the Russians think twice before laying a finger on you.”

Gabriel opened the cover. For now, the information page contained no photograph, only a name: AARON DAVIS.

“What does Mr. Davis do?”

“He works for the White House Office of Presidential Advance. As you probably know, the president will be in Moscow on Thursday and Friday for the emergency G-8 summit. Most of the White House advance team is already on the ground. I’ve arranged for a late addition to the team.”

“Aaron Davis?”

Carter nodded.

“How’s he going in?”

“The car plane.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the unofficial name of the C-17 Globemaster that brings the presidential limousine. It also carries a large detail of Secret Service agents. Aaron Davis will board the plane during a refueling stop in Shannon, Ireland. Six hours after that, he’ll land at Sheremetyevo Airport. A U.S. Embassy vehicle will then take him to the Hotel Metropol.”

“And the escape hatch?”

“Same route, opposite direction. On Friday evening, after the final session of the summit, the Russian president will be hosting a gala dinner. The president is scheduled to return to Washington at the conclusion, along with the rest of his delegation and the traveling White House press corps. The buses depart the Metropol at 10 p.m. sharp. They’ll go straight onto the tarmac at Sheremetyevo and board the planes. We’ll have false passports for Chiara and Grigori just in case. But in reality, the Russians probably won’t be checking passports.”

“When will I arrive in Moscow?”

“The car plane is due to land at Sheremetyevo a few minutes after 4 a.m. Thursday. By my calculation, that leaves you forty-two hours on the ground in Russia. All you have to do is find some way of getting Chiara and Grigori out of that dacha and back to the Metropol by 10 p.m. Friday.”

“Without being arrested or killed by Ivan’s army of thugs.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help with that. You also have a more immediate problem. Ivan’s emissary is expecting a reply to his demands tomorrow afternoon in Paris. Unless you can convince him to push back the deadline by several days…”