Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“This is ridiculous,” said Harvath. “ Gary must have been questioned up and down afterward.”

“He was and he appeared very distraught over her death. It seemed genuine. It wasn’t until he saw a copy of the report from Heide’s supervisor that he started talking. At first, he said that he didn’t want to sully his wife’s good name. A couple of days later, Gary claimed that Heide had been growing paranoid before her death, that she had even been taking medication for it. She didn’t know whom she could trust and she had even started disbelieving him. It was a difficult scenario for us. It washe said, she said, but she was dead and couldn’t corroborate or deny anything Gary was telling us. We debriefed him extensively, but everything held up. A private doctor even confirmed that he had been treating Heide for paranoia and depression and that he had also been prescribing pills for her. Case closed.”

“So what’s the problem?” prodded Harvath. “You don’t actually think he was up to something he shouldn’t have been?”

CIA Director Vaile took a deep breath before responding, “At this point we have no idea what to think.”

“All of this because there’s been a string of murders of Army Intelligence operatives who were in Berlin at the same time Gary was? While I’ll grant you that the murders are obviously connected to each other, you’ve failed to make the biggest connection of all- Gary to the victims.”

“Actually,” replied Driehaus, “we have made the connection.”

Harvath was stunned. “What is it?”

“Several of the victims placed calls to Gary right before they were killed.”

PETROZAVODSK, RUSSIA

Impossible!” growled Sergei Stavropol into his satellite phone, careful not to draw the attention of the various technicians and scientists working around him. “I don’t care if that body is inside a wolf, a bear, or some farmer’s hungry pig, I want you to find it, cut it open and bring me the bones. Do you understand me?”

Milesch Popov, the twenty-two-year-old, knife-scarred entrepreneur on the other end of the line, was pissed off. Who the fuck did this man think he was talking to? “You paid me to retrieve the cars from the lodge in Zvenigorod. I could have sold those cars for a lot of money, but our deal was for them to disappear, permanently, and that’s what I made happen. Then, you call me and ask me to goback to Zvenigorod to see what the police were up to. They were everywhere, but I went anyway and I took a look like you asked me to. That I did for free, out of good customer service, but what you’re asking me now is out of the question because I-”

Stavropol cut to the chase and interrupted the young Moscow Mafioso, “How much?”

“This isn’t about money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the new Russia. Everything is about money.”

“Stolen cars are not exactly in the same category as dead bodies,” said Popov, lowering his voice and readying himself for a tough negotiation.

“You are trying my patience, Milesch. I am a busy man. Name your price,” demanded Stavropol.

Popov thought about it for a moment. In his line of work, he did not get to deal with many highly placed people like Sergei Stavropol. Whatever this was about, it was obviously serious. The papers had been full of the news of the disappearance of three generals and the discovery of two of the bodies behind the old hunting lodge in Zvenigorod. Popov knew his client had had something to do with it and that made the negotiation all the more dangerous. Then again, Popov had learned that men like Stavropol respect only men who respect themselves and set limits. “If I locate your missing package,” said Popov, “I want five hundred thousand dollars U.S. plus expenses.”

“You ungrateful, greedy little fuck,” roared Stavropol. “I should cut your balls off!”

“Watch it, old man,” responded Popov. “You don’t want to give yourself a heart attack.”

“Such insolence! Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m the guy who’s going to help you sleep at night. My guess is that until you figure out what happened to the unaccounted-for Karganov, a good night’s rest is going to be a little elusive. Am I correct?”

Stavropol said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” said Popov. “I want half of my money up front and the other-”

“No. I will give you ten thousand dollars in advance, the rest upon successful delivery of the package.”

“Now who’s being greedy?”

“Twenty thousand in advance then, and you cover your own expenses,” answered Stavropol.

“Seventy-five thousand, plus expenses, or I take the police to the lake where the dead generals’ cars were mysteriously submerged.”

There was a very long pause before Stavropol responded, “Fine, you have a deal. But, Milesch?”

“Yes?”

“When this is all over, you’d better disappear somewhere far, far away.”

And with that, the line went dead.

AIDATA ISLAND, GULF OF FINLAND

From Stockholm, Frank Leighton had taken the overnight ferry to Helsinki. Though he could well afford a first-class cabin with his credit card, he elected to take a lower-profile cabin in second class instead. This was no pleasure cruise and the less conspicuous, the better.

The city of Kotka, Finland, had the largest shipping port in the entire country. It was located approximately one hundred kilometers east of Helsinki along the coast of the Gulf of Finland, facing the Baltic Sea. Kotkansaari Island formed the heart of the city and Leighton knew it well. He knew its bars, its brothels and every place that down-on-their-luck men would congregate.

The rusted trawler and battered dinghy were owned by a struggling fisherman from the nearby coastal village of Björnvik, and was named theRebecca. With the sizable amount of American money Leighton had unearthed outside of Helsinki the day before, he was able to convince the weathered sea captain to part with his aging vessel and sail into early retirement.

The old man wasn’t stupid. This was the chance of a lifetime, the answer to all of his prayers. The fishing had been getting steadily worse in the Baltic, forcing the fishermen to engage in dangerous and illegal forays into neighboring territorial waters, not only to poach fish, but for smuggling as well. Though the old man had never engaged in any illegal activity before in his life, he was definitely not getting any younger. TheRebecca wasn’t getting any younger either.

With the transaction complete, the captain handed over the keys to theRebecca and cut his crew loose. When Leighton mentioned that Spain was very nice this time of year, the old man was smart enough to respond that he had always wanted to see the place and would be booking a flight right away.

It had taken Leighton the better part of the morning and into the afternoon to purchase the supplies he needed. When the small island came into view, the sun was already beginning to set.

The Gulf of Finland was dotted with numerous small, uninhabited islands. Aidata Island, Finnish forbarrier, was aptly named as it was surrounded by jagged rocks and unforgiving sandbars, making it virtually impossible to get to by boat. Leighton coaxed the trawler through a narrow channel on the far side of the island. The passage gave way into a tiny inlet, invisible from the open sea, which was just large enough to moor theRebecca.

The rocky, windswept island was completely deserted. Even the sea birds seemed to avoid it. Its stark terrain was punctuated only by small scrub trees and sickly patches of grass.

After drawing the dinghy alongside the trawler, he loaded his supplies and once again checked theRebecca ’s winch. The last thing he needed was for it to snap or become damaged when he returned with his precious cargo. Satisfied that all was in order, he climbed down the rope ladder into the tiny rowboat and rowed himself to shore.