I Minus 72 (27 page)

The next morning, Grant was up early and was
standing at the bay window overlooking the snow-covered street,
drinking a cup of coffee. His thoughts were on the mission and how
he didn’t feel they were making enough progress. With less than
three weeks to go before the inauguration, he still didn’t know who
Vladimir was or how to find him. He went over the things he did
know: Vladimir was a code name. The name he used on his original
employment papers was false and his real name was unknown. Other
than a very old fictional Moscow address, where he lived was
unknown.

They only had one lead—the guy in the
basement—and he might die before they could question him. Even if
he lived and was willing to give answers, he may not know anything.
He might just be a killer for hire. If so, almost certainly
Vladimir had paid for this hit in cash and this guy would never
know where he lived. Their only lead could be a dead end. Then
what? Keep searching in Moscow? Where? Go back home? And do what?
Damn! He had nothing but questions. His frustration was evident on
his face when Sam walked into the room. His back was to her so she
stood there for a moment, watching him.

“Grant, you look so tired and worried.
Didn’t sleep well?”

He turned away from the window to face her.
“Oh, sorry. I was deep in thought. Just frustrated by our lack of
progress. I don’t like failing . . . especially in this case.”

“Well, maybe we’ll learn something by
questioning that guy. I understand the CIA interrogator will be
asking the questions in Russian. Hopefully that’ll help,” Sam said.
“And another thing – I’m not sure I want to be there when you
question him. I’ve heard the stories about that stuff. Really don’t
want to be part of it.”

Grant nodded. “Probably for the best.” Then
he changed the subject. “Ready for some breakfast? Coffee’s fresh
and strong. Garcia will probably be here inside of an hour and then
we’ll get a determination from the doc if that guy can talk yet. I
did check to make sure he survived the night. I understand the doc
gave him drugs last night to keep him asleep and the nurse said he
didn’t wake up.”

Sam fried some fatty, bacon-looking stuff
they found in the refrigerator and made some toast while Grant
scrambled four eggs. He remembered all safe houses he’d stayed in
through the years and none of them were as grand as this. Wonder
why they maintained such an elaborate dacha? Probably for political
informants or former Soviet higher-ups who wanted to defect. Hell,
they’ve probably had this since the old Soviet Union days, he
decided.

Garcia didn’t show until about 9:30.

“Where the hell you been?” asked Grant.

“Uh, just had some stuff to take care of.
What’s the status on our John Doe downstairs?”

Grant decided to let that pass. “He’s still
kicking, but I don’t know when we can question him. The doc should
be here soon to examine him and let us know,” Grant replied.

Garcia said, “Yeah, the doc and the
interrogator are riding together. They planned to leave the embassy
shortly after I did. They should be here any minute.”

“Good. The sooner we get some information
the better. Coffee’s in the kitchen.” Grant said, without offering
to get it for him.

I agree, Garcia thought as he headed into
the kitchen. Things were finally starting to move for him. Now that
he was involved, he’d slyly work to stay a step ahead of Thurmond.
He had to get to Vladimir before Thurmond. He had his orders.

Grant heard the front door open and close
and said, “That sounds like them coming in now. Grab a cup of
coffee and let’s get downstairs.”

When they got to the basement, the doctor
was leaning over the wounded man listening to his chest with a
stethoscope. When Grant asked how he was doing, the doctor just
held up his hand for silence and continued his examination. He
listened, poked, prodded, and looked at the gunshot wounds
carefully. All in all he took about fifteen minutes. Grant, Sam and
Garcia waited impatiently, but kept silent. Finally he turned to
the trio and said, “Looks like he might make it. He’s still not out
of the woods, but I think you can ask him a few questions. The only
ground rule is that if I say stop, you stop. Clear?” the doctor
said firmly.

“You got it,” Grant said to the doctor, then
turned to the interrogator and said, “We need to find out who this
guy is working for. If it’s an individual, we need his name and
contact information. If it’s an organization, we need to know which
organization and his contact information within that organization.
I also want to know where they were taking Sam. They clearly had
some place in mind and I want to know where it is. If they were
taking her to talk to someone else, find out who. See how much of
that information you can get and, if he’s still able, we’ll go on
from there.”

Garcia added, “And make sure he gives you
real names, not just the street names these guys use to sound
tough.”

The interrogator nodded. Meanwhile, the
doctor had given a stimulant drug to the guy to wake him up. The
interrogator leaned over the still-groggy man and spoke in Russian.
He got no response. He spoke louder and made aggressive hand
gestures. Still no answer. This went on for about twenty minutes
with the man not uttering a sound. Suddenly the interrogator leaned
close to the guy’s ear and said something gruffly while at the same
time pressing on one of the bandages. The man moaned, but still
didn’t say anything. One more time the interrogator pressed on the
bandage, but much harder this time. The man screamed out something
in Russian.

The interrogator nodded and said something
the others in the room didn’t understand but what was obviously a
question. The man replied in Russian. The interrogator turned to
the trio and said, “He’s not being very cooperative, so this is
going to take some time. You guys might as well sit down for a
while.” He then turned back to the bed.

Sam, who was getting decidedly uncomfortable
with the direction this was going said, “I think I’ll go upstairs
and have another cup of coffee.”

Although not particularly bothered by the
questioning tactics, Grant said, “I’ll join you.”

“You guys go on up. I think I’ll stay here
for a while. I’ll let you know if he starts talking,” Garcia
said.

Grant and Sam headed to the stairs just as
the guy let out another loud moan.

After they had poured themselves each a cup
of coffee, Sam asked quietly, “Does it have to be this way?” She
was looking down at her coffee cup.

Grant moved close. “I’m afraid it does, Sam.
This is our new President we’re talking about. If this guy has
information which’ll keep the President safe, we need to know it.
Whatever it takes. Even the CIA has rules, though. It won’t be too
bad for the guy. If he just starts talking, the pain will stop.
They won’t do any real harm to him, but it will be painful if he
holds out. If he’d been successful in kidnapping you, I can assure
you they wouldn’t have been as humane in their treatment of
you.”

“I shudder to think of what would have
happened.” She looked up into his eyes. “By the way, thank you very
much for coming to my rescue. Just like a movie hero,” she teased
with a small smile.

“Thurmond, Grant Thurmond,” Grant said,
giving his best impersonation of Sean Connery. Sam’s smile
widened.

The questioning continued for two hours,
during which time they learned that this guy was just a contract
killer working for a small-time Russian Mafia figure. All he knew
was that someone paid to have Grant and Sam killed. The kidnapping
was impromptu after they found that Grant wasn’t in the hotel suite
and after Sam told them he was bringing the police. They figured
they’d take her to their boss and use her as bait to get Thurmond
down there. Then they could kill them both. The interrogator had
gotten the wounded guy’s name and both the name and location where
the boss could be found. At that point, the doctor stopped the
questioning so that the guy could rest. He told Thurmond that, if
necessary, they could continue the interrogation after the guy
slept for four hours.

Upstairs, Grant turned to Garcia and said,
“That interrogator is good. Where did they come up with him?”

Garcia responded, “I understand he’s ex-KGB.
Came over to work for us about ten years ago. His cover is a job
with the cultural attaché as a translator.”

“Makes sense,” Grant replied. “Okay, we know
how to contact his boss. I think we oughta pay him a visit.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam exclaimed.

Grant flicked his eyes
toward Sam. “No, I’m
not
kidding. I think Garcia and I ought to go find
this guy and convince him to talk.” To Garcia he said, “How much
money do you think the CIA could come up with to buy the
information?”

Garcia shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. A few
thousand, probably.”

“Can you make arrangements to get it? The
sooner the better. Five thousand ought to do it. I’d like to talk
to the boss this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s pretty quick. I assume they
have that much on hand. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll head to the
Embassy now and call you when I find out.”

“Thanks,” replied Grant.

After Garcia left, Sam turned to Grant and
said, “Grant, this is foolish. You’re going into the snake pit
filled with vipers who are being paid to kill you. What makes you
think they won’t shoot you as soon as they see you?”

Grant replied matter-of-factly, “I’ll have
Garcia with me. Besides, they won’t be expecting it. He may be
curious enough to let us talk, and, don’t forget, we’re going to
offer him money for information.”

Sam couldn’t believe Grant was serious. “And
why wouldn’t he just shoot you two and take the money. That way he
completes his contract with Vladimir and gets your money, too,” she
threw her hands up into the air for emphasis.

“You have a point. But what other choice do
we have? We can’t go in there with an army and shoot the place up.
I need him to tell us who hired him. He might be able to give us a
physical description and, if we’re really lucky, tell us the name
of the person he talked with. Sam, we have nothing else. We have to
take this risk.”

“Then I’m going, too. Three guns are better
than two,” Sam said.

Grant shook his head. “Uh uh. No way. Look,
we need someone standing by. That has to be you. Someone we can
call if we need anything. We have to have you here to coordinate
back up if we need it.”

Sam paused a minute, then, sounding
unconvinced, said, “Okay, but you call me just before you go in and
as soon as you get out. Also, at the very first sign of trouble,
you let me know. Can we have a CIA team standing by?”

Grant, relieved the questioning was over
said, “Garcia’s heading back to the Embassy. Give him a call and
see what can be set up. In fact, maybe they can be assembled and
waiting not too far from where we’ll be. Tell ’em to bring plenty
of firepower. If we get ourselves into something the two of us
can’t handle, we’re gonna need more ammo flying. Also, tell him to
bring a few extra thirteen round mags for our Glocks. We’ve got
plenty of rounds, but if we need them, we sure won’t have time to
fill a magazine.”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Sam said
as she started dialing her phone.

I minus 19

Both Garcia and Thurmond were on high alert
as they approached the building where the thug said his boss could
be found. Although they had worked together a couple of times in
the past, it was a long time ago and it was hard to trust your back
to someone you haven’t been close to. At the entrance they stopped
for a minute.

“How do you want to play this?” Garcia
asked.

“We just walk straight in and ask for
Kozlov.”

“And if they give us any trouble?” Garcia
played it straight but he was thinking, oh great, more cowboy
stuff. Just like Thurmond. But this was information Garcia needed,
too, and he wasn’t going to let Thurmond out of his sight. Not
now.

“Just make sure your gun is locked and
loaded. If we have to, we’ll shoot our way out of the building.
Let’s just hope we don’t have to. I at least want to be able to
question Kozlov.”

“You’re calling the shots. My team is about
three blocks away and standing by. Let’s boogie,” Garcia said.

“One more weapons check,” Thurmond
replied.

They turned towards the building where it
would be difficult for anyone to see what they were doing, and
double checked their weapons. Both had rounds in the chamber and
were ready to fire. They put them in their right overcoat
pockets.

The address they were given matched the
numbers on the front of what looked like an old warehouse in a
rundown commercial district on the outskirts of Moscow. They had
already checked behind the building and found an old loading dock
that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. But it had doors
leading out and they knew if they needed to, it could be an escape
route. They tried the front entrance door and found it unlocked, so
they went into the reception area. One man who looked to be in his
mid-thirties was sitting in an old easy chair, blocking the hallway
which Thurmond presumed led to the other offices. He looked up,
then stood up and spoke gruffly in Russian. He was huge.

“Sorry, we don’t understand. Do you speak
English?” asked Thurmond in a pleasant voice.

“What you want?” the man shot back.

“We have some business with Kozlov,”
Thurmond replied.

“What business?” the man asked in the same
demanding tone.

“We need some information and we have US
dollars to pay for it.”

“How much dollars?”

Garcia shook his head. “Come on, we’ll only
deal with Kozlov. Where is he?” he said.