The Backup Asset (31 page)

Case # 174-NR-24578

Transcription Excerpt, Interrogation Session #5

[begin excerpt]

Interviewer: “Tell me, what kind of information have you been collecting?”

Evgheni Smolin: “I don’t have to say anything to you.”

Interviewer: “You risked your life to serve your country; don’t you want us to know why?”

Evgheni Smolin: “Whether you know or not, that is irrelevant. Everything I did and do is for my country, for Russia.”

[…]

Interviewer: “Who sent you? Who gave you your mission?”

Evgheni Smolin: “Are you actually expecting me to roll and start spilling everything to you, like the lowest of cowards? Then you’re bigger idiots than we thought.”

Interviewer: “Who’s a bigger idiot?”

Evgheni Smolin: “You. All of you, Americans.”

Interviewer: “Ahh . . . I see. Well, you might be right; we might be idiots. Why don’t you prove it to me?”

Evgheni Smolin: “Ha! Not worth my time.”

Interviewer: “You got plenty of time. You’re not going to get out of this alive, you know. We don’t trade spies anymore; that’s long gone.”

Evgheni Smolin: “I took my chances when I came here. I’m proud of what I did.”

[47 seconds of silence]

Interviewer: “Here’s what I think. I think you work for a bunch of old-timers, still nostalgic after the glorious times of Cold War and communism, some old farts with no idea what the future looks like. I think your country has become weak and cowardly, without its overabundance of slave republics you lost. I think you lost everything you could have been when the KGB fell apart. Guess what? We’re not afraid of you Russians anymore!” [brief laughter]

Evgheni Smolin: “Fucking idiots . . . Is that what you think? Good, keep thinking that, so you won’t see us coming!”

Interviewer: “Yeah, that’s what I think. And I think you are a little piece of leftover trash, still clinging to the idea that Russia could do any real intelligence work. Well, not anymore! We caught you on the double, didn’t we? And that’s because you work for some lame old farts who can’t conceive a half-decent intelligence strategy, that’s why.”

Evgheni Smolin: “I work for two of the smartest people to ever set military and intelligence strategy. What they’re planning for you, you’ll never see coming. Soon . . . soon you’ll remember my words. So what if you caught me? I’m just a small cog in the great Russian intelligence machine that we’ve resurrected back to life, and you didn’t even know about it! That’s how ignorant you are!”

Interviewer: “I’m sure your family would love to hear you’re just a cog in a machine when you simply disappear, never to be heard from again.”

Evgheni Smolin: “I have no other family than Mother Russia. She will mourn my loss and call me a hero. She’ll give me a hero’s funeral when I’m gone.”

Interviewer: “Russia is nothing these days . . . you should have picked a better employer. This one’s in rags and starving.”

Evgheni Smolin: “You—you don’t know what you’re talking about! How dare you talk about Russia like that? You bastard! Russia will rise again and shove your faces in your own smallness and insignificance. Russia has the greatest leaders it’s had in decades, united, ready to fight, ready to wipe you off the face of the Earth. There’s no greater mission that I’d rather sacrifice my life for, than the glorious future of my country. Nothing else matters.”

Interviewer: “You’re just one little cog in a machine, you know? What difference could you possibly make?”

Evgheni Smolin: There are hundreds just like me, already here, working to restore Russia’s greatness in ways you can’t even comprehend. There are hundreds of thousands more back home, getting ready to strike at a moment’s notice. You, and the rest of the arrogant Western assholes who insulted our president, are doomed. Say your prayers and get ready to die.”

[end transcript]

Alex checked the time nervously. Her appointment was late, and she wasn’t even sure if she was going to show. She went back to reading her notes to refresh her memory, getting ready for a conversation that might not even happen.

“You have some nerve, Ms. . . . Hoffmann,” a woman’s voice articulated coldly right behind her. She turned and saw a tall woman dressed in a brown business suit, wearing her hair tied in an unpretentious ponytail.

“Ms. Marino?” she offered and extended her hand. The woman ignored it.

“My first instinct was to blow the whistle on you and have you picked up,” the woman continued, the coldness in her voice feeling like a slap to Alex’s face.

Alex felt her anger take over.

“So why didn’t you?” she asked. “After all, someone like you lives their life under the rule of logic and procedure, right?”

“Don’t be presumptuous with me. Yes, I could’ve had you arrested for a number of things, but that wouldn’t have gained me easy access to the information you said you could provide. Your note, although unusual, was quite intriguing.”

“Then . . . can we start over?” Alex said and smiled, offering her hand again. “I’m Alex Hoffmann.”

“Henrietta Marino.”

“Want some coffee or anything?”

“I’m good, thanks. So, what do you have?” Marino pressed on.

“I read your report. It was very interesting, yet incomplete,” Alex said, dropping her voice almost to a whisper.

Marino frowned, then asked quietly, “What do you mean?”

“Your analysis covers the strategic level really well, describing President Abramovich’s intentions, and profiling him in detail. Then you analyze the Russians actions and speculate about potential plans of attack. I can give you a glimpse into the type of plans they could be weaving, and an idea about the second layer of command. Well, at least partially.”

“What do you mean, partially? What second layer?”

“Have you wondered who helps Abramovich reach his goals?”

“He has a government,” Marino said a little hesitantly. “Why? What do you know?”

“There are two other men. One is Mikhail Dimitrov, the minister of defense. He and Abramovich are very close.”

“I was wondering about that, seeing that Dimitrov was first ‘resigned’ by Abramovich, then brought back. The bastard actually spoke the truth for once when he announced Dimitrov’s resignation for health reasons.”

“Yes and no. Well . . . maybe,” Alex said.

“Could you make any less sense?” Marino asked sarcastically.

“I have another theory. Dimitrov’s resignation coincided with the American elections, and the result of those elections was what caused Dimitrov to have his heart attack and temporarily fall out of grace.”

“You’re saying he did fall out of grace with Abramovich? Why?”

“Well, let’s say, hypothetically, that there could have been a conspiracy to thwart the elections, and that failed.”

“So it is true.”

“What?”

“That you have been involved in a black ops case of sorts . . . that’s the rumor out there,” Marino said.

“Hypothetically,” Alex said and winked.

Marino rolled her eyes in disbelief. “Jeez . . .”

“When the plan failed, Abramovich got mad, and Dimitrov had his heart attack, so Abramovich ousted him. But a few months later, he brought him back.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Because it’s only Dimitrov and this other man who can orchestrate plans of significant strategic importance, and execute them really well.”

“Who’s this other man you’re talking about?”

“I don’t know, unfortunately, no matter how hard I’ve tried to find out. MOSSAD doesn’t know either. But we haven’t stopped looking for him.”

“MOSSAD? Jesus Christ . . . Who the hell are you?” Marino asked.

“Oh . . . I’m just a corporate investigator who’s had an interesting choice of cases to work on, nothing else, I promise.”

“Then how do you know this man even exists?”

“He does. His name starts with the initial V, and he’s a brilliant strategist.”

“First or last name? And how sure are you about the letter V? Where did you learn that?”

“From the lips of a dying man. And yes, he’s real, but we just couldn’t find him, not yet.”

Henri Marino sat quietly for a few seconds, then asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, really. Just wanted you to know about these two people, and what their roles could be in one of your scenarios. If V has his hand in any of those plans, expect them to be big, dramatic, of epic proportions and impact.” She paused, taken aback by the incredulity reflected in Marino’s eyes. “I thought this information might be helpful.”

Marino stood, ready to leave. “It might be,” she said, reluctantly, then shook Alex’s hand again.

“Oh, and if you ever find out who V is, please let me know,” Alex asked.

Marino didn’t reply, but her cold gaze wasn’t very promising.

“Damn,” Alex muttered to herself, watching Marino leave. “She must think I’m some sort of nut job.”

The familiar driveway was already filled with cars. Steve’s matte black M6 was already there, and so were Brian’s Lexus and Richard’s Benz. Along the curb, there was a rental sedan, most likely Jeremy’s. Sam had arrived two days earlier, and his rental SUV was the first car on the driveway.

“Late again,” she grumbled, then got out of her car and went straight to the backyard, using the side gate.

She was a little embarrassed to face Tom, considering the last conversation they’d had, and how she’d taken a case without consulting with him first. She felt uncomfortable thinking of seeing Brian; she’d abandoned him mid-engagement and had gone to Norfolk for the Walcott case, a case that wasn’t even on the books. Finally, she dreaded seeing Steve, the man she still loved, but couldn’t forgive.

She took a deep breath and walked into the backyard, with a wide smile, she didn’t feel, pasted on her lips. The familiar yard was decorated with flags, balloons, and ribbons, and the spirit of the holiday engulfed her.

“Hey, look who’s making an entrance,” Louie said cheerfully.

They were gathered around the four-burner grill, and Tom was entertaining, wearing an apron printed with three lines of text—”The man, the myth, the legend.”

Leaning against a tree, Steve smoked a cigar and held a beer in his hand. He raised the bottle to greet her, and she waved back. His eyes were sad, but he was smiling. He frowned when he saw her bruised face and slightly swollen jaw.

Brian gave her a quick hug. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks! And . . . sorry for everything. I really am, you know,” she said. “I can explain what happened.”

“No need, we’ve all gone through these kinds of things. Plus, this guy already explained,” Brian replied, pointing toward Agent Weber.

“Hey, Jer,” she greeted him, “welcome to California, again,” she laughed.

“Yeah . . . I get great air miles, you know, worth it every time.” He gulped some beer. “Good to be here, good to meet everyone I heard so much, yet so little, about. Thanks for having me,”

“Hey, boss,” Louie said, giving her a quick side hug. “Did you have time to miss any of us? Or were you too busy playing with the bigwigs of the nation’s capital?”

“Sure, you most of all, of course. By the way, I was in Norfolk, not DC,” she replied, chuckling. “What have you been up to?”

He threw a side glance toward Weber, then said, “Umm . . . maybe I’ll fill you in later.”

Weber laughed and Alex joined him.

“Yeah, Jer, your presence is causing some concern in this group.”

She turned toward Tom and his famous grill.

“Welcome back,” he said, hugging her without letting go of the barbecue fork. “I’m proud of you, just so you know,” he said quietly. “You handled things like a pro.”

She looked in his understanding blue eyes and felt a lump in her throat. She was home, with her family.

“Our girl is back,” Claire cheered and kissed her on both cheeks. “What would you like to drink, my dear?”

“Stella would be nice, thanks much!”

“I’ll get that,” Louie offered.

“So, what are we having for dinner tonight?” she asked Tom.

“I’m making us an Independence Day special, burgers cordon bleu, with mushroom and Swiss.”

“Umm . . . not sure I know what that is, but it sounds delish!”

“It’s a double cheeseburger really, but grilled differently. I stack the two patties on top of each other on the grill, with the cheese between them. By the time the patties are done just right, the cheese is molten. On the side, I grill the portabellas with a drop of oil in the center, and cover them with a thin slice of Swiss when they’re about done. Then everything stacks on a plate, next to the bun, if you still want that. Artery popping, truly American, served with fries, onions, and pickles, and washed down with copious quantities of beer.”

“Mmm . . . mmm . . . yummy!” Alex said, salivating a little. “And that’s why he is the man, the myth, the legend.”

“Hear, hear,” Steve said, speaking his first words since she’d arrived, approaching the group slowly, hesitantly.

Sam and Richard came out of the house, chatting lively.

“What did we miss?” Sam asked. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Sam,” she said and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Hello, Richard.”

Louie appeared from inside the house carrying a tray with champagne glasses and a chilled bottle of 1981 Krug Brut. Steve took the bottle and started to uncork it.

“Now that we’re all gathered together again,” Tom said, “to celebrate our independence and the successful completion of another case, please join me in savoring this champagne and in celebrating another milestone.”

The cork popped loudly, and everyone hollered and cheered.

“It’s weird and unusual though,” Tom continued after taking a sip of champagne, “to have such a celebration without the client present. This is a first, I must say. We do understand the circumstances, and we are grateful we have made a new friend instead.” Tom raised his glass to Weber.

“Thank you,” Weber said.

“Did we at least get paid on this case?” Richard asked, causing a roar of laughter around the smoking grill.

“Spoken like a true finance executive,” Tom laughed. “Yes, this time we got paid, and quite generously I might add. This CEO is very happy,” he added with a wink, putting his hand on his chest.

“Whew, I’m relieved. I was afraid I’d get fired after the third unpaid case,” Alex quipped.

“I might be the most clueless person in this gathering,” Richard said, “but what exactly are we celebrating? What was the case about?”

A brief moment of silence engulfed the joyful crowd.

“It’s confidential, I’m afraid,” Alex replied, triggering another roar of laughter. Jeremy joined in, starting to feel more relaxed with the crowd.

“Was it hard?” Richard pressed on. “Was it a difficult case?”

“Umm . . . I’m afraid that’s need to know, Richard,” Alex replied, still chuckling.

“You weren’t gone all that long, were you?”

“Nope, just little over a month, that’s all.”

“Nice,” Richard said. “Nicely done, wrapping a case in a month. I’m impressed.”

“Well, thank you kindly,” she replied with a warm smile of appreciation.

“Not only that, but Alex sold this case too,” Tom added. “I wasn’t even involved. Congratulations!”

“Well, can you tell us any details about this case, something to sink our teeth into?” Brian joined the conversation.

Alex looked at Jeremy and they both shared a conspiratorial smile.

“No,” she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What case?”

“Good one, you guys,” Brian said, sipping the last drop of his champagne. “Then, what champagne?”

“And what burgers?” Tom added, turning his attention toward the grill. “So, if we can’t discuss the case we’ve just closed, let’s focus on the future instead. Alex, you have a new case lined up, tomorrow morning first thing.”

“Huh?” she asked, surprised, then moved next to Jeremy and covered his ears with her hands. “Can you tell me what it’s about?”

Tom winked at her and replied, “It’s need to know at this time.”