Tom Clancy Under Fire (25 page)

“And then there is Mr. Stavin’s car. You—”

Ysabel said, “I told you. We—”

“—did have his keys and the car wasn’t broken into, so this is a matter for my judgment, I suppose, as is the assault. However, you also misrepresented yourself to a law enforcement officer, which is no small matter.”

Jack asked, “What did Osin tell you?”

“He admitted to shooting Mr. Stavin. He said it was an accident.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“What’s your gut tell you?”

Umarov thought for a moment. “Based on how you described the scene, I suspect he shot Stavin on purpose.”

“As ordered,” added Jack. “Did he say why he went to the house?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Ten minutes after we show up to tell the man his wife has been killed, you guys show up and—”

“Not us. Captain Osin.”

“Right, sorry. Osin shows up and Dobromir’s dead. Answer my question, please.”

“Still none of your business.”

Jack was down to his last card. Even if Umarov released them, they would be returning to Makhachkala not knowing which of the five had betrayed them. He might be able to kill two birds with one stone. He said, “Call Minister Rebaz Medzhid and give him our names.”

“Pardon me?”

“Talk to him and no one else. Tell him why we’re under arrest.”

“So many demands, Jack. You do know you are in jail, don’t you?”

“Please, Major,” Ysabel said sweetly.

•   •   •

UMAROV RETURNED
ten minutes later. “The minister has confirmed he knows you, but refused to say how. That troubles me.”

“Because you don’t like his politics,” said Ysabel.

“Politics?” Umarov replied with surprise. “Who told you that?”

“He did.”

“Then the minister does not know me at all. I care nothing for politics, or politicians, for that matter—or ethnicity, if that is what he is implying. Of course, that’s irrelevant. He is my superior. There is nothing else. He did not seem happy when I told him your names.”

“I’ll bet,” said Jack.

“He told me to give you my full cooperation. First, however, you will answer some of my questions. Did Minister Medzhid send you here?”

“No.”

“Is he illegally connected in any way with Dobromir Stavin?”

“No.”

“Did the purpose of your trip here involve any illegal activity?”

Jack felt as though Umarov was going through a checklist labeled “Arrest / Don’t Arrest.” He decided it would be best if he responded in kind.

“No,” he replied.

“Finally, are you on Dagestani soil as agents representing a foreign government?”

“No.”

Umarov paused, scratched his head. “I believe you. So, what are your questions?”

“The same one as before: Why did Osin go to Dobromir’s house?”

“He says that six hours before the raid he got a call from an anonymous source claiming there was a cache of explosives in Mr. Stavin’s home. He put the address under surveillance, and when you arrived, he moved in.”

“Go on.”

“The call came from a telephone number in Makhachkala.”

“What kind, cell or landline?”

“Landline.” Umarov recited it for Jack.

It was the same as Helen’s direct line to Pechkin.

Umarov continued, “He was told to apprehend and hold anyone he found in the house and then call the Makhachkala number back.”

“Hold us for whom?” asked Ysabel. “Did he give you a name?”

“No. He might still, but then again he might not even have one.”

“Did he make that call?”

“Not according to his phone’s history,” replied Umarov, “and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to use a
politsiya
phone.”

“Did he say why he did all this? Why he killed Dobromir?” asked Ysabel.

“My guess is money. Osin’s car and apartment are too nice for a captain’s salary.”

“Was he working with any of your other
politsiya
?”

“No—and that much I am confident of.”

“So,” Jack said, “where does this leave us?”

“It leaves me facing dozens of hours of paperwork and an internal investigation that I’ll have to submit to Minister Medzhid. As for you two, you are free to go.”

Buynaksk

U
NSURPRISINGLY,
Umarov had refused to release Dobromir’s Volga to them, but he was kind enough to give them a ride to Khasavyurt’s only rental-car agency, where they rented a 1992 Opel, which got them back to Buynaksk shortly after midnight. Jack drove around until he found a motel with wireless Internet, then got them a room. He wasn’t yet ready to go into Makhachkala, not until they could sort friend from foe—or at least had a plan to do that.

While Ysabel went to shower, he called Hendley and got Gerry and John Clark on the line. He recounted their visit with Dobromir, the police raid, and their brief imprisonment.

“Well, the tip-off sure as hell didn’t come from our end,” said John Clark. “So unless this Dobromir guy burned you—”

“He didn’t.”

“Or he did and it backfired and then Osin killed him by accident.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then, yeah, it’s gotta be Medzhid, Seth, or Spellman.”

“Or one of Medzhid’s bodyguards,” said Gerry. “Do you have their names?”

“Just Vasim and Anton, no surnames. Actually, I think we can cross Medzhid off our list. He could have ordered Umarov to hold us, or worse. He didn’t.”

“You might be right, but that’s not proof positive,” said Clark. “Medzhid may want you in Makhachkala.”

“John, he’s got more to lose than anyone else.”

“You gotta stop thinking logically about this,” said Gerry. “A man like Medzhid doesn’t get to where he is by being transparent. His kind always have agendas within agendas.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Jack: Medzhid had left Aminat in the Four Seasons Baku under the protection of two bodyguards.

“I’ll call you right back,” he said.

He disconnected, looked up the hotel’s number, then dialed it. When the operator answered, he asked for the penthouse suite. After the tenth ring the operator came back on the line. “My apologies, sir. I actually show those guests as checked out.”

“When?”

“Late last night.”

Jack hung up and called Hendley back. “Aminat’s gone.”

“Don’t hit the panic button, Jack,” Clark said. “Medzhid might have moved her.”

“Man, I hate this shit,” Jack said. “I can see why Seth’s dad lost it.”

Gavin said, “I heard by the time he died Kim Philby was eating his own hair and dressing up as Napoleon.”

“Urban legend,” Gerry said. “Jack, you don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.”

Clark replied, “Hijacking a Navy SEAL aphorism, boss? I’m surprised at you.”

Jack said, “Focus, guys. Gavin, I’ve got a couple telephone numbers I want you to run down: the contact number Dobromir had for Pechkin and the one Captain Osin was supposed to call after the raid.”

“Will do.”

Clark said, “Jack, first things first: For the time being, you have to forget about Aminat.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Even if they took her again, she’s just a symptom. You need to find the disease.”

Find out who’s not what they claim to be,
Jack thought.

•   •   •

THEY LEFT BUYNAKSK
the next morning for the hour-long drive into Makhachkala.

Ten miles outside the capital, Jack saw through the windshield a thin column of smoke rising from the city center.

“Oh, no,” Ysabel said. “Has it started already?”

Jack pulled onto the shoulder and texted Gavin:
FIRES IN MAKHACHKALA. NEWS?

His phone rang a minute later. It was Clark. “We were just going to call you. BBC is reporting mobs in the street. Hundreds of them, maybe more.”

“Seth’s pulled the trigger early.”

“No, Jack. These are anti-Medzhid protesters. They’ve set up camp outside the MOI headquarters.”

•   •   •

THEY DETOURED SLIGHTLY SOUTH,
then west to Turali, a suburb about three miles down the coast from Makhachkala proper. Jack found a public parking lot above the beach, parked, then texted Seth:
IN TURALI. WHERE YOU?

The response came immediately.
DOWNTOWN, TWO BLOCKS FROM MINISTRY.

BAD?

VERY BAD,
Seth replied.
FIND ANYTHING IN KHASAVYURT?

Jack hesitated and glanced at Ysabel, who shook her head.
DRY WELL,
he replied.

THERE’S A RESERVOIR A MILE NORTH OF YOU. ONE BLOCK EAST THERE’S A TRAIN DEPOT. MEET YOU THERE.

•   •   •

WHEN THEY REACHED
the depot, Seth waved to them from the open driver’s window of a black Chevy Suburban. Jack assumed it was up-armored.

“Nice car,” Ysabel whispered to Jack. “Do they import Suburbans here?”

“No. At least not to the general public.”

“A private jet, a Suburban . . . Must be nice to be Minister Medzhid.”

She rolled down her window. The stench of burning rubber filled the Opel’s interior.

Seth said, “You’d better leave that here.”

“We’ll keep it for now,” replied Jack. “We’ll follow you.”

“Suit yourself. When we get downtown, whatever you do, don’t get out of your car. And drive slowly. If you hit someone, the mob will turtle that thing.”

•   •   •

SETH LED THEM
up the coast road for fifteen minutes before turning west toward Makhachkala’s center. The plume of smoke Jack had spotted earlier grew larger through the windshield. Through their half-open windows they began to hear chanting in Russian. Seth turned left, then braked hard, as did Jack. The block was filled with protesters milling about, some holding signs written in Cyrillic, others pumping their fists in time with the chanting.

“Windows up,” Jack said. “Lock your door.”

Seth’s Suburban crept into the crowd and was immediately swallowed by the throng. Moments later, so was the Opel. Fists began pounding on the roof and hood, palms slapping at the windows. A man’s face pressed against Ysabel’s window, shouting, spittle flying from his lips.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ysabel murmured.

Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Look straight ahead.”

The Opel started rocking from side to side, the engine revving as the drive wheels came off the ground. Jack honked the horn and the Opel’s tires thumped back onto the pavement.

Jack’s phone trilled. “Yeah, Seth.”

“If you get stopped, stay in your car. We’ll come get you.”

With his foot barely touching the gas pedal, Jack kept the Opel moving forward.

•   •   •

AFTER WHAT FELT
like an hour but was only ten minutes, they emerged from the mass of protesters and found themselves on a street bordered by imposing gray buildings fronted by tall columns. To the right the sidewalk was lined with people sitting quietly, holding hand-painted signs aloft. Heads turned, sullen eyes tracking the Opel, but no one shouted or even gestured.

Seth texted,
MINISTRY OF THE INTERIOR ON THE RIGHT
.

Ysabel asked Jack, “Why the difference? One block is chaos, the next peaceful. And no police anywhere.”

“I have no idea.”

After another two blocks and three more turns Seth pulled the Suburban up to a gated parking garage entrance. He rolled down his window, said something to the man in the tollbooth, then gestured to the Opel. The gate lifted and they pulled through.

On the sixth level, they went through another gate, then parked in a pair of spots. A sign above each one bore the yellow double eagle-head emblem of the Ministry of the Interior.

They got out and followed Seth to a bank of elevators, where he swiped a key card through a slot on the wall.

“What is this place?” asked Ysabel.

“Tortoreto Towers. Medzhid’s private apartment,” Seth said, as the elevator doors parted.

•   •   •

WHEN THE DOORS OPENED,
Jack found himself in a foyer with mirrored walls and a brown tiled floor. Vasim and Anton, Medzhid’s primary bodyguards, nodded at Seth but paid Jack and Ysabel no attention. Anton opened the apartment door.