And then there was the fact Minkin was his estranged brother.

  At least that was the line he had fed a drunk guard last night after his shift had ended. He had cased the jail and watched the shift change carefully, ignoring those going home to their families, ignoring the young ones who might still have hope, instead picking out those who were older, nearing the end of a career with a slashed pension to look forward to and no one to go home to.

  Those heading to the bar to drown out their sorrows.

  Those with shattered dreams, where one spark of hope, no matter how remote, might allow themselves to be used.

  “Tough day?”

  The man’s name had been Moriz, overheard as the busty waitress in a too-short skirt served him his usual. Boykov had sent him a drink when his first was getting low, under the pretense of having himself once been on the job.

  The glass was hoisted in thanks, and a kindly wave to join him given.

  He was in.

  And after several hours of drinking with Moriz Grekov, of exchanging war stories and how the Kremlin’s new pension policies were killing him, and would soon doom his new friend to a horribly meager retirement, he had told him his own troubles of dying from colon cancer, and wishing to see his brother one last time.

  “But he won’t see me. He’s ashamed of his older brother.”

  “Why?”

  “I was a drunk, and ungrateful, I guess. To be honest, I was jealous of his success. I served my country for decades and got nothing after the collapse, and what happened to him? He became rich!”

  Grekov growled. “Too many of those bastards got rich off our backs. It was all who you knew back then.”

  Boykov spat. “Still is.”

  Grekov’s head bobbed. “Tell me about it. We’ve got one of those assholes in my jail right now. You should see how he’s getting treated! It’s infuriating.”

  “It is, but blood is blood. He’s my younger brother, and I don’t have much time left. I want to see him one last time, just to say I’m sorry, and to, you know, say I love him. Our poor mother, God rest her soul, wouldn’t want me leaving this earth without first patching things up between the two of us.”

  A tear rolled down Grekov’s cheek. “I lost my wife five years ago. Still miss her.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  Grekov sighed. “One brother, but he lives in America, the lucky bastard.”

  “At least you have time to see him.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “You should. Soon.”

  Grekov grunted. “With what money?” He drained his vodka, flagging the waitress down for two more. “Now what about you? You should see your brother. Demand to see him if he says no.”

  Boykov frowned, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you’re not going to believe this, and I didn’t realize it until we started talking, but that bastard you’ve got locked up in your jail, is my brother.”

  Grekov’s jaw dropped, as well as a bit of drool. “You’re kidding me! What are the chances?”

  Apparently very good, if it’s a drunk crunching the numbers.

  “I know, right! And that’s the problem. He’s behind bars, and if I ask to see him, he’ll just say no. He’ll never give me the chance, and it’s not like I can just stay there and demand to see him. Your buddies are liable to have me arrested!”

  Grekov snorted. “Maybe I can have them put you in the next cell so he’ll be forced to talk to you!”

  They both roared in laughter, Boykov slapping him on the back. “That’s not a bad idea, my friend, not a bad idea at all! And if I can bury the hatchet with my brother, maybe he’d be grateful and share some of those billions with the man responsible.” He gave him a shoulder shake. “You!”

  They both paused, Grekov’s drunken mind spinning, Boykov waiting for him to come up with the idea for himself. “Saay, that’s not a half-bad idea, my friend.” Grekov lowered his voice. “Do you think he might?”

  “Might what?”

  “Be grateful, you know, share a few rubles with the man who helped reunite him with his long lost brother.”

  Boykov stared at him for a moment, pausing for effect, then nodded. “I think he absolutely would. My brother is a very generous man. Our falling out wasn’t about him not giving me money, it was about me being a jerk about it, then telling him to go shove it where the sun didn’t shine.” Boykov leaned back, shaking a finger. “I think you’re onto something, here, my friend.” He quickly leaned back in, lowering his voice. “We might be able to help each other. If you could get me in to see my brother, and I can patch things up with him, to say one last goodbye, I’ll make sure he takes care of you so you don’t have to worry about that crummy pension you’re expected to live on for the next twenty years.”

  A smile spread across Grekov’s face. “I think I like the sound of that.”

  “Then how do we do it?”

  “When my shift starts tomorrow, I’ll have him transferred into a private meeting room, one they use to meet with their lawyers, so no cameras, and then let you in the back service entrance. It’s barely twenty meters from the room. I can probably give you about thirty minutes alone with him. When you’re done, just text my cellphone, and I’ll come let you out.”

  Boykov smiled broadly. “You’re a good man, my friend, a good man. I feel good about this. I think my brother won’t have a choice but to hear me out, and I’m sure he’ll forgive me, and be very grateful.”

  Grekov raised his vodka. “Let’s hope you’re right!”

  And let’s hope you remember all this tomorrow.

  And he had.

  After soothing himself in an ice bath, then getting as much sleep as he could manage, Grekov had texted him.

  Are we still on?

  His reply had been swift.

  Absolutely.

  A few details had been exchanged, along with reassurances of a potentially huge payout that would allow the poor man to retire in comfort, and the rendezvous was set.

  Boykov checked his watch, the expected text from Grekov late.

  He frowned.

  Cold feet? Second thoughts?

  It could be anything. He had watched Grekov enter the jail on time, though he did look a little worse for wear, their drinking perhaps a little more than the disillusioned man was used to. He was inside, and any number of things could have delayed him.

  His phone vibrated, a burner he had picked up shortly after the explosion.

  He smiled.

  Now.

  He rose from the bench he had been sitting on for the past half hour, and strode across the street with purpose, heading directly for the back service entrance, unguarded, the door only operable from the inside, a security camera mounted nearby with a clear view of anyone approaching.

  He did nothing to hide himself.

  For he wasn’t a wanted man.

  Not by the authorities.

  Not yet.

  The door opened as he neared, and Grekov beckoned him inside. Boykov smiled broadly, jogging the last few steps. “I was beginning to get worried.”

  Grekov closed the door. “It took me a little longer to get your brother to the interrogation room than I expected. Sorry.” He paused. “You think…”

  Boykov slapped him on the back. “I know this is going to work. We’re both going to get what we want out of this.”

  Grekov smiled. “Then let’s do this.” He pointed down the long, windowless corridor. “Third door on the right. Text me when you’re done. It should only take me a few minutes to get to you. No matter what you do, don’t leave the room without me.”

  “Got it.”

  He followed Grekov to the door and drew a deep breath, wondering what sort of greeting he would get, and hoping it was delayed enough for Grekov to hear none of it.

  Grekov pushed the door open. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Boykov stepped into the room, smiling broadly, but saying nothing, instead turning to give Grekov a wink and push the door closed.

  “Good luck!” whispered Grekov.

  “To both of us.”

  The door shut and Boykov turned to face Minkin, a blank stare on the man’s face.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Boykov sat across from him, the room empty save the bolted down table and two chairs. “My name is Vasily Boykov. Do you recognize it?”

  Minkin stared at him, no sign of recognition there for a few moments, then suddenly his eyes widened. “No, I don’t, but I recognize your face.” He lowered his voice. “You were there that day!”

  Boykov nodded. “I was. As were several others.”

  Minkin glanced around the room, clearly nervous. “Why are you here?”

  “First things first. If anyone asks, I’m your long lost brother, Vasily. You haven’t seen me in over a decade, and I’m here to patch things up with you before I die of colon cancer.”

  “Umm, okay?”

  “And that guard you just saw? His name is Grekov. If you get out of here, you’re going to pay him a handsome reward so he doesn’t have to starve on that shit pension he’s got to look forward to.”

  Minkin’s eyebrows shot up. “Fine. But I doubt I’m getting out of this. Not with what I’ve been accused of.”

  “I thought it was just some trumped up fraud charge.”

  Minkin shook his head. “Do you really believe everything you see on our state media?”

  Boykov grunted, leaning back in his chair. “Not for a second.” He pursed his lips. “Which brings us back to why I’m here.” He tapped his chin. “And I wonder if it’s related.”

  Minkin’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I got a phone call from a woman who knew my real name, then a bomb detonated, taking out my entire damned building.”

  “That thing I saw on the news?”

  Boykov eyed him. “You’ve got access to a television?”

  Minkin shrugged. “Being rich does have its perks.”

  Boykov chuckled. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Minkin regarded him for a moment. “You said a woman called you?”

  “Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? Is that significant?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I was visited by a woman only moments before I was arrested, and she tried to kill me as well.”

  Boykov’s eyes shot wide. “That sounds like too much of a coincidence to me. Two people, involved in a plot to assassinate Gorbachev thirty years ago, both targeted within weeks of each other by a woman of all people?”

  “I agree.”

  Boykov scratched his chin. “Who do you think is trying to kill us?”

  Minkin regarded him for a moment. “I have my theories, but if you want to hear them, you have to get me out of here.”

  Boykov laughed. “And just how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

  “I have people that will take care of it, but they need to know when, and no one is talking. You need to find out when I’m making my next court appearance. Can you?”

  Boykov chewed his cheek for a moment. Grekov should either know or be able to find out. But he’d need an incentive. There was no way he was going to believe that he needed to know the exact time of his “brother’s” transfer. “I can, but I’ll need to pay off that guard I spoke of.”

  “Give me something to write on.”

  Boykov pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket, sliding it across the table. Minkin jotted down a phone number then two words.

  Phoenix Rising.

  He pushed the paper and pen back. “Call that number, give them that codeword, and tell them what you need. They’ll transfer whatever you want into whatever account you want. Is a million Euros enough?”

  Boykov grunted. “It better be.”

  “And I assume you want to be paid?”

  Boykov paused, his eyebrows rising slightly. He hadn’t even considered it, though perhaps he too should have a taste. It might help him survive long enough to find out who was trying to kill him. “Of course.”

  “A million?”

  “I like round numbers.”

  “Very well.” Minkin leaned across the table. “But if you take my money and don’t come through, you’ll wish you had died in that explosion.”

  Boykov didn’t bother faking fear. A man like Minkin would be able to tell. “Don’t threaten a man who’s already dead. I’ll have half transferred to my guy, then when he comes through with the time, the other half. If your people can’t get you out, don’t blame him. He keeps his money. I’ll take my million as soon as he comes through with the time. Same deal. If your people screw it up, that’s on them, not me. Agreed?”

  Minkin smiled. “I see why they chose you to be the shooter. Nothing bothers you.”

  Boykov’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you chose me?”

  Minkin laughed, shaking his head. “You and that girl both seem to think I was far more important than I was.”

  “When you get out, I want to be there so you can tell me everything.”

  “Just tell my people, and they’ll make it happen.”

  Boykov rose, leaning in on white knuckles. “And if you betray me, you’ll wish you died in prison.”

  13 |

  Off-the-books Operations Center Outside Bethesda, Maryland

  Leroux yawned and stretched, looking about the small room to see what had awoken him. Three more gentle taps on the door answered his question.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and Sonya Tong stepped into the darkness, silhouetted by the light of Kane’s private operation. “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got some intel that I think you need to see.”

  Leroux stood, forgetting he wasn’t wearing any pants. Sonya quickly turned her head, but not before getting in a good look. “Sorry about that. I’ll meet you in ops in a sec.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door closed, plunging him into complete darkness once again, and he cursed, groping around for his cellphone that he had left on the nightstand. He found it and activated the flashlight then switched on the table lamp.

  They were inside two massive, converted shipping containers, buried among hundreds of others, at a storage yard on the outskirts of Bethesda, less than half an hour from Langley. One of the containers was a fully equipped living quarters for four, well stocked with provisions to last months if not longer, the other side jam-packed with a state of the art operations center. Dedicated lines attaching them to the grid and backbone of the Internet gave them access to everything they might need, and Leroux was certain there were also backup generators and satellite access should it become necessary.

  Fortunately, Armageddon wasn’t knocking on their door just yet.

  He quickly dressed then joined Sonya and Tommy in the ops center. “What did you find?”

  Tommy pointed at a screen showing a woman stepping out of a van. Leroux’s eyes narrowed.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Remember that explosion last night in Moscow?”

  “Yes. Is that the van they used?”

  “Yeah. Somebody just posted this video online and it’s going viral. A lot of people are in a huff that Muslims were being blamed without any proof. Looks kinda white, doesn’t she?”

  Leroux nodded. “Not exactly the Jihadi type.”

  “Nope.”

  “Any idea who she is?”

  “Not yet, but I’m running her face through my little routine that scours social media for matches. I didn’t want to hack into any of the big guys just yet.”

  “Good thinking. But why do you think she has anything to do with what we’re working on?”

  Sonya answered his question by bringing up a translated Russian arrest report. “Because of this. Thanks to Kane’s meeting with West, we now know Yury Minkin is involved. I started digging into his background, and couldn’t find anything extraordinary beyond the fact he was once KGB, then made out big in the carving up of state assets after the collapse of the Soviet Union.”

  “Which means he must have had something on some powerful people.”

  Sonya nodded. “Or was owed big time. Until he was arrested three weeks ago on fraud charges, he appeared squeaky clean for the past twenty-plus years. He owns a massive defense contractor, has loads of deals with the Russian government, and was making a killing off their rearmament plans. All until three weeks ago, when everything came tumbling down on him.”

  “Falling out with the Kremlin?”

  “That’s what the speculation is, though no one knows quite what it’s over. He’s never shown any interest in politics, keeps a low profile, rarely gives press interviews, and never comments on domestic matters. Nobody knows why the Kremlin would want to take him down.”

  Tommy shrugged. “Maybe it is just simple fraud?”

  Leroux sat. “It could be, but I don’t believe in coincidences. According to West, this guy was not only in the room, he was giving the briefing. That means he had to be at or near the top of the conspiracy. He gets arrested, three weeks later there’s an attempted poisoning using nerve agents that his company has access to, of a man who wasn’t in the room but had seen the assassin.” He turned to Sonya. “So, what’s the connection between this woman and Minkin?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but when Minkin was arrested, there was a separate report filed then retracted, that they were looking for a woman that matches her description. It could be just coincidence, but I know how you feel about them.”

  “Okay, let’s start pulling surveillance footage from the day of the arrest, see if we can spot anything. If we can put the same woman in both locations, then we know she’s involved.”

  Tommy cracked his knuckles. “Just let me work my magic.”

  14 |

  Salisbury District Hospital Salisbury, United Kingdom

  Interpol Agent Hugh Reading, on vacation, stood outside the isolation ward holding the poison victims. The emergency personnel had minor exposure, with most expected to recover fully over the coming days, but the father and daughter were something different. They were knocking on death’s door, and their survival was doubtful.

 

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