“Perhaps we should take this inside?” suggested Sean, breaking the silence that had settled.
Neither moved nor responded. Sean stepped forward, thinking they may part to let him through. Neither did. Impasse.
The guard began to reach for his belt. The message to Sean loud and clear. He wasn’t welcome.
Sean sighed. This wasn’t really what he had planned. Inside would have been much better but time was an issue and he just didn’t have any. He stepped back and threw his hand out, catching both by surprise. Sean grabbed the guard’s wrist before it reached his belt and as he twisted hard, forced a powerful head butt into the nose of the owner. As both wrist and nose shattered, the owner fell soundlessly to the ground while the guard doubled over, screaming in agony. The scream was short-lived as Sean followed quickly with a knee to the guard’s temple.
Sean quickly scanned for any reaction in the street. There was none. A female voice shouted from inside and footsteps approached the door but whoever was behind the door wasn’t about to open it. They shouted again. Sean had no idea what they were saying. He was too busy searching the two unconscious bodies. And whoever was shouting wasn’t wishing him good evening or inviting him in for a beer. After a quick search, Sean had exactly what he needed. He thanked the two men, wished them a good evening and returned to his car.
The gang leader stood next to his car, smiling proudly. His gang numbers had swollen to ten.
The gang leader held a knife above the fabric roof of the Mustang, ready to stab it. Other gang members held baseball bats at the ready, ready to teach the hombre a lesson, thought Sean. First they’d pound his car and then him.
Sean shook his head as the gang leader swung his hand up ready to strike down. Sean was still twenty yards away and was helpless to stop him. Except, unfortunately for the young gang leader, Sean swung his hand down to his belt, retrieved the Glock he had just taken from the owner and in one seeping motion, fired three rounds in quick succession.
The first took the knife cleanly out of the leader’s hand, the second took out one of the baseball bats and the third, a baseball cap off the head of the nearest gang member to Sean.
As half the gang ran away, the other half stood their ground. One reached for a pistol he had tucked in his trousers. Before he could bring it to bear, Sean sent over another bullet and removed it from the gang member’s hand. He was not as fortunate as his colleagues. As the gun exited his hand, a snap signaled his trigger finger would not be pulling triggers anytime soon.
The rest of the gang fled.
Sean climbed into the Mustang and placed the two handguns on the passenger seat, one Glock and one Jimenez Arms. He wasn’t familiar with the make but it felt light and very cheap. The Glock certainly worked and Sean had the gang to thank for the impromptu test firing. It was always good to know your weapon worked before you really needed to know if your weapon worked. Weapons were not hard to get a hold of. You just needed to know who to go to. Pimps were weaker and far less trigger happy than drug dealers. As for the shattered nose, Sean hadn’t met a pimp who didn’t prey on the weak and less fortunate in society; it was the least he probably deserved.
Chapter 12
SVR Headquarters
Moscow
Mikhail paced nervously outside the Director’s office. He had already been in the office for hours. His wife had kicked him out of bed at 4.00 a.m. due to his tossing and turning and inability to sleep.
He had spent the last few hours going through old records in an attempt to understand what was going on but there was nothing. At least nothing he was allowed to see without further approval; something he didn’t know was possible. He had access to everything the Science Department had ever been involved in, or so he had thought. One file was inaccessible, the Grebnevo file. No other detail was available. The file was simply labeled Grebnevo. Mikhail had tried an Internet search, inputting the name; nothing showed up other than it was the name of a derelict estate just outside of Moscow. Shortly after his search, Mikhail’s computer stopped working.
“Come in!” The Director’s voice boomed through the door. His assistant didn’t come in before eight.
Mikhail puffed out his chest and stood to his full five foot seven as he walked into the Director’s office. Mikhail shrunk an inch as the imposing figure of General Yuri Borodin stood up to greet him. He was Director of the GRU, Russia’s Military Intelligence Directorate. His own Director sat motionless behind his desk, leaving Mikhail alone to face Borodin. Borodin took Mikhail’s hand and shook it before guiding him to one of the two seats in front of the SVR Director’s desk.
Mikhail sat and surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his hand. He could do nothing about the sweat forming on his brow. He just had to hope the two most powerful Intelligence tsars in Russia did not notice. Mikhail was a scientist. Politics and power games were most definitely beyond him and if he had ever harbored any doubt, the speed at which his heart was currently racing proved it categorically.
“I believe you needed to speak to me urgently?” offered the SVR Director.
Mikhail glanced at Borodin before answering. As far as he was aware, although they both worked for Mother Russia, the two tsars were constantly fighting over resource and territory. Discussing confidential SVR business in the GRU Director’s presence was not only unorthodox but unheard of.
Borodin leaned over and slapped Mikhail’s knee. “It’s OK, young man, you can discuss this in front of me. I know all about Sean Fox!”
Mikhail breathed a sigh of relief and began to relay the telephone conversations he had received the previous day, informing him that Sean Fox was alive and in America.
“Obviously,” he concluded. “There has been a miscommunication as I don’t know why my department would be involved with this Sean Fox.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here. There was a mistake. You should not have been informed. Sean Fox is an agent of ours whom we had presumed dead. Part of a joint KGB/GRU project in the past. I believe the agent in the US who contacted you yesterday with the information had historic contacts at KGB and GRU. He contacted the modern day equivalents, assuming you would be involved. However, this is old news and we need no longer worry about it.”
Smiles broke out throughout the meeting as all came to the silent agreement. Mikhail would forget the name Sean Fox ever existed.
A brief knock at the door preceded the door being opened without pause. Mikhail thought this rude as he watched the First Deputy Director of the SVR cross the office and hand a note directly to his boss, the SVR Director.
The smile instantly drained from the Director’s face, as did every drop of color. A nod towards Borodin indicated he should see the message too. Borodin’s smile and color also disappeared as he too read the note.
Mikhail began to shift awkwardly, wondering why the note was causing such a dramatic reaction. Were they at war? Had the President been assassinated? The First Deputy Director left without showing Mikhail the note.
“Is there anything else, Mikhail?” asked his Director, as the door closed behind the First Deputy Director.
Mikhail stood up, assuming he had been dismissed.
“Is there anything you’ve not told us?” clarified his boss.
Mikhail sat back down and realized he had not told them about his conversation with Agent Pyotr Travkin. As he relayed the conversation, General Borodin stood up and began to pace around the large office. Mikhail became increasingly nervous as the massive General appeared to become more and more agitated the longer Mikhail spoke. On more than a few occasions, the General’s guttural throat clearing interrupted Mikhail’s flow. Borodin was clearly not happy.