Borodin got up and poured himself a vodka from his drinks cabinet. It had been a long morning and was going to be an even longer day. He wondered where Vasiliy had got to, just as the phone rang.
“Yes!” he barked.
“General, I’m very sorry.” It was the records chief, his mousey voice more pathetic than normal. “The records you requested cannot be brought to you, Sir.”
“Rubbish! Send them up with Vasiliy!” he barked before replacing the handset firmly enough to ensure the records chief knew he had been hung up on.
Borodin’s phone rang again. “I’m sorry…” started the records chief.
“Now!” demanded Borodin, losing his patience and slamming the phone into its cradle.
The phone rang again. Borodin looked at it with fury. He lifted it and was relieved to hear Vasiliy’s voice. Had the records chief spoken, Borodin could not have controlled his actions.
“General, I’m sorry,” began Vasiliy.
“Do not tell me you can’t get the file!” warned Borodin sternly.
“General, you don’t understand, it’s not that we won’t, we physically can’t.” explained Vasiliy.
“Sorry?” replied Borodin beginning to understand this was not about defiance or his lack of authority.
“If you could just come down please, General. You will understand.”
Borodin got up from his desk and stomped along the corridor to his own private elevator. His was only one of two elevators that offered the option to every floor within the massive and ultra modern GRU headquarters. This was no relic of the Soviet empire. This was a symbol of modern Russia’s power and ambition. Borodin hit B6 and waited as the elevator rushed him down to the very bowels of the structure, available to only a handful of staff members.
Vasiliy met him at the elevator’s door, the records chief standing a good ten yards further away. Borodin noted he looked exactly as he had envisaged, small and somewhat mole like, perfect for his underground environment.
“Well, show me what all this fuss is about.”
The records chief led the way, quickly followed by Vasiliy and then Borodin. A number of blast proof doors separated the vast rooms of paperwork they passed through. It was only after the third door that Borodin actually realized they were walking in a slight curve and ever so slightly downhill.
“How far is it?” he asked as doors led off into the distance.
“Not much further,” promised Vasiliy.
After a couple of minutes, they reached another elevator. Borodin looked at Vasiliy and the records chief.
“Where does this go?” he asked with some consternation, stopping himself from asking why doesn’t mine go there?
“All three got into what turned out to be a very small space and rode another thirty feet towards the earth’s core. As the door opened, Borodin began to understand. A small corridor ended at a large vault door. A finger and eye scanner stood ready to reward only those who matched its system memory.
“Only yourself, the Prime Minister and President may gain access General,” offered the records chief with a little more conviction, signaling for the General to go ahead.
General Borodin, the first and only head of Russia’s GRU since the end of Communism, bent forward and rested his chin on the eye scanner and placed his right index finger on the pad to his right. The system went to work and quickly confirmed that both the retina and fingerprint did indeed match. A final check by the system was that a pulse flowed through both, holding a severed finger and plucked eye would not fool the vault door.
The door opened without a sound, its oiled hinges as good as the day they had been installed and never before used.
Borodin entered the chamber and found an even greater surprise, no records existed. One desk sat in the middle of the room with one chair before a screen. No printers, nowhere to plug any drives, DVDs or USB devices, just a screen and a keyboard. The reason Vasiliy couldn’t bring him the files was simply because there were none. As he stepped into the vault, a steel gate snapped closed behind him. Obviously he was not allowed any visitors. Whatever was in the system was for his eyes only and only while in that room.
Borodin made his way to the desk and noted the flashing cursor on the screen. He typed in the reference and after a second was rewarded with an index page. The index alone blew his mind, the list of names read like a who’s who. The first name on the list caught his eye. There had been no reference to it in his paper file but it explained why the front cover contained a description in German. The more he read, the more he wondered at what had been conceived all those years ago. His file had only hinted at the scale of the project, as had his predecessor.
He wished he could print the screen but that was obviously not an option and he could see why. The information before him was dynamite and could spark a whole new cold war. He clicked back to the main index and selected Sean Fox’s name from the list. He read page after page of information, pretty much the whole of Sean Fox’s life was detailed before him, pages upon pages, details of every single event that marked the young man’s life. His parents’ death, his college and courses, his girlfriends, his army career, his entry to the CIA, after which details became less detailed and spaces began to appear, until finally leaving the CIA and his death three months earlier.
It was only as he realized what he had just read that the importance of it hit home. His death three months earlier. Three months ago. The project had been shut down over twenty years ago.
Borodin closed down the system and rushed back to the vault door. Vasiliy stood patiently waiting for the General and matched his pace as they almost ran back to the elevator.
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“Of course, General.”
“Good, get me Pyotr Travkin on the phone!”
Vasiliy dialed the number and as the cell began to ring handed the handset to the General.
“Travkin?” asked Borodin as confirmation. Receiving an affirmative, he continued. “You’re off the hook, head back to Washington. GRU will take it from here.”
Borodin heard the sigh of relief from Travkin as he hit the end button.
“I hope you’ve not got any plans this evening?” Borodin asked Vasiliy. The message was clear enough. Whatever they were, they had just been cancelled. “Because we are going on a little trip.”
“Of course, General. Will I get the plane prepped?”
“That won’t be necessary, it’s not that far. Have you ever heard of a place called Grebnevo?”
Chapter 21
“You’ve lost so much weight!” exclaimed Katie as she brushed past Sean at the top of the stairs. “He’s a lovely man!” she added seeing the photo Sean was looking at.
“You know him well?” asked Sean.
“Just met him the once, just after news of your…” She caught herself. “ Just after you went missing.”
“He loved James, he said he reminded him of you when you were a boy.”
“Did he,” thought Sean. Vincent had failed to mention his visit when they talked earlier.
“He brought your life assurance payout and details of my widow’s pension.”
Sean’s eyes left the photo and moved directly to Katie’s. “He what?” he asked angrily.
Katie stepped back, realizing she had said something wrong, she was still under the impression Sean was just suffering post traumatic stress. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned 'life’ or 'widow’. She’d have to be more careful she thought. There were probably lots of words that were danger words. She’d have to look into it more.
What in the hell was Vincent up to, thought Sean. He hadn’t been an employee for over a year when the other Sean had died. No payouts should have been made from the CIA. Unless… “Son of a Bitch!” shouted Sean aloud.