The following week everything changed. The twin towers came down and Vincent, at the request of the President, was back at the CIA, heading up, again, its Clandestine Services division which Sean had just joined. With the twin towers still smoldering, Sean was in no position to change his mind and was preparing for his first tour in Afghanistan as the fight against Al Qaeda and the Taliban was launched in reprisal.
Ever since Vincent had been brought back into the CIA, he had been planning his exit. Sean Fox would be an excellent Director of CS but unfortunately Sean proved too valuable in the field and every time Vincent felt the time was right, another war would break out — Iraq, the surge in Afghanistan. Political upheaval in the Middle East. Sean was needed on the front line, not behind a desk. However, all those plans were dealt a fatal blow thanks to the Senior Senator from Oklahoma and his latest young squeeze. The squeeze was, unfortunately, a very ambitious investigative reporter who, on hearing the news of an undercover operation that would capture Al Qaeda’s number two, broke the story. Unfortunately, she broke it before the operation had actually launched. Unaware of the leak, Sean’s team launched the operation and barely managed to get out with three fatalities and a list of injuries that would mean only Sean and two others out of the ten members of the team would ever live a normal life.
Vincent had called for the senator’s head but he was a massive money generator for the President and so received nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Vincent vowed he’d bring the man down one day but Sean made his feelings very clear and no amount of persuasion would change his mind. He would never work for the 'fuckers’ again. After the six months of rehabilitation and witnessing the Senior Senator from Oklahoma being appointed Chairman of the Intelligence Oversight Committee, Sean left the CIA and government service. Watching Sean leave the office with a small cardboard box under his arm was, as Vincent recalled, one of the most distressing days of his life.
For the next fifteen months, they had little contact. Sean called irregularly to say hi but never said where he was or what he was doing. Vincent tried to keep track but Sean had so many different aliases and documents, it was a full time job to try and keep up with his whereabouts. Eventually, Vincent accepted the inevitable and moved on. Sean needed time to get over what had happened, if he ever would.
Vincent, for what seemed the nth time in his life, put his personal life on hold. He had a country to protect. He had nearly been married twice, the first coincided with the car crash and it seemed while Vincent was ready to step up and take on the responsibility of a grief stricken fifteen year old, his fun loving fiancee was not. However, as far as Sean knew, it just didn’t work out and was none the wiser as to why all of a sudden uncle Vincent’s girlfriend disappeared. He had far more important emotional issues to deal with. The second and more recent engagement was collateral damage from 9/11. With his retirement in tatters and back working 18-hour days, his fiancee, who was going to love and cherish him in to his old age, decided she couldn’t really do that if he wasn’t around. Over seventy, he had resigned himself to dying a bachelor, married to his country which he had loved, honored and obeyed with all his heart despite its indiscretions, for which it was always forgiven. Something Sean could not do.
The lowest point in his life had come three months ago. Sean’s death and the revelations of a secret life hidden from him had hit him harder than the death of James and Myriam, harder than the death of his own parents. It was true, burying a child was the hardest thing you could ever do. Burying one you suddenly didn’t recognize as your own was even harder.
Having Sean back had re-invigorated him. His bounce had come back, his reason for being was back. His life once again had purpose.
Vincent got up from his bed and checking his clock, pondered again over the Russian involvement. The moment Sean had mentioned it, it had triggered something. He racked his memory. At seventy, it was a little slower to respond than it used to be but if there were something there, it would come to him eventually. In the meantime, he picked up his phone, despite the late hour, and dialed an old friend, the former head of the CIA’s Moscow office who answered after three rings.
“Who the hell is calling me at this time of night?!” came the answer.
“Vincent Black!” responded Vincent, not bowing to the old spy’s aggressive tone.
“How in the hell are you, V?”
“Confused, Mike,” replied Vincent, cutting to the chase. “Any ideas why the Russians would be interested in Sean?”
“Sean, as in your Sean, as in killed three months ago Sean?” clarified Mike. He also wasn’t one to beat about the bush.
“Sort of, Sean arrived back today after a stint in Afghanistan.”
“So he’s not dead?”
“Apparently not but the science says he was the body parts we received three months ago.”
“What’s that got to do with the Russians?”
Vincent explained what he knew and listened to a very quiet line. Just as he thought Mike had hung up, he spoke.
“It can’t be…” said Mike pensively. “Vincent, I need to make some calls. I’ll call you back,” he added more firmly.
“Wait a minute,” said Vincent quickly. “What are you thinking?”
“Too early to say but if it is what I think it is, the cold war may not be over, it may have been a temporary thaw!” Mike’s voice was ice cold, adding an eerie relevance to his shocking conclusion.
Chapter 23
Pytor hung up on Borodin and grinned inanely at Alexa. “We’re off the hook!” he said, explaining his ridiculous grin.
“Thank God!” she breathed and relaxed. It was only after the call that she realized how tense she had been.
“I’ll call the Director and tell him we’re heading back to Washington. We do work for SVR after all!” offered Pyotr as he began to search for Deputy Director Beryutov’s number.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she offered cheerily with a wave and closed the door quietly behind her as she made her way back to her own room. With twelve hours until the next flight to Washington, she planned to spend as many of them as possible sleeping.
As Pyotr listened to the voice mail message, he checked his watch. It was almost 10 a.m. in Moscow. He redialed the office number and was immediately connected with Deputy Director Beryutov’s secretary.
“Science Division.”
“I’d like to speak with the Deputy Director, please.”
“Of course, may I ask who’s calling?”
“Pyotr Travkin.”
“And will she know what it is regarding?”
Travkin assumed he misheard the secretary’s use of the word 'she’ in reference to the Deputy Director.
“He will yes!”
“I’m sorry were you looking for former Director Beryutov?” asked the secretary.
“Former Director?”
“Yes I’m afraid there was a terrible accident this morning. He was killed in a car crash on the way to work,” she said with little emotion.
“On his way to work?” confirmed Pyotr.
“Yes,” a suspicion entered her tone, which hadn’t been there previously. “It’s terrible, we are all very shocked,” she added quickly realizing she had dropped her guard.
Pyotr had a list of questions he wanted to ask and check, including whether the secretary could have sounded any less caring. However, the less he got involved the better and the sooner he ended the call the better also.
“Please pass on my condolences,” offered Pyotr in an attempt to end the call.