“That is true. And that is why we approached it in a different way.”
“How?”
“First of all, Mitzi had no idea what her husband really did. She only told you what she had been told. As a matter of fact, he did not place our people in these so-called high-end jobs. You’re right, the scrutiny would have been rather intense.”
“So what did you do then?”
Egorshin smiled. “‘Low-end’ jobs are much better sources for intelligence collection.”
“What do you consider ‘low-end’ jobs?” asked Jamison.
“For example, chefs for wealthy people. Security guards at sensitive corporate facilities. You would be astonished how lacking they are in vetting their security forces. We would never do it that way in Russia. Americans outsource everything. And these companies cut costs. And background checks are expensive and take time. We deploy personal drivers for executives and former government officials. It is amazing how chatty they are in their cars, as though the driver is deaf. Flight attendants on private aircraft. Domestic help, cleaning crews, and nannies with your class of movers and shakers, particularly on both coasts. Personal assistants to these same people. IT personnel who gain access to passwords and clouds and the most sensitive data, and who are on-site listening to everything. Attendants of all ilk at high-end hotels, restaurants, spas, and private retreats. Again, Americans talk as though these peons do not exist. And these peons just soak it up. Indeed, I have been on your Acela train. I simply sit there and listen to people loudly talking on their phones: lawyers and corporate executives, journalists and television news presenters, and even your government officials, giving away the most critical data like it is nothing. In my country they would be shot. I turn my recorder on and sip my drink and it is so easy. That is why we have people who work there and also wherever sensitive information can be captured by seemingly insignificant people. America is one gigantic leaking balloon and it is truly wonderful.”
Jamison glanced worriedly at Decker, who kept staring at Egorshin.
“The list of these types of occupations goes on and on. The opportunities for us are endless. My agents are well trained for all that they have to do. Their work credentials are authentic. Then they just have to do their jobs and the information flows nonstop. We will bury your country without firing a shot or launching one missile. We won’t have to, because you are simply defeating yourself by your own stupid carelessness. And we will be there to step in as the victor.”
Jamison said, “I thought all of your spying was done in the cyber world now. Hacks and bot armies to sway public opinion.”
Egorshin shrugged. “Cyber warfare certainly has its place. And it has worked well for my country against the United States and others. But while bot armies and hacking and message multiplication and the spread of false stories are effective, there is, in my opinion, no substitute for boots on the ground, what you call human intelligence. People gathering information directly from the source. Humans can deceive in infinitely flexible, subtle ways that you cannot duplicate by writing lines of code.”
“I guess I can see that,” conceded Jamison.
“Now tell me about Mitzi,” said Egorshin.
“Why?” asked Decker.
“I have an interest. What will happen to her?”
“No telling yet. Depends on her degree of guilt.”
“She may have no guilt at all.”
“We believe that she set up her father.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“How can you possibly know that?” asked Jamison.
Decker was staring strangely at Egorshin but remained quiet. He closed his eyes, and in the depths of his memory he reread his most recent email from the medical examiner.
No familial ties to Meryl Hawkins.
Decker opened his eyes and refocused on Egorshin. “I’ll give you a little more debriefing. I just found out that the DNA under Abigail Richards’s nails was contaminated with a third party’s DNA. I thought it was Mitzi Gardiner. But the test showed the third party was unrelated to Meryl Hawkins.”
“So the person was not Mitzi,” said Jamison.
Decker didn’t seem to hear her. He kept his gaze on the Russian. “You know, I always wondered about the name.”
“Peyton is a typical American surname.”
“No, not your fake name. Mitzi’s real name.”
“Why wonder about that?” said Egorshin, his features tightening a bit.
“I looked it up a while back because it’s unusual for an American. Mitzi is a nickname that Germans give daughters who are named Maria. You were born in Germany.”
Egorshin shook his head. “My father was Russian. Egorshin is not German. And East Germany was far more like Russia than West Germany.”
“Maybe your father was Russian, but you and your family still lived in East Germany. And your mother was American.”
“I see you have done your homework. But what is your point? Mitzi Gardiner is not German. She was born here.”
“Yes, she was. And you’re sixty-two years old. While Mitzi is forty.”
“Decker,” said Mars. “What are you getting at?”
Decker kept his focus on Egorshin. “Mitzi’s mom worked in the cafeteria at Ohio State while you were a student there. At age twenty-two you would have probably been in your senior year. She was a few years older than you.”
Egorshin eased back in his seat.
Jamison’s jaw lowered. “Wait a minute. Are you saying?”
Decker said, “It was Mitzi’s DNA under those nails, but it wouldn’t show that she was Meryl’s daughter, because she wasn’t. You’re her father. You got Lisa pregnant in college. Did she have the baby when you were still there?”
“Damn,” muttered Mars.
Egorshin said in a subdued tone, “The day after she was born, I was recalled to my country.”
“So you just left, without a word?”
“I loved Lisa. I... wanted to be with her. Raise the child. We named her after my paternal grandmother, Maria. But I told Lisa about the name Mitzi.”
“Well, it seems to have stuck around. More than you did.”
“I could not stay. It was impossible.”
“So, she met Meryl, they got married. He adopted Mitzi. They probably never told her about it, she just thought Meryl was her real father, and they moved eventually to Burlington.” Decker paused. “And that’s why you chose this town for your operation when the time came.”
Egorshin looked at his men and then stood and paced. “I wanted... to see what had become of her. When I arrived here to do my... work, she was...”
“A drug addict.”
“It was terrible to think that she was that way. And my dear Lisa.”
“Had cancer.”
“Yes. There was no hope.”
“What did you do then?”
“I arranged to meet Mitzi through someone.”
“Her dealer, Karl Stevens?”
“Yes. I told her that I had known her mother a long time ago and I wanted to help them. I got her mother medicine and gave it to Mitzi.”
“But you also set her father up for murder, with her help.”
Egorshin suddenly stopped pacing and roared, “He was not her father! I was!”
This outburst didn’t faze Decker. “You left, he didn’t. He raised her. You didn’t. He did his best to help her. You didn’t. That’s what I call a father.”
Egorshin started to pace again, rubbing the back of his head in his anxiety.
Decker watched him. “You needed to get rid of David Katz. Why?”
“He was like this one,” said Egorshin, motioning to the dead Gardiner. “Whatever we gave him was not enough.”