“Anyone care for a cup of coffee?” Alex asked.
…60
There was almost no activity on the quiet little street, with most of the neighborhood folks out to school, work, or about their business. They approached Smolin’s address and slowed to a stop under the pine tree that cast a thick shadow over the house.
The house had an elevated first level. Five steps led to a small front porch that expanded across the entire front. An Appalachian rocking chair and a dying potted plant were the only objects on that porch. A hedge grew five feet tall and was thick, well-maintained, and neatly trimmed. It surrounded the house and stopped at the edge of the narrow path that led to the steps, then turned to follow it all the way to the porch. That hedge provided some privacy.
They checked the neighborhood, looking down the street, in the rearview mirror, scrutinizing the windows of the neighboring houses, then they parked a few houses down the street. They’d driven in Alex’s rental, less noticeable than Jeremy’s Dodge Charger. Even that decision had been a cause for a bitter argument.
“Let’s go,” Jeremy said, a little nervous.
“Thanks for doing this,” Alex said, and hopped out of the car.
“Yeah…” Jeremy replied with his usual tone and one-word answer that could mean anything. “It’s one thing to execute a warrant and another to sneak in like this. It’s not like we don’t have a warrant.”
“We still don’t know enough about this man, and something tells me he’s not going to be extra forthcoming in an interrogation. With his rank in the SVR, he’s probably trained to resist more torture than we’re even willing to put him through.” She sighed, watching Jeremy open the door carefully using a lock-picking toolkit, then hooking up a code-breaking device to the alarm system. “Maybe… maybe we can learn more about his network, his people back home.” And about V, she completed her phrase in her mind, but decided not to share it.
A minute later, the alarm system beeped and the LED turned green.
They snuck in and closed the door behind them.
“I’ll take the kitchen,” she offered.
She went ahead to search the kitchen and little there caught her attention. It was clean, neatly organized, taken care of. The windows had white sheers, and the cupboards had been refaced recently.
She opened the dishwasher; empty. She checked under the sink and pulled out the trashcan. It was lined with a new white plastic liner, but it smelled a little of burned paper. She lifted the liner and saw the burn marks on the trashcan’s metallic surface. She put everything back how she found it and moved to the cupboards.
Nothing was out of the ordinary; pots, pans, plates, cups, all boringly normal, except one place, the two shelves above the fridge. In there she saw a small stack of Petri dishes, seven in total. Huh… that was strange. There wasn’t a single explanation she could think of to justify those Petri dishes.
She opened the fridge next, and saw an assortment of deli meats, cheese, and vodka. A few sandwiches already packed in tinfoil took half the middle shelf, next to an olive jar and a small pot of borscht. She opened one sandwich: ham and cheese. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
She closed the fridge just when the radio crackled to life.
“One, this is two, come in.”
She picked up her radio. “Go for one.”
“One, you have traffic inbound. Will have eyes on you in two minutes.”
She groaned and cussed under her breath. “Copy that.”
Jeremy came downstairs right after he heard the radioed message.
“Found anything?” she asked.
“Nothing much, just a crisscross paper shredder. You?”
“Petri dishes. And someone really cares about this guy, they’re packing lunch for him. Let’s go.”
“One, traffic has eyes on front door,” the radio crackled again.
“Copy,” Jeremy replied.
She had already opened the door, looking carefully to spot any movement. She saw Smolin coming down the street.
“Fuck,” she muttered, then grabbed Jeremy’s sleeve. “Arm the alarm and keep your head down. The hedge will cover us.”
Jeremy pulled the door gently behind him as he exited the house, while Alex crouched on the porch. He locked the door just when Smolin’s hat started to be visible in the distance, above the hedge line.
Without saying a word, she pushed Jeremy hard toward the hedge on the opposite side, and he went through it with a thump, landing behind it. She had nowhere to go, it was too late; Smolin was looking straight at her, as she sat crouched in an unnatural position on his front porch.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his Russian accent thick and unmistakable.
“Yes, please,” she whimpered. “I twisted my ankle right there, in that pothole,” she said, pointing at a small indentation in the asphalt. “My cell’s battery is gone; can you please help me call a cab to take me home?”
She extended her leg as to show him, but Smolin frowned, unconvinced.
Barely audible, she discerned the faint beep of the alarm system arming itself. She almost sighed with relief.
“If it’s too much trouble, I’ll go away,” she said, feigning an attempt to stand up.
“Wait here,” Smolin said, then tried the handle on his door. Alex held her breath for a second, feeling the sweat break at the roots of her hair, but the door was locked. Smolin entered the house, disarmed the alarm, then brought outside a cordless phone.
…61
Anatoly Karp paced the room slowly, carrying himself tall and proud, with his hands clasped behind his back, measuring up his audience. The improvised training room was packed to the brim with people of all ages, taking every available seat, some standing.
What a spoiled bunch they were, all of them! Every one of these men and women had left their country behind and decided it wasn’t good enough, because they wanted a bigger car or more money. How disgusting! Like whores they were, all of them, selling themselves to whoever had the deepest pockets.
But even whores served a purpose; so could these people. After all, they owed their abandoned country a debt of service and of loyalty, words most of these fat pigs didn’t even know the meaning of.
His mouth filled with phlegm mixed with bile, coming up his throat, stimulated by the wave of disgust he was feeling. He turned his head slightly toward the wall and sent out a spitball that landed a few feet away.
He felt better after sending that projectile, cleaner. Karp was an unusual, memorable man, not blond or sandy-haired like most of his compatriots. His hair was raven black, and his eyes matched a shiny, almost bluish shade of color. His square jaw and strong features showed character and determination, and the premature lines on his face were a testimony to the sacrifices he had made in the service of his country.
“You’re here today,” Karp finally spoke, “because your country needs you. Russia needs you.”
The hundred or so attendees started murmuring, turning to one another to exchange whispered comments.
“I do not care,” Karp continued undisturbed, raising his voice slightly, “that you are now American citizens. I do not care that you have renounced your loyalty to Russia when you swore your allegiance to America. You have taken an oath of lifelong loyalty to this institution, the SVR, and that’s the only one that matters. Your debt of honor to your motherland hasn’t been paid and will be owed until the day you draw your last breath. All of you,” he continued dramatically, making an all-encompassing gesture with his hand.