“That would keep them in compliance with the INF Treaty,” Karl said.
“Technically. But the Russians don’t give a shit about treaties. They cheat on those like Americans cheat on their taxes.”
The Icelandic Police brought in some sandwiches and two beers each for Karl and Jake. The two of them ate in silence until they were both working on the second beer.
“Why did you really come to see me?” Karl asked.
Jake stopped midway through a gulp of beer and stared at his son for a moment. Then he said, “Glad to see your instincts came through in your DNA. The Russians have obviously escalated from simply messing with you in Murmansk to trying to kill you in Helsinki. What did you leave behind in Russia?”
Confused, Karl said, “Like what?”
“I’m not concerned about prints and DNA,” Jake said. “The Agency sent cleaners in to sanitize your old apartment. You can’t entirely get rid of those, but they do a pretty damn good job.”
“I was careful to keep that to a minimum,” Karl said. “I know my training.”
His father smiled. “You were intimate with a Russian woman. Did you leave anything at her place?”
Karl thought about the last time he had been at her place. “I think we’re okay.”
“I’m sure the Agency cleaned her place as well,” Jake said.
“Even if the Russians get my prints or DNA, they will never match it to me. The Agency flags those requests and feed disinformation.”
“I’m intimately aware of that,” Jake said. “They’re still covering my ass. What about the laptop and the drone they took?”
“I’m good there,” Karl said.
“Great.” Jake sucked down more of his beer, hesitated, and then finished the last of that one. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The key is to never get into the SVR or FSB systems.”
“I was printed and photographed when I entered Russia,” Karl provided.
“I know. Which is why the Agency had you come in as a Spanish exchange student. But when you traveled to Helsinki, you did so under a new passport. A Russian identity. That’s what has the GRU scrambling now. They’re not sure who you are. We just can’t let them know you’re an American.”
“That’s why the Agency had me come here as a Canadian.”
“Right. Now they might have burned your third identity on one mission.”
Karl leaned back and drank the last of his second beer. His father had an interesting take on this issue. And he wasn’t wrong. “So, now what?”
“A Russian officer was on your flight from Helsinki,” Jake said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you to Orlando.”
Dumbfounded, Karl’s mind swirled as he ran the faces of those on the flight through his mind.
Jake had done his best not to break the confidence of his son, while still bringing to light the seriousness of his predicament. Without a doubt, the Russians wanted Karl dead. Or at least they wanted a Spanish exchange student, who was probably much more than that, dead.
He had instructed his son what to do until his flight boarded. Most importantly, he wanted Karl to act like everyone else simply waiting for their flights. In other words, it was best to not try too hard to spot the Russian. The GRU or SVR officer would notice Karl searching.
But Jake had one thing going for him — the entire Icelandic Police force. With their help like sheep dogs directing a stray back home, Jake followed the man into the bathroom as he went in for one last relief before the Orlando flight. Behind Jake came the Icelandic Police, making sure nobody went in after Jake.
Pretending to pee, Jake waited for the Russian to finish and shake off.
As the Russian passed Jake to wash his hands, Jake swiftly attacked, placing the man in a sleeper hold. The smaller man struggled in Jake’s grasp, but would not pass out.
Suddenly a man came out of a toilet stall and stopped dead in his tracks. Jake shifted his head toward the door, so the man had enough sense to get the hell out of the men’s room in a hurry.
Finally, the Russian sunk into Jake’s arms, passing out. He set the man onto the floor and went to get the Icelandic Police officers, who rushed the man out as if he were having a medical emergency.
Jake wandered past the terminal gate for the Orlando flight. He smiled at his son and lifted his chin. Karl gave him an approving smirk and then went through the gate to his flight.
13
Karl went through customs as a Canadian citizen named Karl Konrad. After so many months playing other people, he was beginning to lose sight of his own identity. As he got to the baggage claim area, a tall black man in a suit that looked a few sizes too small stood with a sign that read, ‘Mr. Prufrock.’
“I’m Prufrock,” Karl said to the man.
“My ride is just outside the door,” the man in the suit said. “Do you have baggage?”
Karl slapped the side of his duffle. “Just this. I’m traveling light.”
Outside, they got into a black Cadillac Escalade with heavily tinted windows. It was warm out, but not oppressively so. Karl threw his bag into the back seat and got into the front passenger side. The inside of the SUV had tan leather seats, which still seemed cool from the AC.
The driver got in and found a large sealed envelope under the seat, which he handed to Karl before starting the engine.
“You need to open that now,” the driver said.
“I’m dead tired,” Karl protested.
“I got my orders, so you’re gonna get yours.” He put the vehicle in drive and pulled away from the arrivals area outside of baggage claim.
Karl opened the folder and found more documents. There was a Russian passport with the name Nikolai Markin. After burning that last name in Murmansk, the Agency had changed his last name but allowed him to keep his first name. Sweet. His Russian driver’s license put him from St. Petersburg. Smart, since he had spent a semester abroad studying there during his junior year at Notre Dame. He knew the city well. Also inside was a Russian credit card.
“That’s a prepaid visa with only a grand on it. So, don’t try to go crazy. You’ll need some different clothes for this heat. That leather jacket is too heavy.”
“What’s the plan for me?” Karl asked.
The driver glanced at him and smiled. “The Agency wants you to do some tourist shit for a couple of days as a Russian. Go visit Mickey and Donald. Drink some rum with little umbrellas.”
“And then?”
“That’s beyond my paygrade, dude.”
“You work here?”
“No. This is my home town. I work at Langley. They just handed me a package, showed me your photo, and told me to make a damn sign with that T.S. Eliot name on it. I’m just a software engineer. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in five years.”
“Where are you bringing me?”
“The Magic Kingdom, baby. You’re getting the full Boris Yeltsin. Thank you very much. But first we’re going to the mall. You can’t check in from Russia with just that duffle bag.”
“Good point.”
The driver took him to one of those major anchor department stores, where Karl quickly bought a bunch of T-shirts and tropical button front shirts. He stuck with mostly long pants, but light cotton fabric. Luckily, he found a thin jacket that could eventually hide a concealed handgun. Then he was also able to find a simple black suitcase to shove everything into in the parking lot.