Back in the SUV again, Karl said, “Now where?”
“Your hotel.”
“What about a gun?”
“That wasn’t part of my deal.”
“But everyone has a gun in Florida.”
“Not Russian tourists.”
The driver drove him out to Disneyworld and dropped him off at the front door of one of the major hotels attached to the resort.
Karl thanked the man and got his bags before heading inside. He checked in using broken English with a Russian accent. Once he got to his room, he glanced out at the swimming pool below, realizing he had not bought a swim suit. Then he plopped down on the king-sized bed and immediately fell asleep.
When the phone buzzed in Karl’s jacket, he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He rolled over in the massive bed and found the phone inside his pocket. The room was almost completely dark, with the exception of a sliver of light between the curtains.
“Yeah,” Karl said.
“Hey. Did I wake you?” It was Roddy, his contact at the Agency.
“I think I might have been in a travel coma.”
Roddy laughed. “Get used to that feeling.”
“Can you tell me what I’m doing in Orlando?”
“You haven’t been debriefed on what happened in Murmansk, Helsinki and Iceland. Normally that happens in person here, but since you’re not coming in, we need to do it by secure SAT phone. Tell me you’re not with some hot hooker.”
“I’m not with a hooker. Do they have those here at Disneyworld?”
“Why do you think they call it the Magic Kingdom? Exactly. Anyway. Start with Murmansk. I will hit record in five seconds, so keep it clean for the bosses.”
Karl went through what he knew from his last debriefing. Although he was supposed to be in Murmansk for immersion to the language and culture, he had actually done some real espionage work, observing the Russian Naval Base some 27 kilometers north of the city. And then he had also been told to fly his drone over the waterfront that night in hopes to find out something about the heavy security presence around that train, which was caught at its source by satellite imagery.
“Murmansk must have been a cold hellhole,” Roddy surmised.
“Not much colder than upstate New York,” Karl said.
“So, you were able to get out of Murmansk, but had to burn your Russian identity. I hope you don’t mind your new name and background. I’ve uploaded your legend to a temporary folder, which will be deleted two hours after we end this call. So, learn it fast because it’s going away. Helsinki.”
Karl explained everything that had happened in the Finnish capital, with the exception of his sexual encounter with Hanna.
“The women in that area are hot,” Roddy said. “Sorry. Back to your debrief. Iceland.”
“Right.” Karl wasn’t sure how much he should say about that stop. Was his father supposed to be there officially? He hesitated to give up that info.
“What about the Russian man who was tailing you?” Roddy asked.
Time to come clean. “I fucked up. I should have caught the Russian on my flight from Helsinki. I was tired. But that’s no excuse.”
“No problem. He was a seasoned GRU officer.”
“What happened to him?”
“The Icelandic Police are still holding him.” Roddy laughed. “They’re questioning him about bogus cases. Something about the murder of a man in Gdansk, Poland. Understandably, the guy is denying anything to do with a murder that never happened. Your father is quite the agent of deception.”
So, they knew about Jake Adams, Karl’s father, being helpful in Iceland. Karl thought his father might have just been blowing smoke about his involvement. But, of course, how would he have even known about Karl’s flight if the Agency hadn’t told him.
“Yeah, he’s quite a piece of work.”
“Jake Adams is a legend, man. And you’ve got his DNA coursing through your veins.”
“I could probably get you his autograph,” Karl said.
“Seriously?”
“Next time I see him.” How the hell was he ever going to live up to that man’s reputation? “Where do I go from here?”
“You’re still in the game, Karl. We want you to follow this through to completion.”
“What does that look like?”
“We’re tracking the ship from Murmansk,” Roddy said. “It’s currently tracking south, but along a strange trajectory if they plan to bring the shipment to Africa. That’s why we put you in Florida. There are direct flights to Africa from Miami.”
“I’m in Orlando,” Karl reminded him.
“I know. But Iceland doesn’t have direct flights to Miami. We’ll get you down there once we know where the ship is going for sure.”
“What do I do until then?”
“Work on your tan.”
With that, his contact at the Agency clicked off and Karl sat up in the bed. Swell. He could think of worse places to hang out. Like Murmansk.
First things first, though. He disrobed and went for a long, hot shower.
14
After hanging low in Orlando for a few days, Karl had been directed to fly to the island nation of Aruba two days ago. While in Orlando, he had gone to a bank and rented a safe deposit box, where he stashed some of his old passports and other identification. Now if anyone stopped him for any reason, he would only have a key to an unknown box in an unknown place.
Darkness was almost complete as the sun slowly sunk over the Caribbean, with the sky displaying various shades of blues and oranges. He stood out on his fifth-floor balcony of one of the major hotel resort complexes on the north end of the island, in the Palm Beach area, with a near-perfect view of the pool below and the sea beyond that.
Karl was damn near bored out of his mind. There was a lot to do in Orlando if one liked hokey rides and obnoxious tourists. But he had spent most of his time either in his room, at poolside drinking beer and rum, thanks to his father for those habits, or in the hotel bar on the ground floor.
By the time he had gotten to Aruba, he was nearly done with sun and sand. He was actually thinking somewhat favorably about the cold and snow of northern climates again. Somewhat.
He got a text he was waiting for, and he went back into his room, closing the balcony door behind him. His contact would be coming to his door within a few seconds. He acknowledged with a quick message.
The Dutch were the unofficial overlords of Aruba, but America had its consulate on the nearby island of Curacao. An attache from that consulate had been dispatched by the Agency to meet Karl at his room.
After a light knock on the door, Karl looked through the peep and saw a man with a short high and tight haircut wearing an obnoxiously colorful tropical shirt with pink flamingos.
Karl opened the door and waited to see an I.D. from the man, who was waiting for that request. Mister Bill Evans wore long shorts and sandals. If it were not for the hair, the guy would have looked like a normal tourist.
“Come on in, Bill,” Karl said. Once the man passed, Karl glanced back out into the hall before closing and locking his door.
The attache was actually carrying an attache case over his shoulder, which he took off now and set on the bed.
“Army?” Karl asked.
“How’d you guess?”
“I did a little time there myself,” Karl said. “What do you have for me?”
Bill smiled and unzipped the attache bag. He pulled out a small handgun. “Glock Forty-Three in nine mil, with two extra magazines.” The army officer cleared the gun by dropping the magazine and racking the slide back, locking it open. Then he handed the gun to Karl.
Karl took the gun from him and felt it in his hand. It was a newer subcompact carry version of the more popular Glock 17 and 19 models. But the 17 held 17 rounds of 9mm, while the 19 held only 15 rounds. The 43 held only six rounds plus one in the chamber.