She leaned across the table and said, “You would like to watch that.”
“Watch and then join in,” he corrected.
“I thought you had a wife back in Moscow.”
“That is another hemisphere. It does not count. Besides, I think she might be having sex with a young SVR officer.”
She checked her watch. “All right. Where are you staying?”
Sergei looked encouraged. “At the Alex a few blocks from here.”
“Room number?”
“Eight fifty-four.”
Maya got up to leave, but Sergei grasped her arm. “What?”
“Be discreet,” he said. “Polina is staying in the room across the hallway.”
She smiled. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Do you have an extra key card?”
He shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“I’ll knock quietly.”
He let go of her arm and she left the bar.
When Karl first heard Maya get out of bed, he thought she was simply going to the bathroom. But then she quietly got dressed and left the room. By the time he got dressed and left the room, she was already in the elevator and heading down. He took the second elevator, but that got him to the lobby after she had already left the building.
Out on the street himself, he finally saw Maya making her way up the main avenue some two blocks ahead of him. He quickened his pace and was within a block when she suddenly stopped, turned and gazed his way. But he had enough time to fall in behind a group of revelers, hiding behind the gaggle.
Once Maya turned into the bar, he was starting to feel like maybe she was simply going out for a drink. But that made no sense, since the hotel bar was still open. No, this was something different.
Karl crossed the wide boulevard and could see that Maya was sitting at a table with someone. Without binoculars, he couldn’t see who she sat with. So, he crossed back across the wide avenue and fell in with another large group of people moving past the front of the bar, making sure to be covered by the others in the group. Now he knew. Maya was meeting with the Russian they had dinner with in Aruba.
He wandered back toward his hotel, a great feeling of angst and disappointment seeping through his body. This was worse than he suspected. Or, perhaps, it was exactly as he had feared. He considered calling this in to his Agency contact, but decided to wait. He needed more information. Instead, he hurried back to his hotel room, got undressed, and slipped back into bed. Before Maya got back, he picked up his phone and sent a quick message to Roddy. Karl needed answers. Pronto.
24
CIA Director John Bradford entered the most secure briefing room at Langley, a bunker-level hardened structure that could purportedly withstand a nuclear attack, although not a direct nuclear hit. There weren’t many structures worldwide that could sustain such an attack. But this room was the closest thing to perfect for secure communications. There were no external lines leading out, other than basic electrical wires, which were shielded against electronic surveillance and EMP attacks.
Bradford was understandably anxious after sitting in on a White House meeting and then confronting the Russians. It had been a cat and mouse game with their sometime enemies, bringing up the ship with the missile, while not letting them know how they knew about the incident. The Russians, on the other hand, had denied the existence of the missile, and wanted to talk about broader issues — like the potential conflicts in Asia and India. They were playing high-stakes three-card monte, while the U.S. was using a foam hammer with whack-a-mole.
Also in the briefing room were CIA Director of Operations, Sherm Swanson, Russian analyst Roddy Erikson, and the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Jim Bechtold.
Roddy had done most of the briefing of the president, and seemed a bit rattled following that meeting.
Bradford started the meeting. “All right, boys, we’ve got a bit of a dilemma.”
“That’s an understatement,” Sherm said. “The Russians didn’t budge.”
“Has our destroyer been detected, Jim?” Bradford asked the admiral.
“I don’t believe so,” Bechtold said. “They’ve been ordered to stay over the horizon. The radar on that commercial vessel is probably limited.”
“Roddy, what’s our status in Caracas?” Bradford asked the Russian analyst.
Before speaking, Roddy let out a heavy sigh. “Our asset on the ground has encountered both SEBIN officers and those from SVR.” He hesitated, probably expecting a follow up question that never came. So, he continued, “Since we believe our stationed assets have been thoroughly acknowledged in country, we have brought in a couple of fresh faces.”
Bradford interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You said these new assets have been encountered. How did this happen?”
Roddy shook his head. “Unsure at this time, sir.”
This was unacceptable, Bradford thought. “Since our assets have been discovered, why not combine forces? Bring in the local experts?”
Glancing at his direct superior, Roddy seemed to be asking Sherm Swanson to take this question.
Sherm interjected, “We plan on that eventually. But the Caracas station chief, after we briefed him about the potential landing spot for the Russian ship with the missile, has moved most of his people to Puerto La Cruz.”
“Where does that leave Adams and his agent?” Bradford asked.
“Currently in Caracas,” Sherm said.
“Doing what?” the director asked.
Sherm said, “Awaiting instructions.”
The room went silent, as if nobody wanted to broach the obvious question.
Finally, Roddy, the most junior man in the room, said, “Sir, I just got a message from Adams before coming to this meeting. He caught his agent meeting with the Russian SVR officer.”
“What?” Bradford rarely showed emotion, but this was an exception. “What in the fuck is going on? You stuck Adams with a double agent?” Bradford cast his gaze upon the director of operations, who was ultimately responsible for running agents with officers.
Sherm shrugged and shook his head. “This is the first I’m hearing it.”
Roddy jumped in, “I just found out by secure text seconds before entering this meeting, and did not have time to brief the DO.”
“I’m not looking to blame, gents,” Bradford said. “I want to know how you plan on handling it.”
Sherm said, “We’ll take care of it. I still believe that Maya Volkova is with us.”
“She sure as hell better be, Sherm,” Bradford said adamantly. He didn’t normally get this involved with individual operations, but this was different. The stakes were high, and this was Jake Adams’ son. He wouldn’t let this officer down. Everyone needed a wing man.
“We need to focus our attention first on the Russian ship and the nuke,” Sherm reminded his boss.
“Agreed,” Bradford said, and shifted his attention to the Chief of Naval Operations. “What can we do, Jim?”
The admiral smiled and said, “I anticipated this possibility. We have a SEAL team in Puerto Rico standing by. Give the word and we’ll transport them to the McGrath.”
Bradford guessed they didn’t need White House approval to simply deploy a SEAL team into position. But they would need POTUS approval to move on the Russian ship. “Make it happen.”
Russian President Anton Zima was not happy with the results of his video conference with the Americans. Although he spoke and understood English like a native speaker, the Americans didn’t know this. He had used his translator to delay his responses, allowing him time to think before laying his cards on the table.