Black Ghosts

CHAPTER 27

After dinner, James Fenton returned to his suite. He pulled off his tie, undid his shirt collar, and sat in an armchair, pondering the evening’s events. Townes had confessed to a passing knowledge of the Patriots but had volunteered no information about an operation to neutralize them. Bud Hays had denied all knowledge of them. That in itself was legitimate. If the Patriot threat was as widespread as Larry had suggested, the operation would have to be kept very discreet.

On the other hand, if what Larry had said was true, then at least one of these men would have a more compelling reason to remain silent about the Patriots. Which was the more likely suspect, Townes, who had casually acknowledged their existence, or Hays, who had not even done that?

At the same time, Fenton had noticed they were staring at each other, as if looking for answers in each other’s face. He knew they were both lying to him, each for his own reason, but it confirmed to him that Larry probably wasn’t. He was going to have a chat with the president in the morning. After all, he was the one who had asked for the investigation, according to Larry. For the moment there was nothing else he could do. He had no authority to cancel the trip or he would have done so, as he would with just about every trip the president took, including his daily jogging and the occasional night visit to a fast-food restaurant.

There was a quiet knock at the door. Surprised, Fenton got to his feet and peeked through the spy hole. He was even more surprised when he saw the black hair and pale face of Angela Baines. He opened the door.

“Hi,” said Angela, smiling nervously, her voice soft. “Can I come in?”

He opened the door wider, unsure what this unexpected visitor was after.

“It’s about what you said at dinner,” said Angela.

“I said many things,” returned Fenton. “Please have a seat.” He pointed to the sofa.

“I’m talking about that thing you asked about the Patriots.” She sounded unsure of herself, treading in unfamiliar territory.

“What about them?”

“Well.” Angela hesitated. “Bud and I… let’s say that in the past we’ve had more than a working relationship. Okay?”

Fenton smiled. “Okay.”

“I was in his room earlier. He took a call from somebody. He said something about the Patriots, like he knew what they were.”

“Any idea who the call was from?”

“No. But I’d say it wasn’t anyone he deals with in his normal line of work. His voice sounded different, somehow.”

He leaned forward. “Different how?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “Like he was talking to the president, except he wasn’t.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“Not too much. He mainly listened and said yes, yes. But then he asked something about the Patriots. He said something about making sure they were in the best interests of America, or something.”

This was starting to get interesting, Fenton thought. “Did he say a name?”

“No, he just kept calling the man sir. You know, like he was someone very important?”

“Is there anything else you can remember?”

“No, I just thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you, Angela. You’ve been most helpful. Let’s keep it between us. If you hear anything else, I want to know. Okay?”

“Mr. Fenton? Could I ask you something in return?”

“Of course.”

“I’m trying to get out of my present position like, I mean, I feel like I’m not going anywhere, like you know?”

Fenton smiled indulgently. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

General Rogov was feeling better. He had been disconcerted to learn that Yakov’s men had failed to capture the American and had succeeded only in killing the occupant of the house he was staying in. They had also retrieved the corpse of a driver who had been in the act of delivering a visitor to the house but who had poisoned himself before he could be interrogated.

The men he was staying with were members of the Moscow underworld and were working for a kingpin he had himself used to do dirty work on occasions. Yakov had made contact with the man and offered him a reward for the American. It was now a matter of negotiating a price, if in fact Pozharsky had the man. That parasite was known to lie when it suited him, and since he was not aware of the new world order that was about to come into being, he thought this was business as usual. If he didn’t hand the American over by midnight, the general told Yakov, he was to raid the offices of the Pozharsky Corporation and get the American himself. The time for games was over. He could not afford to have anything stand in his way.

Still, the general was reassured to know that even if Pozharsky did not have him, the American would not be able to do much now. Rogov’s elite commando troops were scheduled to fly in early in the morning. Then they were to be driven to the Kremlin, where they were expected, and they would “secure” the place.

Looking at the large video screen depicting the capital, he could see that virtually all the highways in and out of Moscow were controlled by his checkpoints. They had all been alerted to be on the lookout for the American and had been issued photos of him. It was now a matter of principle for the general, more than a real need to catch the man. If the American tried to leave the city by road, he would not last long.

And as for the airport, Rogov had reviewed Yazarinsky’s plan and was confident it would work. Within a matter of hours, the Black Ghosts’ control of Moscow’s airports would be complete.

Peter felt a surge of energy flow through him. The decisive time was approaching, and Peter was ready to meet his destiny. Within the next eighteen hours, history would be made.

The jeep cleared a turn in the road. Only when it was too late to turn back or get off the road did they notice the roadblock ahead. Like a fly caught in a spider’s web, the jeep slowed to a halt, engulfed by the spotlight that burst into life as they came into sight of the centuries. Edward’s heart was pounding. The two men in front exchanged a few words. Edward’s ear for Russian was developing to the extent that he could sense the note of alarm in their voices.

If they turned and tried to get away, they would undoubtedly be pursued. The only thing to do was try to ride it out. There were stony-faced soldiers in greatcoats all around the jeep. They peered inside, shined flashlights through the windows, and then ordered the three men out. They were made to lean with their hands against the windows of the jeep while the soldiers frisked them.

As long as he had his back to them, Edward was happy. They did not seem to have a copy of his photo or be looking for him in particular. That he could sense almost from the start. From his experience in the military, he knew that soldiers were rarely interested in catching someone. All they probably wanted was to get back to whatever they were doing before the jeep showed up. As if to prove the point, one soldier pointed a flashlight into Edward’s face, eyeing him suspiciously. He said something in Russian to Edward’s companions, who replied in brief, terse phrases. Then, as though they really couldn’t be bothered anymore, the soldiers ordered them back into the jeep and allowed them to drive away.

They drove on for another fifteen minutes, the last five of which were spent jolting down an unpaved track. They ended up at a white farmhouse surrounded by a few trees, beyond which, lit by the ghost of a moon behind the scattered clouds, stretched an open field.

Several vehicles were parked in the front yard. Behind the house, there were piles of scrap metal and pieces of earth-moving equipment. Without the benefit of daylight to show the deep rust on the machinery, it appeared that the work on the airfield had stopped only hours before, to resume the next morning. The house itself, a two-story brick structure, was in darkness. The walls, covered with wilted ivy, only added to the scene of neglect.

Walking closer to the main door, they could hear the sound of laughter from inside the seemingly deserted dwelling. Just as they were about to knock on the door, someone behind them shouted, “Astanaveetyes!”

From the tone in which it was said, Edward could understand he was being ordered to stop. “Rucka na Galava,” said a second voice to the right. Looking at his escorts, Edward saw them place their hands on their heads. He did the same, then one of his escorts started to speak. He could hear the name Sergei mentioned, then “amerikanski.” It was about then that one of the guards who had stopped them walked up to the door and, leaving them outside with their hands on their heads, went inside. Several seconds later he emerged with a big smile and a very large man by his side. Through the open door, Edward could see the place was filled with men in camouflage outfits. The air was heavy with a stench of cheap cigarette smoke and the stale odor of beer.

“You put hands down, it okay.” The big man extended his hand to Edward. “I Yuri. You say what you like, I get.” He gestured for them to follow him inside.

The soldiers, some holding a beer, others seated on the floor with their backs to the wall, holding on to their Kalashnikov assault rifles, nodded lazily to the newcomers. Yuri led Edward through to a large kitchen. On the way, he noticed that all the windows had been blacked out with heavy cardboard.

In the middle of the kitchen was a long wooden table, bearing the scars of countless chopping knives, scalding pots and pans, and other signs of use. At the far end of the table sat a tall, slim man with smooth dark hair.

“Good evening, my friend,” said Colonel Sokolov. “I thought you’d never get here.”

Edward greeted the colonel warmly. “I’m glad to see you. I was wondering if you would manage to get out in time.”

“Get out in time?” Sokolov looked puzzled.

Edward told him about the ambush at the safe house. Even if the goons had not recognized Sokolov’s car, Anton the driver was probably now in the hands of the Black Ghosts’ interrogators. Unless the man was extremely brave or extremely insensitive to pain, he would have revealed that Colonel Sokolov had turned against them.

Sokolov’s face was grave. “Neither the car nor the driver were known to the Black Ghosts. As for Anton, all my men carry a cyanide capsule, just in case. We know that talking might get us a quicker end, something we can provide for ourselves. I am afraid that by now he will have had occasion to use it.” Sokolov remained silent for a moment. “How did they find out about the safe house?”

Edward explained how Natalie had deceived them.

“Why did you bring Natalie to the safe house, if you didn’t need her there? Were you in love with her?”

“No!” said Edward, his teeth clenched. Only now did he realize it was true. He wasn’t in love, he was infatuated with her. And his emotional confusion had come back to haunt him. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Sokolov looked at him sternly. “Anton was a soldier, loyal to mother Russia, as I am. We are fighting a war, never forget that.”

Edward nodded. “There’s another thing,” he said. “She knows we’re trying to get the president to land at a different airport. So I guess your general knows about that too. Maybe they’ll try and take Domodedovo.”

Sokolov got to his feet. “I will try to contact Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov and warn him.” He strode out, and Edward could hear him talking with the men in the other room. He had a natural command and charisma that some might find arrogant, but Yuri and his men seemed to readily fall in with his wishes. Then he could hear him talking louder on the phone. A few minutes later he came back into the kitchen.

“I hope he will get my message. I had to leave it with one of his lieutenants. Orlov is out on rounds at the moment and could not be reached in person. I will try again later. Now, let us start to make our plans.”