MJ-12: Inception

22

That’s contact,” Frank muttered as he watched the dignitaries file onto the dais overlooking the long, narrow Wenceslas Square in the center of Prague. Tall old buildings lined the sides in baroque splendor, with flags — a blue triangle with two fat stripes of red and white — hanging from nearly every window. The crowd had a kind of muted excitement, as if they were sort of happy to be there, if only because they didn’t have to be at work. Up on the stage, there were plenty of Czechs and Slovaks in suits and ties, a couple women as well, and a number of foreign dignitaries — many of whom looked very, very Russian. The Red Army uniforms were, of course, a dead giveaway.

One of them was Yushchenko.

Frank looked around the square, trying to gather intelligence from what he saw — or rather, what the woman inside his head was picking up. Last night, Frank had visited an elderly washerwoman on her deathbed, Mathilde Cizek, who’d pushed a cart around the Old Town of Prague for nearly a half century. She knew everything about everyone, it seemed, and her family assured Danny that she knew the city as well as her own children.

Frank later learned she’d had ten kids and, at last count, twenty-three grandchildren. A lot of children to know. And as he looked around, Mathilde… fed him information about the streets and boulevards, alleys and service doors, what the various buildings housed — all mixed in with anecdotes about her family. A lot of it seemed useless, but Frank did his best to remember it all, just in case.

Finally, Klement Gottwald took the stage, his freshly scrubbed and beaming family trailing behind him. There were more spirited cheers from the crowd, though Frank knew the armed security in the square had been “encouraging” people to get into the spirit of things. Orders to “Be happy. Cheer loudly,” followed by a hard look and a tighter grip on their SKS carbines, and everybody seemed to take it pretty seriously. Of course, the Soviets had engineered Gottwald’s ascendancy, which is why Yushchenko could reasonably deduce he’d be in Prague for the festivities.

Frank didn’t need Maggie’s Enhancement to tell Yushchenko was nervous and haggard. He wondered why. The event was pure theater, the Czechs and Slovaks weren’t making noise about their new overlords, things seemed nice and pacified. But INSIGHT looked pretty bad. Maybe it was just a hard night of vodka and Czech girls. Maggie would be able to gather more information, as she was posted closer to the stage.

So, Frank turned to more pressing matters — like how to get close to Yushchenko while he was out in the open, so he could pass him a note.

“You’re not going to get to him here,” came Mathilde’s voice, unbidden. “They have the entrances blocked. Even the service ones I used. When they do things here, it is impossible to get anywhere without having your papers checked every ten feet.”

Frank sighed and brought his Ansco Speedex camera up to his eye to squeeze off a roll of film. Every face on that stage needed a good sharp photo — a favor to the overworked Prague station chief. Least he could do, given he probably wouldn’t get anywhere close to Yushchenko anyway.

“Well, it’s sure nice to see you again, Mr. Kyranov. Next time, I’m gonna be sure to pack a bottle of Jack Daniels for you!” Ellis said, gripping the Russian’s hand firmly in the middle of Vladislav Hall in Prague Castle, where the new president was celebrating a peaceful, if not entirely aboveboard, transition of power.

“And I you, Mr. Davis. I shall bring you Stolichnaya from Moscow. It is our finest vodka, and we shall compare which of our nations produces the better liquor!” Kyranov exclaimed, his broad face sweaty from the packed room and the large tumbler he’d just consumed. “And you must tell me more stories of your charming Alabama.”

Ellis put a hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled. “Oh, I got plenty of stories, tovarishch. Can’t wait to share ’em!” And with that, Ellis nodded and extricated himself from the gregarious Russian so he could sidle up to Maggie over by the bar, a rickety-looking thing, given the vaulted arches and flowery stonework of the hall.

“Renewing old friendships?” Maggie asked with a slight grin. She had on a red number that, Ellis had to admit, worked pretty well for her. Gowns seemed hard — so many ways they could cut and fit. Tuxedos, in Ellis’s estimation, were both easier and more elegant. Any man looked better automatically by putting on a tux — even Cal, who was wandering the party in full formal wear, play-acting as the deputy ambassador of some African country or another.

“Kyranov is a drunk and a talker. Shame is, he doesn’t say anything worth listening to,” Ellis said as he flagged the bartender for another glass of champagne — a taste he was quickly acquiring.

“Read the files next time,” Maggie said quietly after sipping her own drink. “He’s a deputy commissar in their agriculture department. His uncle helped whack dissidents when Stalin took over, after Lenin died. He’s useless.”

Ellis frowned. “You stick to your tactics, and I’ll stick to mine. I see you haven’t spotted our friend yet.”

“No INSIGHT,” she confirmed, looking out over the crowd. Ellis followed her gaze to where Cal was standing — of course, he stood out like a sore thumb in a tux. But he also seemed relaxed — Ellis had serious reservations about trying to put Cal in the middle of a fancy ball as anything other than a flunky, but so far, so good. Of course, Frank was with him, acting as his “translator,” meaning that Cal didn’t have to really say or do anything important. Ellis had to admit that Cal had been useful to the team, but still couldn’t shake his feeling that it was just plain wrong to have him around. It’s not like there were any other Negroes in attendance. Maybe that was the point, a bit of misdirection so the Czechs would be busy looking at Cal while the rest of the team did their jobs. But still… it was hard to stomach sometimes. Some things, Ellis believed, shouldn’t be done….

Maggie cleared her throat slightly. “Simmer down, Ellis. Cal’s doing just fine.”

“Stay out of my head, woman,” Ellis hissed.

“I don’t read minds. Your emotions come off you like a bad stink. So, rein it in.” Maggie put her empty champagne glass firmly on the bar and strode into the large crowd, looking left and right as subtly as she could, on the prowl for Yushchenko.

Ellis sighed and took a big swig of bubbly. It was going to be a long trip.

“The ambassador sends his regards and humblest apologies, President Gottwald, and the deputy ambassador hopes our two nations may enjoy new prosperity together in socialist brotherhood,” Frank said with a bright smile as Cal stood next to him stoically, hands clasped in front of him, feeling just uncomfortable enough to be believable… he hoped.

Gottwald took the proffered letter from Frank and scanned the credentials they had managed to grab — taken off the actual Botswanan ambassador two nights before. Cal knew he wasn’t a smooth actor like Frank or Ellis, but they’d assured him that his natural discomfort with this whole con game would be fine, given he was playing the part of some minor flunky pressed into service to meet a president. Meanwhile, someone was translating Frank’s English into Czech, or whatever they spoke around here.

Gottwald smiled and nodded at Cal, saying something in Czech that sounded friendly enough. The English translation came a moment later from the Czech interpreter. “The President accepts your credentials and hopes your ambassador has a speedy recovery. We hope he will accept our invitation to dinner soon, so that we may discuss the spread of socialist liberation throughout the African continent.”

Cal was about to nod and smile, but Frank leaned in just in time to remind him that he was supposed to wait for his “translation.” “The new president of Czechoslovakia hopes to never see you or me again, and will probably never have dinner with anyone, not even his own wife, unless Stalin gives the say-so,” Frank whispered, causing Cal to smile broadly and nod — probably Frank’s intent.

A moment later and the two were off to the side of the ornate reception hall, their diplomatic “duties” completed. “I don’t know, Frank,” Cal said with a straight face. “I think I make a damn fine ambassador, if I say so myself.”

Frank nodded deferentially. “You’re a natural world leader, Cal. Now let’s circulate and see if we can find our man.”

The two split up to cover more territory. All Cal would have to do was just smile and nod his way around the room. He’d originally been worried about running into someone who spoke anything African, but what became immediately obvious was that he was the only Negro in the room, and other than the fact that he felt a bit like a peacock at the zoo, no one really wanted to do anything other than stare at the colorful attraction. The ugly, colorful sash he wore over his suit didn’t help matters much.

Cal did a couple circuits, then settled down next to the refreshments; somehow, the 11 a.m. diplomatic reception still called for wine. How did politicians get anything done with all this drinking going on?

Then he saw Yushchenko, and his heart stopped.

The Soviet officer was standing in a cluster with a couple of other Red Army men, drinks in hand, laughing and chatting amiably. Cal looked around for Frank, but he was nowhere in sight. Well, I suppose this is what they trained me up for.

Cal walked over to the group, fishing a lighter out of his pocket — the very same one Yushchenko had passed to Maggie in Istanbul. “Gentlemen!” he said broadly, his arms raised, speaking in what he hoped was a believable African accent. “Do you have cigarette for me to have?”

The group looked stunned a moment, and Cal wondered if he’d put on too much of a show. Finally, one of the officers made a smoking motion, putting two fingers to his lips. “Yes! Da!” Cal replied, beaming like that damned Al Jolson character that everybody assumed black folk were like.

The officer fished a pack out of his pocket and said something in Russian that caused the rest of the group to laugh — probably at Cal’s expense. Didn’t matter. “Thank you,” Cal said as the officer handed him one, and lit the cigarette with Yushchenko’s own lighter — while looking right at the man.

Cal watched INSIGHT’s eyes widen for just a flash.

With a nod and a bow, Cal retreated out the glass doors and onto the balcony overlooking the hustle and bustle of Prague, all cleaned up and open after yesterday’s inauguration. He decided to count to a hundred to keep himself from looking around too much.

He only made it to forty-two. “It is your first time to Prague?” came a voice from beside him. Cal turned to find Yushchenko there next to him.

“Yes, it is,” Cal said, still trying to keep his accent on. “It is very nice here,”

Yushchenko held up a cigarette of his own. “Can I borrow your light?”

Bingo. “Yes, sir,” Cal said, handing over his lighter — and the note palmed beneath it. To Yushchenko’s credit, he barely flinched.

“Thank you, comrade,” Yushchenko said, handing back the lighter.

“No, you keep,” Cal said. “I have another.”

The Soviet colonel nodded and gave a faint smile, then turned and sauntered off down the balcony, idly puffing away on his cigarette. Cal managed to get to seventy-four this time before his nerves got to him and he extinguished his cigarette, leaving to go find his “interpreter” and report success.

Frank sat in the tiny, cramped Volkswagen, wishing to hell that people in Europe would drive real goddamn cars. Frank wasn’t even that tall, but he was beginning to feel like the tiny little vehicle, marked with a makeshift TAXI sign in Czech, was his own personal cocoon.

For the millionth time, Frank went over the plan in his head, wishing Danny had been along for this one. The note given to Yushchenko was very specific: Let’s meet, baby. Use chalk to mark the hydrant on Bělehradská Street between Rumunská and Koubkova Streets when you are ready. The following night, meet me at 25 Sokolovská Street. Come alone. Kisses.

Baby and Kisses were a clever way to throw off the scent, and the note had been written in Maggie’s hand. The hope was that if Yushchenko were burned, the note might look like he was having a little rendezvous with a lady — and Maggie was willing to play the part of an American lover, Ellis the role of angry husband. Things seemed pretty deniable, really. Even the chalk mark, an old standby from the OSS, could simply be a lover’s code. Yushchenko would probably get in trouble… but not executed. Hopefully.

Frank’s reverie was broken by a man walking down Bělehradská Street toward Danny’s cab, in a hat and trench coat. Frank could see a normal suit underneath — not a military uniform. The dim lighting and fog from the river made it tough to make out his face. Was he holding something in his hand?

The man approached the hydrant with a slightly unsteady gait and brushed by it — either an expert bit of tradecraft, Frank thought, or a sign the man had been drinking. Maybe both. He then continued down the street, swaying ever so slightly.

Frank looked at his wristwatch — 2:43 a.m. He waited until 3:06 a.m. to be absolutely sure that nobody else was around and that his potential contact — if that’s who he was — had had a clean getaway. Finally, Frank got out of the cab, locked the door, and walked up the street, hands crammed into his pockets. He crossed Bělehradská Street and made for a small park nearby, resisting the urge to walk past the hydrant immediately. Instead, Frank took a leak in a bush just inside the park, then slowly walked back to his car, passing the hydrant as he went.

There was a bright white chalk line on the hydrant’s dome.

It took every bit of discipline for Frank to keep the same slow pace as he made for his car.

“I hate all of you, you know,” Maggie groused as she paced the front room of the unassuming townhouse on Sokolovská Street. “I’m not a goddamn dress-up doll.”

Frank smiled at her from the dining room, where he was poring over a map of Czechoslovakia for what seemed like the hundredth time. “If he’s burned, you’re gonna need to play the part, Maggie. You’re taking one for the team.”

Maggie stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you just put me out in the red light district and rent me out?” she said. “Why couldn’t I just wear something normal?”

“Because it’s 1 a.m. and people don’t wear normal clothes at 1 a.m. unless they’re up to something no good,” Frank said, his voice sounding both bemused and slightly impatient. “If our guy has a tail, seeing you at the door is going to buy us a lot of time. You know this — it was in the ops plan.”

Maggie knew, of course, that Frank was right, but still really wanted to punch him in the face. She knew she was a better athlete, a better shot — a better soldier — than Ellis, probably better than Cal, too. Only Frank seemed to be much of a match for her, but Maggie also knew that having military experts whispering information in your head was quite an unfair advantage.

At least Cal had the decency to avert his eyes from her before heading upstairs to take his post; he was staking out the neighborhood from the roof of the building, a safe house purchased by the OSS in the wake of the German retreat and during the chaos of the initial Soviet occupation. Someone, Maggie knew, had been on the ball at OSS, because apparently there were safe houses like this from Sarajevo to Vilnius. She knew she’d probably visit a few more of them down the road. Maggie could feel Cal’s discomfort with the job from the first floor and most definitely got the sense Cal, armed with a suppressed pistol, wouldn’t use it, even if a whole army of Reds came down the street for them.

That was fine. She’d shoot enough for both of them. She’d be good at it, too, if they let her. She’d be better than Ellis, for sure, who was out back in the garage putting the final touches on the car.

A crackling sound from the radio interrupted her train of thought. “Somebody turning onto the street now,” Cal reported. “Looks like INSIGHT.”

Frank keyed his radio. “Thanks, Cal. Stay put and see if he has company. Ellis, come on in. He’s here.” He then nodded to Maggie as he stowed his map in his pocket and checked the sheathed knife he’d secured in his belt at the small of his back. “You’re up. Give it a five count before you go for the door. Then dazzle him.” He then wiggled his hand in a so-so motion. “If I do this at any point, take him down completely.”

The knock interrupted whatever retort she had in mind, so she simply flipped Frank the bird and counted to five before pasting a really fake smile on her face and slowly walking to the door — slowly, of course, because the four-inch spike heels were just far too impractical for anything else.

She opened the door to see the man who gave her the lighter in Istanbul. “There you are, baby,” she said, reaching out with her Enhancement to calm his surge of nerves even as she gave him a long hug and a very slow kiss on the cheek — with the door open, in case anyone was watching. “Come on in,” she purred.

Looking surprised and all too nervous, Yushchenko walked through the door Maggie held open. She didn’t get the sense that the Soviet would try anything funny with her, but the sooner she was able to drop the pretense, the better. “I have some champagne on the dining room table, if you want some,” she said before closing the door, hoping that if there was someone out there, they’d hear her.

The lock secured, she took a confused and scared Yushchenko by the arm. “In here,” she said brusquely. She led him to the dining room table — there was no champagne — and let Frank and Ellis step out into the open, giving the Soviet a bit of a start.

“Colonel Yushchenko,” Ellis said, extending his hand but not introducing himself.

Maggie went to close the curtains in the front room — another potential sign of intimacy — before joining them in the dining room. “I expected someone older,” Yushchenko said tentatively as he took a seat.

“I’m older than I look,” Ellis said; Maggie could read his irritation at the slight like a headline. “Now, you have some information for us.”

Yushchenko smiled. “I do. Have my conditions been met?”

Frank nodded. “We have a team on the outskirts of Leningrad, about a mile from your family’s home, and a fishing vessel that can get them to Finland in less than a day. Were you able to give them any kind of notice?”

“No, I have been very busy. And the phones have ears listening.”

“We figured as much. Are you ready to go now? Because we can get you out tonight,” Frank said.

Yushchenko took a deep breath and nodded. “I am. Tonight, yes.”

Here comes the hard part, Maggie thought as she settled down into a chair next to Ellis, reaching out to Yushchenko’s emotions. “You know, Colonel, it’s not easy doing all this for you. We’re going to help you out, but we need to know if you have what we need, too.”

Maggie layered sympathy and commiseration over her words, but for whatever reason, it didn’t seem to be having much effect. “Of course. And you understand I cannot give everything away here and now, for why then would you help me?”

Ellis smiled. “We’re Americans, Colonel. We don’t leave people hanging out to dry like that. If I say you’re getting out with your family, then that’s what’s going to happen.” He slid a letter over to the Russian. “This is from my boss. He went to our President to get this approved. You’ll see everything in writing. You can keep the paper, though frankly, I’d recommend you burn it when you’re done with it.”

Yushchenko read it over and nodded. “This program you wish me to help you with, this is what you call, what is the word, MAJESTIC?”

Maggie and Ellis traded a look before Ellis responded. “You’ll learn more about that when we get where we’re going. Right now, though, I need something from you that’ll assure me you have solid information for us. I hope you understand.”

Maggie, of course, made sure he understood.

“It is the Bekhterev Research Institute in Leningrad,” Yushchenko replied. “This is a medical institute, yes, but it is run by MGB, for people who are… powered? Empowered. That is the word. Empowered.”

Ellis nodded, his poker face well in place; Maggie could feel his emotions roiling, and even hers were getting a little bit of a workout — it was the same word used in the note they got in Washington. “All right, that’s something. How many are there?”

Yushchenko smiled slightly and shrugged, leaving Maggie frustrated. The threads of his emotions were awfully hard to grasp, and she had no idea why. “Please, you must understand, all I have is what I know, and I cannot just give—”

The radio crackled to life with Cal’s rapid-fire voice. “We got company. Two pairs of men, either side of the street, heading for our door. Suits, hats, and coats, walking fast. We gotta go.”

Frank bolted to his feet and grabbed the radio. “Get down here, Cal. Now.” He keyed off the radio and turned to a surprised Yushchenko. “Ellis, get the colonel to the car out back.”

The Ukrainian scrambled to his feet. “How did they know?” he stammered. “I was careful, I assure you!”

Ellis shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? Let’s go.”

“What about my family?” the Soviet demanded, his worry for them cutting through Maggie’s control as he resisted Ellis’s attempt to drag him away. “They will come for them!”

Frank nodded to Maggie. “Get the door, Maggie. Colonel, I’ll send the signal to the extraction team in Leningrad before we leave town, I promise. Right now, it’s time to go. Move it!”

Yushchenko growled, realizing that he was in no position to negotiate, and finally took off with Ellis toward the back exit. Cal came thundering down the stairs just as Maggie was adjusting her robe to look more disheveled and mussing her hair — like she’d been doing something quite different from an interrogation. “You need me?” Cal asked.

She graced him with a smile, for once. “You go help Ellis. I’ll be fine. Go on.”

Cal nodded and Maggie felt his relief settle onto him like a favorite blanket. Frank checked his weapon and positioned himself away from the windows, ready to fire cleanly at the open door. “Ready when you are, Mags. If you can’t make ’em leave, make ’em useless,” Frank said with a little smile.

The house got dead quiet, everyone in position. Thirty seconds later, a loud knock practically rattled the door on its hinges. Maggie took a deep breath and nodded at Frank, who nodded back.

She threw the door open and grimaced. “You have any idea what time it is?”