Private Rogue

Chapter 52

“Victor Andreyev is a Russian venture capitalist with interests in shipping, energy, chemicals and armaments,” Mo-bot said. “He served five years in the Russian Army and rose to the rank of colonel.”

“Intelligence asset?” Sci asked.

“That would be my guess,” Mo-bot replied.

Justine pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply. Private had almost been ruined going up against a rogue Russian intelligence plot in Moscow. This investigation was getting out of control, and she couldn’t help but think of Jack facing these people out there in Afghanistan. She leaned over to get a better view of Mo-bot’s laptop. They were seated around the board table in the main meeting room on the thirty-sixth floor of Private New York’s headquarters. They were facing the windows and the blackout blinds were down, so there was no chance prying eyes could see the content Mo-bot was sharing.

“We traced the billfold to the penthouse apartment,” she went on.

“Figures,” Sci remarked. “Looking at his profile, he’s definitely a penthouse kind of guy. Top of the heap.”

“What do you want us to do?” Jessie asked.

In Jack’s absence, they were looking to Justine for leadership.

“Put a tail on him,” she replied. “Find out where he goes, who he talks to.”

“What about counterintelligence?” Mo-bot asked.

Justine nodded. “We should notify the Bureau. Share what you’ve found. If there’s an intelligence cell operating in New York, they need to know about it.”

“Send an anonymous tip to Max Pimenta. Tell him to look into it himself,” Jessie said. “He’s a good man.”

The phone on the console that stood against the back wall rang. Jessie rose to answer it.

“Do you think you can map out his business interests?” Justine asked Mo-bot while Jessie took the call.

Mo-bot nodded. “I have some of it already. I can complete the picture.”

“Yes... Yes, I’ll just get her,” Jessie said, and Justine registered the change in her tone immediately. “Justine, it’s Dinara. She’s on the satellite phone. I can’t get any sense out of her. She says she wants to talk to you.”

Justine rose slowly. Somewhere deep within, she felt a dark dread building.

She crossed the room and took the phone.

“Hello?”

“Justine. It’s me — Dinara.”

Justine didn’t need to hear any more. She knew from Dinara’s cracking, tearful tone, the croak in her voice.

“No,” Justine said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Dinara replied. Justine heard shuddering sobs. “There was nothing we could do. Nothing. I’m so sorry.”

Justine felt a hand on her arm.

“What’s happened?” she heard a voice ask, without registering whose it was.

The room shrank away to nothing, as though the foulest darkness had oozed from the receiver and consumed her world. There was no shape, no form, no meaning.

“No!” Justine cried. “Bring him back! Bring him back to me!”

“I can’t,” Dinara replied. “There was an explosion. Jack and Joshua...”

“No,” Justine said. “No. This isn’t real.”

It didn’t feel real. She was alone. Utterly alone in a void. Holding a phone that connected her to somewhere she despised. A source of misery.

Justine dropped the receiver and heard it clatter against something. Tears flowed, and she heard herself gasping for air, sobbing, but it was all so distant, as though it was happening to someone else. She was aware of ghosts clustering around her, trying to soothe away the pain, but they were shades, existing on a different plane. They couldn’t touch her grief, nor do anything to make it better.

She was aware she kept repeating the same phrase over and over.

“He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s dead. Jack’s dead.”