Redemption

Chapter 80

They all stared at the body lying on the floor of the kitchen.

“Damn,” exclaimed Mars, who had recovered from the cattle prod shock and had sat up, his back flat against the wall.

Decker looked up at Egorshin. “Why kill him?”

“It reduces complications for me.”

“Okay. Why a restaurant, of all things?”

“What better way to become ‘Americanized’? Interacting with the customers, you learn everything: slang, dialect, mannerisms, pop culture, sports. Americans love their sports. French fries! Social media etiquette. Simply becoming Americans. Back in Russia, it would have taken us years to accomplish what I was able to have my operatives do in a few months. It was simple, but most brilliant things have an underlying simplicity.”

“And the underground room?”

“Well, we couldn’t exactly do up in the restaurant what was required.”

“We saw the operating room.”

Egorshin waved his hand dismissively. “Some of my superiors still dwelled in the Cold War days. We rarely used it. Instead, we simply recruited from our assets those who already looked westernized.”

“It took us a while to figure out where the entrance was.”

“May I ask how you did so?”

“Space dimensions were off compared to the area outside the kitchen.”

Egorshin wagged his finger at Decker. “One of my men at the restaurant reported that you seemed overly interested in speaking with one of the wait staff. You were clearly a man to watch.”

“And to attempt to kill?” said Decker. “On the way back from Mitzi’s?”

“Forgive me, it is the usual way in which we deal with difficulties.”

“Eric Tyson and Karl Stevens had KI tats on their arms.”

“My father was privileged to work for the KI, and so we had some of our recruits get that tattoo. However, we hid it among many hate groups’ symbols to throw off detection.”

“Recruits?”

Egorshin held up his hand. “That goes beyond what I can say. It is a game, and you do the same to us. But let us never lose sight of the fact that it is a game with very real consequences.” He glanced at Gardiner’s body.

He sat back down and slipped the gun into his waistband.

Decker said, “One thing I don’t get. Mitzi said her husband placed people in high-end jobs, in law, finance, high tech, government.”

“And your point?”

“Even with the new identities and such, it would be difficult for your agents to survive a background check. You can create the right docs and all, paper the schools they went to, but the background check will go to where they attended school and lived, talk to old neighbors, relatives, teachers, coworkers, and all the rest.”

“That is true. And that is why we approached it in a different way.”

“How?”

“First of all, Mitzi had no idea what her husband really did. She only told you what she had been told. As a matter of fact, he did not place our people in these so-called high-end jobs. You’re right, the scrutiny would have been rather intense.”

“So what did you do then?”

Egorshin smiled. “‘Low-end’ jobs are much better sources for intelligence collection.”

“What do you consider ‘low-end’ jobs?” asked Jamison.

“For example, chefs for wealthy people. Security guards at sensitive corporate facilities. You would be astonished how lacking they are in vetting their security forces. We would never do it that way in Russia. Americans outsource everything. And these companies cut costs. And background checks are expensive and take time. We deploy personal drivers for executives and former government officials. It is amazing how chatty they are in their cars, as though the driver is deaf. Flight attendants on private aircraft. Domestic help, cleaning crews, and nannies with your class of movers and shakers, particularly on both coasts. Personal assistants to these same people. IT personnel who gain access to passwords and clouds and the most sensitive data, and who are on-site listening to everything. Attendants of all ilk at high-end hotels, restaurants, spas, and private retreats. Again, Americans talk as though these peons do not exist. And these peons just soak it up. Indeed, I have been on your Acela train. I simply sit there and listen to people loudly talking on their phones: lawyers and corporate executives, journalists and television news presenters, and even your government officials, giving away the most critical data like it is nothing. In my country they would be shot. I turn my recorder on and sip my drink and it is so easy. That is why we have people who work there and also wherever sensitive information can be captured by seemingly insignificant people. America is one gigantic leaking balloon and it is truly wonderful.”

Jamison glanced worriedly at Decker, who kept staring at Egorshin.

“The list of these types of occupations goes on and on. The opportunities for us are endless. My agents are well trained for all that they have to do. Their work credentials are authentic. Then they just have to do their jobs and the information flows nonstop. We will bury your country without firing a shot or launching one missile. We won’t have to, because you are simply defeating yourself by your own stupid carelessness. And we will be there to step in as the victor.”

Jamison said, “I thought all of your spying was done in the cyber world now. Hacks and bot armies to sway public opinion.”

Egorshin shrugged. “Cyber warfare certainly has its place. And it has worked well for my country against the United States and others. But while bot armies and hacking and message multiplication and the spread of false stories are effective, there is, in my opinion, no substitute for boots on the ground, what you call human intelligence. People gathering information directly from the source. Humans can deceive in infinitely flexible, subtle ways that you cannot duplicate by writing lines of code.”

“I guess I can see that,” conceded Jamison.

“Now tell me about Mitzi,” said Egorshin.

“Why?” asked Decker.

“I have an interest. What will happen to her?”

“No telling yet. Depends on her degree of guilt.”

“She may have no guilt at all.”

“We believe that she set up her father.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?” asked Jamison.

Decker was staring strangely at Egorshin but remained quiet. He closed his eyes, and in the depths of his memory he reread his most recent email from the medical examiner.

No familial ties to Meryl Hawkins.

Decker opened his eyes and refocused on Egorshin. “I’ll give you a little more debriefing. I just found out that the DNA under Abigail Richards’s nails was contaminated with a third party’s DNA. I thought it was Mitzi Gardiner. But the test showed the third party was unrelated to Meryl Hawkins.”

“So the person was not Mitzi,” said Jamison.

Decker didn’t seem to hear her. He kept his gaze on the Russian. “You know, I always wondered about the name.”

“Peyton is a typical American surname.”

“No, not your fake name. Mitzi’s real name.”

“Why wonder about that?” said Egorshin, his features tightening a bit.

“I looked it up a while back because it’s unusual for an American. Mitzi is a nickname that Germans give daughters who are named Maria. You were born in Germany.”

Egorshin shook his head. “My father was Russian. Egorshin is not German. And East Germany was far more like Russia than West Germany.”

“Maybe your father was Russian, but you and your family still lived in East Germany. And your mother was American.”

“I see you have done your homework. But what is your point? Mitzi Gardiner is not German. She was born here.”

“Yes, she was. And you’re sixty-two years old. While Mitzi is forty.”

“Decker,” said Mars. “What are you getting at?”

Decker kept his focus on Egorshin. “Mitzi’s mom worked in the cafeteria at Ohio State while you were a student there. At age twenty-two you would have probably been in your senior year. She was a few years older than you.”

Egorshin eased back in his seat.

Jamison’s jaw lowered. “Wait a minute. Are you saying?”

Decker said, “It was Mitzi’s DNA under those nails, but it wouldn’t show that she was Meryl’s daughter, because she wasn’t. You’re her father. You got Lisa pregnant in college. Did she have the baby when you were still there?”

“Damn,” muttered Mars.

Egorshin said in a subdued tone, “The day after she was born, I was recalled to my country.”

“So you just left, without a word?”

“I loved Lisa. I... wanted to be with her. Raise the child. We named her after my paternal grandmother, Maria. But I told Lisa about the name Mitzi.”

“Well, it seems to have stuck around. More than you did.”

“I could not stay. It was impossible.”

“So, she met Meryl, they got married. He adopted Mitzi. They probably never told her about it, she just thought Meryl was her real father, and they moved eventually to Burlington.” Decker paused. “And that’s why you chose this town for your operation when the time came.”

Egorshin looked at his men and then stood and paced. “I wanted... to see what had become of her. When I arrived here to do my... work, she was...”

“A drug addict.”

“It was terrible to think that she was that way. And my dear Lisa.”

“Had cancer.”

“Yes. There was no hope.”

“What did you do then?”

“I arranged to meet Mitzi through someone.”

“Her dealer, Karl Stevens?”

“Yes. I told her that I had known her mother a long time ago and I wanted to help them. I got her mother medicine and gave it to Mitzi.”

“But you also set her father up for murder, with her help.”

Egorshin suddenly stopped pacing and roared, “He was not her father! I was!”

This outburst didn’t faze Decker. “You left, he didn’t. He raised her. You didn’t. He did his best to help her. You didn’t. That’s what I call a father.”

Egorshin started to pace again, rubbing the back of his head in his anxiety.

Decker watched him. “You needed to get rid of David Katz. Why?”

“He was like this one,” said Egorshin, motioning to the dead Gardiner. “Whatever we gave him was not enough.”

“But why kill the Richardses?”

“You think we didn’t have Donald Richards in our pocket too?”

“He was helping you launder funds through the bank and he wanted more?”

“It became untenable. So we acted.”

“How did you get Mitzi to go along?”

He shrugged. “I told her things about Meryl that... that made her side with me. I told her I wanted to help her mother. Lisa died peacefully because of me.”

“No, she died with the knowledge that her husband was an accused killer. I don’t think that qualifies as peaceful.”

“I don’t care what you think, Decker.”

“So everything was great. Until Meryl came back here to prove his innocence.” Decker paused again. “And you went to the Residence Inn and you murdered a dying man.”

“There was no other way.”

“And you set up Susan Richards for the murder and she ends up a supposed suicide apparently from guilt. But you killed her too.”

“These matters had to be dealt with.”

“And I guess we’re next.”

Egorshin sat back down. “I will tell you this, Decker. There is one way for you to live. And only one. I want Mitzi. I want her to come with me.”

Decker shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible. She’s still unconscious in the hospital, surrounded by guards.”

Egorshin pulled out his gun. “Then perhaps you should think very hard on it, unless you want me to shoot one of your friends. Which one? I’ll let you pick.”

When Decker said nothing, he pointed at Mars. “You, stand up.”

“Wait,” said Decker. “I’m the one you want. Take me out.”

“No, Mr. Decker, I’m counting on you to solve my dilemma.” He pointed at Mars. “Stand up. Now. Or I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

Mars glanced over at Decker and shook his head. “Man, this has R43 wide gap seal written all over it. I mean, shit.”

Egorshin barked, “Get up. Now!”

“Okay, but I need some help. I am tied up.”

Egorshin looked over at two of his men and nodded. The men went over to Mars, bent down, and each grabbed an arm.

As they began to lift Mars up and the bottoms of his shoes touched the floor, he exploded off his feet, headbutting the man on the right, cold-cocking him. Mars whirled and caught the other man right underneath the chin with his shoulder, slamming him into the wall. His head bounced off the hard surface, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the floor.

The moment that Mars launched into action, Decker had catapulted to his feet. Even with his feet bound, he squatted down and then leapt forward, slamming into a distracted Egorshin so hard that the FSB man was knocked completely off his feet. He soared backward, hit the sink, flipped over it, and crashed right through the window, the shattered glass ripping at him as he fell out of sight outside.

The remaining man aimed his gun at Decker and was about to pull the trigger when the sound of a shot pierced the room.

The man looked down at his chest and saw the red spot dead center there.

Decker and Mars stared over at Jamison. She had managed to roll forward, swing her legs between her wrists, grab one of the fallen men’s guns, take aim and fire, all within the span of about three seconds.

The last man fell to his knees and then toppled forward.

Jamison searched one of the men, found a clasp knife, and used it to free herself and then Decker and Mars.

Decker snatched up a gun and raced toward the front door, even as he heard a car start up. He got to the front door in time to fire at the taillights of the car being driven by Egorshin. Within a few seconds, though, it was gone.

Jamison grabbed her phone from her pocket. She called Bogart and filled him in on what had just happened.

She clicked off. “He’s sending a team over here. And he’s put out a BOLO.”

Decker was still staring off into the night. “I’m not sure that will be enough.”

Mars gave her a hug. “Damn, Alex, that was some fancy footwork back there. And nice shooting, girl.”

“Thanks. But what the hell was that R43 stuff you were talking about?”

Decker turned and looked at her. “R43 wide gap seal. It was the University of Texas’s favorite run option when Melvin played for them. The right tackle helps the right guard by chipping the DT, and then he and the tight end seal off the defensive end while the wideout drives the cornerback to the sideline. At the same time, the tight end peels off from the DE and engages the strong safety. That left Melvin to go wide through the gap straight to a one-on-one with the outside linebacker.”

“And that would be Mr. Buckeye Decker,” said a grinning Mars.

Decker looked chagrined. “He scored three touchdowns in the game on that one play, and all three times he ran right over my butt.”

“Hey, man, you did your best. And you guys played us hard. I got stopped quite a few times early on in that game. But when life gives you lemons, you know what you do?”

Jamison made a face and said, “Yeah, you make lemonade. Everybody knows that.”

Mars shook his head. “No, Alex, you score touchdowns.”

Jamison said, “So by calling out that play, you told Decker what you were going to do? Take out two guys. And then Decker figured out what he was going to do?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe I should start watching football, just in case that ever comes in handy again with you two.”

“Hey, what life tells you is, you just never know,” said Mars.

“You just never know,” repeated Decker, as he turned back around and stared out into the night.