The Ghost Pattern

…51

Myatlev finished reading another one of Bogdanov’s reports, and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Maybe it was going to work after all. The latest test had been promising, and Bogdanov had cranked up the heat on those doctors, getting them to take their situation more seriously and start producing some real results.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, then checked the time. He should grab some lunch, but before going out to eat, he wanted another shot.

Ivan barged in through the door before Myatlev had a chance to call him. That’s what he liked about his right hand; he was always there, reading his mind, giving him everything he needed.

This time Ivan carried a piece of paper instead of the shot he’d been craving. He groaned with disappointment.

“What is it, Ivan?”

“My man in the field looked everywhere for the four people we saw on satellite running from the hangar, and nothing. No one’s seen anything or heard anything. The only unusual thing he found was that an American private jet, a Phenom 300 had just landed there, at Khabarovsk Airport, just a few hours earlier. Four passengers and a pilot. That could be it.”

“Who are they?”

“We have no idea,” Ivan said, hesitantly. “The flight was unregistered, and didn’t even go through customs. Someone bribed someone, that’s for sure. We have no way to find out who they are and what they want.”

“Ivan, you disappoint me,” Myatlev said bitterly, getting up from his massive leather chair and going to the window to light another cigar. “It’s time to think for yourself, not wait for me to think in your place, and feed you everything you need to do piece by piece, da?” He sounded clipped and impatient.

Ivan shifted his weight uncomfortably, but remained silent.

“Well, what will you do next?” Myatlev prompted.

“Track the plane?” Ivan asked, unsure.

“Yes, track the fucking plane, Ivan! A Phenom has got to have an owner. Get the tail number, find out who owns it, where the flight originated from, and get video from their place of departure. Cyber Division will help you get all that really quickly. Then ask someone to pull their backgrounds.”

“Understood,” Ivan confirmed, looking ashamed.

Myatlev softened a little. Not everyone had it in them to think globally, considering all the assets at their discretion. After all, Ivan was his bodyguard more than his assistant, and Myatlev had selected him for his combat skills and his loyalty, and little else.

Myatlev’s irritation stemmed mostly from learning that someone had come so close to the most secret of his operations. This secret, if exposed, could bring everyone down, including President Abramovich. There was no way Russia could ever be able to explain the hijacking of a commercial flight. That was an act of terrorism. Those four people, regardless of who they were, needed to be dead and buried before they could compromise him.

“OK,” he concluded, lighting his cigar. “Find out who the hell they are and why they’re fucking with me.”

He breathed in the rewarding scent of the Arturo Fuente cigar, letting the aroma soothe his stretched nerves. These days he did little more than smoke, drink, and worry. He was stressed out, and his entire body felt it and screamed its pain. No wonder he was coming apart at the seams, with gastritis, liver pain, back pain, the whole nine yards of a stressful life.

This operation, instead of being the quick success it should have been, was turning into yet another one of those cases where it seemed like fate was toying with him. It felt like an unseen enemy knew precisely what he was trying to do, and that enemy was doing everything possible to foil his best-laid plans. No matter how hidden. No matter how elusive. How was it possible?

He felt paranoid again, and hated it. He liked being lucid and cool in the face of an imminent threat, and didn’t like feeling hunted and harassed. But that’s exactly how it felt, and it wasn’t the first time. What if there was, indeed, someone who was out to get him?