The Ezekiel Code Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
Chantilly, France
Anya Sokolov lay perfectly still on the bed, her eyes wide open. The room was mostly dark save for several slivers of moonlight coming through the closed blinds of a nearby window. Ordinarily, such conditions would be the perfect inducement to sleep. But Anya wasn’t trying to drift off, at least not yet. She had plans to carry out, plans that needed to be executed in secret.
She pulled her phone off the nightstand and checked the time—11:17 p.m. All the occupants of the little farmhouse had retired to their rooms a half hour earlier. Unless someone had stayed up to read, an unlikely scenario on the night before their departure, they should all be asleep.
Anya was an intelligence officer with the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service or SVR. Headquartered in the Yasenevo District of Moscow, the SVR carried out clandestine activities beyond the borders of Russia. Those activities included such things as surveillance, intelligence gathering, and subversion. The SVR was also known to carry out assassinations in a way that made it difficult, if not impossible, to assign responsibility.
Anya’s operational partner, Sasha Belov, was asleep in the next room. Both women were recent graduates of the Academy of Foreign Intelligence, more commonly known as the SVR Academy. They had undergone three years of rigorous preparation that included classroom instruction, physical training, marksmanship, and a mentorship under experienced agents.
The two female agents currently resided in a safe house in the town of Chantilly, France. They had been stationed there in advance of their first mission. While the details of that mission hadn’t been fully disclosed, it was said to involve the kidnapping and possible torture of a man living in France. The SVR believed the man held information the Russian Federation desperately wanted.
The two women were set to depart for Paris the next day. Once there, they would begin a more intense period of training that would cover the specifics of their coming operation. But Anya knew she would never make the trip to Paris, and that was because she had decided to defect.
That decision was fraught with danger. Not only would such an act be in violation of Russian law, but it would almost surely result in her death if she was caught. Throughout their training, Anya and Sasha had been warned about the possible consequences of treason. Agents suspected of betraying their country often disappeared without a trace, and it didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to know what that meant. One of Anya’s instructors at the SVR Academy had once said that the Volga River was one of the largest cemeteries in all of Russia, and he had said it with a straight face. It was a cold reminder that her body could end up there one day if her plans went awry.
Sweat formed on Anya’s forehead as she tried to will herself off the bed. Her handlers were the kind of men who noticed everything. They were also some of the most skilled operatives stationed in Europe. That meant her plans had to be executed perfectly. One mistake and the whole house of cards would come crumbling down.
If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it forever.
Anya threw off her covers and placed her socked feet on the floor. She had purposefully gone to bed wearing the same clothes she had worn all day. After taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, she slid her phone into her pocket then eased off the bed. She didn’t bother putting her shoes on because she wasn’t going outside. Her socked feet would allow her to move about the house without being heard.
She walked slowly to the door then opened it and peered out. No one was in the hall, and no sounds indicated that any of her comrades were awake. After waiting a full minute, she stepped into the hall.
Six people were staying at the house—Anya, Sasha, and their four male handlers. Sasha and three of the men were in the rooms that lined either side of the hall. The other man was outside patrolling the property. SVR protocol dictated that a watch be posted for the entire twenty-four hour period leading up to an operation. The man outside had a shift that would last until two o’clock, at which time he would be replaced by another.
As Anya stood in the corridor, she heard snoring coming from behind one of the closed doors. She guessed it was Yevgeny, the group’s senior agent. He suffered from a horrible case of sleep apnea but refused to use a CPAP machine. Machines were for sissies, he once said. And Russian spies weren’t sissies.
Hearing no other sounds, Anya walked slowly down the hall and into the living room. Once there, she looked around. Seeing no one, she crossed the room and entered a hall on the other side. It was darker on this side of the house, so she felt her way to the second door on the right. She opened it and entered.
As Anya closed the door behind her, she heard a thump in another part of the house. She froze. Had someone come out of their room? She listened intently, but the sound didn’t repeat. The old farmhouse was creaky, which meant it could have been anything.
Anya pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight app. Across the room, a large black safe stood against the wall. She went over to it and trained her beam on the keypad. Using her free hand, she punched a series of numbers she had meticulously memorized. After a short wait, the red light turned green, which was followed by a soft click.
She felt a rush of excitement. She was in.
Anya had obtained the numerical combination two days before. Knowing that Yevgeny needed to retrieve something from the safe, she had stood at the door and filmed the whole process with her phone camera. It had been a risky move, but she needed something from the safe in order to carry out her plan.
Anya opened the door and examined the safe’s interior. Three shelves contained an assortment of items: ammunition, important documents, and numerous electronic devices, including encrypted burner phones.
Not seeing what she wanted, Anya crouched and directed the beam into the compartment under the bottom shelf. About twenty pill bottles were arranged on a tray. She went through the labels one at a time and soon found the one she was looking for. After verifying it had enough pills inside, she slipped the bottle into her pocket.
She exhaled slowly. The first phase of her plan to defect was complete.
After closing the safe door, she stood and reset the lock. Once the light glowed red, she exited into the hallway. She then went back through the house, moving slowly so as not to make a sound. She couldn’t wait to peel off her clothes and finally get some sleep. Even a few hours would help.
As she entered the hall that led to her bedroom, a voice spoke in the darkness. “What are you doing up?”
Anya froze. It was Mikhail. He was supposed to be outside patrolling the property. He must have made the thump she had heard earlier.
Stay calm. You have a plan.
She tried to muster a firm voice. “I got up to get an aspirin and some water. I always get a headache on the night before a big day.”
Mikhail turned on a flashlight and ran the beam over her fully clothed body. “Why are you dressed?”
“I never took my clothes off.” Her voice quivered slightly. “I’m not very tired. Like I said, I got a headache and—”
“I didn’t realize we had aspirin here. That’s a good thing to know.” He paused. “Can you show me where they are?”
“You want to see the aspirin?”
“That’s what I said.”
She hesitated.
“Let’s go,” he said.
A bed creaked in one of the rooms. Before long, the whole house would be up.
Anya nodded then turned around and led him back through the house and into the kitchen. She flicked on the light and pointed at a bottle of aspirin and glass of water on the counter.
Mikhail’s eyes narrowed. He seemed surprised at the sight.
“Sorry, I should’ve put them up,” Anya said.
Mikhail stared a few seconds longer then nodded slowly. “Make sure you get some sleep. We leave early.”
CHAPTER TWO
Anya emerged from the house at seven the next morning, her hands clutching a large thermos of coffee and a stack of six paper cups. Everyone was assigned specific tasks at the safe house. One of Anya’s daily responsibilities was to make the group’s coffee.
As she pushed the door shut behind her, Anya realized it would likely be the last time she saw the farm. More importantly, it would be the last time she saw her colleagues. If all went according to plan, she would officially defect from the Russian Federation in the next half hour.
But for that to happen, she needed to complete several crucial steps. If any of those steps weren’t timed and executed perfectly, her plan might very well collapse. She needed to be on top of her game from start to finish.
As she went down the front steps, she noticed a heavy morning fog had rolled in overnight, making it difficult to see into the distance. Out near the road, the outline of a gray Renault appeared in the murk. Mikhail, Aleksei, Leonid, and Oleg stood around the front of the vehicle, smoking cigarettes and talking in low tones.
The day’s agenda was simple. Mikhail and Aleksei would drive Anya and Sasha to Paris while Leonid and Oleg remained at the farm. After arriving at their destination, Anya and Sasha would officially begin their first assignment. Three days of intensive classroom instruction would cover all aspects of the work. They would be taught by several of Russia’s top European spies, men known for their strategic and tactical brilliance.
Once the classroom training was complete, the two newly minted agents would be transported to the place where the operation was to take place. Anya had been told the bulk of their work would be carried out with lightning speed. She and Sasha would acquire the target and all his electronic devices. They would then take him to a remote location to be interrogated.
As she approached the car, Anya’s thoughts returned to what had happened the night before. Mikhail had almost caught her stealing the pills. Despite the close call, she took pride in the precautionary measures she’d taken. Earlier in the evening, she had placed the aspirin and glass of water on the counter. If someone caught her sneaking around, the two items would give her an excuse for being up. It was a simple act that might have saved her life.
Still, she wondered if she had gone too far. When she had turned to leave the kitchen, Mikhail had remained in place, his gaze fixed on the bottle of aspirin. Maybe it all looked too perfect to him. He’d caught her walking through the house in the dark, with normal clothes on. Then, when confronted about it, she was able to lead him to a bottle of aspirin and glass of water that were conveniently out on the counter.
“It’s about time,” Aleksei called out, shaking Anya out of her thoughts. “I need some caffeine.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad sign,” Leonid added. “If she can’t make coffee on time, then how is she going to be a good spy?”
The verbal jab was followed by a few chuckles from the group.
“I couldn’t find the thermos,” Anya said. “But thanks for your kind words.”
Leonid tossed his cigarette to the ground and mashed it with his boot. “I see someone can’t take a joke.”
Anya set the thermos and cups on the hood of the Renault. She unstacked the cups then poured coffee into each one.
“Where’s Sasha?” Aleksei asked as he grabbed one of the cups.
“She’s getting our things.”
As if on cue, Sasha emerged from the front door and came down the steps, a duffel bag in each hand. After crossing the front yard, she deposited both bags in the trunk of the Renault.
“That’s all?” Oleg asked. “I thought you women needed two or three bags each.”
Sasha shot him a look as she closed the trunk. “You keep talking and I’ll put you in here.”
“Feisty,” Oleg said. “I like that.”
Sasha shook her head as she came around and grabbed one of the cups. “Perfect timing,” she told Anya. “I’ve got a massive headache.”
As everyone sipped in silence, Anya felt someone’s eyes. Turning, she saw Mikhail staring in her direction. He held her gaze for several long seconds. Was he still suspicious about what had happened the night before? She decided not to worry about it. If he had any true concerns, then he would have already approached her. Besides, in another fifteen minutes, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
“Let’s get moving,” Aleksei said after taking a long pull on his coffee. “You know the Bear doesn’t like us to be late.”
The Bear was the nickname given to Russia’s top spy in Paris. He operated under a false identity, and those who knew him weren’t allowed to use his real name. He was one of several men who were supposed to train Anya and Sasha over the next three days.
Oleg extended a hand to Anya. “Best of luck. You’re going to do fine.”
It was a kind thing for him to say, especially after his biting remark earlier. Anya almost felt bad about what was going to happen. Almost.
“Thank you.” She shook the proffered hand. “I’ll see you in a few weeks when this is over.”
“We’re going to have a big celebration when you get back,” Leonid said. “Mikhail has already ordered a case of Eye of the Dragon.”
Although she wasn’t much of a drinker, Anya immediately recognized the name. Eye of the Dragon was one of the world’s most expensive vodkas.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she replied.
Sasha and Anya climbed into the back of the Renault. Mikhail slid into the driver’s seat while Aleksei got in on the passenger side. Everyone was exactly where Anya thought they would be.
So far, so good.
Mikhail started the Renault and drove away from the safe house, which was one of about a dozen the Russian Federation operated in France. This particular house was located on a farm near Chantilly, a small communal village about twenty minutes north of Paris. The SVR had chosen the property because of its large size and remote location. The nearest neighbor was a full mile away.
The Russians had purchased the farm by using a shell corporation that was owned by a string of other businesses meant to protect the identity of the true owner. If someone conducted a title search, they would eventually uncover the name of an oligarch who allowed the Russian government to use his name.
Anya glanced around the interior of the Renault. The other occupants sipped their coffee in silence, which was just what she had hoped to see. According to her research, the midazolam would start to work in about five minutes. The strong sedative was commonly known as a date-rape drug, but it had other uses as well. Russian intelligence officers employed it in a variety of circumstances, which was why they often kept a small supply in safe houses.
As the car rolled slowly past fallow fields, Anya thought through all that was about to take place. When the others in the car started to show signs of extreme drowsiness, she would act as though she was sick, ask Mikhail to pull off the road, then exit the vehicle and wait. Once they all blacked out, she planned to drag them into the woods and tie them up using rope she had stored in her duffel bag.
After she commandeered the car and drove to a prearranged spot about a half hour away, an old family friend named Luka would pick her up. The two would hide the Renault in the woods and travel to Luka’s home in the outskirts of Rouen, France. Over the next week or so, they would determine which government official she would reach out to. Luka said he already had some individuals in mind.
Anya stared out the window. The fog was growing thicker by the minute, forcing Mikhail to drive slower than normal. That played perfectly into her plans, allowing the drug to take effect before they reached a busy road.
As Mikhail and Aleksei conversed in low tones, Sasha reached over and squeezed Anya’s hand. “All our hard work is finally going to pay off.”
Anya forced a smile. “I hope it’s the first of many operations together.”
“As long as we’re successful, I’ve been told there is a good chance they’ll make us a team.”
“I guess that means failure isn’t an option.”
Sasha released her hand. “No, it isn’t.”
Anya pretended to take a sip of coffee. It was something she had done several times since getting into the car. On the off chance that someone didn’t pass out, she needed them to believe she had been drinking from the same thermos.
Two minutes later, the road passed through a forested area. Large pines and hardwoods rose up on either side. Aleksei had suddenly grown silent, and it looked as though his head was starting to tilt forward. The midazolam seemed to be kicking in at just the right time. They still weren’t off the farm yet, which meant Anya could carry out her work without being seen by passing cars.
Despite the positive news, one thing bothered her. As best she could tell, Mikhail had taken only one or two sips. If he didn’t succumb to the drug, that could be trouble. She hoped he would at least consume enough to make him weak.
As the car continued on through the fog, Anya stole a glance at Sasha. Her eyes were closed, and her chin rested on her chest. She seemed to have already passed out.
Just a little bit longer.
Mikhail’s phone buzzed from its holder on the dashboard, breaking the silence in the car. Startled, Anya leaned to her right and stared at the lighted screen. Leonid was calling from the safe house. Her chest tightened.
Mikhail picked up the phone and engaged the call. “You miss me already?”
Anya leaned forward until her head was inches from the device.
“Am I on speaker?” Leonid asked.
Anya frowned. She was concerned about the timing of the call, which had come mere minutes after they’d left the farmhouse. She was also concerned that Leonid’s voice sounded crisp and alert. It was clear he wasn’t experiencing any noticeable side effects.
“No.”
“We have a problem,” Leonid said.
“What do you mean?”
“Oleg just passed out. I think it was the coffee.”
Anya’s heart beat faster.
“You sound fine,” Mikhail said.
“After seeing what happened to him, I stopped drinking. But I do feel a little drowsy. I believe—”
Mikhail adjusted his position in the seat, making Leonid’s voice unintelligible for a moment.
No, this can’t be happening.
Anya unbuttoned her coat and stuck her hand inside. Her fingers closed on the handle of the baton she had hidden there. She had brought it along in case everything fell apart. Unfortunately, everything was falling apart.
Mikhail slowed the car to a crawl. “We’re all fine.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, I was just talking to—” Mikhail looked to his right then stopped in midsentence. Aleksei leaned against the door panel, his eyes shut. “What the…?”
Anya pulled the baton out of her coat.
Mikhail reached out and poked his partner’s arm. “Hey, wake up.”
Aleksei didn’t move.
Mikhail turned slowly and looked into the back seat. His eyes went first to Sasha, who was out cold. He shifted his gaze to Anya. Understanding filled his eyes as he seemed to piece everything together. Anya had been up the night before, and now she was the only one still alert.
He jammed on the brakes.
Anya knew there was only one thing she could do, and that was fight her way to safety. She lifted the baton then swung it hard against Mikhail’s temple.
He crumpled forward while managing to shout into his phone. “It’s Anya. She did this to us. Come—”
Anya brought the cudgel down on Mikhail’s head three more times. Skin split, bone crunched, and blood splattered across the dash. He slumped over with a loud groan. He was beaten but still conscious.
How can someone’s head be so hard?
She tossed the baton onto the floor. She didn’t have time to finish him off, much less clear the car of all the bodies. Her only hope was to somehow slip away before Leonid arrived.
After opening the door, Anya hopped out and sprinted off.
CHAPTER THREE
Anya ran along the game trail that snaked through the woods. Branches smacked her in the face as thorns pulled at her pants leg. She couldn’t break into an all-out sprint because the ground was slippery and wet. Fortunately, her pursuers would face the same constraint.
Her plan to defect had quickly become a disaster of epic proportions. It had all started to go downhill when Leonid called Mikhail to let him know the coffee had been spiked. The untimely phone call had been followed by Anya’s poor attempt to knock Mikhail out with the baton. She had managed to land several hard blows, but he was still moving when she exited the car.
Unfortunately, her problems hadn’t ended there. It took her a full minute to find a trail at the edge of the woods. Once she did, she heard a vehicle approaching. That meant Leonid and Mikhail would soon be hot on her tail.
As she pressed on, Anya’s muscles burned. As an elite Russian operative, she was in peak physical condition, but she hadn’t slept well for the last three nights. The insomnia, coupled with the stress of her defection, had clearly affected her stamina.
A half mile into the woods, Anya entered a large clearing. She came to a stop and surveyed the area. The fog was so thick that she could see only about ten yards in any given direction. On the one hand, that was a good thing because it would mask her movements. On the other hand, it would make it more difficult for her to see anyone approaching.
Anya pictured the general area. The dirt road they had taken earlier ran west from the farmhouse toward the highway. After exiting the vehicle, she had taken the game trail to the northeast. Her ultimate goal was to reach the highway, which was to the west. Once there, she would wait for a car to come by and try to flag them down. She was an attractive female, which made it more likely that someone would stop and help. Once they did, she would overpower the person and take their vehicle.
Despite all that had happened, she still had time to make her appointment with Luka. If she didn’t show up at the appointed hour, they had agreed that he would immediately drive home and continue his life as though nothing had happened. It was a metaphorical kill switch meant to protect Luka and his family.
A male voice shouted in the distance. “I found footprints! She’s over here.”
Anya swore softly. The speaker was Mikhail, and he wasn’t far away.
Seconds later, Leonid called out in response. “We’re on the way.”
We’re on the way. That meant at least three people were coming after her.
Anya heard the thump of feet along the trail she had come in on. Mikhail would arrive at the clearing soon. She considered her options. She could either keep looking for the place where the trail resumed, or she could simply head out through the woods. The latter move would involve making more noise, but it might be her best chance of escaping the net that was slowly closing in on her.
After a quick glance over her shoulder, she entered the woods and made her way through the maze of trunks. Almost immediately, she questioned her decision. Leaves and sticks crunched under her feet, the sounds loud enough to be heard at a distance.
A half minute later, Mikhail called out from the clearing. “She’s over there.”
Anya slowed her pace to make less noise. With all the fog, she might still be able to give them the slip. Her original plan had been to reach the highway, which was to the west. She believed she was currently headed north, so she angled to the left.
The woods seemed to go on forever. She could hear at least two people moving somewhere behind her. Fortunately, they seemed to be moving in a different direction. At some point, they would realize their mistake and fan out. She hoped to be gone by the time that happened.
Ten minutes later, the trees thinned out. Confident she couldn’t be heard, Anya walked at a brisker pace. She needed to get to the highway and flag someone down before the others figured out what she was trying to do. She just hoped one of her former comrades wasn’t patrolling the nearby roads in a car.
As the terrain opened up even more, Anya broke into a run. It felt good to put some distance between her and those who were in pursuit. Maybe she was going to pull it off after all.
After she raced past a fallen log, she had the strange sensation of floating on air. It didn’t take long to realize she had stepped off a ledge.
She hit the slope hard, her body flipping several times as she went down the incline. Her shoulder slammed into a rock, sending shards of pain across her torso. Her head bounced off the ground several times, bringing her close to unconsciousness.
Just when it seemed like the punishment would never end, the ground mercifully leveled off, and she rolled to a stop.
Anya groaned loudly. The pain was almost unbearable. Her shoulder and head felt like they were fractured in several places.
As she tried to get up, she heard footsteps approaching.
“No, please no,” she muttered.
How had they found her so quickly? It seemed like an impossible feat.
The silhouette of a man hovered over her.
Anya tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat.
As her vision faded, two hands reached out to her through the fog.
CHAPTER FOUR
Anya’s return to full consciousness was a long and painful process. She experienced extended periods of dark silence interspersed with quick flashes of awareness: the sensation of being carried through the woods, the sound of a door closing, a brief flash of light, and the crackling of a fire.
Her hearing was the first sense to return completely. Although she couldn’t tell their precise location, she distinctly heard footsteps traveling across the floor. The thumps continued for several seconds then faded away.
Encouraged that she could hear, Anya strained to awaken her other senses. She was rewarded a minute later with some slight movement in her muscles. She squeezed her fingers several times. She adjusted her torso, which was stretched out on a cushion of some kind.
As her body began to wake up, the smell of mildew, smoke, and cooked meat filled her nostrils. The meat smelled like bacon, which made her wonder if someone was cooking breakfast. Who was it? One of her former colleagues?
If she was back in the safe house, then Anya knew how it would all play out. Once she was awake, they would question her intensely for at least a day, perhaps longer. They would want to know how long she had been planning everything. They would also want to know who she had been working with, if anyone. Torture would certainly be on the menu. Then, once she gave them what they wanted, she would be marched out into the woods to take a bullet in the head.
Her family would be told that she had died valiantly in service to her country. A story would be concocted. They would tell Anya’s mother that her daughter had been involved in a mission that was crucial to the survival of the Russian Federation. Her death would undoubtedly be attributed to an evil Western operative.
Anya moved her wrists and ankles and realized that, much to her surprise, she wasn’t tied up. And if she wasn’t tied up, then she might be able to slip out before anyone noticed. Unlike the last time, she would commandeer one of the vehicles. If she could somehow make it to a nearby town, then she might survive, at least for a while. Russian intelligence didn’t like to assassinate people in populated areas that were covered by CCTV. They preferred more secretive methods. Radiation poisoning was currently en vogue.
In order to escape, Anya first needed to figure out where she was and who was watching her. Straining with all her might, she lifted her eyelids. Reality sprang into view like the opening scene of a movie. Unfortunately, the images were fuzzy and out of focus. She blinked several times, and her vision sharpened. A small sliver of optimism ran through her. She wasn’t back at the safe house. She was lying prone on a couch inside what appeared to be an old rustic cabin.
Had her team taken her to a different place to perform the interrogation? She didn’t think so. For one, she had never been told about such a place. Second, her wrists and ankles weren’t bound. Most importantly, she didn’t see anyone else in the room. The SVR would never leave a captive unrestrained and unattended.
Lifting her head, she took in more of the surroundings. Across the room, a fireplace stood against the wall. Inside it, the remnants of a fire glowed red. It explained the crackling sound she had heard while still in a semiconscious state.
Anya looked past her feet. There was an open kitchen on the far end of the space. The scent of bacon hung in the air. Where was the cook? She remembered the footsteps she had heard earlier. Had the person left? She needed to get up and find out.
Anya shifted her position. She winced as a bolt of pain shot across her upper torso. She had been so focused on the cabin’s interior that she hadn’t realized her shoulder was throbbing.
Still, she wasn’t going to let the pain stop her. She would worry about her shoulder injury later. As long as she could walk, she needed to stand up and leave the cabin without alerting whoever had brought her there.
Clenching her jaw, she pushed up onto one elbow. The searing pain forced a loud groan.
Suddenly, footsteps thumped in another part of the house. They were hurried, an indication the person had heard the noise she’d made.
A male voice called out. “Fais pas ça. Fais pas ça.” Don’t do that. Don’t do that.
Anya frowned. The man was a French speaker.
Fighting through the pain, she rose into a sitting position.
The footsteps were closer.“Non, s’il vous plaît.” No, please.
Anya put her feet on the floor then looked up at the man standing next to her. He was tall, muscular, and pale-skinned, with deep-set eyes and a closely cropped beard that was one step above a five-o’clock shadow.
She had never seen him before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t connected to Russian intelligence.
“Ça va?” he asked. Are you okay?
“Oui, ça va.” Yes, I’m fine.
He knelt in front of her. “N’essayez pas d’en faire trop.” Just don’t try to do too much.
Although Anya knew a little French, she needed to transition to one of the four languages she spoke fluently. That was the only way she would get all the information she needed to assess the situation. She asked whether he understood English. “Je ne parle pas bien le francais. Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?”
His eyes widened. He seemed surprised that she wasn’t a native speaker. The fact that he didn’t know who she was seemed to be a strong indication that he wasn’t working with her former team. Still, she needed to proceed with caution.
The man finally nodded. “Yes, I speak a little English.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Hugo. And your name is?”
She gave him her alias. “My name is Oksana.”
He frowned. “You’re Russian?”
She shook her head then told another lie. “Ukrainian.”
The man seemed relieved at her answer. Although it irritated Anya, she understood the reason behind it. Almost all Europeans had taken the side of Ukraine in the war that was raging on the other side of the continent. As a result, Russian operatives were often encouraged to take on Ukrainian aliases.
Presenting herself as Ukrainian also had another advantage. According to recent reports, there were currently over one hundred thousand refugees in France. That would give Anya the perfect excuse for being in the country.
“It’s nice to meet you, Oksana.”
She frowned. “How did you find me?”
“It’s an interesting story.” He paused briefly. “You’re a lucky young woman. I was on my usual early morning walk when I heard something tumbling down a nearby slope. At first, I thought a deer had lost its footing. There are many around here. But when I arrived, I found you.”
She nodded but said nothing. “What are you doing out here? This isn’t a public park. It’s private property.”
Anya considered how she should answer. She was going to pose as a refugee, but she didn’t know how to explain her presence in the woods. No good response came to mind, so she reached up and gingerly touched the side of her head. “To be honest, I don’t quite remember. My memory… it’s…”
The man put a hand on her knee. “Don’t worry about it. You took a bad fall. Would you like some breakfast? I made some for you.”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
Hugo stood and walked to the kitchen.
Anya wasn’t hungry, but she accepted his offer in order to buy herself some time to think things through. Being found by a concerned citizen was a good thing. Had she been left at the bottom of the hill, the Russian agents might have eventually stumbled across her body.
She considered her options. Should she ask the man to drive her to the nearest town? Should she tell him she was going to walk home? Neither scenario was ideal. If she asked for a ride, she didn’t have an address to give him. And if she decided to leave on foot, she didn’t know where to go.
“I have two croissants and some bacon,” Hugo said from the kitchen. “I also have some eggs if you’d like me to cook you a few.”
“No, what you already have is fine. I just need a little something to get my energy back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Anya decided she would ask the man to drive her to Chantilly. When she’d worked at the safe house, one of her duties had been to procure groceries and supplies at a supermarket in the center of town. She had been there so many times that she knew some of the employees. She would tell Hugo that one of her sponsors worked there. She didn’t know what her next step would be, but she would worry about that later.
Hugo came back and handed her a plate of food. “Here you are.” He also set a mug on the table. “I thought you might want some coffee.”
She smiled at him. “That’s perfect.”
Her plan set, Anya was hopeful that things might finally be turning in her favor. As a result, her hunger quickly returned. She took a bite of the croissant, which was soft and warm.
Hugo sat down in a nearby recliner. “Do you have any memory at all?”
“A little,” Anya said in between bites. “The more I talk and move around, the more it’s coming back. I think the food is going to help as well.”
“That’s good.”
Anya picked up the mug of coffee. “Thank you so much for your kindness. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
“You’re quite welcome. By the way, I tried to find someone to contact on your behalf.”
Anya started to take a sip of coffee then stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry if I did something I shouldn’t have, but I was concerned about your health.”
Anya didn’t like where the conversation was going. “What did you do?”
“You had a phone, so I took the liberty of turning it on to look for any contacts or recent calls.”
Anya felt a sense of dread run through her. “Which phone? I have two.”
“I only found one.” He nodded at the table.
Turning, she saw a phone sitting on a stack of magazines. “Please tell me you didn’t turn it on.”
“As I said, I thought I might find a family member or someone—”
Anya set the plate on the couch and stood up. “You had no right to do that!”
“Calm down,” he said sharply. “I couldn’t find any contacts or recent calls, so I didn’t call anyone. I just looked around for a few minutes then turned it off.”
“Calling someone isn’t the problem,” she said through clenched teeth. “Turning it on was the problem. Now it can be traced.”
Hugo’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s going on?”
Despite her rage, Anya realized the slip-up wasn’t his fault. He was doing what any sane person would have done. She sat down again. After rubbing her face a few times, she looked up at him. “I lied to you.”
He stared at her, his expression a mixture of fear and alarm. “Who are you?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She held his gaze for several long seconds. “But I can tell you this. I’m on the run from some very bad people.”
“Bad people?”
She nodded. “And when you turned on that phone, you sent them a signal that I was here. Now we’re both in danger.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Five Days Later
Paris, France
The Airbus A350 touched down on the tarmac of Charles de Gaulle airport at 8:09 a.m. It was only seven minutes late, which wasn’t bad considering the number of things that could delay an international flight.
Anxious to get off as quickly as possible, Zane Watson unbuckled his seat belt while the plane was still braking on the runway. Once they had been given permission to disembark, he hurried down the jet bridge and into the terminal. He hoped the Air France staff didn’t take his hasty departure and sour demeanor the wrong way. Most aspects of the flight had been quite satisfactory. There had been almost no turbulence, and the attendants had provided excellent service.
The problem had been the man sitting in front of Zane, an obnoxious Brooklyn attorney on his way to the French Riviera with his wife. Quiet solitude was one of many reasons people shelled out big bucks for a seat in first class, but the man seemed determined to make everyone’s experience miserable. Before the plane had even taken off, he took a call from his legal assistant. After placing her on speaker, he spent the next five minutes berating her for various mistakes that he would have to correct once he was on the ground in France.
Unfortunately, the irritating behavior didn’t end there. Once they were in the air, the man spent the first two hours of the flight talking to his wife in a voice that was about ten or twenty decibels too high. He also got snippy with the staff, complaining about everything from the quality of the wine to the small number of items in the amenity kit. At one point, he made it abundantly clear that he would choose a different airline the next time he flew to Europe. The attendant seemed pleased at his decision.
Zane had thought about confronting the man. But after some reflection, he had decided against it. The operative liked to keep a low profile when traveling on his personal passport, and getting into a pissing match with a high-dollar attorney was probably the worst thing he could do.
His carry-on bag in hand, Zane went straight to customs and passed through without incident. That was no small feat. As someone who worked for a private intelligence organization, he always risked the chance that a problem would arise.
After getting his passport stamped, the operative began the long walk to the ground transport area. His plan was to take an Uber to the small home he had rented off Rue des Fontenelles in the western suburbs of Paris. He would then take a nap before heading out for his meeting later that night.
Zane first felt the eyes on him as he walked through a crowded concourse lined with newsstands and restaurants. He had never been able to completely explain his uncanny ability to know when someone was watching him. Training had certainly helped. He had been taught how to distinguish the types of glances, head turns, and body positioning used by operatives conducting surveillance.
But there were also times—including the present—when he couldn’t point to anything he had observed with his own eyes. Some would call it a gut feeling. Zane had always attributed it to sensory perception operating on a subconscious level. Picking up something in his peripheral vision that didn’t fit. A person’s eyes lifting above the phone they were supposed to be looking at. A glance that lingered too long.
Zane was certain his current feeling wasn’t a false alarm. On a scale of one to ten, his Spidey senses were at a level eight or nine. Still, it seemed like an odd time for someone to be following him. He was traveling under his personal passport, which could have exposed him to digital detection. But he had also booked his flight at the last minute. What were the odds that someone would be able to learn about the ticket purchase then make it to Paris before him? Something didn’t make sense.
He went over the events that had led to him booking the flight in the first place. After finishing up an operation in Antarctica, he had received a text from an old friend named Ryan Shafer. Shafer claimed to have uncovered something big, although he refused to go into detail. He said he would share his information only in person.
Even though his friend had a tendency to exaggerate, Zane had agreed to meet him in Paris. After all, it couldn’t hurt to travel to one of his favorite cities. If his friend had stumbled across some important information, Zane would help him contact the right people to get the issue resolved. If it turned out to be nothing, then Zane would spend some down time in France. He could use the rest after the brutal operation he had just completed. Perhaps he’d follow the obnoxious attorney and his wife down to the French Riviera.
A thought entered Zane’s mind. What if his upcoming meeting was somehow connected to him being followed in the airport? He didn’t think that was possible. Shafer had texted him from a burner phone he claimed to have paid for in cash. That made it highly unlikely that their text exchanges had been compromised. Not only that, but Zane had been using a phone issued by Delphi, which couldn’t be traced to him personally.
Zane refocused on the situation at hand. The only way to get answers was to figure out who was watching him. Perhaps if he saw them, he might recognize their face. He looked up. A duty-free shop was ahead on the left. He purposefully walked past it then doubled back as though remembering he wanted to make a purchase. After turning around, he scanned the people crowded along the concourse.
There. Someone had been looking at him when he turned, only to quickly avert their gaze. He tried to swing his eyes back to the spot where the head had turned, but there were too many people moving through the area. The perpetrator had been swallowed up in a sea of faces. He had noted that the person had dark hair.
Zane entered the duty-free shop and walked over to a display of men’s cologne. He picked up one of the boxes then pretended to read the label as his eyes scanned the concourse. There were quite a few dark-haired people, but he had no way of knowing which face was the one he was looking for.
After spending several minutes in the shop, Zane ordered an Uber with his phone and left. As he made his way to the exit, he felt the eyes again but made no effort to turn around. If someone had tracked him to Charles de Gaulle, then they were an elite professional. His only hope was to give that person the impression he had checked things out and felt safe. If he could do that, then they might let their guard down.
Zane was met outside by his Uber driver, a friendly Arab man driving a bright-blue Peugeot. After several minutes of small talk, Zane settled in for the ride. He had hoped to stay at one of his favorite hotels in the city center, but when he’d sat down to book accommodations, he discovered almost every room in the area was booked. A brief online search revealed that one of the world’s largest economic organizations was having a four-day conference there that week.
Rather than staying in a lousy roach motel, Zane had decided to use Airbnb. After a brief search, he reserved a tiny one-story home in the western suburbs of Paris. At first, he was irritated at having to stay in such an inconvenient location. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it might turn out to be his best option, particularly if the visit transitioned to a prolonged stay. He would have his own kitchen, and he’d be able to keep an eye on the neighborhood. He still didn’t know who was watching him, and it would be easier to watch a quiet street than a crowded hotel lobby.
As was his custom, Zane had given the driver an address that was three blocks from Rue des Fontenelles, the street where the rental was actually located. After exiting the vehicle, he took a circuitous route to the house, checking for tails at every opportunity. And while he didn’t pick up any tangible signs of surveillance, he still had the distinct feeling he had been followed.
He arrived at the Airbnb twenty minutes later. The main entrance to the house was just off a tree-lined alley that bisected a residential street. After entering, Zane made a quick sweep of all the rooms, checking for signs of forced entry and hidden devices. Satisfied the unit was clean, he got out his laptop and pulled up an email account that he and Ryan had set up together. Once he was signed in, he found an email from his friend in the draft folder. The message contained two pieces of information: the name of a restaurant and a time.
Zane committed both to memory then closed the laptop and put it back in his bag. He checked the time—almost ten o’clock. He would head out for a late breakfast. On his way back, he would stop by a private courier service to pick up a package that had been sent to him by Nigel Clarke, a Delphi liaison operating out of the UK. Among other things, the package would include two Glock pistols. If there was time, Zane would also stop at a supermarket to pick up a few things in case his stay was longer than expected.
Before heading out, Zane went to one of the windows, lifted a blind, and looked out. Several children kicked a soccer ball in the alley. Farther down, a mother pushed a stroller while talking on a cell phone.
It all seemed so serene, yet Zane knew someone was likely out there, watching and waiting.
CHAPTER SIX
A storm swept across Paris soon after Zane returned from the day’s activities. Exhausted, he decided it was a good time to take a nap. He lay down on the couch and was out in less than a minute. The jet lag, coupled with the steady beat of rain on the roof, produced a deep and refreshing sleep. It was just what he needed.
The phone alarm awakened him at four thirty. He got up and drank two glasses of water to fight off dehydration. He then took a long, refreshing shower. It was something he always looked forward to after a trip across the Atlantic. After drying off, he put on a pair of black jeans and a gray sweater. Darks and grays were the norm in large European cities, and in his line of work, it was always helpful to blend in.
Ryan Shafer had asked Zane to meet him at Café Seguin, a small eatery located in the upscale Boulogne-Billancourt neighborhood on the western outskirts of Paris. The address wasn’t far from Zane’s rental house, which he guessed was why Shafer had chosen it.
After shaving, Zane went to the kitchen and opened the package he had received from Delphi liaison Nigel Clarke. Inside it were two Glock 19 pistols, four magazines, a holster, and a Kershaw folding knife with a four-inch blade. Zane always asked for two firearms in case one malfunctioned. After examining both Glocks, he concluded they were in good working condition.
He slipped one of the pistols into the holster, which he had clipped to the inside of his waistband. He put the knife and an additional magazine in the pocket of his leather coat. While he didn’t anticipate any trouble, he didn’t like to take unnecessary risks when traveling abroad. That was particularly true in light of what had happened at Charles de Gaulle.
The dinner meeting with Ryan Shafer was set for seven, so Zane exited the rental house at six thirty. He was pleasantly surprised to see the skies were clear. The temperature was also cooler than it had been earlier in the day.
As he made his way down the alley, Zane didn’t get the sense he was being watched. He wondered if the whole thing at the airport had been a figment of his imagination. Although he usually trusted his instincts, he also knew there were times when his senses were impaired. The operation in Antarctica had been extremely stressful. Zane had almost lost his life on two occasions. Those near-death experiences, coupled with a lack of sleep, certainly could have affected his ability to perceive the world around him.
After traversing several blocks, Zane hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address for Café Seguin. As they pulled out into traffic, Zane’s thoughts turned to the upcoming meeting. He found it strange that Shafer had insisted they meet in person. What information could be that sensitive? Zane had offered to call Shafer on a secure Delphi line, but his friend refused, explaining that his reasons for wanting an in-person meeting would be clear once they met.
Shafer was a hardworking man with strong ethics. There was no doubt about that. But he did have a penchant for blowing things out of proportion. Was it possible he was doing that in this instance? Perhaps, but Zane committed to keeping an open mind. He owed that to his friend.
The taxi arrived at the address a few minutes before seven. Like most restaurants in France, Café Seguin was located on the bottom floor of a large apartment building. Zane paid the driver then exited the vehicle. As he crossed the street, he could see that his friend was already sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Ryan Shafer held a phone in one hand and a beer mug in the other.
Zane studied his appearance. The man never seemed to age. He still looked almost the same as he did when they last saw one another several years ago. He had short brown hair and the hint of a five-o’clock shadow. Like most embassy employees, he was dressed smartly in a crisp white dress shirt and evening jacket.
Shafer tossed his phone on the table as Zane approached. “Long time no see.”
“Way too long,” Zane said.
As was their custom, the two gave each other a man hug and a few back slaps.
“How long have you been waiting?” Zane asked as he took a seat across from his friend.
Shafer sat down and scooted his chair in. “I’ve been here since six thirty. It was nice to get away from the office a little early.”
“You should’ve told me to come earlier. My rental isn’t far away.”
Shafer waved his hand dismissively. “No worries. To be honest, it’s second nature to me now. All embassy employees are told to be early to every function we attend. As you can imagine, they’re sticklers for projecting a good image.” He took a pull on his beer then set the glass back on the table. “Not only that, but I’m sure you remember how OCD I am about certain things, including punctuality.”
“I do remember that. In fact, I seem to remember you scolding me for tardiness on more than one occasion.”
“Sorry about that. You’ll be pleased to know I’m a little more chill these days.”
“Well, you’re certainly looking good. Life must be treating you well.”
“Thank you.” He stared at Zane as though seeing him for the first time. “You do, too, although I must say the hair has made quite the transformation.”
Zane nodded. “Long story.”
“We have time. Let’s hear it.”
Before he could answer, a male server appeared at the table. He addressed Zane. “Bonjour, monsieur. May I bring you something?”
“Un whiskey sur glace, s’il vous plaît,” he replied.
“Quelle marque?” What brand?
Zane enjoyed a good bourbon, but most smaller European restaurants didn’t carry the ones he liked. An Irish whiskey might be a good change of pace. “Vous avez Jameson?”
“Oui. Bien sur.”
“Merci.”
As the server walked off, Zane used the opportunity to quickly scan the outdoor seating area, which was mostly full. It was the middle of the week, so he guessed the majority of patrons had probably just gotten off work. The scene was a reminder of how much the French enjoyed the café life.
As Zane swept his gaze across the tables, his eyes fixed on a man who was sitting by himself a short distance away. He was reading his phone and sipping what appeared to be a glass of gin or vodka. He had a round face with saggy jowls and a bulbous nose that was slightly red. He appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties.
The man glanced briefly in Zane’s direction then returned his eyes to the phone screen. Most people were oblivious to what was going on around them, but this man had sensed he was being watched. Was it significant? Zane didn’t think so. The incident at the airport had probably put him on edge. Even if someone was following him, they couldn’t have known where he was going.
“Zane?” Shafer asked, pulling the operative out of his thoughts.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“You were about to give me the story behind the long hair.”
“It’s not as interesting as it sounds, so I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.” Zane took a moment to gather his thoughts. “As you know, I work for a private intelligence organization. If we conduct an operation in which our identity has been compromised, protocol dictates that we go off grid for a period of time.”
“That makes sense,” Shafer said with a nod.
“That happened to me several years ago. After it was over, I was told to quarantine at one of our facilities in Colorado. Then something strange happened. Shortly into my time there, I was asked to go back into the field because something had come up that could impact national security.”
“An exception to the rule?”
“Correct. Anyway, my hair and beard had grown out during my time in the wild, so I decided to leave it that way.”
“Let me guess. Your code name is Fabio now?”
“Funny.” Zane smiled and shook his head. “You’re not the first to say that.”
“I’m sure the women aren’t complaining. You’re one of those guys that would draw in the women even if you had a purple mohawk.”
“Says the man who always seems to have a beautiful woman on his arm.”
Shafer shook his head. “That may have been the case in years past, but not lately.”
The server deposited Zane’s Jameson on the table. After thanking him, the operative took a quick glance at the man sitting nearby, the one with pig jowls. He was still reading something on his phone, but this time, he didn’t look up. In all likelihood, he was just a French businessman enjoying a drink after work.
Zane took a sip of whiskey then returned his gaze to Shafer. “So, there’s no one special in your life?”
“I dated someone when I first took this post, but I’m living the bachelor life now.”
“Burned out on the dating scene?”
“I’m just too busy.” Shafer ran a finger through the condensation on the outside of his glass. “The work here can be overwhelming. Stress is my middle name.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Before coming here, I worked at our embassy in Slovenia. Over there, I had maybe two or three events a week. That was my first assignment, so it was nice to have a lighter load while I learned the ropes.” He took another pull on his beer then continued. “I worked there for two years then posted for an opening here in Paris. I was relatively new, so I didn’t think I’d get hired. But I was wrong. They loved my CV, and my interviews went quite well.”
“That says a lot about you,” Zane noted. “Paris has to be considered one of the best diplomatic posts in the world.”
“It is, but the work here can be brutal. Sometimes, I have two or three events a day. Not to mention all the evenings I spend catching up on paperwork.”
“What’s your official position?”
“I’m an FSO.”
“A foreign service officer?”
Shafer nodded. “I’m a generalist, which means I’m a jack of all trades. I attend functions on behalf of the US. I communicate with French officials on matters of mutual interest. I even work a little bit with the local media.”
“The media? Wow.”
“Just this morning, I was interviewed by a reporter from Le Monde.”
“Nice. Le Monde is one of the biggest news organizations in France. What was that all about?”
“She started by asking me some general questions about the Abraham Accords, the joint normalization statements between Israel, the UAE, and Bahrain. But I soon realized that was just a ruse to get her foot in the door because she quickly transitioned to the topic she really wanted to talk about.”
“The old bait and switch,” Zane said. “What did she want to know?”
“Basically, she wanted me to share everything we have on UAPs.”
“Unidentified aerial phenomena?”
Shafer nodded. “She wanted to know if our government considered the objects to be military technology or something more sinister. She made it clear she believes they’re visitors from another galaxy.”
“Talk about a bizarre line of questioning. I didn’t realize you were an expert on UFOs.”
“I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “I just gave her the standard BS that we’re monitoring our skies in an attempt to make sure there is no national security threat, that kind of thing.”
Zane took another sip of whiskey. “So, let’s get down to business. Why did you ask me to come over here?”
Shafer glanced at the other tables around them. “It’s Wednesday, so I had hoped this place would be empty. Bad call on my part.”
“Do you want to pay our bill and take a walk?” Zane asked.
“No, I think we’ll be fine.” After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Shafer leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and lowered his voice. “I’ve been contacted by someone from another country, and she says she has some very important information to share.”
“Who is she?”
Shafer hesitated then whispered a reply. “She’s a spy, or was a spy.”
Zane frowned. “Why didn’t you bring in the FBI?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, actually, it isn’t,” Zane said.
“Her situation is different. She’s on the run and is scared she might get caught.”
Zane’s eyes narrowed. “On the run from who?”
“Intelligence officials in her country.”
“What’s her nationality?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Zane felt frustration rising inside of him. “Ryan, you need to speak plainly. I can’t help you if you don’t.”
Shafer held Zane’s gaze for several long seconds. “I need you to talk to her. She’ll make it all clear.”
“Why me? It’s pretty clear she’s a defector. That’s not my area of expertise.”
“She’s scared. She doesn’t want to contact French authorities or the FBI, at least not yet. She believes her country’s intelligence agency would know if she reached out to them.” Shafer paused. “And to be honest, I may have encouraged this whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I told her about you, she immediately felt like you were the one she’s supposed to talk to. She knows you’re my friend, and she also knows you don’t hold some official position in the government. I think that makes her more comfortable.”
“You said she has some important information?”
Shafer nodded. “Unfortunately, she has refused to tell me what it is. She claims it’s for my own good. You’re the only person she’ll share it with.”
Zane looked around. “This café is a little too crowded for this conversation. Why don’t we take a walk? I’ll need more information before calling her.”
Shafer nervously ran a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t want to do it by phone.”
“So, we’re going to meet her somewhere?” Zane didn’t like it, but he was willing to help if he could.
“We’re going back to my house. She’s staying with me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alexei Kuznetsov sat alone at the table outside Café Seguin, his eyes fixed on his phone. He wasn’t actually reading anything. He just wanted to give the appearance that he was.
Kuznetsov headed up an assassination team operating under the famed GRU Unit 29155. They had been sent to Paris to find and kill Anya Sokolov, a traitorous defector who was still believed to be hiding in the area. The hit team had been given unlimited resources to complete their job. Failure wasn’t an option.
After arriving in Paris, Kuznetsov and his men had been briefed by the local agent in charge, a man named Mikhail Gorban. According to Gorban, Sokolov had attempted to drug her fellow agents using a tranquilizer she had stolen from a locked safe. When that effort failed, she had fled into a nearby forest. Later that morning, her phone gave off a brief signal that placed her about three miles from the safe house. Gorban assumed she had used the phone to call an accomplice.
From there, the trail went cold. With little to go on, Kuznetsov reached out to a couple of contacts he had inside the French government. Unfortunately, they weren’t aware of any requests for asylum from any female Russian operatives. In fact, they hadn’t heard about any defections, even minor ones.
With France scratched off the list, Kuznetsov and his investigators turned their attention to the United States. They had done so for two reasons. First and foremost, the US was the country that most Russian spies defected to. Second, Anya Sokolov’s dossier indicated that her cousin Maria had once lived in Tampa, Florida. That suggested her family might have an affinity for the American way of life. Kuznetsov questioned whether it had been a good idea to give someone like Sokolov a spot in the prestigious SVR Academy in the first place.
After setting his sights on the US embassy, Kuznetsov learned that most of the American diplomats were just getting back from a long conference in Rome. According to one highly placed source, only four foreign service officers had stayed behind to oversee operations. If Sokolov had reached out to the Americans, then she had likely contacted one of those four individuals.
Armed with that information, Kuznetsov spent hours poring over the biographies of the four diplomats. Even though all of them were potential suspects, he kept coming back to one in particular, a young FSO named Ryan Shafer. Kuznetsov couldn’t explain why he felt that Shafer was their man; it was simply a gut feeling. As a result, he decided to personally track Shafer while his colleagues focused on the others.
As he followed Shafer around Paris, Kuznetsov found his behavior interesting. When out in public, the man seemed nervous. He often looked over his shoulder as though concerned someone might be following him. In short, he behaved like a man who had something to hide.
While Shafer’s actions were certainly suspicious, Kuznetsov needed to uncover a piece of information that would prove he was Anya Sokolov’s contact. The first indication that he might be on the verge of breaking the case came when Shafer had left the embassy much earlier than usual. Instead of heading home, he drove to a café on the western outskirts of Paris. Kuznetsov found it suspicious that a workaholic like Shafer would leave work early to drink a beer at a café that was nowhere near his house.
Things got even more interesting when a long-haired man arrived shortly before seven o’clock. Shafer and the man greeted each other like longtime friends, which suggested the newcomer was probably an American. As the two talked, Kuznetsov studied the new guest. Interestingly, he carried himself like a professional. At one point, he even fixed his gaze on Kuznetsov, an act that unsettled the Russian.
A skilled lip reader, Kuznetsov tried to pick up a few words of the conversation. The task was difficult due to the angle from which he watched. Still, he hit pay dirt about fifteen minutes after the long-haired man arrived. After nervously looking around, Shafer leaned forward and lowered his voice. It was clear he was about to discuss something important. Even though Kuznetsov wasn’t able to hear everything, he was able to discern the words spy, FBI, and defector.
In that shocking moment, Kuznetsov knew that Shafer was the person they had been looking for. He didn’t know how Sokolov and the diplomat had first come together, but that was a question that could be answered later. The important thing was to find Sokolov before she was turned over to the person Shafer was meeting with, a man who was undoubtedly an intelligence officer of some kind.
Movement at Shafer’s table drew Kuznetsov out of his thoughts. The diplomat had just signaled one of the servers that he wanted the bill. They were leaving.
The Russian pulled out his phone, tapped a number in his contacts, then brought the device to his ear.
SVR Agent Nikita Panarin answered after one ring. “Yes, sir.”
“I need you to mobilize the team.”
There was a short pause, then Panarin answered with a question of his own. “You found her?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kuznetsov gave him a very brief description of all that had taken place at the café.
“So you believe this new man is a spy?” Panarin asked once he was finished.
“There is no doubt about it.”
“What—”
“I don’t have time to answer all your questions!” Kuznetsov snapped. “I need you to take a team to Shafer’s house right now. I’ll text you the address.”
“Yes, sir. Are you joining us?”
“I’m going to follow these two in case she’s being held somewhere else. I’ll keep you updated.”
“I’ll go ahead—”
Kuznetsov ended the call, cutting him off. He didn’t have time for small talk. He needed to get moving.
A smile formed on Kuznetsov’s face as he tossed a few euros on the table. If all went well, they would have Sokolov in custody soon. The Russian president would be pleased at the quick and efficient manner in which the operation had been completed. Who knew? He might even invite them to the Grand Kremlin Palace for a medal ceremony.
Wow! Fast-paced excitement right off the bat! Action and intrigue packed into just a few opening pages. I can’t wait to read the entire novel! I’ve enjoyed the Delphi Group thrillers along with the adventures of Drenna Steele. I’m sure I am going to love this new great story from John Sneeden.