A Red Dotted Line (Mike Walton Book 2) Page 10

  His gaze stopped on a Mercedes S-Class parked curbside. It looked exactly like the one Dr. Votyakov had climbed into that morning. Exhaust smoke came out of the Mercedes’s mufflers, but even though the road in front of the terminal was well lit, the tinted windows of the vehicle prevented him from seeing the interior.

  “Support Two from Mike,” he said into the mic hidden inside his coat collar.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Please pinpoint the location of Dr. Votyakov’s escort.”

  “Stand by.”

  Mike entered the terminal using one of the swivel doors. A blast of warm air hit him as soon as he set foot inside the terminal. The difference in temperature brought him back to his childhood when he was still living in Canada. During the long winter months, he remembered freezing his ass off waiting for the school bus to pick him up and drive him to the private school to which his parents had decided to send him. Fifteen minutes standing on the street corner had been enough for his toes and fingers to feel as if they’d been cut off. His schoolmates standing next to him at the corner always fought to see who’d get in the bus first. Mike was always the last to climb aboard. He’d stopped participating in the fight the day after his friend Jeremy accidentally stepped on his glasses in a struggle to jump in front of the line. The warm sensation of finally entering the bus gave rise to mixed feelings. It was nice to be sheltered from the cold, but the physical pain from the pins and needles associated with the return of regular blood flow to his extremities wasn’t fun. Plus, fog would form on his glasses, limiting his field of vision to a few feet. He’d be forever thankful to his father for agreeing to pay for his laser eye surgery when he was sixteen.

  “Mike, Support Two.”

  “Go for Mike.”

  “We have a weak signal but it seems that whoever’s wearing the tracking device is just outside the terminal.”

  So it is indeed the same car I saw earlier. But what did it mean? Was Dr. Votyakov already on her way back? Or maybe they were here to pick up Dr. Galkin. He needed to find out.

  Mike located the electronic board and searched for Aeroflot flight 1405.

  Delayed.

  The board didn’t provide a new landing time but it did indicate the gate the flight was supposed to land at. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a boarding pass and couldn’t access the secure area of the terminal without one. Since Luc Walker was a wanted man, the IMSI had decided against booking him on a flight. It would have certainly attracted the unwanted attention of the police or, worse, the SVR. Taking another look at the board, Mike noticed there weren’t any flights to Koltsovo departing for the remainder of the night. That could only mean that the Mercedes, and the giant bodyguard, weren’t here to drop off Dr. Votyakov. They were here to pick up Dr. Galkin. Dr. Galkin having an escort changed everything. The plan he had quickly concocted on his way to the airport wasn’t feasible anymore. He had to think of something else. And fast.

  He made his way to the Starbucks he’d seen on entering the terminal. He ordered a large dark roast and added a bit of sugar. He threw the stirring sticks in the trash and selected a table far from the entrance that still allowed him to see who was coming in and out of the café. At this hour, there were less than a dozen clients in the Starbucks, but Mike decided not to risk exposure and used his secured smartphone to communicate with Support Two. In less than five minutes, he had outlined his plan to Support Two and CCed the IMSI headquarters to make sure they knew what was going on.

  While waiting for a response, Mike dug into his pocket and retrieved a bottle of go-pills. He popped two in his mouth and washed them down with a sip of coffee. It would be a long night.

  ........

  Charles Mapother, Jonathan Sanchez and Anna Caprini were in the bubble—the soundproof area overlooking the IMSI control room—trying to make contact with Zima. Since their last communication had broken down, they had been unable to reach her and Mapother feared something had gone terribly wrong.

  Mapother had contacted DNI Phillips to know if he had heard from the Canadians but he hadn’t. The DNI told Mapother he’d look into it but had not gotten back to him yet.

  “We just received a secured email from Mike,” Caprini said, cutting into Mapother’s conversation with Sanchez.

  Mapother’s eyes moved to Caprini’s screen. It took the decryption program less than five seconds to make Mike’s message readable.

  “What do you think?” Mapother asked once he was sure Sanchez and Caprini had read the message.

  Sanchez was the first to speak. “It does complicate things a little.”

  “A little?” Caprini asked. “There’s no way he’s gonna pull this off by himself.”

  “You don’t know him as well as I do, Anna,” Sanchez said. “Mike wouldn’t say he could do it if he had any doubt about his ability to do so.”

  “C’mon, Charles,” Caprini pressed on, looking at Mapother for support, “don’t tell me you’re seriously considering giving him the green light?”

  The plan was a little over the top, and extremely risky even for an experienced operator like Mike. But they were running short on time. “I get what you’re saying, Jonathan,” Mapother said. “I’m sure Mike convinced himself he could do it but I don’t agree with his assessment.”

  “Do you have any other suggestions on how to snatch Dr. Galkin from the grasp of his Russian babysitters?”

  Mapother’s second-in-command was getting flustered. He had fought alongside Mike in Kosovo and, with the exception of Lisa, knew the man better than anyone else at IMSI. A former tier-one operator himself, Sanchez had a tendency to overestimate what he and his former colleagues could do.

  “Actually, I do,” Mapother said. Sanchez and Caprini both looked at him expectantly. “I’d like to bring James Cooper into the fold.”

  They all knew what had happened last time a support-team leader had joined an asset to conduct a mission outside the scope of their area of expertise. The death of Jasmine Carson at the hands of the Sheik’s former right-hand man Omar Al-Nashwan was still fresh in their minds.

  “Charles, are you sure about this?” Sanchez asked. “We both know why Mike didn’t propose this in the first place.”

  “Because he doesn’t want to feel responsible for someone else if the plan falls apart,” Mapother said. “I get that, and I’m all ears if you have any other suggestions.”

  Caprini shook her head, and so did Sanchez.

  “All right,” he said, “let Mike know.”

  ........

  Mike slowly sipped on his coffee. The amphetamine pills he’d swallowed hadn’t started to work their magic yet. It would take another ten minutes or so.

  The IMSI headquarters had just sent a reply to his last message. That was fast. It was something he loved about working for the IMSI. Decisions were made quickly.

  No red tape. No bullshit.

  How different it was from his time with the RCMP. Even though the Mounties were renowned worldwide for their professionalism and for always getting their men, the number of times he and his team had missed a target because of a lack of decisiveness from their superiors was mind-blowing. Mike entered his password and waited for the email to go through the decryption software.

  Someone at the IMSI headquarters had figured out the reason behind Dr. Galkin’s flight delay. It had been a mechanical problem. One of the bathroom doors wouldn’t close and the pilot refused to take off until the door was fixed. The situation had taken more time to resolve than everyone had anticipated but the flight was now airborne and would land in approximately eighty minutes. Mapother had more or less given him the green light for his plan. But the IMSI director had decided to burden him with James Cooper, Support Two team leader.

  James was a good kid. He had done well in France. But he was a nerd. Mike appreciated everything Support Two had done for him and Lisa in Russia, but he had
his doubts about James’s ability to operate outside his Support Two team-leader role.

  What choice do I have? Being totally honest, Mike could see why Mapother wanted him to use James. He had to admit it would make his job easier. That didn’t mean guaranteed success, though. Far from it. But adding a player might even the odds. A little.

  Mike sent his reply to Mapother, took one more sip of his coffee and walked out of the café. He needed to make sure he and James Cooper were on the same page.

  CHAPTER 27

  Moscow, Russia

  Dr. Lidiya Votyakov reached once more for the box of tissues next to her on the back seat of the Mercedes. The news of her oldest son’s death had hit her like a sledgehammer. The sweet comforting words of Qasim—she couldn’t get herself to call the father of her children the Sheik—had not done much to appease her rage. The panoply of used tissues by her side was proof she still had a heart. The last few months had definitely played on her psyche. What she had to do to conduct her research had made her sick—she’d had about enough of the torture—but she had pushed through like a good soldier, knowing her country counted on her to exit the hole they’d been put in by the Americans.

  Seeing how disappointed she was not to see her youngest son Igor, Qasim had told her the truth about his whereabouts. And that worried her even more.

  Syria. What a hellhole that was.

  The silver lining was that Igor’s mission had been a success. He had managed to grab Ray Powell from the Syrian general who’d betrayed Qasim’s network. Igor was now on the run, trying to make contact with members of ISIS who’d help him get out of Syria. Qasim seemed confident that Igor would find his way to their Greek safe house within the next forty-eight hours. She hoped so. She’d do anything to spend a few minutes with the bastard responsible for her son’s death, including flying to Mykonos herself. She shivered with pleasure at the thought of what Qasim would do to the man.

  Victor’s voice brought her back to the present. “Galkin’s flight is delayed. We’ll wait.”

  She sighed. “Could you be more specific, Victor? How long till it lands?”

  “Ninety minutes, maybe. They’ll let us know,” Victor replied, showing her his cell phone.

  She opened her laptop. At least she’d get some work done. An urgent message from one of her associates popped up on her screen. She clicked it open.

  She gasped. Patients 132 and 133 were having exactly the same symptoms as patient 131. And that wasn’t all. Dr. Galkin was bringing samples with him.

  “I did it,” she said, her voice little more than a murmur.

  “Why did you say, Doctor?” Victor said, twisting in his seat.

  “I was talking to myself,” Votyakov replied, her spirits lifted by the unexpected email. She wrote an email to Qasim informing him of the latest developments. She was about to send it when she had second thoughts. Qasim didn’t expect the virus to be ready so soon. He was planning on spending the next few days dealing with Ray Powell and Charles Mapother. Something she really wanted him to take care of. If she were to send him the email right away, wouldn’t he concentrate on the mission Simonich gave him instead of bringing his wrath down on the people responsible for their son’s death?

  What about her? Wasn’t she a patriot? Or was she a mother first?

  Can’t I be both? She clicked the send button.

  ........

  The Sheik was impressed. Lidiya never ceases to amaze me. He didn’t think she would have told him so soon about the findings of her associates. She, of course, had no idea that he had access to all her data and research material. Simonich had seen to that. He had honestly believed that she would let him take care of Ray Powell before informing him that the new thread of Marburg virus she had developed was working.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Lidiya was a strong woman, and someone he really cared about. Did he still love her? After all these years fighting the people who had ruined his life, he wasn’t sure there was any kindness left in him. But seeing Lidiya again brought back memories he had long ago locked away. And, to his utmost surprise, it felt good. Maybe there would be a time for him and Lidiya, but it wasn’t now. He was fighting a two-front war that required all his attention.

  Through the Russians, he had a shot at accomplishing what he had failed to do with Steve Shamrock. They had come very close to breaking America’s back and, in some ways, they had somewhat won the first round. The North American economy was still struggling and he was in total agreement with Simonich: a biological attack on US soil would push them over the cliff. The trick was to make sure the Russians wouldn’t be blamed. This was why Simonich had come to him. The Sheik’s network remained strong enough to lead one more attack against Russia’s sworn enemies. But the Sheik was under no illusions; his network wouldn’t survive the aftermath. Simonich had been very clear about it. He would kill everyone associated with the Sheik to assure that Russia’s involvement would remain secret. The Sheik had started this whole thing to get his revenge by crumbling the United States’ economy. With that done, he’d be happy to retire. Simonich had promised him asylum anywhere in Russia, with a dacha on the Black Sea.

  But is this really what I want? A year ago, he was on top of the world. The mere mention of his name would strike fear into the very hearts of everyone who knew of him. But word of his failed attempt at destroying the Edmonton Terminal—the starting point of the mainline system of the world’s longest and most complex crude-oil pipeline—four months ago had greatly diminished the flow of young Muslims wanting to join his terror network. Most of them were now lining up to join ISIS. With the death of Al-Nashwan, and the assassinations of his top lieutenants, he had lost more control than he cared to admit. That was why he wouldn’t rest until he had Charles Mapother’s head in a bag. The dacha on the Black Sea would come later.

  CHAPTER 28

  Moscow, Russia

  James Cooper was out of his depth and he knew it. His hands were sweaty and a migraine had started to creep in. They always came when he was nervous.

  Who are you kidding? You aren’t nervous. You’re terrified!

  Trained as a software engineer, he’d always been a geek. Not too good at sports, he’d excelled in science and mathematics. The day he graduated from MIT—the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—with a master’s degree in system design, the Boston Police Department offered him a job to head the unit in charge of integrating their newly acquired gunshot detection technology. His work ethic got him noticed by Homeland Security and he started working for them exactly eight months after his graduation. Everything was going his way. He had lots of money, a girlfriend who actually loved him—or so he thought—and a job he enjoyed. That was until Charles Mapother knocked on his door with proof that he’d cheated at online poker and defrauded other players of more than half a million dollars over the previous six months.

  Never in his lifetime did he think he’d get caught. When Mapother offered him a clean slate, he took it. He didn’t want a criminal record or, worse, to spend time in jail. Guys like him didn’t last long in jail. And the moment the money disappeared so did his loving girlfriend.

  Truth be told, working for the IMSI was a dream come true. He’d always wanted to be a spy. When he was a kid, he had watched all the James Bond movies and was pleased that he and his hero shared the same first name. He’d learned a lot from Jasmine Carson, the former Support Five team leader who had lost her life on the raid against the Sheik’s yacht. She’d been a mentor to him and losing her had been a terrible blow to their team. Shortly after her death, Charles Mapother had disbanded Support Five and assigned all its members to new support teams. Originally assigned to Support Two as its second-in-command, James Cooper was hastily promoted to team leader when his predecessor broke his leg in a skiing accident while away on vacation with his family.

  For this mission, Mapother’s orders were clear. He had to do
whatever Mike Walton wanted. And what Mike wanted right at this moment was for him to sit inside the terminal and keep watch on the black Mercedes parked curbside. He was to take pictures of anyone climbing in or out of the vehicle and send electronically said pictures to the rest of his Support Two team, parked not too far away from the terminal. That had seemed easy enough.

  The problem was that with only a few flights left for the evening, the pedestrian traffic inside the terminal was minimal. Staying too long at the same place would make him look suspicious. The Mercedes had tinted windows that forbade Cooper from seeing inside, while the interior of the terminal was well lit. Whoever was in the Mercedes could see him but not vice versa. And that made Cooper nervous, and sweaty.

  God damn it! I’m not trained for this. This is exactly how Jasmine Carson was killed. She shouldn’t have taken part in the raid, and I shouldn’t be conducting physical surveillance in Moscow.

  “Calm down, James,” came in Mike’s voice through his secured Bluetooth earpiece. “You’re doing fine.”

  “Where are you?” Cooper replied, his eyes moving left and right, trying to find Mike.

  “Close by.”

  “They know I’m here, Mike. I can feel it.”

  “You’re fine, James,” Mike said. “In two minutes, I want you to walk to the bagel shop fifty meters to your left. You see it?”

  James slowly turned his head to his left. There was indeed a bagel shop with a few tables and chairs set up restaurant-style. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “Buy a bagel and a coffee and sit at one of the tables. You’re too close right now.”

  Shit! I knew it.

  “So you think I’m burned?” Cooper said, his voice betraying his anxiety.

  “I didn’t say that, James. Just do what I say and you’ll be fine.”

  Cooper swallowed hard. It was good to know he had Mike Walton close by. At least one of them seemed to know what was going on. “Okay.”