Reading frowned, muting his television. Acton and his wife had a propensity for getting themselves into terrifying situations, and too often needed his help to bail them out. But they had returned the favor on more than one occasion, and he would never turn his back on a friend, especially a close one. “What have you got yourselves into this time?”

  Acton chuckled. “Hey, this time it has absolutely nothing to do with me, with Laura, or, I think, with anyone we know.”

  Reading’s eyes narrowed as he reached for his notebook, flipping it open to a fresh page and readying his pen. “Thank God for small miracles. If you’re not up to your neck in it, then who is?”

  “A friend of ours came and asked me to call you. He needs a favor.”

  Reading flipped through the narrow list of mutual friends then stopped. And his heart hammered a little quicker at the implications if he were right, his eyes drifting to the television still showing the unfolding events in the country he called home. “If it’s who I’m thinking of, why didn’t he contact me himself?”

  “This is off-the-books. They need someone on the ground in the UK, outside of the normal loop.”

  Reading leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed. “So, they don’t know who they can trust.”

  “That’s the impression I got.”

  “Okay, what does he need me to do?”

  “Listen, Hugh, it could be dangerous.”

  Reading grunted. “No more dangerous than anything you two put me through too many times each year.”

  Acton laughed. “We are rather prolific in our travails, aren’t we?”

  “Indeed.”

  “He said if you were willing, contact him through the app on your phone, and he’ll send you the details.”

  Reading gripped the phone in question a little tighter. “I’ll do it as soon as I hang up.” He drew a deep breath. “So, when am I going to see you two again?”

  “Hopefully soon. Laura is heading for London in a couple of weeks, so I’m sure at least you two will tag up. Me, I’m not so sure, but if you want, I could create an international incident somehow and call you for help. Only if you’re lonely.”

  “Bugger off.”

  Acton roared with laughter. “Listen, gotta go, we have company. Let me know how it works out.”

  “Will do. Take care of yourself.”

  “You too.” Acton became serious. “I mean it. I got the sense our friend was nervous.”

  Reading frowned. “If you can’t trust your own people, then I don’t blame him. Talk to you soon.”

  He ended the call and activated the secure app Kane had given him if he needed to contact him. He entered his unique code then thumbprint, then typed a quick message.

  I’m in.

  Then waited, wondering what he had gotten himself into that a CIA spy couldn’t trust his own agency with.

  11 |

  Approaching Alex West Residence Black Forest, Germany

  “What’s the drone showing?”

  “A bunch of pretty trees?”

  Kane chuckled at Tommy Granger’s response. According to Leroux, the kid was working out well, requiring little guidance on how to work the equipment, and surprisingly good at hacking databases, both foreign and domestic.

  Yet he needed more.

  “What about infrared?”

  “I’m showing several heat sources that appear artificial. No signs of life, but we wouldn’t be able to see those inside regardless. That’s just in the movies.”

  There are ways.

  “Okay, I’m heading in. Let’s just hope by showing up unannounced he doesn’t blow my head off.”

  “Do you think he might?” Tommy sounded genuinely concerned.

  And rightly so.

  Alex West was a former CIA “super spy,” retired for decades, and paranoid for good reason, though with each passing year, more of the enemies he had made serving his country probably passed, making his life a little safer.

  He lived on a small plot of land tucked into the Black Forest of southwestern Germany, his nearest neighbor nowhere in sight or earshot, with a canopy of trees blocking any aerial view of his property. Kane had little doubt the place was teeming with protective measures, though none had been evident the first time he had visited the man, “lured” there by the Gray Network.

  But that time he had been expected.

  This time?

  Kane’s phone vibrated with a text message. He glanced at it and shook his head, a slight smile breaking out.

  Please don’t keep me waiting. AW.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “What?” asked Leroux over the comms.

  “I just got a text message from West, inviting me in.”

  “How the hell did he know you were there?”

  Kane shrugged as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the side of the road where he had been waiting for the go ahead. “He must have surveillance set up on all the roads leading into the area. Perhaps linked into a facial recognition database that flags any possible threat.”

  “That’s how I’d do it,” said Tommy. “Impressive for an old dude to know how to do that.”

  “I’m more interested in how he got your number,” said Leroux.

  Kane tossed his phone on the passenger seat as he accelerated. “Someone in the Gray Network, I guess. We obviously have a mole.”

  “Is it a mole if they’re on your side?” asked Tommy.

  Kane grunted. “Good question. I have a feeling, however, that West knows exactly what’s going on. If people from 1988 are being targeted, and he was there, then he knows he’s probably on someone’s list, and so is the Chief. He probably put word out to watch the Chief and found out he met with us.” Kane turned onto a barely visible dirt road then shook his head as he checked his rearview mirror, a row of bushes sliding back into position, hiding the entrance from the road.

  That’s new.

  Or at least he hadn’t noticed it the last time.

  He followed the winding path and eventually found the property, parking beside a Volkswagen SUV. He climbed out of his vehicle and approached the front porch. “I’m heading inside now.”

  But there was no response from Leroux or the team providing him with support, no matter how remote.

  “Anyone there?”

  “Don’t bother. I’m jamming them.”

  Kane spun toward the gravelly yet strong voice and smiled at Alex West as he emerged from a small shed nestled among the trees. “Alex. You startled me.”

  “Glad to know I can still sneak up on a trained agent.” He eyed Kane. “Or perhaps our agents aren’t as good as they once were.”

  Kane chuckled, extending a hand that was firmly shook. “You look well.”

  “And I feel well, though these old bones are creaking a little more each day, it seems.” He held out a hand, directing Kane into the small home. Kane opened the door and entered, a smile breaking out at the sight.

  “I sense a bit more of a feminine touch than last time.”

  West grunted. “A man gets used to living a certain way for the better part of thirty years, and one woman sweeps in and wants to change everything.” He held up a bottle. “Scotch?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Two were poured and they both sat.

  “So, where is Adelle?”

  “She’s visiting our daughter. I was supposed to go, but with recent events, I thought it best I stay away from them.”

  Kane took a sip of the scotch, the bite swift and welcome. He leaned back in the chair, and noticed a picture on the fireplace mantle of West and his long lost love, Adelle, reunited only a few years ago, and their daughter, a daughter conceived when they were both spies during the Cold War, a daughter he had no idea existed until their reunion.

  Kane was happy for the man, and wondered if that would be him and Fang someday, decades from now, with grown children and a happy, comfortable home.

  Only if you survive the job.

  “So, you knew I was coming.”

  “Of course.”

  “I won’t bother asking how. Why don’t you tell me what you know? I have a feeling it’s more than I do.”

  West chuckled, swirling his scotch. “Why don’t you tell me what your boss told you?”

  Kane nodded. “Very well. All I know is that in 1988 there was an assassination attempt on Gorbachev. It looks like both Soviets and Americans were involved, and that you saved the day, and my boss’ life.”

  “And that’s all you know?”

  “From what happened then? Yes. Today, we have the Chief’s Soviet counterpart poisoned, along with his daughter, and all signs point to the Russian government being behind it.”

  West took a drink. “So, you don’t know much. Let me fill you in on a few more details. Back in ’88, I recognized that things were changing, and that not everyone was happy about it, especially on the Soviet side. I figured there were some that would do anything to stop the changes that Gorbachev was pushing, and once I heard about the summit, I knew if they were going to make their move, it would be then. For months, I had been letting it slip to my contacts on the Soviet side that I wasn’t happy with things, and that if peace were to come, I’d be out of a job on some measly pension.” He gestured at the walls surrounding them. “Like now.”

  Kane smiled. “You seem to be doing fine.”

  West shrugged. “I found a sympathetic ear among a lot of my counterparts, so when a double-agent was looking for someone to supply him with an American sniper rifle, he approached me with an extremely generous offer.” He took another sip. “I accepted. I provided the weapon, and knew with the summit only days away, that either Reagan or Gorbachev was the target. Which one didn’t really matter. Either one could lead to war, and would definitely end any hopes of peace for another generation.”

  “So, you supplied the weapon. Then what?”

  “I told my guy I wanted in. I told him I was already assigned to the security detail, which was easy enough to arrange through Langley, and would be able to override the comms until the shot was taken. It was obvious they were trying to frame our side by using one of our own weapons, so I pushed the idea that manipulating our own comms would make it look like a rogue operation from our side.”

  “It obviously worked.”

  “Brilliantly. I was called the next day and taken to a briefing where the entire plot was laid out by a man I now know was named Yury Minkin.”

  “You identified him after the fact?”

  West nodded. “Well after. Three weeks ago, in fact.”

  Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “He’s one of the richest men in Russia. A defense contractor. He was just arrested by the Russian government on fraud charges.”

  Kane’s head bobbed as he recalled reading about it. The charges were thought to be bullshit, trumped-up accusations meant to embarrass a man the Kremlin feared had ambitions to the throne. “Why do you think he was arrested?”

  “I have no proof of this, mind you, but did you know that one of his company’s projects is to catalog and destroy much of Russia’s chemical and biological weapons stockpile?”

  Kane’s eyes widened slightly as he realized where West was going with this. “Let me guess. Part of that stockpile includes Novichok-type weapons?”

  “Exactly. My guess is that either he supplied the nerve agent used in the attack in Salisbury two days ago, or he’s going to be framed for it if it becomes necessary.”

  Kane blasted a breath through his lips. “So, if he supplied the nerve agent, then he’s involved in the attempt on Kulick’s life, and if he didn’t, then whoever is trying to frame him, is, and if that’s the case, then the Russian government definitely is involved.”

  West wagged a finger. “Not necessarily. It could be that someone is trying to make it look like the Kremlin is involved. Remember, Minkin was arrested three weeks ago on fraud charges. It’s conceivable that he was set up for these lesser charges, and the Kremlin are just patsies here.”

  Kane frowned. “Given their track record, I find that highly unlikely.”

  “Agreed. That country is quickly devolving back into the Soviet Union, just by a different name.”

  “Just give him a few more years.”

  West chuckled. “I see you’re a cynic like me. Good. It’ll help you live longer, perhaps long enough to grow old with that beautiful young woman you’re now living with.”

  Kane’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

  “I have.” West waved his hand, dismissing the tangent. “So, once they knew what I could offer, I was in, and taken to this briefing. There were only six men in the room. I was one of them, so was Minkin, and so was the shooter, though I don’t know his name. One was killed at the side entrance to the building, along with his American assigned counterpart who wasn’t in the room nor part of the plan. The Russian was the one who let Boykov in for the shot, and provided him with the key to access the top floor.”

  “Who killed them?”

  “Probably Boykov, perhaps under supplementary orders that were given after the initial briefing. The target was never mentioned specifically in the meeting, yet he knew who he was supposed to shoot, which means he was given further instructions after the fact. There were two other men who, like the rest of us, said nothing. I assume they were Russian, but can’t be positive. I found no evidence of American involvement beyond what I did. There’s a very good chance they’re dead by now, but we can’t be sure.”

  “Do you think one of them is behind this?”

  West shrugged. “It’s possible. I think we can rule out Minkin, obviously, and myself”—he flashed a smile—“and the dead guy at the door. I shot Boykov, which leaves two others. And, of course, we don’t know who else was involved beyond that room.”

  “But why now? What’s changed that thirty years after the fact, they want to kill those involved in a failed assassination plot?”

  West shook his head. “It could be anything, but my guess is someone is going to make a play for power, and they don’t want anyone being able to point at them as having been involved.”

  Kane chewed his cheek as he processed this new information. The good news was that there wasn’t American involvement in the plot as Morrison had feared. West was the one responsible for hijacking their frequencies. But they were no closer to discovering who was behind everything than when he left for Germany. “We need more to go on.”

  “I think you know who you need to contact.”

  Kane nodded. “Viktor Zorkin.”

  “Exactly.”

  “He’s dropped off the radar. No one knows how to reach him. In fact, Langley’s not even sure if he’s still alive.”

  “He is.” West finished his drink. “In fact, I contacted him three weeks ago, as soon as I recognized Minkin on the news. He’s expecting you.”

  Kane grunted. “You never cease to impress.”

  West pointed at an envelope sitting on the table between them. “Your travel documents are inside, including a Russian visa, and everything you need to know.” He rose, extending a hand. “Good luck, my boy. I think you’re going to need it on this one.”

  12 |

  Pechatniki Pre-trial Detention Center Moscow, Russia

  Boykov’s entire body ached, and he cursed his old age. It wasn’t as if having an entire apartment building collapse under younger feet wouldn’t have resulted in a few scrapes and bruises, it was that he could have tolerated the pain and pushed through it a little easier.

  Instead, he had self-medicated with a little more vodka than usual, and spent a few hours on and off in an ice bath at the fleabag hotel on the opposite side of the city he normally haunted.

  He was feeling much better this evening than he had two nights ago.

  And he was in a relatively good mood for someone with a price on his head.

  The newscasts were blaming Jihadists for the attack, and he wasn’t surprised. It was certainly their modus operandi. A van, packed with explosives, had been parked in front of the building and detonated remotely, blowing out the ground level, bringing everything above it down like a controlled detonation.

  And that was why he had survived.

  They overachieved.

  Less explosives would have blown out only a portion of the main floor, causing the building to topple, slamming his upper floor onto the street below. Instead, he dropped, a floor at a time, stacking on the one below, minimizing the force, but crushing to death most under him.

  It was the upper floor apartment that had saved him, and he’d never curse it again when the elevator wasn’t working.

  He grunted.

  There’s nothing to go back to, so that won’t be a problem.

  He checked his watch and inhaled slowly. What he was about to do was stupid, but with a price on one’s head, one was apt to do stupid things. If it got him tossed in prison, then so be it. There were ways to end one’s life behind bars should it come to that, for he had no intention of spending his final years confined to a tiny room.

  He had done enough of that on the outside.

  Today, he was here to try and find out who was behind the attempt on his life, from the only person he could think of who might know.

  Yet it all depended on one large assumption that didn’t fit what had happened so far. If this was related to the old days and the failed assassination attempt, then why blow up a building and make it look like Islamic terrorists? Why not just put a bullet in his head and be done with it? And the phone call had him confused as well. It was a woman. There were no women involved back then, and none of those involved were the type to use them today. Who was she? Was she behind this, or simply a contractor?

  He had to know, and only Minkin might be able to help him.

  But would he be willing?

  To Minkin, he was the man who had failed. He was the one responsible for everything that had happened afterward.

  Yet Minkin had fallen squarely on his feet. If anything, he should be happy that the mission had failed. He was a billionaire because of it.

 

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