It was midevening. Will, Korina, and Markov walked quickly down a long, winding driveway illuminated by lamps and surrounded by trees. Ahead of them was the dacha. The villa was quite large, and the lights were on. Two stationary vehicles were by the front entrance. The place was isolated in the forest and looked beautiful and homely, with gentle snow falling through the dim yellow glow of the lamps. They were forty miles outside Moscow and were here to interview the American traitor.
Markov knocked on the front door and stepped back. A voice called out. Markov responded, “Major Tsvetaeva. GRU.”
Bolts were unfastened; the door swung open. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a suit and a holster containing a Serdyukov SPS self-loading pistol stood in the entrance. Korina stepped forward and showed her ID, speaking quietly. The SVR officer scrutinized her identity card and, glancing over his shoulder, called out a name. He was joined by someone wearing similar attire. Markov pulled out a packet of cigarettes and said something to the men, then laughed. They smiled and stepped out of the doorway, joining Markov for a cigarette. Korina and Will stepped into the house.
The dacha was thick with tobacco smoke. As they walked along the hallway, they could hear a TV. Passing a kitchen, a cloakroom, and two bedrooms, Will saw that nothing inside was as homely as the villa’s exterior suggested. Instead, the interior was minimalist and functional. They turned into a large lounge and saw the bright screen of the television. The light from the set was the only illumination, and it flickered over the surroundings to produce snapshot images of a man sitting on a sofa.
Will said loudly, “Turn the lights on and the television off.”
The man seemed startled. He scrambled for a controller, switched off the TV, and simultaneously switched on a table lamp. “I thought you guys were coming tomorrow.” The American looked hesitant as he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa. He was slight, in his midtwenties, hair shaven at the sides and back, barefoot, and wearing tracksuit pants and a sweatshirt that had U.S. NAVY BASE KITSAP, NOT SELF BUT COUNTRY emblazoned on its front. He picked up a bottle of beer and took a swig. “I’m an important person now. I don’t need fucking surprises.”
Will stepped forward. “There’s a lady present. I won’t tolerate foul language.”
The American seemed to relax. “Well, fuck me.” He took another slug of beer.
Will moved closer, but Korina put a hand on his forearm and said to the American sailor, “You’re clearly a stupid man. If you don’t change your attitude, I’ll make sure you stay here forever.”
The American grinned broadly. “Good, because things have never been better for me. Twenty-four/seven protection, free food, booze, and cigarettes.” He lit a cigarette, sucked on it, and then tapped ash into an overflowing ashtray. “Plus the SVR has given me American cable TV.” His smile vanished and was replaced by a look of contempt. Directing his gaze at Korina he muttered, “The only thing the Russkies haven’t given me yet is any Eastern pussy. Is that why you’re here, lady?”
Korina looked urgently at Will and said, “No, William-”
But Will ignored her, took two steps toward the sailor, and slapped him hard.
“God damn it!” The sailor put a hand to his red face.
Will stepped back. “Next time it’ll be worse.”
The American spat angrily. “How come a Russian speaks perfect English with no accent?”
“Because that’s how it has to be.” Will threw himself down into one of the other armchairs.
Korina said, “We’re here to ask you about the intelligence you supplied to Taras Khmelnytsky. We want to know if you were aware that the intelligence is no longer true.”
The sailor sniggered. “I only answer to Khmelnytsky and”-he looked around-“my new SVR hosts.”
Korina snapped, “You’ll answer to whoever has authority over naval intelligence matters. And right now that person is me.”
Korina was about to speak again, but Will interrupted. “How did Taras recruit you?”
The sailor glugged beer. “He told me, ‘You don’t need to live like scum anymore. If you give me what I want, I’ll make sure you live a life that would be the envy of your arrogant officers.’ ”
“So that’s it?” Korina leaned forward. “You spied on America because Khmelnytsky could deliver to you your vision of domestic bliss and maybe even”-she smiled, though her look was venomous-“Eastern pussy.”
The American said nothing, his face defiant.
Korina pointed at him. “We’ve learned that the three Ohio submarines will be entering Russian waters on a different date, but that’s all we know. I’m here to find out if you know anything about this.”
The sailor shook his head. “The dates of deployment were specific. I never heard anyone say that the subs might sail on another date.”
Will asked, “Were there any protocols in place in case the deployment was delayed for whatever reason?”
The American looked puzzled. “No.”
Will sighed and looked at Korina. “This has been a waste of time.”
A s they reached their BMW sedan rental car at the end of the driveway, Korina spoke to Markov. “Join Vitali, Roger, and Laith on surveillance detail. Let me know the moment the target leaves the dacha.”
Markov disappeared into the night. Will and Korina jumped into the vehicle. The GRU major looked at Will and said softly, “Thank you.”
Will shrugged. “It was nothing. Getting a stupid man to do something rash is hardly worthy of thanks.”
Korina shook her head. “That’s not why I’m grateful.”
“I know.”
She touched his hand and let it rest there for a moment. “It felt nice to-to have someone stand up for me.” She faced forward, moved her hand to the steering wheel, and started the engine. Her next words were strident. “We need to take up position.” Engaging the gears, she drove the vehicle forward. “We’ll wait out of sight a mile up the road. The moment the rest of the team spots the foul-mouthed cretin leaving the dacha, we’ll follow him until he leads us to his master.”
I t was pitch-dark both in the car and outside. They were a few feet away from the road, on rough ground surrounded by trees. Will and Korina had waited in the vehicle for hours, barely speaking. Only occasionally had she turned on the ignition to generate some more heat.
Korina’s cell phone rang. She listened in silence. “They watched him walk out of the house, argue with his SVR guardians, who wanted him to stay, then get into a car alone and drive off. Our team is tailing him in their two vehicles. He’s heading toward Moscow.”
Will muttered, “We’ll let them pass us, wait a few minutes, and then follow team and target.” He briefly opened his door to trigger the interior light and checked his watch. It was a few minutes after four A.M.; they had entered a new day. Everything rested on the sailor making contact with Razin, but so far everything that Will and Sentinel had done to try to trap him had gone wrong. He began to sweat, his mind racing with uncertainty before landing on one thing that was a certainty.
In three days, the U.S. submarines would be entering Russian waters. When that happened, Razin would detonate his bomb to make it look like a U.S. strike. For Russia, that would be an act of war.