Vektor (10 page)

Petrovich studied each man, quickly concluding that they were paramilitary. They moved with a purpose, studying Berg and Petrovich in the careful, detached trademark manner of an ex-special forces operator. Each carried a concealed pistol on their right belt line, tucked just behind the hip and loosely covered by their waist-level windbreakers. By the way their clothing fit, he could tell they were in optimal shape. The only variable Daniel couldn’t determine was their experience level, and in his line of work, this was often the most important variable. He wondered if they were running through the same mental drill, sizing him up and calculating their odds of surviving an encounter.

Daniel’s mind constantly assessed these odds, regardless of the environment. He never stopped identifying potential threats around him. Escape routes appeared to him automatically, and possible courses of action were analyzed like a computer. Even life’s simplest tasks were processed this way. This mindset had been drilled into him by Sanderson’s training program and honed to perfection as an operative in Serbia, where his daily survival often depended on the speed and efficacy of basic decision-making. Experience sharpened this skill to a razor. Without this experience, you were just another fitness buff with weapons and martial arts training. He couldn’t tell if the men in front of him had spent most of their professional careers at Planet Fitness or in Afghanistan. They looked authentic, but looks could be deceiving.

Both men brushed past them and started to search the car. He figured they were looking for any additional GPS units or cell phones that could be used to determine their final destination. Satisfied that the car was clean, the two men returned and asked them to step inside the vehicle.

Daniel opened the door and saw that the window was opaque. A black panel ran from the ceiling to floor and separated the rear compartment from the front seats, completely blocking their view of the front compartment windows. He leaned his head in and confirmed that the rest of the windows were opaque, forming a visionless box to keep the final destination a secret. Karl Berg opened the door on the other side and stepped up on the running board, preparing to enter the SUV.

“Fuck this. I’m not riding in a coffin,” Daniel said.

“It’s non-negotiable, Daniel. If the director came out to visit, he’d be required to follow the same procedure,” Berg said.

“Somehow I really doubt that,” he said, considering his options.

“It is what it is. You either take it or leave it,” Berg said, nestling himself into the far seat.

Daniel looked past the opaque window and caught a glimpse of one of their escorts. He stood with his arms folded at the front of the SUV, staring at Daniel impassively.

“They won’t get in until both of the back doors are closed and locked. They’ll stand around all day,” Berg said.

Daniel hopped into his seat and shut the door, which automatically activated the interior lights. Before either of the front compartment doors opened, he heard his door lock. He shared a look with Berg.

“This facility is our securest for three reasons. Isolation, secrecy and physical security. The detachment assigned to Mountain Glen takes each aspect very seriously. Follow directions, and don’t fuck around up there,” Berg said.

The vehicle jolted forward, pushing Daniel into his seat.

“What makes you think I won’t take this seriously?” Petrovich said, securing his seatbelt.

“I have it on good authority.”

Sixty-four minutes later, the SUV stopped for several seconds and continued.
Perimeter fence
, Daniel thought. A few minutes after that, the vehicle turned and suddenly halted. The engine stopped running, and the door unlocked.

“We may proceed,” Berg said.

“So much for two hours,” Petrovich said.

“Sanderson told me to shave an hour off the advertised time.”

“Uhhh…I think we stopped in the wrong place,” he called out, opening the door and stepping down onto the packed gravel. He walked briskly past their escorts, who no longer appeared interested in them. “This looks more like a mountain retreat than a maximum security prison for the worst dregs of society.”

“It gets a little complicated when you rank this high on our list of enemies,” Berg said, catching up with him.

Petrovich surveyed the grounds. They had parked in front of a two-story colonial-style home that bristled with antennas and featured a satellite communications dome at the apex of the roof. The house stood in the center of a round clearing the size of three football fields. A natural stream ran through the northern edge of the clearing, visible among the jagged rocks along the water’s edge. A massive post-and-beam lodge dominated the western edge of the clearing, complete with a wide covered porch and Adirondack deck chairs.

Fifty meters to the left of the lodge sat a white, one-story building that looked more utilitarian than luxurious. The squat structure featured two garage bay doors and a crushed gravel driveway leading toward the dirt road they had arrived on. He saw several ATV-sized trails leading in multiple directions from the center of the clearing, but no motorized equipment beyond the SUV that had transported them to the compound.

He raised his view above the tree line to admire the rocky face of a mountain several miles away. Faint traces of snow could still be seen in some of the sheltered crags. Anatoly Reznikov had been delivered to paradise for causing the death of thousands in Russia and selling his designer virus to Al Qaeda. Unbelievable.

Daniel’s gaze returned to the house just as the front door opened. Berg filled him in as they walked over to meet the camp commandant, or whoever had decided to greet them.

“The house ahead is the security station. It’s home to roughly a dozen security specialists, all former special operations personnel. It houses the state-of-the-art equipment used to keep track of the compound’s ‘guests.’ Every aspect of the guests’ lives is monitored and analyzed, from heartbeats to toilet flushes. Dozens of active and passive measures are taken to ensure each guest’s compliance with the rules.

“The guests stay in residences situated beyond the thick tree line that surrounds the clearing. Each residence is bugged and monitored by several cameras mounted in nearby trees. Motion detectors track movement inside and outside of each structure, guiding the sophisticated array of night vision and thermal imaging equipped cameras assigned to each guest. Patterns are recorded, analyzed and anticipated. Anything out of the ordinary is immediately investigated by a mobile security team. Normally, you’d see a few ATVs around here. They must be busy.”

“What the fuck is that place? A goddamn resort lodge?” Petrovich asked, pointing at the post-and-beam structure.

“The lodge holds the facility’s gourmet kitchen, common dining area, recreation room, indoor pool and exercise facilities…trust me, I think it’s a fucking crock of shit, but the promise of a life here has motivated some of our most hardened enemies to cooperate. The small white building houses the compound’s backup generator, water distribution system and main electricity breaker. The garages hold ATVs for patrolling the grounds, plowing snow and transporting guests.”

“I lost three good men capturing that motherfucker, and now he’s eating crème brule after dinner?”

“And after lunch if so desired,” Berg said.

“I’m not finding any of this to be amusing. You have to be kidding me?” Daniel said, stopping Berg before their welcoming committee arrived. “He gets to live out the rest of his life here? Seriously?”

“That’s the general concept, but in the case of Anatoly Reznikov, I might throw him an early retirement party. Those lives weren’t wasted.”

Berg cast him a deadly serious look that Petrovich recognized immediately. For the moment, he was satisfied that Reznikov wouldn’t get to live out his golden years snacking on fresh cheese and drinking Green Mountain coffee. He risked one more glance at the lodge’s porch and saw someone take a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs with a cup and saucer.

“They can roam the place freely?”

The man joining them from the house answered his question. “Guests are allowed free run of the compound, as long as they don’t bother another guest or interfere with the staff. Or try to escape. Violations result in a remotely activated lockdown. Gary Sheffield,” he said, shaking hands with Petrovich first.

“Daniel Petrovich,” he responded, stuck in Sheffield’s iron grip.

Unlike his Members Only jacket adorned security staff, Sheffield looked like he had embraced the Vermont mountain life. The bottoms of his worn quilted flannel shirt flapped in the breeze, lapping gently against his reinforced khaki pants. A pair of rugged dark brown hiking boots stood firmly planted in the ground in front of them. His face betrayed a four to five day growth of graying hair, which had the potential to sprout into a proper beard if left unchecked, but like Petrovich, the man couldn’t completely abandon the ritual of shaving. Give Sheffield another year or two out here, and he’d look like Grizzly Adams. He wondered how a CIA officer pulled duty out here…if the guy was even CIA.

“Welcome back, Karl. Looks like Mr. Reznikov is keeping you busy,” Sheffield said.

“It’s a refreshing break from the pollution.”

“I didn’t think D.C. was that bad,” Sheffield remarked.

“I wasn’t talking about the air,” Berg replied.

“Neither was I,” Sheffield said, smirking, and the two men shook hands.

“Gary and I served together in Eastern Europe back in the day,” Berg said to Daniel. “He headed up one of our most successful Special Operations groups behind the Iron Curtain. How he ended up with a cushy assignment like this is unfathomable.”

“Beyond the cameras and motion detectors, what keeps the prisoners from walking to the nearest town?” Petrovich asked.

Sheffield put a hand on his hip and pointed at the forest with the other, sweeping his hand in a grand gesture at the tree line. “The final immediate security precaution consists of a reinforced, twelve-foot-tall razor-wire fence that encircles the entire compound. The fence is located three hundred meters beyond the edge of the clearing, and the entire fence line is monitored by cameras and motion detectors. If one of the compound’s guests or an outside party decided to scale the fence, security personnel could deliver a substantial electrical charge to that specific section of fence. Beyond the fence, the last deterrent to an escape is isolation. Anyone finding themselves on the other side of that fence would face a fifty-mile trek through unforgiving wilderness to reach the first signs of civilization.”

“Has anyone tried to go over the fence?” Daniel said.

“Fuck no. The average guest puts on thirty to forty pounds within the first three months here…and most of them arrive already showing the signs of an excessive lifestyle. The gourmet food serves a purpose. Most of them would have a heart attack getting to the fence. Speaking of heart conditions, Mr. Reznikov’s health is improving.”

“That’s a shame,” Berg said.

“Good food. Fresh air. Works wonders. I’ll notify him that you’ve arrived. Should I announce Mr. Petrovich?”

“No. I’d like to surprise him. Maybe set his health back a few notches. The two of them have met before,” Berg said.

“Very well. I’ll send his usual breakfast over. Can I get the two of you anything?”

“Lobster Benedict with homefries?”

“How do you like the egg yolks?” Sheffield asked.

“Wow, I was just kidding,” Petrovich said. “Cooked through.”

“Karl?”

“I’ll have the same, but runny.”

“Give it about thirty minutes. Here’s the code to cut the audio feeds. Input at the door touch pad,” Sheffield said, removing a notecard from his trouser pocket.

“Thanks, Gary. See you on the way out,” Berg said.

Sheffield nodded at his security officers, who followed him into the security station as Berg and Petrovich walked down the raked gravel path toward Reznikov’s residence. They arrived at the cozy Cape Cod-style cottage a few minutes later after a short walk through the forest. Without stopping to examine any of the trees, Daniel failed to detect any of the surveillance equipment installed to keep Reznikov from wandering off the reservation. Either the gear had been expertly hidden or the whole system was a carefully crafted lie to keep the inmates guessing. Either method could be equally effective. He maneuvered himself behind Berg as they approached the cottage.

Petrovich saw one of the curtains flutter as they walked onto the small covered porch. Less than a second later, the door flashed open, and Reznikov bellowed in a deep Russian voice, welcoming Karl Berg. When Daniel stepped onto the porch, clearing Berg’s shadow, the pallid Russian’s face lost any last vestiges of color. He imagined that Sheffield and his crew were getting their monthly dose of entertainment watching Reznikov’s vital signs spike.

“Good morning, Dr. Reznikov,” Petrovich said in his cheeriest voice.

“What is
he
doing here?” Reznikov asked, looking betrayed.

“Emotional support…and to reinforce the fact that you are not out of the woods by a long shot. Stand back from the door,” Berg ordered.

Reznikov retreated into the house, and Petrovich followed him, glancing around at the modestly appointed residence. Comfortable, inexpensive furniture adorned the family room to the right, reminding him of the mountain cottage he had rented for a week with Jessica in New Hampshire. He heard Berg type his code into the keypad on the porch, which piqued Reznikov’s interest.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s cutting the surveillance feeds so I can beat you senseless without interruption from the warden,” Petrovich said.

“Director,” Reznikov countered.

“Warden. You’re an inmate. This is a prison…albeit a nice one.”

“I like to think of it as my well-earned retirement.”

Berg slammed the door shut and walked past Petrovich, causing Reznikov to retreat into the kitchen area ahead of him.

“Well, I have bad news about your retirement plan. Have a seat,” Berg said.

Reznikov swiped a half-finished bottle of Ketel One vodka from the kitchen counter and started to dig through one of his cabinets for shot glasses. He set the glasses and the bottle on the kitchen table and took a seat. Karl Berg sat across from him, but Petrovich opted to stand with his back against the kitchen island countertop with his arms crossed. He stared at Reznikov, watching the Russian’s trembling hand reach out with the bottle. He heard the mouth of the bottle chatter against the first glass and wondered if Reznikov might collapse from the strain of seeing him again.