Vektor (55 page)

“Unfortunately, I know them entirely too well. I updated them three years ago to enhance the agency’s deniability. Reznikov is definitely lost…for now,” Berg said.

Chapter 73

9:30 AM

Harry S. Truman Building

Washington, D.C

Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs Philip Regan accepted Minister-Counselor Leonid Novikov’s hand in a warmly enthusiastic embrace before gesturing toward the decorative coffee table adorned with a tea service set and a small but opulent selection of bite-sized pastries. Once the two diplomats settled into the two luxurious red leather high-back wing chairs, the dance began, starting with tea and a mid-morning snack.

“Can I offer you some tea?” Regan said.

“Thank you. That would be wonderful,” Novikov said in polished, Russian-accented English.

Regan poured him a cup of black tea from a polished bronze samovar presented in the early eighties by the Russian ambassador to George P. Shultz, President Ronald Reagan’s secretary of state. Novikov took a sip from the glass teacup and smiled in approval. They both indulged in a few pastries and traded pleasantries about family for the required amount of time before Philip Regan placed his teacup onto a shiny bronze tea service tray and leaned back in the chair.

“I know for a fact that the tea and pastila at your embassy puts this humble offering to shame, so I assume that something important brings you here during the morning tea hour,” Regan said.

“I’m afraid so,” Novikov said, putting his cup down. “This is a delicate matter,” he added.

“You have my undivided attention and discretion,” Regan said.

“Last night, we had an incident at the State Research Center for Virology and Biotechnology in Novosibirsk,” he said.

Regan pondered the Russian’s words for a moment, slowly furrowing his brow in a controlled, deliberate effort to look concerned.

“What kind of an incident?” he said.

“Terrorists attacked the biocontainment facility at Vektor Laboratories,” Novikov said.

“Dear heavens. What were they trying to accomplish?” Regan said.

“We don’t know very much at this point, but the attack put the entire Novosibirsk region on alert. We lost two helicopters in an unfortunate collision near the Kazakhstan border.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Please let me know if you need our Centers for Disease Control to help in any way. As Vektor’s sister facility, I’m sure they would be eager to lend a hand. Were there casualties at the facility?”

“Several, including a scientific team that was working late over the weekend on a special project,” Novikov said, reaching for his cup on the tray.

Regan poured each of them another cup. They were about to broach the matter at hand.

“Their CDC and World Health Organization counterparts will be heartbroken. Such a loss is sure to be profound among such an elite group of dedicated scientists. Do preliminary investigative reports indicate a possible threat to other facilities worldwide?”

“We hope that this is an isolated attack,” Novikov said, responding to his hidden suggestion.

“So do we. We stand by to assist your country in any way possible. Given recent events here in the United States, I can assure you that we are committed to keeping facilities like Vektor and our own CDC secure against terrorism. Bioweapons are a frightening prospect on the world scene.”

“I couldn’t agree more. We’d like nothing more than to put the Vektor attack behind us and renew a joint commitment to stamping out these weapons internationally,” Novikov said.

There it was. The Russians wanted a clean slate between them.

“That’s very good to hear. I’m sure the American people would strongly support this kind of bilateral effort, and I know that my president is eager to put recent events as far behind us as possible,” Regan said.

“Most excellent, my friend. I will relay this to Moscow immediately. Sorry to…how do you say it? Eat and run? But this is a matter of urgency, and your offer of bilateral support will be most happily received.”

Both of them stood and shook hands vigorously.

“I’m pleased that we could come together on this one. Don’t be a stranger, Leo. Moscow was by far my most enjoyable posting, and I don’t often get the opportunity to regale in stories about Russia. Plus, I rarely have occasion to showcase this wonderful gift from your homeland,” Regan said, pointing at the samovar.

Novikov admired the samovar and tea set. “Nineteenth century Tsarist Russia, I believe. Very rare, but a shame to keep hidden away for my infrequent visits.”

“I’ll have to take your advice and keep it out as a reminder of our friendship. Please keep me posted on any developments related to the terrorist attack, and I’ll be sure to let you know if we pick up anything on our end.”

“Very well, Phillip. We’ll be happy to put all of this behind us.”

“And so will we,” Regan said, showing Novikov to the door.

Once the door closed, Philip Regan settled into the high-backed chair and finished his tea. He had little idea what the exchange had truly meant and suspected the same about Novikov. He had received explicit instructions from the secretary of state regarding the outcome the president desired, which had included just enough information to work out a diplomatic solution in the most vague terms. He knew Vektor Laboratories had been attacked and that the attack might be related to the issue in Monchegorsk, though he had been specifically prohibited from mentioning the Kola Peninsula incident in any way.

Regan had been encouraged to mention the recent bioweapons scare in the United States and suggest that the administration would support any and all bilateral efforts to eradicate the world bioweapons threat. Philip could connect the dots. He had a strong suspicion that the attack against Vektor had been a demonstration of the White House’s previous and future unilateral commitment to preventing another attack against the homeland.

Chapter 74

6:42 PM

Federal Security Service (FSB) Headquarters

Lubyanka Square, Moscow

Alexei Kaparov shook his head and smiled for most of the walk back to his office. Maxim Greshnev, chief counterterrorism director for the Federation Security Service, had summoned him unexpectedly for a second time today. The first had occurred at 4:45 in the morning, soon after he had reported to headquarters in response to an urgent roster recall. He had learned that terrorists had attacked Vektor Laboratories, Russia’s State Research Institute for Virology and Biotechnology, targeting the biocontainment building. Vektor officials had assured Greshnev that the virology division’s infectious disease samples had not been stolen or tampered with in any way.

Kaparov had fought to stifle a grin throughout the early morning meeting, never imagining that he’d have to fight the same battle twelve hours later during a one-on-one meeting with Greshnev. Smiling was not one of Kaparov’s strong suits, but today had made him infinitely happy.

He reached one of the doors leading into the Biological/Chemical Threat Assessment Division’s cubicle farm and concentrated on presenting the same sour face his agents had grown accustomed to seeing over the years. Normally, his division resembled a ghost town at this point in the evening, but thanks to Karl Berg, the entire counterterrorism department was still a beehive of activity and showed no signs of slowing down.

Thousands upon thousands of hours would be wasted in the Lubyanka Building over the next few weeks, possibly months, and he would have to appear enthusiastic, knowing for a fact that it was an exercise in futility. He was in for a long summer.

Yuri Prerovsky stood up from his cubicle located directly outside of Kaparov’s office.

“Anything new to report?” Kaparov said, continuing into his office.

“Center for Special Operations units are mobilizing small teams to assist with the execution of emergency warrants against our high-priority watch-list targets,” Prerovsky said, hovering just outside his door.

“Come in. I hate when you linger like that. Do they require any of our personnel in the field?”

Prerovsky stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Not at the moment, but they’re going to run out of agents to chase down everyone on that list, which is what I presume they’ll have to do,” Prerovsky said, eyeing him.

“Well, given what Greshnev just told me, the entire investigation is about to take an interesting detour. Are you ready for the latest?” Kaparov said, lighting a cigarette.

“Probably not.”

“Greshnev asked me to reopen the investigation into Anatoly Reznikov. Information has surfaced suggesting a possible link between the scientist and Monchegorsk,” he said and leaned back in his chair.

“You have to be fucking kidding me. May I presume that you did not use the phrase ‘I told you so,’ at any point in the conversation?” Prerovsky said, taking a seat in the small folding chair next to the door.

“You can’t imagine what I was thinking. I could barely keep from laughing in Greshnev’s face,” Kaparov said.

“This is a genius move on their part…”

“Whose part?” Kaparov said, exhaling smoke toward the nicotine-stained ceiling.

“Whoever decided that this was the perfect opportunity to make lemonade out of lemons. Monchegorsk is an undeniable international public-relations disaster that makes Chernobyl look like a routine ten-car pile-up on the Moscow Ring Road. Linking a disturbed scientist to the terrorist attack on Vektor and ultimately Monchegorsk isn’t the prettiest option, but it’s sure as hell better than the version of events they’re currently peddling to the international community,” Prerovsky said.

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was just wondering how the hell they were going to investigate a dead man.”

“That’s not a problem for the puppet masters. I’m quite sure that Reznikov will be killed by SVR agents a few months from now, just as he is about to poison another city in Russia. Probably won’t be much left of his body after the raid.”

Kaparov nodded and took a long drag from his Troika cigarette, exhaling as he spoke. “You’re probably right. Until then, we have to go through the motions. Greshnev wants us to prepare a detailed file on Reznikov. Everything we have. We’re to activate all protocols previously used to track Reznikov’s whereabouts, foreign and domestic.”

“None of those protocols had been particularly effective in the past,” Prerovsky said.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter. We won’t be the only ones going through the motions if your theory is correct.”

“And Monchegorsk? How should we proceed?” Prerovsky asked.

“I’ve been told to stand by for further direction,” Kaparov said, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Prerovsky said.

“Look on the bright side, Yuri. When they find Reznikov, service commendations and medals will shower the division. We should celebrate. Drinks are on me tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan, as long as your idea of drinks on the town doesn’t involve a park bench,” Prerovsky said.

“Of course not. I only drink on park benches during weekend afternoons.” Kaparov laughed. “If you’d give me some privacy, I need to make a quick phone call. Business-related. Overseas.”

“Yes. I’ll be right outside. Can I start sending agents home, or are we in here for the night?”

“Start cutting people loose at seven. I want the entire department back on deck by five in the morning.”

“Understood,” he said and departed, leaving Kaparov alone in the office.

Kaparov pulled a cell phone from his briefcase and dialed the number Karl Berg had given him, which bounced his call from a legitimate Moscow number to the CIA officer’s cell phone. All he had to do was speak a four-word phrase to activate the transfer. Otherwise, the phone would continue to ring at the ghost location somewhere in Moscow. The call rang long enough for Kaparov to wonder if Berg had finally abandoned him. When the CIA officer answered, Kaparov could tell by his voice that something wasn’t right.

“I’m glad you called. We lost him,” Berg said, sounding tired.

“Lost who?” Kaparov said, hoping he didn’t mean Reznikov.

“I can’t spell it out on the phone. Science type.”

Kaparov tried to process what Berg had just said, but was having a hard time closing the loop in his mind. He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which the CIA simply
lost
one of the most dangerous people on the planet.

“What do you mean by lost? I thought he was in one of your most secure locations, which I assumed to be a dark cell, deep under the fucking ground? Better yet, why isn’t he dead?”

“It’s complicated. He was in a very secure location,” Berg said.

“Obviously not secure enough. Dare I ask what happened?” He quickly lit another cigarette, noting that there were not enough Troikas remaining in the pack to calm him down from what he had just been told.

“The compound was hit by a small army right after I arrived. I escaped with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. The rest weren’t so lucky. We lost fourteen men trying to stop them,” Berg said.

“How the fuck did this happen? I told you to be careful with him. He’s not to be underestimated.”

“We couldn’t have pulled off the raid without his help. We had to make some concessions to keep the information flowing, but we were extremely careful. I can’t for the life of me imagine how he pulled this off.”

“This information couldn’t come at a worse time. I’ve just been asked to reopen his fucking file! They’re going to blame him for the recent events, including the one you just pulled off,” Kaparov hissed.

“They can’t. How could they possibly pull that off at this point?”

“Shall I march into the Kremlin and demand an explanation?”

“I don’t know what to say. This is an utter disaster on both ends,” Berg said.

“Disaster is an understatement. It appears that we will have to hunt him down for real. I just need to find some credible leads before they cough up a body to satisfy the world,” Kaparov said.