CHAPTER 68
John entered a top floor room at the Hotel Villa Anna in Uppsala.
It filled an olden building from the nineteenth century that sat within sight of the cathedral.
The room was spacious with a king-sized bed and Swedish designer furniture, which cast an austerity that he’d never really cared for.
But there was also a flat-screen television, mini-bar, and electric kettle.
Not the Grand H?tel in Stockholm, but few places could compare with its opulence.
They’d opted to come here instead of Stockholm simply to stay out of the way.
He was not a known commodity throughout Sweden.
He’d been out of the limelight for the past decade.
Few knew his face, even fewer knew his association to the royal family.
No one at the reception desk gave him or Monica a second look.
“Do we have any idea if the defector is dead? The codex destroyed?” he asked Monica.
“We have this.”
And she showed him a text message on her phone.
Carolina Rediviva. 2:00 p.m. Be There.
“Aleks sent that before we left the island,” she said. “That location is here in Uppsala.”
He was concerned. “What does he want?”
“Not to kill us. He would have just done that, not sent a text. My guess is that something went wrong and he wants a loose end cleaned up.”
“Why you?”
“Because it is my loose end.”
“You do not seem surprised.”
“Why should I be. It is the SVR. What do you expect?”
Cotton politely waved off the offer of a stiff drink and opted instead for a glass of ice water.
He and Ivan were inside a secure facility at the Karup Air Base.
The emergency crews had done their jobs and prevented any fire from breaking out in the destroyed EMB.
He wondered who was going to pay for the loss of that multimillion-dollar aircraft.
The Devil’s Bible had been removed and was now being loaded into another plane that would take both it and Ivan south to Ramstein Air Base.
No danger existed from any more Russian fighters, as not even Franko would risk another attack.
Out over the Baltic and international waters was one thing, but to try it over German airspace right smack in the middle of NATO? That was another matter entirely.
“Here’s where we part ways,” he said to Ivan. “I need to get back to Stockholm.”
“You did good up there. I appreciate it.”
“Make it count for something and give them plenty of intel.”
“I owe Franko nothing. He made big mistake trying to kill me.”
“The CIA will take good care of you. Maybe even get you that house in the desert.”
“That would be wonderful. My old bones are tired.”
He extended a hand, which Ivan shook.
“You good man, Cotton Malone. Be careful out there.”
Stephanie shifted from crisis to defensive mode. Cotton was safe. Ivan and the Devil’s Bible were on their way to Germany. Russia had been thwarted. Only one problem remained to be resolved.
She faced Cassiopeia. “Koger has a security leak. A big one. His predecessor left it for him to find and solve. So he did. With Cotton’s help. We fed the source inside intel that said where and when to be.”
“And the source took the bait?”
“Hook, line, sinker, the whole damn boat. It’s a deep sleeper agent who managed to stay in place for a long time.”
Recruiting spies was an art. A cat-and-mouse game.
If done properly, as with Princess Lysa, the asset would not even know it happened.
There was indeed a fine line between persuasion and manipulation.
Though the Magellan Billet was not in the business of recruiting foreign assets, she knew the drill.
A targeting officer started the process, trolling for people who would want to work with America.
Nowadays they checked social media and any public information sites both before and after approaching a target.
If those raised no red flags, then a deep dive happened.
Was the target happily married? Had they achieved a reasonable amount of success in their career?
Did they have any hobbies? All these offered opportunities for the recruiter to wrangle an invitation into the target’s life, without seeming obvious.
The more well-rounded a CIA officer was, the easier it was to connect with a target.
They even had a catchy name for it. You, Me, Same Same.
Common ground was essential. It implied trustworthiness.
The targeting officer was not just a smiling stranger.
They were a friend, a peer. Development could take months, even years, depending on the target, their country, and how difficult an operation might be.
The danger zone came once the courtship ended.
How could you be sure the potential asset would not report everything to the authorities?
What had a CIA case officer once told her?
Most normal people are not going to propose to someone unless they know they are going to say yes. The same can be said of espionage.
But why would people betray their country?
Money, more often than not. But some spied for ideology, others were coerced, and a few just needed an ego boost.
Done right, nothing ever seemed manipulative.
Just a natural progression in an ongoing relationship.
People skills were the biggest weapons in a handler’s arsenal.
More of what that CIA handler had told her came to mind.
Make it something that they want to do. Something that they’ve been destined to do.
But what happened when an asset stopped providing worthwhile intelligence?
Or was no longer needed? Or became a security risk?
That’s where they were at the moment.
“They acted fast on the intel we fed them,” Stephanie said to Cassiopeia. “No effort made to hide anything. That means the source is now expendable.”
“The source does not know they are in trouble?”
“Overestimating your importance is an occupational hazard of a traitor.”
“Only six people knew about that plane and Ivan. I’m going to say the prime minister can be trusted. That leaves five, four of whom are me, you, Cotton, and Koger. So the leak is obvious.”
“That’s right,” Stephanie said. “Time to find Sandra Koss.”