Chapter 22 #3
Maggie moved toward Marcus, who stared back at her, his blue eyes cool and aloof.
He was two decades younger than her, and his height put her at a physical disadvantage, but she was too seasoned to be intimidated by details as trivial as size.
“My friend and I almost died tonight. I looked into the barrel of that fucking gun. After that experience, I’m not feeling particularly deferential.
Let me tell you what I do know, and we can make a trade. ”
“What kind of trade?”
“Information.”
“What could you possibly have to offer me?”
“First, I assume Dmitry is now in a safe place?”
That made Marcus pause. He glanced at his Dutch colleague, whose mouth lifted in a half smile. A subtle acknowledgment that she was on the right path.
“I do hope you got him out in time. But of course you did. Otherwise, these two wouldn’t have been waiting in his apartment to kill him. That new identity, Willem Dekker. Did we set it up for him? Or was that British intelligence?”
“May I remind you, you’re no longer with the Agency.”
“Before he defected, what was Dmitry’s full name?”
“How did you—”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it? That Moscow would rely on Vory assassins to eliminate their enemies.
I guess the GRU isn’t what it used to be.
Too many recent screwups by their own operatives.
Too many embarrassingly public arrests. But the Vory?
They’re just gangsters for hire. And no one ever has to know who paid them. ”
Marcus was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“Surikov,” he said. “Dmitry Surikov. Born in Minsk, educated at Tomsk State University. Spotted there by Directorate S as a prime candidate to plant in the West, because of his aptitude for foreign languages. He was given a new identity and sent to Rio de Janeiro. For fifteen years, he posed as the Brazilian owner of a small publishing house, while he waited for Moscow to activate him.”
“What made him defect?”
“Fifteen years is a long time to live as a sleeper. You’re exposed to so many pleasures, so many liberties. He made friends in Rio. Built a life, in a world where people could speak their minds. He liked to travel, and he did, often. Freedom, after all, is corrupting.”
“So he came in from the cold.”
Marcus nodded. “Twenty years ago, Directorate S ordered him to return to Moscow. Instead, he walked into the US consulate in Naples. No grim Russian winters for him. No, in return for a new identity, he had much to share. Vital details about how illegals are recruited and trained and how many are out there, waiting to be activated. It was a gold mine of info, so of course he was welcomed with open arms. Moved to a safe house for a while, then moved to Amsterdam, where he’s been living for the last sixteen years, under the name Willem Dekker.
He’s lived here very quietly, staying out of view.
Because we both know that Moscow never forgives a traitor. No matter how much time has gone by.”
“Clearly they learned about his new identity,” said Maggie. “How did that happen?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Have other defectors been exposed?” she asked.
He finally answered. “There have been others,” he conceded.
“When? Where?”
“It’s been happening for more than a year. Assassinations in London, Rome.”
“So you have a mole. Someone who’s providing Moscow with the new names and locations of defectors. I’m guessing you’ve already identified this mole.”
Marcus glanced at his Dutch colleague, then back at Maggie. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you were expecting this assassination attempt. You knew Dmitry Surikov was in danger, and you were watching to see who showed up to kill him.” She paused. “Lucky for us, you were watching.”
“Yes indeed. Lucky for you.”
“Have you arrested this mole yet? Or have you left him in place, to see who he rats out next?”
Marcus sighed. “It’s a shame you retired, Ms. Bird. I like the way you think. Never in a straight line.”
“The Agency taught me that.”
“The Agency has changed. It’s no longer clear who the enemy is. Sometimes I think they’re already inside the gates.” He turned to his Dutch colleague. “Get them back to their hotel. I want them on a flight to Boston tomorrow.”
“Wait,” said Lloyd. “What about my wife?”
Marcus turned to Lloyd with a look of profound weariness. “What about her?”
“I need to find her.”
“Obviously, she doesn’t want to be found. My advice is to go home, before you get into more trouble. Next time, we won’t be there to save you.” Marcus turned to leave.
“Do you know where she is? At least tell me if she’s alive!”
At that, Marcus stopped and turned to face him. “Why do you think there’s a question about that?”
“A few days ago, someone sent Dmitry’s photo to Ingrid. I think she came here looking for him. What if she walked into the same trap we did tonight? What if she wasn’t as lucky as we were?” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a blow. “Please. I just want to know she’s alive.”
After a silence, Marcus said, “You need not worry about her, Mr. Slocum. She’s fine. They left Amsterdam three days ago.”
“They?” said Maggie.
“She and Mr. Estrada.”
Rodrigo, thought Maggie. The man they’d met at the Stone Coast Conference.
She remembered the tension, as crackling as static, between Ingrid and Rodrigo.
And now the two of them were abroad and traveling together.
She glanced at Lloyd and saw his shattered expression.
His wife was with another man. Of course he was shattered.
But there was a bigger picture here, and too many puzzle pieces that Maggie could not fit together.
Dmitry’s photo had led her and Lloyd to the Amsterdam bus stop, which had led them to these two killers lying at their feet.
The Vory were underworld thugs, loyal only to each other, but available for hire. It was clear whom they’d worked for.
But who are you working for, Ingrid?