Gambit by David Hagberg (manga ereader .txt) 📗

When they were alone, Kanayev gave Tarasov a searching look. “Care for something to eat?”

“Not that,” Tarasov said. In his estimation, the general was a pig, scarcely one step above an ignorant muzhik—a Russian peasant. But the man ruled the Special Forces not only with an iron fist but with great imagination.

“Why has Putin’s favorite oligarch come out to see an ignorant old soldier? Or did the president himself send you?”

“I came to ask for a favor, but no, I’m not here on the president’s behalf. This is personal.”

Kanayev poured another vodka and sat back. “Intriguing. Something your billions can’t buy you on the open market, so here you are. But before we get started, what’s in it for me?”

“The word is that you’ll retire in the next year or two. And even for a man of your rank, retirement pay is not enough to live a proper life.”

“I’m listening.”

“I was thinking about a 1 percent stake in Gazprom.”

“Five percent.”

Tarasov smiled. It was about the counteroffer he’d expected. “Two,” he said, and he held up a hand before the general could speak. “It’s not that big a favor for a man in your position, and 2 percent will net you a very comfortable retirement.”

“A seat on the board of directors?”

“Even I couldn’t guarantee such a thing, but I give my word as a gentleman that I would try.”

Kanayev only took a moment to consider before he nodded. “What do you want?”

“I need a man and his wife to be assassinated as soon as possible,” Tarasov said. “Three different attempts have already been made by some of the top shooters on the planet and have failed.”

“Who is this couple you want killed, and why?”

“The reasons don’t matter. Nor does the woman. But the man is important.”

“Who is he?”

“Kirk McGarvey.”

Kanayev almost laughed out loud. “He is a man with a considerable reputation. But to send one of my people to assassinate him is impossible, and you should know this. The blowback for a Russian soldier to kill the former director of the Central Intelligence Agency would be catastrophic. Shake the Kremlin walls, and I would get my nine ounces.”

“Not one of your men; I was thinking about a hit team of six operators. They would have to get to the Greek island of Serifos, where McGarvey and his wife have a home in a converted lighthouse, in secret, and get out again.”

“You’re insane.”

“The operation would be conducted in civilian clothes. False passports.”

“All the money in the world would do a dead man nothing.”

“Those who survived would receive five million euros. Each man who survived. Enough for them to set themselves up somewhere outside of Russia.”

“It would still come back to us.”

“Before they left, they would be given dishonorable discharges, which would effectively wipe your hands clean. They were rogue operators who had no place in the modern Spetsnaz that you control. You did your duty, painful though it was.”

“Intriguing,” the general said. “Why do you want this done?”

“The reason isn’t important,” Tarasov said. “Will you do it?”

“If I don’t, what then?”

“I’ll find someone else.”

“I could report this.”

“Da, but the decision is yours.”

Kanayev pursed his lips, but then took a cell phone from his pocket and entered a number.

“Put it on speakerphone,” Tarasov said. “Otkytost,” which was openness—or, since Gorbachev, transparency.

“Three Twenty-Ninth, operations,” a man answered.

“I wish to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Nyunin.”

“I’m sorry, General, the colonel is not on base at the moment.”

“Where is he?”

“In Moscow.”

“Have him call me at this number immediately,” Kanayev said, and he hung up.

“Who is Nyunin?” Tarasov asked. “Someone to be trusted?”

“Da. He is the commanding officer of the 329th Spetsnaz Special Purpose Detachment in Pskov Oblast, and he will have to be paid as well.”

“It’s your operation, your money.”

“I will get nothing immediate from Gazprom. I’ll need operational money. Cash in any Western currency you choose.”

“How much?”

“An operation of this scope will be expensive. They will need off-the-shelf civilian weapons, civilian clothing, plus a long-range aircraft and crew capable of operating above nine thousand meters, and of course hush money to soothe their nerves as well as those of the officers who’ll have to participate in the court-martial.”

“Why such an aircraft?”

“The operation will have to be at night in total secrecy, which means the operators will have to make a HALO jump to the surface.”

“I don’t know this term.”

“They fly at such an altitude so that no one on the ground will hear them, and at the proper moment, the operators will jump out of the plane and go into free fall until they come within a few hundred meters of the ground before they open their chutes. High altitude, low opening.”

“What if they return home?”

“They will have to be eliminated before they talk. Anyway, who would believe a traitor?”

“What about your Colonel Nyunin? Can he be trusted?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he’s my son-in-law.”

Tarasov liked it. “The question stands, General, how much?”

“In what currency?”

“Euros or Swiss francs, your choice.”

“Euros. I’ll need five million in cash for payoffs and another five million in an untraceable UAE account that I maintain for the aircraft and crew plus the equipment.”

Tarasov smiled. “Scratch a Russian and larceny comes out.”

“It’s a tough old world,” the general said. “Agreed?”

“The funds will be in place within twelve hours.”

FIFTY-FOUR

McGarvey and Pete took a cab back to their apartment in Georgetown, where they were going to pack a few things for Serifos, though they had just about everything they needed at the lighthouse, and it was the same for the Casey Key house.

“Are we just going to wait around until the shoe drops?” Pete asked once they got upstairs. “Or do we have a plan that makes sense?”

“We’re going to stay away from town, if that’s what you mean,” McGarvey said. Pete had been withdrawn ever since they had left Langley, and she was moody now. He was a little worried about her.

“You’re thinking about collateral damage.”

“Always have been. Before nightfall of our first day, we’ll