Prior to the mission, Elena had studied the dossier of her target as well as those working with her. A review of Christine’s portfolio had raised a few red flags: she was impulsive and vindictive, traits that could turn into a liability to those working with her. Her role in this operation was marginal, though, and Elena hadn’t been worried. However, the situation had changed dramatically, and Elena realized she could use Christine’s traits to her advantage.
“There is something you need to know,” Elena said. Christine stared at her pensively, and confident she had her full attention, Elena elaborated.
“After the incident at Ice Station Nautilus, President Kalinin fired Fleet Admiral Ivanov. After dedicating his life to serving Russia, Ivanov became disgruntled and we have established a relationship with him. We haven’t gleaned much information yet, but we do know that the incident at Ice Station Nautilus wasn’t his idea; he was following orders. The attack at the ice station, both above and below the ice, was ordered by Defense Minister Chernov.”
Elena watched her words sink in slowly. Boris Chernov had given the order to torpedo the submarine Christine and Captain Brackman were aboard. Chernov was responsible for Brackman’s death.
Christine’s features hardened, then she glanced at the items on the bed. “Show me how these work.”
Elena repressed a smile as she reached for one of the lipstick applicators. She pulled the cover off, revealing a reddish-purple lipstick. “Looks like a normal lipstick applicator.” She replaced the cover and unscrewed the base, revealing a ring inside with a sharp metal point the size of a tack and covered by a transparent plastic sheath, rising where the gemstone would normally be mounted. Elena slid the ring onto her finger, then rotated it until the metal point faced in toward her palm. She held her hand up, showing Christine the back of her hand; it looked as if she were wearing a plain silver ring. She closed her hand into a fist and then opened it again, then turned her hand over, palm up, showing Christine the sharp point.
“The tip of this ring is coated with a poison that will paralyze Chernov in thirty seconds. All you have to do is remove the plastic sheath, then puncture the skin behind his neck. Do it above the hairline, to minimize the potential the puncture wound will be discovered during the autopsy. The tip is also coated with a numbing agent, so Chernov won’t feel the puncture and suspect anything until it’s too late.”
Elena returned the ring to its compartment in the base of the lipstick applicator and screwed the bottom back on, then reached for the second applicator, pulling its cover off, revealing crimson lipstick. She unscrewed the base, revealing an identical ring. “This ring will kill Chernov, making it look like a heart attack. Again, puncture the skin behind his neck above the hairline.”
Elena said, “Remember — purple paralyze, crimson kill,” then repeated the phonetic mnemonic.
“After you paralyze him,” Elena said as she screwed the base of the lipstick applicator back on, “you’ll need to establish a video link with the Russian engineer who designed the detonators.” She reached for the cell phone and showed Christine the power button on one side and the up/down volume tabs on the other.
“Press the power button and the up volume simultaneously,” she said, “and you’ll establish a video link with our Russian friend. If you get in trouble and need assistance, press the power button and the down volume tab. Right now it alerts a team in a room just down the hallway, but we’ll move assets into place in Sochi to extract you if things go south.
“Remember, power up to upload the video link. Power down if things have gone south and you need help.”
Christine nodded her head slowly. Her determination was fading as the shock of what she had agreed to do set in. Elena placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You will do fine.”
MAP
57
SOCHI, RUSSIA
Sochi, located on the shore of the Black Sea, is part of the Caucasian Riviera, one of the few places in Russia with a subtropical climate. With the scenic Caucasus Mountains to the east and pebble-sand beaches to the west surrounding a vibrant city with a bustling nightlife, it’s not surprising that Sochi is Russia’s largest and most popular resort city.
Descending toward Sochi International Airport in a Dassault Falcon executive jet, Christine was seated beside Defense Minister Chernov. Configured to transport a dozen passengers, the jet carried only eight today. Behind Christine and Chernov were a Russian oligarch and his wife, both in their mid-sixties. Vagit Alekperov, the seventh-richest man in Russia, was president of LUKoil, one of the world’s most powerful oil companies, with reserves second only to Exxon. Alekperov and his wife spoke only broken English, and Chernov translated when required.
Rounding out the passengers was a detachment of four Russian Federal Protective Service agents, each man dressed entirely in black, wearing a sport coat over a turtleneck. Christine, on the other hand, was wearing something more colorfuclass="underline" a blue blouse over tan capri pants.
Having checked the Sochi weather forecast and noting temperatures approaching eighty degrees, Christine realized most of her attire — business suits and slacks — would be inappropriate for the warm weekend. After rifling through her clothes, she put together two outfits suitable for Chernov’s villa and yacht, along with two evening gowns in case they headed into the city for dinner or other festivities. Finally, her white silk nightgown would come in handy, as would the two lipstick vials and Elena’s cell phone, which she had transferred to her purse.
The conversation during the journey south was light and enjoyable, and Christine learned that Chernov had done well in the new, democratic Russia, managing to gain significant holdings in various industries. His wealth paled in comparison with that of LUKoil’s Alekperov, but Chernov had amassed enough of a fortune to afford a luxury beachside villa on the shore of the Black Sea as well as a small yacht.
The Falcon jet landed at Sochi International Airport and pulled to a halt near one of the private hangars. Chernov and his entourage descended onto the tarmac, where they were met by a black limousine and two sedans. Their luggage was transferred to the caravan and Chernov and his three guests slid into the center limousine, while Chernov’s security detail took the lead and rear sedans. With the airport less than a mile from the coast, it wasn’t long before they arrived at Chernov’s villa. A heavy black metal gate, part of a twenty-foot-high security wall around the property, opened slowly, and the three cars pulled into a circular driveway.
Chernov’s residence was a six-bedroom, single-story open-air villa with fans swirling slowly in each room. A maid, who greeted the group upon their arrival, showed Christine to her bedroom, the master suite she would be sharing with Chernov. After freshening up, Christine left the bedroom in search of Chernov and his two guests, passing a living room with adjoining bar, where she was surprised to see two of Chernov’s security detail pouring themselves a drink. Her presence didn’t go unnoticed, with one of the agents eyeing her as she passed.
She continued down a long hallway, between an indoor pool on one side and outdoor pool on the other. Hearing voices ahead, Christine stepped onto a blue flagstone patio framed by a curved granite balcony overlooking the Black Sea. Chernov and his two Russian guests were standing beside the railing, and Christine joined them.
The view from Chernov’s villa was breathtaking. Built on a rock outcropping dropping down to clear blue water thirty feet below, the villa overlooked a shoreline curving into a semicircular cove. On the right side of the shore, a pier jutted into the sea, with Chernov’s yacht tied alongside, as well as a smaller motorboat. At the base of the pier was a large boathouse.