Justin looked over at Becca and nodded at her.
“One of the construction workers is Vahit Tagirov. He gave the police false IDs, so it took a while to find out his true identity. Our understanding is that Tagirov fought in the Second Chechen War and is wanted for organizing a few ambushes against Russian troops during mopping-up operations in southern Chechnya. It is still unclear how Tagirov made his way into the US but we’re looking into that. We would be more than happy to extradite Tagirov to Russia so he can face justice.”
Derzhavin nodded but there was no hint of satisfaction in his small, reddish face. He was obviously expecting more.
Becca said, “The second construction worker, Omar Al Yami, is a Saudi who fought alongside Chechen rebels in the First and the Second Chechen Wars. Both these men have admitted to an impending attack within the United States, but we still don’t have the location. Our officers are searching for a third suspect who fled from his apartment.”
“That’s it?” Derzhavin sounded utterly disappointed. He removed his glasses and tossed them over the folder. Without waiting for their reply he added, “If we were interrogating them, the results would have been more satisfactory.”
Becca nodded. “Maybe. As I said earlier, we can extradite both suspects to you, if you submit an extradition request. But that’s going to take some time.”
Derzhavin snorted. “The CIA’s rendition flights are full? Why don’t you throw these two terrorists into a plane, fly them to a black site, and waterboard them until they give you some intelligence that is worthy of my time?”
Justin’s face stayed calm and emotionless, as if he were anticipating Derzhavin’s sarcastic remarks. He said, “That wouldn’t be necessary, sir. We already have a detainee at a black site who has given us some intelligence. Why don’t you have a quick look at this file?”
Justin slid across the table a copy of the report containing the transcription of Zamir’s interrogation. He waited until Derzhavin had put on his glasses, then said, “On page one, paragraph three, according to a mid-ranking member of the Islamic Devotion Movement, terrorists are plotting to hijack a plane and fly it into the Pulkovo International Airport, St. Petersburg. According to our source, it will be either a charter plane or a plane flown from an Arab country, and it will hit Terminal 2, targeting international travelers. Near the bottom of page two, there are names of some members of the Movement and locations where you may find them.”
Derzhavin was absorbing Justin’s words and the information in the file. He was nodding slightly, while putting asterisks next to the relevant sections Justin was bringing to his attention.
Max was jittery, swiveling in his chair. “Do you have another copy?” he asked.
“Sorry, I only brought one,” Justin replied.
“When’s this attack planned for?” Derzhavin asked, his eyes still glued to the report.
“We were told around Christmas, but that may change as a result of your crackdown on the militants’ activities,” Justin said. “We hear you’re crushing them.”
Derzhavin looked up. “Obviously not all of them. Who is your source? How trustworthy is this intelligence?” He moved the report along to Max, who began to skim through it.
Justin said, “Unfortunately, at this point, I can’t disclose the source’s name or the location where he is being held. That may change in the future. We have checked some of the intel and it’s genuine.”
“This is very significant,” Max said, tapping the report with his hand.
Derzhavin cast a scolding look in Max’s direction. I decide what is significant and what is not, Justin translated the meaning of that look.
“What else do you have, Mr. Hall?” Derzhavin said in a tired voice, as if all this work of reading reports was exhausting him.
Justin loosened his tie and pulled at his shirt collar. He leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. “Our contact informed us that a certain man called Bashir Sardalov is a courier for the Islamic Devotion Movement. He should be in possession of information about the acts being plotted against the United States.”
“Oh, now the truth comes out.” Derzhavin fell back in his seat. “You’re giving me information so we can help you with your problem.”
Justin tilted his head. I thought that was obvious, since this is an intelligence exchange. He produced a small smile and tried to think of something positive. He said, “Our problem, our problem. These terrorists know no borders, no nationalities. To them, all infidels are fair game. They don’t even spare Muslims they consider expendable, or worry about collateral damage. They are not just the enemy of America, or Canada, or Russia. They are everyone’s enemy.”
“Very impressive,” Derzhavin said with a tiny hint of a smile on his face. A moment later, his face froze in a menacing grimace. “When did these Chechens become America’s enemy, Mr. Hall? We’ve been fighting them on and off for the last thirty years. We did it all on our own, without any help, any manpower, or any piece of intelligence from America. But now that they are active in the US, threatening their way of life and their democracy, now they are our common enemy. The US didn’t care about the waves of Chechen terrorism until it hit its shores.”
Justin remained silent. There was some truth in Derzhavin’s words but this was not the place or the time to debate policy decisions of the past.
Carrie gave a polite cough. Justin took the hint, looked in her direction, and motioned for her to speak. “Mr. Derzhavin, four Russians died at the Las Vegas casino explosion. Two of them were from Moscow, just visiting the US. While mistakes were made in the past, we cannot go back and fix them. But we can prevent such mistakes from happening again. We can work together to fight these terrorists both here in Russia and elsewhere in the world.”
Max opened his mouth, but Derzhavin cut him off with a headshake. “Do you have the location of this courier?”
“No, but we thought—”
“You thought a few more Russians could die to save your American citizens,” Derzhavin replied abruptly. “It’s not going to happen.”
Justin felt his patience was drawing near its end. He tried to keep calm and carry on, but he was finding it increasingly difficult because of the FSB Deputy Director’s dismissive attitude. His words were reinforcing Justin’s belief that they were not going to get any cooperation from the FSB. Justin struggled to find a shred of positivity in Derzhavin’s position, but he found none.
“Mr. Hall, what are you thinking about?”
Derzhavin’s voice brought him back from his deep thoughts. He frowned, swallowed hard, and said, “This is Russia, your land, your home. You have sole authority over operations hunting terrorists. But if you need any assistance, we would be more than—”
“That’s not going to happen either.” Derzhavin’s headshake emphasized his refusal. “No CIA or CIS agents are going on a covert or overt operation in my country.”
“And the courier and his intelligence?” Becca asked without waiting for a gesture from Justin.
“If and when we find this courier and if and when we find any valuable intelligence from him, we will handle it appropriately at the right time,” Derzhavin replied and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“So you’re not going to help us?” Becca said and looked at Derzhavin. Then her eyes moved on to Max and lingered on his face a moment longer than necessary, as if she was pleading for his assistance. “Even after we gave you all this intelligence?”