He walked up the steps seven minutes before the 7:00 P.M. meeting time and tried to act like he needed a book. The library’s reading area was busy, a mix of schoolchildren and adults at almost every table. He didn’t see anyone immediately that looked like an ex-Russian admiral, and climbed the steps to the second floor.
This was the reference section, and much less populated. He slowly walked past the rows of bookcases, looking for he wasn’t sure who, but certain he hadn’t seen him.
A voice in Russian behind him almost made him jump. “Good evening, Admiral. Please follow me.” He turned to see a heavily built man with close-cropped black hair already walking away, and Dhankhar quickly followed him to one side of the second floor. A row of audio listening booths lined one wall, and his guide led the admiral to one end. Inside, a gray-haired man with sharp features nodded and stood.
Dhankhar opened the door and stepped inside, while his guide, and presumably Kirichenko’s associate, lounged outside but nearby. Skimming quietly through a book, as if he could actually read Hindi, he would make sure Dhankhar and Kirichenko were not distrurbed.
Kirichenko didn’t bother with pleasantries. “My colleague Mr. Churkin,” he said, indicating the man outside their door, “has been investigating Mr. Aleksey Petrov for us. Have you learned anything new since our last conversation?”
“I’ve seen him working on Chakra and in the shipyard. It’s hard to hear what he’s talking about without getting too close to him, but he seems to be intent on his tasks. He hasn’t gotten near Orlav or the torpedo shop.”
“That is good, but Churkin can now take over the security for Orlav and your project. That will let you focus on making sure the refit is completed on schedule.”
“Ended is more like it. There was so much work that had to be abandoned. If this project wasn’t so important…”
“The only thing that matters, as far as I can see, is that Chakra is seaworthy and can fire torpedoes. My job will be to keep Orlav on task and on time. Churkin has papers identifying him as a representative of a Russian arms company, the Morteplotekhnika Research and Design Institute. They manufacture the engines for the UGST-M torpedo, so that should answer any questions about his comings and goings. Can you arrange for an official base pass and whatever other authorizations he needs?”
“Of course,” Dhankhar nodded. “They’ll be at the security office near the front gate by noon tomorrow.”
“Good.” Kirichenko stood, and seemed almost eager to leave. “That should be it, then. If you see Churkin, don’t speak to him, or acknowledge his presence, unless it is absolutely necessary. You’ve never met.”
“I understand,” Dhankhar answered. He started to stand as well, but Kirichenko motioned to him to remain sitting. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remain here for a few minutes after we leave.”
“All right,” Dhankhar answered, willing enough. The two Russians disappeared quickly.
It was a sensible request, he thought. They should enter and leave separately, so any surveillance would not see them together. But of course, if they were already under surveillance, it could be too late. The real reason he asked me to remain, he realized, is that if I’m arrested, I can’t tell anyone where they went after leaving here.
Churkin had decided to act quickly, at Kirichenko’s urging. Not that he disagreed. Petrov was trouble waiting to happen, and the sooner he was gone, the better. Kirichenko had provided him with the address of the Russian Hostel where Petrov lived and the locations of his office and his workstation in the shipyard. Normally, Churkin would observe someone for a few days before taking any action, but in this situation, time was critical.
Petrov lived alone in the apartment. Churkin could easily break in and wait for him. There might even be something valuable there, which he would be happy to take. The police would classify it as a robbery gone bad — the unfortunate victim surprised the intruder.
But Churkin didn’t like it. Although he’d wear gloves, even in this heat, there was no way he could avoid leaving trace evidence behind. Also, he didn’t know enough about the people living nearby. He might be seen breaking in, and once inside, he had no way to know what was going on outside the apartment.
Churkin also didn’t like sitting and waiting. It was passive, and required patience. He’d never liked waiting. And he couldn’t be sure when Petrov would return. What if he went out drinking after work?
The real problem was taking his eyes off the target. Churkin had access to the base, and could certainly find Petrov at work, not that he’d do anything there. But once he’d found the man, it was against Churkin’s instincts to lose sight of him, even if it was intentional, even if it was to set up an ambush.
Simpler was always better, in Churkin’s experience.
He’d been given photos of Petrov from his personnel file, and had no trouble finding him as he came off Chakra in midmorning. He was taller than Churkin, but not by much, and the ex-commando saw nothing that would make him a difficult target. According to Kirichenko, he was an ex-submariner, and now a consultant. This should be easy.
By himself, it was difficult tracking someone’s movements without being noticed, but the engineer kept it simple. He spent the workday either on the submarine or in his office. Petrov worked late, and it was well after dark before he headed for the main gate. All the better, Churkin thought. He wasn’t terribly worried about being seen, but the darkness had a comfortable feeling for him. He was in his element.
Unexpectedly, Petrov boarded a local bus. Churkin got on as well, using the other door. The vehicle was nearly full at that hour, and it was simple to keep out of Petrov’s sight while keeping track of when he left the bus.
Petrov got off in a small shopping district. Better and better, thought Churkin. An assault and robbery here would appear completely random.
Lights from the street and the storefronts gave a fair amount of illumination, but there were plenty of shadows. There were other people on the sidewalks, and traffic, but the streets weren’t crowded. Best of all, he didn’t see a single policeman or any other sign of law enforcement.
Churkin felt his excitement building. He wanted to remain calm. He wouldn’t need adrenaline for this job, but his target had only minutes to live, and Churkin loved these moments. As he walked, he slipped on a pair of light-colored gloves, made of the thinnest material he could find. His hands would start sweating soon, but he would be done before that was a problem. He was actively hunting now, waiting for the foot traffic to thin out, marking escape routes…
There. Ahead of Petrov, a recessed storefront created a wide alcove, deep enough for the inset corner to be almost completely shadowed. Churkin was ten or twelve meters behind Petrov. He could build up a little speed to catch up, and then use that momentum to shove his target into a corner. They’d be hidden from anyone up ahead, and it would be over in seconds.
His steps quickened, and he pulled a cloth around his neck up to cover his nose and mouth. Petrov was still walking, facing away, completely unsuspecting. Pinned in a dark corner, he’d never see the man who killed him.
Churkin had closed more than half the distance, and was still picking up speed. With only the briefest thoughts, he reached back for the knife he’d concealed under his loose-fitting shirt. The sheath hung just beneath his neck and shoulders, handle facing up and easy to grab. He’d spent time yesterday modifying the sheath and practicing drawing the knife quickly.