23
Derek Walsh felt that he had made some inroads talking to Ted Marshall on the bench in the courtyard, but before he could close the deal and blatantly ask for entrance to the office, he was totally distracted by the approach of the Russian with a scar on his face. Marshall never looked up at the guy.
Walsh knew it was no coincidence the guy was in front of his building. He was starting to get a picture of a larger conspiracy. But at the moment the Russian was not looking around for him. He was here for some other reason. Perhaps it was to talk to the young couple he was walking with now.
All these ideas of conspiracy made Walsh think he had made the right decision running from the FBI. He doubted the federal government wanted to listen to stories about Russian conspiracies until he had more evidence. Tonya Stratford appeared to be coming around to a dialogue with him, but he’d feel better about the meeting if he already had the photograph from his security plug. He didn’t think Agent Stratford’s partner would give him much of a chance to talk.
Walsh was ready to take action when the Russian was at the closest point to the bench, but the man just kept walking with the young couple. They took the path directly out of the courtyard and into the street. Walsh turned to Marshall and quickly said, “Ted, you understand my situation and what I can do to clear myself. You know me, and you know I didn’t do anything wrong. Think about that. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, Walsh sprang from the bench and started to follow the Russian guy down the street. He had no experience in surveillance and immediately realized how difficult it was. But he had questions that needed answers. Perhaps answers he could pass on to Tonya Stratford. Who the hell was this guy? What was his involvement? Walsh understood that some of the things he had said to Agent Stratford sounded crazy. He didn’t want anyone to write him off as a lunatic.
The young couple stopped for a moment and bought something from a takeout window at a pizzeria. The Russian looked annoyed and hurried them along as the girl started to munch on a slice of pizza.
Walsh had no idea where this would lead or what information he might find, but this was a lucky break that he wasn’t going to let slip through his fingers.
It was early evening when Anton Severov, Fannie, and Amir reached the Narva River, which were the natural border between Estonia and Russia. There was no one waiting to cross, and the border guards seemed less than interested in talking to anyone. He could see that on the Russian side of the river there were already a military vehicle and several soldiers waiting for him. They eased through the river crossing and stopped at the far side of the bridge. The Russian soldiers started to stir and get the vehicle ready to move. They were probably annoyed that it’d taken so long. Severov had told them he’d be at the border by six, and now it was after eight. But the idea of separating from Fannie was difficult for both of them.
The idea of having Fannie suffer any consequences for their night of passion was not only difficult, it was unbearable. That was why he had told Amir to walk with him.
Severov kissed Fannie good-bye and gave her a long, lingering hug. She whispered in his ear as he pulled away, “Promise to call me as soon as you’re back on this side of the border.” He nodded and turned to Amir, who appeared more anxious for Severov to leave than anything else. He walked toward the checkpoint and waved to the soldiers on the other side. The Russian soldiers must have spoken to the Estonian border guards, because they didn’t even bother to come out of their comfortable checkpoint booth and waved Severov on.
This was working out better than he expected as he put his arm around Amir’s shoulder and said, “You have been a great deal of help. I know we’ve had our differences, but I think you’ll be happy with the results.”
Amir swelled with pride, nodding his head as he walked along with the taller Russian officer.
Katazin turned the corner and saw his BMW up the street. There was no one in either direction, and if he turned the corner quickly, took action, and jumped in his car, he could handle this one problem in a matter of seconds.
His pulse increased, and he felt a thin line of sweat across his forehead. Outside of combat in the Russian military, he had never had to kill anyone. He had done some unpleasant things to find out information or enhance his reputation, but for the most part any real violence could be contracted out to men like Serge Blattkoff.
Tallett turned quickly, as if he had a sense of what might happen. Or maybe he just realized wandering the streets aimlessly was not going to gain him fifty thousand dollars. He said, “Do you have a stash house or something around here?”
Katazin said, “Something like that,” as his hand slipped up to his front pocket. Once again he wished he had a knife, but two quick shots echoing through the buildings would be difficult to pinpoint. His alternate idea was to make it to his car where he had a Gerber hunting knife with a four-inch blade. He had found it helpful around the import/export business and kept it in the pocket of his driver’s side door. It had never occurred to him to use it in this way.
Now Tallett was purposely slowing down and showing hesitation. “Where are we going?”
Katazin casually pointed at his BMW just half a block away and said, “I have your down payment in my car.”
“How much of a down payment?”
He wanted to be realistic but also offer enough to entice the younger man to the BMW. After a moment of calculation, Katazin said, “Ten grand.” Judging by the expression on Tallett’s face, he had hit the figure right on the head. The younger man took his girlfriend’s hand and continued to follow Katazin down the street.
Derek Walsh had no experience in police work other than watching Law & Order and reading Michael Connelly novels, but, like everyone else, he thought that made him competent to follow people and figure out what was going on. In this case he was right. He could clearly see something criminal was about to occur. Some sort of exchange. Just the way the Russian looked up and down the street and then headed toward a white BMW jammed into a space near a Korean grocery made it obvious.
Walsh knew he had to do something, but pulling his pistol and opening fire didn’t seem like the right choice. Earlier, Agent Stratford had asked if Walsh knew this guy’s name. Maybe he could take a step closer by paying attention and keeping his eyes open. He didn’t know if the young couple were part of this conspiracy, but he was making mental notes on them as well.
The man was maybe thirty and wiry, with tattoos and piercings and close-cropped hair. The girl was much younger, probably not yet twenty, and also had some tattoos. She had dark red dyed hair and didn’t seem to be part of the conversation as she finished the last bite of her slice of pizza.
Walsh was careful to stand on the corner and look into the window of a men’s clothing store. It gave him a vantage point where he could not be seen easily by the Russian. It was a safe position, a strategic position, but something inside him said to move forward and take action. He felt the call and reached down to feel the grip of the Beretta tucked into his pants.
Severov wondered how this looked to the soldiers waiting for him at the vehicle. They had no idea or advance warning about Amir. All they saw was a Russian major hanging his arm across the shoulder of a little guy with dark hair. From a distance they could easily mistake Amir for a teenager.
As they walked, Severov said, “We’re going to need several things if this operation is to be a success.” He kept his voice serious and direct even though he had no idea what he was going to say. He just needed to keep Amir calm until they were across the border.