“Just a signature?”
“Yes. We’re trying to get all of your money put back into your accounts, so if you could come in right now, that would help a lot.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, can you do that?”
“All right, I don’t see why not.”
“How soon can we expect you?”
Gina checked her watch. “Thirty minutes.”
“She’s backing out of the driveway now,” said the Russian speaker, acting as lookout on the street opposite the Bennings residence.
“All units copy. We are a go,” said the cute blonde with the cutie-pie smile: Lily Bain, who had gone by the name of Paula Duvan a few minutes earlier on the phone with Gina.
Lily sat in the front passenger seat of a Lincoln Navigator holding a two-way radio. Dimi, one of Viktor Popov’s thugs, worked on a big wad of chewing gum as he sat behind the wheel. Both the Navigator and a Ford panel van stood parked on the shoulder of Carbon Canyon Road, just down from Gina Bennings’s home.
“Unit two copies.”
“Three, copy.”
“Four copies, moving in behind her.”
This would be a snatch using four vehicles. Lily, whose real name was Ludmilla Babanin, had executed many such kidnappings, and had in fact executed many people. In cold blood. A hardened street prostitute at age fourteen, she’d been recruited at age seventeen by the SVR, Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, the foreign intelligence service of the Russian Federation, and excelled in all aspects of training. At age twenty-four she went to work in America for Viktor Popov. Life had been mostly good ever since.
“Unit four to unit one: she’s turned onto Carbon Canyon. I’m behind her and now dropping back.”
“Copy,” said Lily.
Unit four was a pickup truck with amber lights mounted on the roof, and metallic signs stating: EMERGENCY VEHICLE. The truck slowed, allowing Gina to disappear down the hill, then turned on its flashing lights, slowing all other downhill traffic.
An identical pickup, unit three, had already done the same thing to uphill traffic. As Gina Bennings entered a series of sharp S turns, there was no one else on the road…
…except for a black Navigator and a white panel van now blocking Carbon Canyon Road. Lily and some thugs stood next to the vehicles.
Lily Bain had carefully calculated that in the middle of this S curve not visible from any houses, Gina would have plenty of time to stop. Her goons would then grab the old lady, toss her into the panel van, and one of them would drive Gina’s car to a rendezvous point. It would be over in less than thirty seconds.
But when Gina rounded the sharp curve, Lily got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could see the panic on Gina’s face as her car lurched forward—accelerated—and swerved to miss the roadblock, then hurtled into a heavily wooded arroyo just off the shoulder. The noise of the crash could have been worse. Gina’s car missed hitting trees and nose-dived into hard earth about twenty feet below the road.
“Chert poberi!” shouted Lily. Damn it all to hell! She then reined in her anger and calmly spoke into her radio: “Three and four, hold the traffic, hold the traffic.” She waved frantically at Dimi. “Park the vehicles on the shoulder, there!”
As Lily and the thugs raced into the arroyo, Dimi and the other driver parked the Navigator and panel van at the point where Gina’s car had left the roadway, blocking the site from view.
Lily Bain slid down the slope and was the first to reach the driver’s compartment, where she put on thin white cotton gloves. “The air bags didn’t deploy. And this car is almost new.”
“This is America. She can sue,” joked one of the thugs.
“Shut up,” she snapped.
Gina Bennings, still wearing her seat belt, looked dead to Lily. Her nose was smashed into her head, blood oozed from numerous gashes, and her awkwardly angled neck didn’t look right. But Lily checked her pulse in two places. She eased her cell-phone screen under what was left of Gina’s nostrils and checked for condensation.
“She’s dead,” said Lily, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into a back pocket of her jeans. “Quick, let’s go.”
In seconds the Russians were back in their vehicles and pulled onto Carbon Canyon Road. “Units three and four, release traffic.” Lily lit a cigarette. “All she had to do was step on the brake.”
“We should have grabbed her at the house,” said the driver, Dimi, who then blew a bubble with his chewing gum.
“That’s why you’re just the driver. That house has more alarms and CCTV cameras than a bank. We still have plan B.”
Lily reached behind her to get the white gloves from her back pocket, but there was only one glove, not two.
Ohooiet’! Holy f*ck! A flash of panic swept over her freckled face. Did she lose a glove at the accident scene? She felt sick in the pit of her stomach, but then quickly balled up the glove into her hand and stuffed it into her front pocket.
Dimi glanced over at her, but she ignored him. Even if the police found the glove, how could they possibly connect it to her? Lily relaxed and thought about plan B.
Gina Bennings groggily opened her eyes. She was only half there, maybe not even that much. She silently recited the prayer she’d been saying for the last four years, asking to be taken to join her deceased husband and son.
Then she closed her eyes, and God answered her prayers.
CHAPTER 7
Kit awoke at 4:00 A.M. to make sure he’d be in place at Julie Rufo’s apartment building by 7:00. He didn’t use the tunnel and so he picked up his usual tail when he left his apartment. As a defense attaché / assumed spy in an adversary nation, the Russians followed him everywhere. It was only when he used the tunnel in disguise at night that he could leave and enter his residence unnoticed.
Since he’d never had occasion to ditch his tail before, their guard was down, and he easily lost them at a Metro station. Still, he spent a solid hour of countersurveillance to make sure he wasn’t followed to Rufo’s.
Kit easily followed her to the Presnensky District, but he dropped back as they neared the embassy complex at Bolshoy Deviatinsky Pereulok No. 8. His shadows were waiting for him, and he didn’t want them to connect him to Rufo. Once again, she had done nothing out of the ordinary during her commute.
As soon as Bennings walked into the embassy’s defense attaché office, he could feel something was wrong. Everyone gave him strange looks. Everyone. Strange look, quick nod, then look away.
“Major Bennings.” It was Jan, a young secretary. “General Alexander wants to see you immediately.”
Damn! Does he know about Popov’s bribe attempt? How could he? It wasn’t in the report, but…
“This way please, Major.” Kit tensed his stomach muscles and followed Jan right into the general’s office. The secretary quietly closed the door as she left.
“Please sit down,” said General Alexander, a white-haired man in his late fifties. He wore a shirt and tie, just like all the male attachés in the office. Kit couldn’t read his face as he sat across the big wooden desk from his commander. He’d only worked for the general for a few months and hadn’t yet established any kind of personal connection; their dealings had been brief and very formal.
“I’m guessing you haven’t checked your e-mail this morning.”
“No, sir, I was going to do that first thing after I arrived.”
“And you have some kind of satellite phone?”
The question surprised Kit. How does the general know I have a sat phone? Oh, hell, there’s trouble coming for sure. Kit felt for the device in his pocket. “Yes, sir.” He pulled it out. “Would you like to see it?” Kit quickly checked the phone. “Sorry, General, looks like the battery is dead. I was so tired last night I went to sleep without charging it. But, sir, my regular cell phone with a Russian SIM card is right here.” He produced the cell phone, which he seldom used. “It’s working. Your office has this number and—”