“It doesn’t hurt. I had Vic put together a list of my father’s postings at the CIA from just before 9/11 until his death. Oliver Grey was in Buenos Aires the night my father was killed.”
“I thought you told me he was an analyst, a desk guy.”
“He was. I think he used the recruitment skills that Andrenov taught him to recruit a contract agent named Jules Landry to do the actual killing.”
“But why, Reece? Why would a former Soviet spy want to kill your father? Because of something that happened in the Cold War? I thought a lot of the warriors on opposite sides of the Iron Curtain were actually friends now?”
“I wondered the same thing. It goes back farther than that. It turns out that Grey signed out a file in 1993. That file was an after-action report from a MACV-SOG operation in Vietnam that resulted in the death of a Russian advisor. Can you guess the advisor’s last name?”
“Andrenov.”
“That’s right. And can you guess who led the mission?”
“Tom Reece.”
“Right again. I think Andrenov recruited Grey to find out who killed his father and then all those years later finally got his revenge.”
“I think we need to switch to something stronger than Black Rifle coffee. I need a drink,” Katie said, standing up to retrieve two glasses from the cabinet.
“I don’t have any Semper yet, but I do have a nice bottle of Sea Smoke.”
“That’ll do.”
“It’s a 2013 TEN. My dad gets a case on his birthday every year from his golfing buddy, Nick Coussoulis. He and his wife, Tina, own a golf course out in California and get it at cost for the restaurant there. My dad always saves me a bottle,” Katie said as Reece organized his thoughts.
“That’s nice of him.”
“That reminds me. There’s no good time to tell you. He sent me three boxes to give to you. My parents were listed as next of kin when your mom passed away. You were presumed dead, so the nursing home shipped the last of her things to my parents. I have them in the back closet when you want them.”
“Thanks, Katie. I’ll go through them when this is all over. Now, where were we?”
“You were just getting to the part where Grey almost kills us.”
“Right. I think Grey saw an opportunity to use both the protection and resources of the Russian mob to launch a hit on me on U.S. soil.”
“Why Raife as well?”
“That’s a question I’m going to put to Vic tomorrow.”
“And who tipped off the CIA about the attack in Montana?”
“That’s where this gets a little strange. A former Agency case officer who spent a lot of time in Russia got a call from a Russian intelligence official named Aleksandr Zharkov, warning him of the attack. He called Vic, who contacted us just in time.”
“Any relation to Ivan Zharkov?”
“It’s his son.”
“So, let me get this straight.” Katie’s analytical mind was going to work. “A Russian mob boss hires a former CIA mole who then plans your murder but gets sold out by the mafia don’s son?”
“As best as I can figure it.”
“Anywhere else but Russia, that would be crazy.”
“Fair point,” Reece conceded.
“Maybe they went after Hanna when the attack in Montana failed to draw you and Raife out so they can try again?”
“It’s possible.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
Reece nodded.
“During my interrogation of the Russian who survived the attack he told me that Aleksandr Zharkov imports humans to his own private hunting ground on an island off the Kamchatka Peninsula.”
“To do what?” Katie asked, already dreading the answer.
“He hunts them. Raife is on his way there now. I’m going to see if I can talk Vic into mounting a rescue operation but the odds of that happening are slim. What I really need from him is information.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“This is the part you might not want to hear.”
Katie took off her small pair of black-rimmed glasses and set them on the legal pad covered with her hastily scribbled notes and looked at him, her blue eyes clouded with sadness.
“Even if the CIA says no, you’re leaving again, aren’t you?”
“It’s my fault, Katie; the attack in Montana, Hanna’s disappearance, now Raife. I need to find her. One way or another, after I get what I can from the Agency, I’ll have to go.”
“Where?”
“Medny Island.”
CHAPTER 56
Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia
IT WAS EARLY AND they’d beaten rush hour, so traffic on the George Washington Parkway was relatively light. It