he was still alive, they were going to find him and bring him home.
CHAPTER 35
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RUSSIAN EMBASSY
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“Mr. Ambassador,” said SPEHA Rogers as he strode across the office and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I’m sorry for putting you off,” replied Egor Sazanov. “I didn’t want you to come all this way and not have answers for you.”
“I practically live at the State Department these days, so I’m not that far away.”
The Russian Ambassador smiled. “How about a drink?”
“I’d love one. Thank you.”
Rogers and Sazanov had previously worked together when a young American had been taken hostage by a Muslim terror organization in Chechnya. The SPEHA had found him to be a good partner, honest and diligent. He was charming and had an excellent command of English. Rogers could see him as Russia’s Foreign Minister or maybe even its President one day.
The Ambassador’s office was filled with heavy wooden furniture and dark, sky-blue Kuba rugs from Azerbaijan. Tiny flourishes of gold leaf could be seen along the ceiling. As worldly as the Ambassador was, there wasn’t a single book anywhere in the room.
He showed his guest to a seating area and gestured for his assistant to leave them alone and close the door behind him.
Sazanov was a fan of high-end bourbons and still had the special bottle Rogers had given him as a thank-you.
“Ice, correct?” he asked as he uncorked the Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve 20 Year.
The SPEHA nodded.
Usually he drank his neat, but he knew that the Ambassador was an ice aficionado.
In addition to his love of American bourbons, the Russian had become quite enamored of the huge pieces of crystal-clear ice served at upscale bars around D.C. He had made it his personal mission to learn how to do it himself. He quizzed every bartender, bought every silicone mold they suggested, and tried every kind of water, from bottled to boiled.
The end product was a perfect cube that looked as if it had been laser-cut from a pristine glacier.
As a Sinatra fan as well, Sazanov had ordered custom rocks glasses with the faux country club logo Frank had designed himself.
It seemed a waste to pour one of the best bourbons in the world over a huge chunk of ice, but Rogers was the consummate diplomat. He thanked his host, they clinked glasses, and each took a sip.
The Ambassador savored it and closed his eyes. “You need to tell me where you found this. I want to send some bottles back to Moscow.”
Rogers chuckled. “You don’t find Pappy like this. It finds you. Kind of like being struck by lightning.”
Sazanov opened his eyes and smiled. “Please. How did you find it?”
The SPEHA decided to give up his secret. “The Vice President knows a private collector. After you were so generous in helping get our citizen back, I asked him to make a call.”
“The Vice President of the United States?”
“The man himself.”
“I did not know. That is an incredible honor.”
Rogers took another sip and said, “If you can help us with our current situation, I think we can help find a lot more Pappy for you.”
Instantly, the expression on the Russian’s face changed, and he lowered his glass. “I am sorry, Brendan. I went to the very top. We don’t have him. No one at the FSB, the GRU, or the Kremlin knows anything about his disappearance.”
The SPEHA believed him. More specifically, he believed that’s what the Ambassador had been told. In fact, he had expected it.
Taking another sip of bourbon, he set his glass down on the table, removed a folder from his briefcase, and handed it to Sazanov.
“What’s this?” the Russian asked.
“A glimpse into what we’ve been able to piece together so far. I think you should take a look at it.”
The man did, starting with a detailed executive summary of what the Americans believed had happened to their operative, Scot Harvath. It was followed by a series of photographs. Attached to each was a short bio. The Americans had identified four Spetsnaz operatives as well as a GRU colonel.
Unless the Americans were lying to him, it appeared his own government hadn’t told him the truth. “How did you come by all of this?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ambassador,” answered Rogers, “but I am not authorized to discuss sources and methods.”
Sazanov closed the folder. “What are you authorized to discuss?”
“We’d like to find an immediate and peaceful resolution to this matter. I’m authorized to discuss any steps that might get us