Deep Sleep (Devin Gray #1)(105)

“They like blowing up helicopters,” grumbled Pichugin.

“Apparently so. The Red Notices will give our people in US law enforcement an excuse to put some more robust surveillance and detection measures into action. We’re still looking at a few days before that gets rolling. We can expand the list of names to other known associates of General Terrence Sanderson—Farrington’s mentor—and Farrington himself. Once we get a bunch of names in there, our people inside US law enforcement can start looking at Devin Gray and Marnie Young.”

“Very well,” said Pichugin. “And what about DEVTEK? Are we making any progress on that front? Without a back door to their infrastructure-security software, we’ll have to do things the hard way—which represents a significant delay. Not to mention the risk.”

“We’re working on it. As you can imagine, a company that provides state-of-the-art cybersecurity solutions isn’t easy to hack,” said the general. “We’re exploring more direct options, but their guard is up after the honey-trap debacle. Kind of ironic that Gray may have been involved in the DEVTEK operation.”

“More like annoying,” said Pichugin. “Keep a close eye on MINERVA. If Gray makes the same connection, he could complicate our efforts to breach DEVTEK.”

“We’re doing what we can to monitor MINERVA without alerting them to our presence. Not the easiest task, given their specialty,” said the general. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes. Give Felix Orlov whatever he needs to make sure the job gets done next time,” said Pichugin.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know it wasn’t his fault,” said Pichugin, on the verge of screaming at Kuznetzov for underutilizing Orlov. “Which is why I don’t want him restrained in any way. We’re licking our wounds this time. Next time we’ll be mopping our blood off the floor. We can’t afford another setback. Not this close to the finish line. The final dominoes should fall within the next few weeks, driving a permanent wedge between the Americans and their European allies—reopening doors long shut to Russia.”





CHAPTER 59


Alexei Kaparov sat alone on a concrete bench a few blocks from his apartment, the dingy gray of Soviet-era block-style high-rises peeking through the trees. Old men crowded around chessboards on the stone tables lining one side of the park’s wide brick promenade, pigeons navigating their feet to peck at the lunch crumbs as they fell.

Kaparov had never taken to chess. He’d taken to vodka instead during his spare time, which had been scarce before he’d retired from the FSB a few years ago. Now, he had all the time in the world on his hands, and there was only so much time he could spend drinking—a challenge he rose to every day. Maybe he should take up smoking again to fill the void.

He took a short pull from the stainless-steel flask he had brought on his daily walk and relished in the comfortably warm glow that followed. His buzz was cut short by the phone in his pocket. Kaparov debated whether to check the phone or take another swig of vodka. He didn’t get many calls these days, so he set the flask on the bench next to him and pulled the phone from his pocket, noticing that he’d received a text message a minute earlier that had somehow gone unnoticed.

The message came from a different number, containing a code word established long ago by an old friend. Kaparov was coming up on the second anniversary of his retirement, a benchmark the two of them had agreed would be the earliest they could finally meet in person as allies and not adversaries. He answered the call.

“Karl. So good of you to call,” said Kaparov. “I’m very much looking forward to next year’s trip, though it’s difficult to determine if this all-inclusive idea of yours is legitimate or some kind of scam to get you out of paying full price. I saw something on Tripadvisor about top-shelf liquors not being served, so—”

“Alexei. Sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid this is a business call, and a very serious one at that,” said Karl Berg.

“You know what I’m doing right now?” asked Kaparov.

“Drinking vodka.”

“Besides that.”

“I haven’t a clue,” said Berg.

“I’m sitting on a park bench watching people older than me play chess,” said Kaparov. “Thinking about learning chess. Because I’m bored out of my fucking mind after retiring. I’m retired, Karl, which means I’m no longer in a position to help you.”

“I think you might be able to help,” said Berg. “What do you know about Yuri Pichugin? Specifically, his ties to the GRU.”

“Please tell me you haven’t somehow made enemies with Yuri Pichugin,” said Kaparov. “He’s one of the wealthiest and connected oligarchs in Russia. Connected right to the top, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. I’ve stumbled across something that might be connected to him,” said Berg. “It’s definitely connected to Viktor Belsky. Does that name sound familiar?”

“I know the name, but not much more than that,” said Kaparov. “Midlevel oligarch with decent connections. Returned to Russia from the US in the mid–two thousands, if my memory serves me correctly.”

“It serves you well. Viktor Belsky and his father sold a company based in the United States to Yuri Pichugin around that time,” said Berg.