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“But what about Hughes? Where does he fit?”
“I think Alexander Hughes was a distraction from the start. Does he still work for Petrov? Maybe. But a lot has changed in the CIA since he defected back in the seventies. His information has long since been exhausted. I think he was a stalking horse to distract Ohlmeyer, and by extension, Stansfield.”
Rapp took a final puff from his cigarette before following Hurley’s example.
The security deposit was definitely not getting returned. “Then it all points back to Petrov?”
“That’s how I read things,” Hurley said. “He’s a pretty smart fucker, but the Latvian false-flag operation is his weakness. I’m willing to bet the Russian president doesn’t have a clue that his domestic intelligence service is blowing up bars full of ethnic Russians as a pretext for an invasion. Before the FSK took her out of commission, Irene was trying to link up with a Russian volunteer. He claimed to be a high-ranking intelligence officer with information that could avert a war in Latvia. He’s the key to all of this.”
“And we’re going to bring in the volunteer?”
“Exactly,” Hurley said. “Stansfield gave me his assessment of Moscow Station. It’s a shit show. The case officers are under constant surveillance and jumping at shadows. With Irene out of commission, there’s no one left to take charge. We’re gonna enter Russia dark, meet this volunteer, and then pass his information to Stansfield.”
“That’s why we’re in Doha?”
“Yep. Despite the jackassery that’s occurred since the KGB split into the SVR and FSK, the Russians are still the best intelligence officers in the business. We’ll come in separately and link up in Moscow. My cover will be as a German businessman fresh off a meeting with his Qatari investors. Business is good and I’m thinking of expanding into Moscow.”
Rapp could guess where this was headed, but he asked the question anyway. “What about me?”
Hurley upended the plastic bag, and the contents spilled across the coffee table. At first Rapp thought Hurley had brought a mophead into the apartment. Then he saw the wig tape, adhesives, and prosthetic nose. “I’m going to the party as a jihadi?”
“Not just any jihadi. You’re a Hezbollah moneyman looking for new investment opportunities.”
Beirut.
It always came back to Beirut.
“Sounds like a good plan, Stan. There’s just one problem.”
“What?”
“I’m not doing it.”
CHAPTER 60
HURLEYsat frozen with the plastic bag still clenched in his hands.
Then his eyes narrowed and his jawline hardened. Turns out the old Stan Hurley was still in there somewhere.
“The fuck you say?”
“Listen,” Rapp said, trying to defuse the brewing thunderstorm, “everything about your approach checks out except for one thing.”
“Please,” Hurley snarled. “Enlighten me.”
“Your focus on the Russian volunteer. He could have the goods, or he could be a ghost. And even if he’s real, and we manage to link up with him, there’s no guarantee that what he considers proof of the false-flag operation will convince anyone else. Russian transports are already landing at the air force base in Lociki. Once Russian soldiers start rolling into the street, the game’s up. We can’t risk betting everything on the volunteer.”
“I’m still waiting for the part where you tell me your plan.”
“Petrov. You said it yourself—Petrov is the key to everything.”
Hurley frowned. “I know that, dipshit. What are you saying—that we should have a talk with the old man?”
Rapp shook his head. “We’re well past talking. We’ll both go to Moscow. You meet with the volunteer. I’ll kill Petrov.”
Hurley opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “Look, kid, I appreciate your initiative, but I think that’s a little easier said than done. Setting aside the repercussions of assassinating a high-ranking FSK officer on his home turf, this isn’t an operation we can just wing. We’d need to establish a pattern of life, figure out where he lives, all the shit we don’t have the time or resources to do.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree, but in this case, we don’t have to do any of those things. We know exactly where to find Petrov—his office.”
