Page 83 of Denied Access
While Hurley’s East German espionage cell hadn’t been able to bring back the dead assets that Hughes’s treachery had exposed, their invaluable reporting went a long way toward evening the score. Best of all, Hurley successfully exfiltrated all three of his assets from behind the Iron Curtain before the Stasi or KGB discovered the spy ring. In a rarity for the clandestine world, the Boys from Berlin had escaped their dangerous exploits unscathed.
Until now.
“Why is Petrov doing this after twenty years?” Volkov said.
“My guess is that he’s been planning his retribution for a long time,” Stan said. “Maybe he watched the coup against Gorbachev fail and learned a few lessons. Maybe he thinks the new Russian president is a drunk who won’t notice if he starts knocking off a couple of former Cold War adversaries. I don’t have a fucking clue, but you’re going to help me find out.”
The Russian looked at Stan as if he’d lost his mind. “You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. You’re about to pay a visit to a couple of your former KGB friends here in Vienna. Then you’re going to politely ask them what the fuck Petrov is thinking.”
“They will kill me.”
“Nah,” Stan said. “This is Vienna. Nobody kills anyone in Vienna.”
“The KGB killed a defector here in 1975.”
“Shit, that was almost twenty years ago. Besides, you won’t be meeting them alone. Rapp and I will protect you. And in case you hadn’t noticed, Rapp’s pretty damn good in a fight.”
“I’m leaving.”
Stan turned to see Rapp standing in the hallway with his backpack slung over his shoulder and the cell phone pressed against his chest.
CHAPTER 44
YOU’REwhat?” Stan said.
“Leaving. Greta needs me.”
“What the fuck?”
Rapp flushing with embarrassment was something Hurley never imagined he’d see, but the expression was gone a heartbeat later, replaced by the clenched jaw and drawn eyebrows he knew too well. “Something’s off with her bodyguards. I’m going to get her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“She thinks so.”
“Do you?”
“Here’s what I think,” Rapp said. “Somehow, the Russian team in Barcelona knew I would be at the airport. They were also able to track my phone. I think the penetration is on Ohlmeyer’s end. I know he hired outside help to protect Greta. He’s a good banker, but that doesn’t mean he knows shit about mercenaries.”
“That still sounds kind of thin.”
“I’m going to get her.”
Rapp spoke with a finality that brooked no argument, but Stan stillgot up from the table and interposed himself between his assassin and the door. Rapp didn’t try to push past, but violence radiated from the kid like heat from a potbelly stove.
“The job is here,” Stan said.
“There is no job. Nothing about this is sanctioned by Irene or Stansfield. Greta’s life was threatened, so I asked for your help. You sent me to retrieve Volkov. I did. Now the situation has changed. Whatever Cold War bullshit you guys are reliving is not my problem. When everything went sideways in Paris, I was laid up in a fleabag hotel with a bullet wound in my shoulder. Greta showed up, no questions asked. Now I’m doing the same for her. Once I know she’s safe, I’ll check in with you.”
Left unsaid was the reason why Rapp reached out to Greta after Paris instead of his CIA mentor, Stan, or handler, Irene. Rapp had nearly been killed because the Paris operation had been compromised, and Stan was responsible for the mishap. He knew he’d fucked things up with Rapp. Badly. Were he in the assassin’s place, he wouldn’t trust anyone from the agency any farther than he could throw them.
But he wasn’t in Rapp’s place.
As much as the kid didn’t believe or was pretending not to see it, this wasn’t just Cold War intrigue. Petrov was still a high-ranking member of the Russian intelligence service. While Stan hadn’t sussed out the threads of Petrov’s spiderweb yet, he recognized the hallmarks of an intelligence operation when he saw one. The Russian certainly wasn’t above personal vendettas, but a former KGB officer of Petrov’s stature thought bigger than petty score-settling. The Russian’s actions had been blatant. Petrov wanted his American counterparts to know that he was moving pieces around the chessboard. Stan could only guess at the Russian’s motivation, but he was certain about one thing.
Something big was coming down the pike.
