Darkness
Somewhere On The Coast In New England
As the Air National Guard driver approached the turn onto my street, I asked the driver to go down the road a bit further—the three S.U. V.s parked near the seawall were glowing in the dark, screaming look at me. I thanked the driver, and we stepped out of the van.
I asked the Church Mice, "Did you notice the three rigs with government plates near the seawall?"
Neither of them had.
Three government S.U.V.s are not indicators of trouble unless they are from the IRS, and I didn't think I was being audited. Okay, I have not claimed the two million Chinese Lottery dollars under my deck, but we have not used them as income yet.
These three trucks indicate something is going on in my neighborhood.
My Church Mice platoon and I will approach the driveway and figure things out. I told them, "I bet friends staked out my house." "I'm not sure why." "Please don't hurt them, but let's get the drop on them."
We went up the road and spread out above the driveway. We started to execute a search-and-listen pattern, which was on point. We froze when the first Spook signaled us to stop and look where he pointed.
A man with a rifle was sitting on the stone wall, looking down the driveway at my house.
He had an automatic rifle, body armor, and tactical assault gear.
I whispered to Church Mouse One that he looked like FBI, not quite Hostage Rescue Team, but somewhere close.
We dropped and listened a bit. Further down the driveway, there was a rustling, and a second man dressed like the first was spotted.
A few crunches on the crushed shell driveway revealed a third man in tactical gear leaning on what looked like my friend and former client's Jeep. Natalie Freaking Leuze.
We got the drop on them, and now I was going to reveal us and, I hope, not get killed.
We walked up behind the first guy we saw in the driveway, and I said, "Did Wally set up a surprise party?"
The watcher jumped straight up, stiffened, and made a little noise that alerted the other two.
I introduced the apostles Jarrod and Hunter to the F.B.I. as my CIA escorts.
"You can call Wally and tell him three friends are coming in."
"I won't mention that we made you."
Flight From Barcelona To Chicago
Belyakov needed two people already in America for "The Clean Up in Aisle, Massachusetts."
Instead of flying to Boston, he chose to fly to Chicago and then approach the East Coast.
The safest way for Belyakov to enter America without triggering an alarm with his well-known face would have been to fly to Mexico City and then have a team of embassy experts walk him over the border.
Still, Belyakov chose Chicago for its distance from the East Coast and its famous Deep Dish Pizza. He had tried but couldn't find anything close to the Chicago Deep Dish anywhere.
He looked forward to tonight's dinner with an I.P.A.
He will meet his two-person team at the Hotel tomorrow.
The target package the Ministry of State Security in China provided about Allston and known associates were as thorough as only two days of Patterns of Life Surveillance could offer.
He looked at the photos again and wondered whether he would have to kill Anatoly in Tijuana just so he could say to the Director, "I eliminated the American Spy who tried to infiltrate The Agapov Organisation, and I eliminated the man who hired him."
That finishing touch was straight out of American La Cosa Nostra.
Belyakov had to think some more about his moves. He liked Anatoly, and he thought about Manolo/Allston and his verified background as an Ex-Con.
Belyakov would have hired him as well.
Should he order a team to observe the target more?
He noted all the entries about Allston, his girlfriend, and even the dog in the family.
There was one note about the little brown beast. "Easily tempted by a meat snack. Easy to get out of the house."
One good night of sleep and tomorrow he would make all decisions. It's good to be in America again—the greatest place on the globe.
Barcelona
Anatoly was scared for his life as he sat in the hotel for one last night in Barcelona. He had followed all the protocols about hiring Troy Manolo, who Anatoly liked and vouched for. The FSB conducted the follow-up investigation, and they did not get hit with a red flag.
Anatoly knew they would kill Troy Manolo, but would they also kill me? He thought.
The organization had become ruthless, but until now, the Bullseye had never been on him.
Being in the Agapov Organization shielded Anatoly from Army conscription to Ukraine, and he loved the food and girls in Tijuana. He had grown fond of Mexican women who were not stuck up or focused on money like the Saint Petersburg girls. Warm hearts, good humor, and genuine intimacy were standard with the Chiquitas Mexicana, and he did not want to leave that ever.
He could make a run for a tourist destination like Cancun, where there were lots of gringos, but a life on the run would not allow him to return home for The Russian Winter Festival in Saint Petersburg. Anatoly was a good Russian.
Was he a "Dead Man Walking?"
This will be a tense trip home with life-or-death issues to think about