Handover

Hotel In The Gothic Quarter, Barcelona, Spain

I was in the Hotel about to settle in for the last night when I got a text message.

TEXT: Louise: Hey, the Red Sox won tonight. You owe me $25.00.

The combination of any Baseball team name and the number 25 in any message from Louise meant two things. I was in extreme danger, and I needed to get out of Spain now. The message's severity meant that I needed to get clear of the Hotel now.

I'll be leaving stuff behind, so I made a rapid inventory. I grabbed my phone charger, spare battery recharge unit, toothbrush, passport, wallet, Glock, and three full clips. I put all that in the small backpack I used as a carry-on.

I left clothes, dirty undies, souvenirs, the Agapov computer, and all the notes I made for my speaking engagements.

When the boss says go, I go. There must be a good reason they need me to bug out now.

I am thinking in steps at this point.

I need to leave the hotel, find a place to rest, and figure out how to leave Spain.

It's after 10 PM, dark and a little rainy.

I sidle up to the hotel door. I am in a classy hotel because it has a peephole on the door.

There is no movement in the hallway I can see, so I step out the door and leave the lights on in case I am being watched from the street.

​A quick look right and left in the hallway, and I don't see anyone.

I'll avoid the elevator and take the stairwell as far down as possible. Ideally, I would like to exit the hotel without going through the lobby.

It was time to add speed to the equation. I went down the stairs as fast as possible but quiet as a cat. Some lights worked in the stairwell, and others did not.

The last level I could go to was the first floor. A locked steel door prevented people from going to the basement and skipping the lobby. I guess everyone needs to pay the bill.

The first floor looked exactly like the floor I was on, except you had two choices for going down to the next level: the lobby. The first choice was the elevator, which opened in the center of the lobby and front desk. The second was the grand staircase, which came down into the lobby.

I wanted to use the stairs to assess the lobby, but walking down that wide staircase alone would not be wise. What are the chances of someone walking out of their room to take the stairs at 10?

I stood near the top of the stairs and held my phone to my ear. I was looking down to see all I could see from this point.  The hotel bar was open and pretty full. I ventured down about eight steps and looked some more. I was looking for a surveillance team who might be watching the elevator for yours truly.

I looked right and left with my phone still up to my ear.

I crossed the lobby, and I was just about to step through the revolving door when a black late-model S.U.V. pulled up. All doors opened, and four un-mistakenly Russian heavies pushed through the door. I stepped next to the glass door to the right of the revolver. As they came in I stepped out the side door. It looked like two of them went for the elevator, and the other two waited in the lobby, watching the elevator and the stairs.

The driver of the double-parked SUV was going for his first sip of coffee when I walked out and crossed the street behind him. I had little time before the goons realized I was not tucked in.

Timing is everything. Two more minutes would have made things bad for me.

I zigged and zagged the streets of Barcelona for half an hour to create a confusing distance.

I found a seat in a small plaza and sent a text that said...

TEXT MANOLO: Louise, you got me again! I'll give you $25.00 unless you want to go Double or Nothing On the Atlanta Braves game.

​You might think I have a gambling problem, but it means that I am free and clear of the hotel, and I am waiting for instructions.

I didn't have to wait long.

FBI Regional Headquarters, New England, Chelsea, Massachusetts

Wally sighed and banged his rubber band ball against his office's far wall three times when a safe signal came in from his Confidential Informant in Spain. This was a good start. He thought about what the FSB would do next in Barcelona.

The Consulado General De Rusia was in Barcelona, meaning a contingent of Russian heavies would be in the neighborhood to do the state's dirty work.

Wally figured that they would use the FSB to detain Allston or just kill him on the spot. Wally did not want either outcome.

Wally picked up the phone and hit a button that rang his boss.  

​The conversation was quick. Wally hung up and looked at the ceiling.

Thomas Allston would now be in the hands of a CIA exfiltration team, hopefully bringing him home. 

The Gothic Quarter Hotel, Barcelona, Spain

The FSB unit from the Embassy in Barcelona did not like electronic key systems, so when they got to the room where they were charged with picking up someone, they used a short, solid crowbar to bend the door open at the bolt. There was no need for quiet. They would get Mr. Manolo out of the hotel and into the S.U.V. in less than 5 minutes. They had done so many snatch-and-grabs as a team and had never had one go wrong.

After shattering the door frame, they walked in, and Mr. Manolo was not there. They looked around and saw his stuff, including his computer. Vasilly looked around and noted a few other things. Manolo's phone charger was not there, and his toothbrush was gone.

There was no sure way to tell if Manolo was gone, but during this evening's report, Vassily told his boss that he thought Mr. Manolo was gone and would bet 20 rubles on it.

Manolo took his phone charger and left less important things like his computer. Manolo was kto-to v begakh, someone on the run. Vassily's boss did not take the 20 ruble action. Vassily is always right.

The Russians had a runner. How hard did Mr. Belyakov want the FSB to chase him?

Vassily's boss picked up her phone and punched a button.