Viktor smiled to himself as he scooted down the drainage pipe while sitting on the mechanic's wheeled dolly. Aleksey had been correct…the dolly was just the right size and moved freely down the sloped pipe. He was probably a hundred meters away from the carousel by now.
He would love to see the look on Michael Pruitt's face when he realized his quarry had escaped. Pruitt, a dangerous man Terrance had told him. The face had appeared at the opening of the carousel building just as he knew it would. Viktor couldn't resist that final wave before he stepped into the machinery compartment.
The floor drain was behind the air compressor tank and not visible from the door. It might take a little time for the FBI to figure out how he had left and every second counted in his favor. Michael Pruitt, his nemesis, but in some ways Viktor felt a kinship. They could not both be the best at what they did but perhaps that test would come later.
The dolly scooted along as the beam from his flashlight played on the roof of the pipe above. Viktor felt the strain on his legs but it was bearable. The pipe was supposed to be about three hundred fifty meters long before it ended at the spillway. The drain was always dry, Aleksey said, unless there was a substantial rain storm.
Still, the concrete pipe was slightly damp and Viktor was careful not to rub his leather jacket against the walls or scrape the barrel of the SR-2. A fine weapon and perhaps he would get the chance to use it. Aleksey had fired several rounds from the gun before handing it to Viktor as he sat astride the motorcycle, and then the man had fallen.
Aleksey had done his job but Pruitt had put a hole in his head, a good shot for such a small pistol at distance. The Ukrainian Ambassador would be pissed because he had lost a bodyguard in their little skirmish. Of course the man would not know that his trusted muscle had been in the pay of what was considered a terrorist organization.
The pipe seemed to go on and on. He wasn't claustrophobic…he wasn't any kind of phobic…well except that his former commander had accused him of being a sociopath. That wasn't a phobia, it was an asset. That's how you kill people Viktor thought, run your mouth too long and someone will take your life.
He could see light filtering in at the mouth of the pipe…good, he was almost there. He seriously doubted the FBI would be waiting for him, but time was running out. He hit the opening and spread his legs, using the heavy boots to slow his progress. The spillway wasn't long and Viktor quickly abandoned the dolly.
He liked America…they had such nice roads, unlike the mess he encountered as a child in eastern Ukraine. A car didn't last long in his home country, but then no one could afford anything good. His last trip to Washington had been as a military attaché at the Russian embassy, a decade after the fall of the Soviets.
He had visited the city with the eye of a tourist, seeing the sights and memorizing the pattern of the streets and subway system. The former KGB Colonel, who now worked for the FSB, the Federal Security Service, had valued his services and sent him abroad as a reward. The message had been: get to know your enemy. But Viktor always thought the man was afraid of him.
Between the Spetsnaz military service and the FSB, Viktor had never found the time for a relationship. How do you tell a woman that you kill for a living? He preferred paying for his sex because at least that transaction was honest.
His training for the Olympics began when he was eight years old and attended a sports school in Makiivka. The city was in the province of Donetsk, an industrial community with coal mines and steel plants. Like many boys he was doomed to a dirty job in one of the state factories until he learned to run. Sports had given him a way out, but so did the Army.
He'd learned to kick box in school and it was the demonstration of that skill when he was seventeen that attracted the Army recruiters. The average soldier had it easy compared to the specialized Spetsnaz training but Viktor thrived on it, easily rising to the rank of Starshina, a Master Sergeant.
His Alpha Group was stationed in Moscow but assigned far afield in counter-terrorism operations. Viktor's skill as a fighter brought him to the attention of the FSB special operations department, the newly formed group that evolved from the KGB. He was the pride of his unit, their best assassin.
His role in Southern Russia, specifically the fight against the criminal elements of the North Caucasus, was a chance to use all his skills. After the Spetsnaz gathered up or killed most of the gang leaders they were rewarded with a transfer to Chechnya to mop up the Muslim separatists.
Russia claimed there was no separate state of Chechnya and that all separatists were ethnic terrorists and had to be eliminated. It was here that Viktor became the preeminent sniper with 62 kills to his name…and it earned him the reputation of a psycho killer.
His commander at the time tried to shape him differently by pulling him out of the killing business and seconding Viktor into the security service. An eighteen month posting to the embassy in Washington was supposed to make him a new man and it went a long way towards doing just that. But he also met Terrance.
He had become a familiar figure on the sidewalks along Wisconsin Avenue when he left the embassy for his morning runs. He found it amusing that the American security services followed him discretely in a car so he decided to end the charade. He would head south until he reached Georgetown and slip down onto the towpath leaving his minders behind.
But he met several attractive women runners, some who were willing to have a coffee with what they perceived to be a Russian businessman. He would not explain his position regarding his Ukrainian birth or the death of his parents, it was just too complicated. He told everyone he was an orphan, raised and educated by the Russian government.
That was mostly true and had a high sympathy value. Sometimes coffee led to other things but he never allowed it to go beyond a casual relationship. The situation back in Moscow was getting more complicated by the minute and his colleagues in the embassy warned him that he might not be welcomed if he returned to Moscow.
He became aware of Terrance hovering in the background, especially when he was escorting a young lady out for an evening, but he didn't fear any of the watchers. The cat and mouse game continued for a while and then Viktor ended it by being somewhere Terrance did not expect. He was not armed, but only a fool would take on Viktor.
The confrontation was amusing to them both. "You have been following me," Viktor said.
"Yes, an old acquaintance of yours asked me to speak with you," Terrance said, and he spoke the man's name.
Viktor spat on the ground. "He is a traitor to my country."
"Perhaps, but a wise man leaves the country before the hangman can find him. Putin would have him killed for taking millions of rubles out of the country. Better he run with the money than have it taken away before being hanged."
Viktor nodded. "A hanged man has no use for money…so why are you here?"
"An even wiser man suggested that Viktor Markov might be on the hangman's list as well, and we certainly can't have that. Perhaps going home is no longer a good option for you, and in that case we are prepared to offer you employment."
"Employment?"
"You already possess the skills we need. It's only a matter of deciding how many of those millions you will require," Terrance said. "I'm Terrance Bolton."
Viktor had to go home the following June, only now he knew there would be papers drawn up to arrest and hold him for treason. The Colonel was behind all this because he feared his most skilled operative and made sure they were never alone together, even in the FSB offices.
But bodyguards alone did not deter Viktor and when the Colonel announced his arrest he had two of the prison goons in his office to take Viktor into custody. The Colonel stood as did Viktor who came to attention and saluted the commander.
"Thank you for allowing me several years under your leadership," Viktor said…and then he held out his hand to shake.
The Colonel was so disarmed by Viktor's apparent gratitude the he held out his hand as well and that sealed his fate. Viktor pulled the Colonel forward and gave him two blows to the neck before sliding behind his body and holding him up with an unnecessary choke hold, the man was already dead.
The prison muscle went for their pistols but Viktor grabbed the letter opener off the Colonels desk and held it to the dead man's neck. They surrendered their weapons and Viktor knocked them unconscious before dropping the Colonel's body on the floor. He was well on his way to the Finnish border before anyone discovered the carnage.
Communism was just a system and Viktor had no faith in any system of government. He had always felt above the bureaucrats, although he took his orders and killed for them. In this he felt closest to Pruitt and was glad he would not have to kill the man outright. But if he got in the way of the task he would go down just like the others.
The parkway lay before him through a low wall of bushes. He could hear the hum of the occasional car but there were not many. He peered through the brush and saw the road was clear so he quickly walked across and into the trees on the far side. The towpath was just a few meters beyond and he stepped out on the crushed gravel surface and headed back east.
Within five minutes he had reached the lock on the canal and turned towards the keeper's house. Lock #7 the sign said on the door, but of course no one lived there now. The bicycle was in a shed at the back, as was the pair of coveralls and a hat Aleksey had strapped to the rear carryall rack.
Viktor removed his jacket and rolled the SR-2 in it before strapping it to the bicycle. The coveralls barely fit him but they would have to do. He mounted the bike and headed back down the towpath. It was about six and a half kilometers to his objective and when he reached the Chain Bridge he rode up the ramp and along the walkway over the Potomac River.
He abandoned the bike at a bus stop on Glebe Road and rode public transportation down to Old Dominion Drive where he transferred to the northbound bus into McLean. The safe house was just two blocks off the main highway and there he would find everything he might need for his mission.
Aleksey was supposed to have met him there, but Viktor was past that now, he would do this alone. McLean was a quiet bedroom community filled with government employees and he would not be surprised if some of the FBI agents looking for him lived there.
The small house was stocked with food and drink so he could last for several weeks if necessary, but the conference was only nine days away. Plenty of time to watch television and rest up before dealing with his assignment. He walked into the bedroom, opened the closet door, and there it was.
The hard plastic case contained a marvel of Russian engineering, the sweetest sniper rifle he had ever handled. He preferred the Russian Dragunov to anything American made but it was also sad that this weapon would need to be left behind. It had a ten shot clip and was semi-automatic, although Viktor had rarely needed anything more than one bullet to do his job.
The banking conference would be filled with high powered money brokers, but he was after only one man. Not that the others were unimportant but this man controlled the oil money from much of the Middle East. His death would create a void and the Kingpins were ready to groom his replacement.
* * * * * *
Agents combed the area surrounding the park and eventually someone found the small wheeled dolly by the end of the drainage pipe. Viktor had eluded them and they would be lucky to find him again anytime soon.
Michael looked at the drain pipe and the dolly. "This was all set up in advance. He expected to be seen on the cameras at the airport and led us on a merry chase."
"Why would he do that?" Robert asked.
"Ego…proving he is better than us. I don't know but so far he's winning."
"You understand his mindset better than we do…what is he after?"
Michael thought a moment, but he already knew the answer. "He wants a clean shot at his target. One man probably means this is a sniper mission. He's a lone wolf so he needs time for surveillance and a chance to choose where he will set up.
"The target may not even be here yet, probably isn't. That means we need to make a list of all the possible events that are going to take place over the next few weeks. Viktor knows where his victim will be and since he'll want to eyeball the location that's how we will find him."
"There are hundreds of events in this town every week," Robert said. "How can we possibly cover them all?"
"Get me the list," Michael said. "Viktor won't walk into a hastily set up ambush because he'll probably already be out there in hiding, could be days in advance. Get me the list and I'll figure it out."
"How long do you think we have?"
"A week but no more than that. Viktor doesn't impress me as the kind of guy who likes to sit around. Keep the surveillance on the Metro and the high traffic areas of the city, but chances are we won't spot him that way. He may make one or two runs at the site of the ambush. He'll want somewhere high, maybe a rooftop. But he could rent an office space…we have to find the event to figure it out."
Robert had a new driver who took them back to the office. The main FBI Headquarters was off Pennsylvania Avenue a few blocks from the National Mall, but this was not where they headed. Robert had his office at 4th and F Streets, the Washington Bureau Field Office.
The bureaucratic mess at headquarters made it a difficult place to work for agents involved in an active investigation. Michael could agree that it was hard to accomplish anything with the bosses looking over your shoulder.
The driver took them into the building through the underground parking garage. At the guard post in the lower lobby Michael surrendered his gun and was given a visitor's pass before they boarded the elevator.
"This investigation is ramping up and so we'll have plenty of help," Robert said. "The Bureau only knows you as Michael Kellum and nothing about your past. Saunders thought it best that we stick to the military intelligence angle and to give you clout I should introduce you as a Lieutenant."
Michael laughed. "I don't like the idea of being an officer. In my business all the work is done by sergeants."
"As you wish."
The command post for the search was set up in a large conference room where maps covered the walls and large screen video monitors were lined up on desks. With the advent of Homeland Security there was a massive amount of information sharing between the FBI and the other branches of government surveillance.
Robert scanned the room and led Michael over to a woman sitting at a laptop. Despite her attractive looks she had a facial expression that exuded dominance and she was concentrating on the screen.
"Rebecca, this is Michael Kellum, our military intelligence liaison. Rebecca is like our editor in chief, she gets to vet the information sources."
"Please to meet you, Michael…so what does your intelligence tell you at this point?"
"Viktor was playing games from the moment he arrived and that tells me he's got time before his mission. I told Robert we probably won't see him again, at least not in the street. The only thing left is to track the major events in town for the next two weeks and see if there is any connection to the goals of his organization."
Rebecca smiled. "I figured it would be something like that so we've already begun compiling a list. Is there something specific we should be looking for?"
"Money, probably from the Middle East. This organization has plans to dominate markets in resources and trade and that's where it starts. So far they have taken out players in that arena all over the EU…and now I think it's our turn."
"Kill the leaders and insert their own people?"
"Something like that," Michael said. "There must be a long term plan because nothing major has shifted yet. They have the money and the resources to groom a cadre of replacements, and chances are they are already in place like a dormant terrorist cell."
"You don't see this as a jihad, do you?"
"Only if money is the religion…and with enough of that you can buy most anything."
Rebecca nodded. "So how did the military get involved in this? You don't seem like a spy."
Michael smiled, "So you know what spies look like?"
"I was with CID for eight years before coming to the Bureau…we tracked a lot of spies."
"I'm not a policeman, but other than that I'm afraid I can't tell you anything."
"Be careful, she'll pick your brains for information," Robert said.
"She's welcome to try," Michael replied. "So what have you discovered so far?"
"In the next two weeks there are about three-hundred and fifty events and conferences scheduled in town. Everything from flower shows, religious organization meetings, to the big RV display at the old Armory, but none of that is relevant.
"The Secret Service is providing us with attendance and movement plans for the major figures in government, and the Capital Police is scrambling to do the same thing for those in Congress. Large meetings will be vetted by the bomb squads for those organizations…but you don't think this is a bomb situation, do you?"
"No, although Viktor is capable of building a bomb. He is here to attempt an assassination, and if you look at his record he has a high chance of success," Michael said.
"That doesn't sound very promising," Rebecca said. "You seem to know this man very well."
"We never met until this morning…"
Rebecca opened a folder on her desk and handed Michael a large photograph. It was Viktor, standing on the carousel at the park.
"Our agents got this from a woman who was taking pictures of her daughter on the carousel," Rebecca said.
The image of Viktor in his brown leather jacket was quite clear, the best photo of the man Michael had ever seen. There was something bulky under the coat on the left side, no doubt the assault gun. There would have been major bloodshed if Viktor had started a gun battle in the park, but that was not his purpose in being there.
He didn't have to show himself, but he had, and that begged the question why. This photo would allow them to update the face recognition software in the surveillance system…Viktor knew that.
"Good photo, but it won't help us here," Michael said. "He knows our capabilities…he's going to change his image to fool us."
"The computer is pretty good at seeing through disguises," Rebecca said. "He doesn't have time to grow a beard or long hair but the programs are tasked to overcome those changes. What can he possibly do?"
"I don't know yet, but we'll have to find out."
Rebecca looked up at Robert. "How does he know these things?"
"Don’t ask, he can't talk about it," Robert said.
Michael stared at the photo. Rebecca was right…there wasn't time for Viktor to change his male image which meant he would have to assume the role of a woman. Michael had never done that for any of his assignments but they didn't know what accomplishments Viktor might have in his past.
"I need to see your departmental sketch artist," Michael said and handed the photo to Robert. "Work with me on this one…try to imagine Viktor in drag."
"Drag? You think?" Robert stared at the photo and smiled. "He might just pull it off."
The sketch artist was a young Asian-American woman named Nancy Shu who arrived in Robert's office with a laptop and a sketch pad. She set the computer down and opened the pad.
"Tell me about the subject," Nancy said.
"We have a photo…" Robert began.
"I will need to see that, but first I want your impressions of the subject…do you know him?"
Robert turned to Michael. "You have a better insight."
"Viktor is a Russian with Ukrainian origins. He was trained as an athlete, a runner, before he joined their military and learned to be a killer. No, let me rephrase that…he was a killer before he joined the military. He's a hard but very intelligent man, fixated on his assigned task to the exclusion of everything else.
"Under the current circumstances he would be considered a handsome ladies man, except he is a sociopath and could never establish a relationship with a normal woman. His life is about the control of his physical needs. He is alert to everything around him and he can react to danger in a heartbeat. But if you met him on the street you would never know any of these things, and that makes him an effective killer."
Michael looked at Nancy. "Sorry, but I have been thinking about this man for quite some time."
"You said he was athletic."
"Yes, but not a heavyweight," Michael said. "He's about six foot tall, slender build, but hard as a rock."
"A little bit like you," Nancy said. "I'm sorry if that offends."
"No…we are somewhat alike, except for his eyes."
"What about his eyes?" Nancy asked.
"They're cold as ice," Michael said. "He is really a very dangerous man."
The whole time they had been talking Nancy had been doodling on her sketch pad. She turned the drawing around and held it up for them to see. Michael had to smile…the woman was good at her job. The sketch was not exact, but she had some of the salient features.
"Very good," Michael said, handing her the photo. "This was taken this morning."
Nancy studied the photo and then looked at her laptop. "I will build his profile in digital format…but you suggest that he will disguise himself as a woman." She looked at the photo again. "I suppose he could pull that off…he has the nose for it."
"The nose?" Robert asked.
"Identifiers on a man often start with the nose since it's the largest object on a face. Eyes, eyebrows, ears, and mouth, these are all things that can be modified with makeup, at least to the casual observer. A large nose is impossible to disguise, but Viktor has a very aquiline nose. If he has the skills he could transform into a woman."
Michael nodded. "He has the skill, believe me."
"Give me a few hours and I'll have some images for you," Nancy said.
She left the office and Robert gave Michael a glance. "I suppose we should take some time to clean up and change. Would you mind staying at my place?"
Michael nodded. "I suppose that will make life easier on us both, then you won't have to track me down. I assume you have a guest room."
"I do."
Robert called the driver who took them to a 17th Street condo building. This was an old settled neighborhood right on the fringe of the DuPont Circle gay scene. It took a key card to gain admittance and there was an empty desk in the lobby for a security station, but Michael noted the cameras in the lobby and hallways.
"Security is good, but we only have a guard on the night shift. I'm the only FBI man in the building but we do have some congressional aides and a judge who lives here. I inherited the place from my grandmother in case you’re wondering. Real estate down here is too precious to sell so when she moved to Florida I took it over."
"I thought your family was from Idaho?"
Robert smiled. "Not Granny…she worked for the government."
Robert lived on the first floor towards the back and the long hallway echoed with their footsteps until they reached his door. A newspaper lay on the doormat and Robert picked it up before unlocking the door. Michael wasn't sure what he expected to see inside but he was pleasantly surprised.
The rooms in these old buildings had ten foot ceilings which made even the smallest of rooms look large. Living, dining, kitchen, two bedrooms and baths, even a den, all of them with tall wide windows that let in enormous amounts of light. But this was D.C., and so the windows had bars across them on the outside.
Robert laughed at Michael's curious looks. "Can you tell a gay man lives here?" Robert asked, pointing at the copious forest of potted plants and small trees in front of the windows.
"You have a nice collection of furniture," Michael said. "Family heirlooms?"
"Some of it. But in case you think I live like an old maid with only Granny's furniture, come look at this."
Michael followed him into the living room and watched as he opened a door. "This is my home office," he said.
What was once an eight by ten walk-in closet was now a modern office space filled with computer equipment. Robert gestured to racks of disks on the wall. "Films and music I've been collecting for years, most of it is legal."
"Isn't that a bit risky for an FBI agent?"
"Oh, it's not porn, just copies of things I've bought from street vendors when I was overseas. Sometimes that's the only place you can find some of this outdated material. Why, you like porn?"
"No, and not the kind the Marines collect over in Whacky-Stan either," Michael said.
"You spent a lot of time in the Middle East. I was never sent there so I don't have a feel for the place."
"You're fortunate…do you have a means of communicating with Ducky?"
Robert sat in front of his keyboard and typed in a password. The monitor came to life and there was Ducky sitting at his desk.
"Wondered when you were going to check in," Ducky said. "I see you guys aren’t having a good day."
"Viktor had this all planned out, and that makes me wonder," Robert said. "I'm sure it was his intention to keep us focused on him…so is there another dimension at play?"
"What does Michael think?" Ducky asked.
"Hello, Duck-man," Michael said. "I think you guys need to find Terrance and stay on him."
"Our eyes are wide open. We have some intel that he was spotted in Turkey, but that's not a hundred percent sure. You don't suppose he would be looking to associate with the rabble in Syria, do you?"
"No, the jihadist movement isn't organized enough for him," Michael said. "The Kingpins and ISIS are on separate tracks so you need to look further south."
"Iran? The sanctions against them leave them pretty isolated. You think this is about their oil resources?"
"Iran has a political structure that the Kingpins might find attractive, especially in a move against their neighbors. I would keep an eye on the Saudis."
"Okay, good call," Ducky said. "Any luck finding out who Viktor is after?"
"We're compiling a list now," Robert said.
"Good, I'll brief Saunders when he gets back from Berlin," Ducky said.
"What's he doing there?" Michael asked.
"I think we found Viktor's nest and the man who is paying for it all. If we can eliminate Terrance's source of funding it might make him surface. It's a long shot, but that's what we have at the moment." And with that he terminated the video link.
Michael smiled. "He's taking after Saunders…no good byes anymore."
"We should clean up and change," Robert said. "It's going to be a long evening."