Not-So-Secret

Chapter thirteen

ALEXEI KARPOV SWORE and stamped his feet to keep his circulation flowing. He glanced at the stainless-steel watch he gotten as I'm tired and gift after twenty-five years in the GRU and saw that it was two-fifteen.

Late. His contact was late. The breakup of the Soviet Union had, in the former colonel's opinion, also broken much of the vigor and discipline of the the Ukrainian army.

Now they were just so many ragtag costumed clowns playing at being soldiers. In his day, Alexei would have had a number of them shot. The remainder would damn well have been on time.

He peered across the frozen moonlit fields towards the lights of Kharkiv, trying to ignore the condensation of breath on his glasses. He willed himself to see a figure struggling across the tundra in the rising fog. Still nothing moved.

Cursing again, he considered sitting in his four-door Volga sedan with the engine running and the heater blasting, but decided the risk was not worth the comfort. He turned his back to the lights and stuffed a Bogatyri cigarette between his lips, his American lighter shrouded by his greatcoat.

He'd barley puffed the hot ash to incandescent redness when he heard the crunch of boots approaching. He cautiously moved to place the sedan between himself and the sound. A dark silhouette stumbled into view, visible breath rasping in the misty silence, the telltale peak of the Russian army cap obvious against the distant twinkling lights.

As the figure moved closer, Karpov could see the reason for the shadow's stumbling gait; the man was carrying a large metal suitcase that hit his leg with every step. "Colonel?" he whispered. "Colonel?"

Karpov stepped from behind the sedan and puffed on his cigarette before speaking, blowing smoke in a thick cloud that drifted sinuously over his shoulder.

"You're late, Vanko."

Vanko dropped the suitcase at the rear of the Volga sedan with a sharp crunch that made the other man start involuntary, although he knew it would take more than that for the case to begin its deadly work. Vanko pulled his gloves off and blew on his bare hands to warm them.

"The security guard at the factory demanded extra money, just as I was leaving. He thinks I'm stealing computers." He laughed, then sniffed at the smoke from Karpov's cigarette. "Hey, let me have one of those."

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Karpov said. "I've got to be back at the border before the shift changes at three." He fished out one of the unfiltered Bogatyris and handed it to Vanko, then lit it for him.

"The guard"

"Forget the guard." Karpov waved his arm dismissively and opened the trunk of the Volga. As the lid opened, a light came on side. "Let's see it."