The Russian Crisis

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Brownley made a chopping motion with his hand. There were various noises that amounted to the lobby doors being locked and blinds between the panes of glass in the huge windows lowered to make activities in the lobby invisible to those outside on the sidewalk.

"Okay, Captain. We're all alone. Now tell me what the hell you think you are doing?" Jackson was furious but kept his voice level but loud. He grinned inwardly as he saw Zaytsev's shock at the fact Jackson knew the Russian's military rank. But the captain recovered quickly.

"I must admit," said Zaytsev in a confident, almost insolent manner, "My men got a bit carried away. We were chasing a woman who has stolen millions of dollars from our government. We were just trying to apprehend her." Inwardly, Zaytsev was seething; Niki and Andrei, the impetuous ones, had charged ahead of him, caught up in the chase. Zaytsev would have abandoned the effort once Flores escaped into the building. After all, she was theirs once they knew her identity.

"And what the hell were you going to do with her when you 'apprehended' her?" Jackson matched the captain's sneering. "Take her back to Moscow?"

"Not at all," Zaytsev said calmly. "We would turn her into your police. We would get our money back. Then we would all be friends again."

"We were never friends in the first place, pal," said Jackson. "And tell us about the SD card the woman is carrying. Did you want that too?" Zaytsev blinked.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You do realize we have diplomatic immunity?"

"Diplomatic my ass. How did Ms. Flores come to have millions of your money if it wasn't paid to her for source code stolen from our company? You are full of bullshit, Captain Zaytsev."

"Stolen code? What a tale, Mr. Phillips. Why don't you bring Ms. Flores here so we can ask her where she has our money? Or would you rather have an international incident that would tarnish the reputation of your company?"

Jackson whispered to Brownley. Brownley turned and spoke to a security man behind the desk. The security man deftly took something from a drawer hidden behind the desk and, covering it with his hand, he passed it ahead to Brownley.

Jackson continued. "You will collect your two men from us. You and your thug who likes to grab women will leave this building and go back to Ottawa. I'm sure the embassy will have a good reception waiting for you there. Mr. Sokolov here seems to be a decent sort so we'll tidy up loose ends with him. Got it, Captain?"

Zaytsev laughed, more of a sharp bark. "Don't be stupid, Mr. Phillips. You cannot make us do anything. Even if this woman has a card to give us, you cannot touch us when we take the card. Now bring her here." The captain crossed his arms and stood staring at Jackson. At least, thought the GRU captain, he would have something to show from this mission. Maybe the woman would come with them; she would know a great deal.

Brownley revealed the gun in his hand surreptitiously and gave it to Jackson. He whispered, "What are you going to do...?"

Jackson took a few steps toward the three Russians. "Move over there, Mr. Sokolov." He waved the gun at the consulate staffer. Sokolov glanced at Zaytsev and moved away from him.

Jackson raised the gun and shot Ernesto. A red blood spot appeared high on the shoulder of the Cuban's T-shirt. The man cried out and grasped his shoulder. Some of his blood had sprayed on Zaytsev standing next to him.

"What have you done?" yelled Zaytsev. "Are you crazy. We are diplomats."

"You're as much as diplomat as I am crazy, Zaytsev. You're nothing but a cheap thug trying to lay your thieving hands on Canadian software. You can hide behind your diplomatic immunity all you want but I've just shown you're not immune to a bullet. This lobby is sealed tight. It is soundproof. Your communications have been jammed."

Zaytsev took his cellphone from a pocket and looked at it. It was blank. He tried to restart it. It stayed black and silent.

"You can't kill us, Phillips," said the captain but he was sweating and there was a shake in his voice.

"Why not?" The curiosity in Phillips voice drew smiles from Brownley and his people. The security staff were all ex-soldiers with overseas service. They were no strangers to violence or to the psychology of Russians. They could be counted on for confidentiality.

Zaytsev looked at his man, blood now slowly spreading on his shirt, his face pale. Shock was setting in. The Cuban was still on his feet but he was sagging. While Ernesto's physical condition didn't concern Zaytsev a great deal, he was very conscious of the situation. How would the Russian Federation view the powerful GRU being held at gunpoint in a foreign country. How would the GRU take to a tough, trained Cuban, a guest of the GRU, being shot by an old man? How would Russia greet a captain who couldn't deal with this retiree and a bunch of security guards? This was all about him, not the mission, thought Zaytsev.

"We will go." Zaytsev made the concession with a raised chin but no confidence. "I have to get help for my man."

"I don't give a damn what you do but you will go now with your men. And we won't hear from you again. Forget the money. Forget the card. Forget Ms. Flores. And forget Mr. Sokolov who looks like he will be glad to see your backside."

Sokolov couldn't help himself. There was an appreciative glance at Jackson and a slight smirk on his thin lips.

Brownley's men and woman dragged the two injured men from the stairwell and out of the lobby through the back entrance which accessed the garbage dock. Zaytsev supported the Cuban out of the building in the same way. A black SUV with dark windows and diplomatic licence plates, called by Sokolov, picked up the four men and took them away.

Jackson Phillips was still in a foul mood. He led Sokolov to a sitting area in the lobby and plopped him into a chair. He stood over the handler. "I was nice to you back there but I am not a nice person. I know intelligence people who make your FSB look like amateurs. Putin doesn't scare me or my former mates in JTF2." Sokolov knew who the special forces were and what they could do. His eyes widened involuntarily.

"You think Captain Zaytsev is a bad guy. Named for a sniper. You know the longest sniper shot in history was made by a Canadian with my old outfit, don't you?"

"Da." Sokolov's eyes blinked.

"You know what you can do with diplomatic immunity. It means nothing when you're trying to steal our stuff and assault our people and send thugs like that..." Jackson shot a thumb in the direction of the exit doors "... to cause us grief."

Jackson spent the next couple of minutes mentally torturing the Russian GRU agent. A lot of the talk was strategic. He knew Sokolov would write a report for his superiors that would shift blame from himself to anyone he could think of. But the report would, ultimately, advise the consulate, the embassy and the GRU to leave JPI alone because its current code was going to be obsolete soon. Version 3.0 likely wasn't worth the trouble to try to penetrate. It was mostly hype, Sokolov would claim. And, the report would suggest Jackson Phillips was an old man who might not be long at the helm of this company, so be patient. It was B.S. but the Ruskies might buy it from the handler.