IN HOT PURSUIT

Chapter 1

BORIS YELENSKY, FLUSH WITH ENTHUSIASM, exited the Victory Park memorial complex. In Russia Stephan Kuznetsov had given a rousing speech to a packed, standing audience. As his voice boomed through two large amps on either side of the makeshift stage to a modest gathering, he’d drawn crowds from the rest of the park. Not sure what country this takes place in.

Kuznetsov’s anti-corruption message registered with Boris, a Russian. Russians. Depending on who you listened to, it had been described as liberal, nationalist, and populist over the course of his political career. Despite his opposition movement being labeled “extremist” and shut down, his supporters continued to express their political opinions on social media.

Boris stepped up his pace to avoid the sizeable swarm leaving for their cars and pulled his cap lower on his face. It was one thing to back someone you believe in and another to back a dissident. The crowd was described as modest earlier.

“Boris, Boris! Wait.”

At the urgent sound of his name, Boris froze, his shoulder muscles bunched. He half-turned and sighed with relief. He recognized Dmitri from their days at Moscow University, despite his changed appearance. He’d lost weight and appeared physically fit.

“Dmitri. It’s great to see you. We got separated at the university, and I always wondered what happened to you.”

“I was offered a government job, so I postponed further studies. What about you?”

“I am an engineer at the Medved Aviation Factory. They have a satellite unit here in Moscow.”

“Good. Nice job,” he touched Boris’ jacket. “Nice suit. Aren’t you concerned about being at a Kuznetsov rally? It could be dangerous, you know? The government is dead-set against his public display of antigovernment messages. It is said he has strong political ambition and wants to build an electoral majority.”

“Oh, I don’t follow politics often. The factory is two kilometers from here. I enjoy a walk to the park. By the way, what is it you do for the government?” Boris asked.

“This and that—whatever they want. You know, the government expects you to execute orders without questions.” Dimitri glanced at his cell phone. “I have a meeting to go to. We should catch up another time. I’ll call you at your office when I’m free.” Before turning away, Dmitri peered at Boris and waved his index finger. “Be careful. I hear things. I would hate to learn you had an accident.”

“Okay. Yes. Call me. Be well.”

Back at the office, Boris couldn’t shake the feeling of disquiet that settled in his chest. Dmitri’s words echoed in his mind, casting a shadow over the otherwise routine tasks of the day. It wasn’t until the evening news broadcast that the gravity of their encounter truly hit him.

The news reported Stephan Kuznetsov had died under mysterious circumstances. A chill crawled down Boris’ spine as the report detailed Kuznetsov’s tragic demise. Dmitri’s ominous warning took on a sinister feeling. Boris had stumbled into a dangerous game of political intrigue, with consequences beyond anything he could have imagined. How else could he explain how Kuznetsov had fallen from a tall building?

BORIS LAY IN BED for hours. The sheets twisted around his legs as he replayed recent events in his mind. Questions plagued him—what was Dmitri’s purpose for attending a Stephan Kuznetsov rally? He had said nothing about his job and now, on the same day Dmitri attends a rally, Kuznetsov “falls” off a building?

The most important question was: Did Dmitri warn him a member of Russian intelligence might assassinate him? I think he did. That can’t happen. I have a wife and two children.

From the moment he’d become fascinated by Stephan Kuznetsov and his message of anti-corruption, Boris considered how Kuznetsov had held rallies without consequence; no one had taken him seriously.

Until now.

Boris eventually slipped into an uneasy sleep. He woke a short time later when the sun rose. Throwing aside his blankets, he hastened to get dressed for the day. A half hour later, he was on the road to the office.

The morning passed without incident. He tried to keep his mind occupied by reviewing schematics for the current version of the COH-579 bomber plane that needed to be upgraded in the COH-580. But he found it difficult to stay focused.

He accomplished two significant modifications and was content.

And he had made a decision.

Lunchtime arrived. At lunchtime, He locked the schematics inside his desk, grabbed his jacket, and left the administration offices. Boris walked fifty feet to the mechanic’s hangar. The tall soldier with an Uzi guarding the door looked at him and nodded. Boris entered to a cacophony of resounding clangs, buzzing saws and headed to a wall of circular soundproof offices. The name plate on the first office was Yuri—Supervisor. Boris banged on the door and turned the knob.

He stuck his head into the workspace. “Yuri? Are you busy?”

“Boris! What brings you to my sweatshop? Are you looking to get your hands dirty?”

Boris shut the door, smiling at the silence. Yuri’s short black beard and aviation glasses obscured most of his round face. A hulking figure, he wore a tan shirt with his name stitched in black letters over the pocket and dark trousers. Steel-toed boots protected his enormous feet.

“You know me, Yuri. I only work with paper and never get grease on my hands.”

Yuri was the best mechanic in the shop. Boris and Yuri joined Medved Aviation at the same time ten years ago.

“Well, okay, what can I do for you?” He wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his belt, reached out, shook Boris’ hand.

“I need something … just between you and me.”

“Go on.”

He lowered his voice. I need “two cell phones that work internationally with time already paid for. The more time, the better. As a matter of course, they must be untraceable to us, the originator, or anyone else. Do you think you can you do that?”

Yuri beamed. He puffed up his chest, radiating trust and reliability as he looked to Boris and nodded.

“Go have your lunch, my friend. Come back before close of business.” He slapped Boris on the back and they walked to the door.

“Thanks, Yuri. I knew I could count on you.”

By 4:30 P.M., BORIS had lost patience. He opened a filing cabinet and fished for a flash drive he’d hidden containing a copy of the schematics for the bomber, and dropped it in his briefcase. The more he dwelled on his plan, the more tense he became. Boris left the office and walked the same route back to Yuri. Most of the mechanics had left for the day. He knocked softly on Yuri’s door and waited for a response.

Yuri opened the door and looked past Boris to see if anyone else was watching them. “Come in. I have what you asked for.” He walked to a filing cabinet, unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out two small boxes wrapped in cellophane. He handed both to Boris.

Boris set down his briefcase. “Untraceable? With time on them?”

“Yes. My supplier assured me there is three months’ prepaid cell service on each phone. And yes, I am told it is untraceable. He knows not to lie to me.”

“That’s great. How much do I owe you?”

“20,000 rubles. But for you, 20,000 rubles.” They laughed.

Boris paid him, picked up his briefcase, and left. He walked to the parking lot and the dark sedan the company provided, slid inside, and started the engine. Glancing at the briefcase, thought, it’s not too late to change my mind. He tossed in the rear seat.

Boris exhaled and opened one of the boxes Yuri had given him.

He examined the black phone and turned it on. Good. There was a small charge, enough to make the call he needed. Still, Boris hesitated. He dialed the number he had memorized.

“Jim Fairbanks, please.”

After a brief wait, he answered, “Hello?”

“Jim, this is Boris. Do you have a moment?”

“Boris, who?”

“Come on. How many Boris’ do you know?”

“Oh, that Boris.”

“You remember what we discussed when we met? We’re going to do it. Tomorrow, day after at the latest.”

“The same deal we discussed before. It’s not a problem on my end.”

“Yes.” Boris hung up.

Now comes the hard part