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Authors: Andrew Kaplan
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apartment concierge had jokedâthe joke being that although built by the Soviets, she was looking east as if to defend Ukraine against Russia instead of against the Nazis. He studied the footprints in the snow by the bench. The falling snow would fill them in. That was good. It would fill in his footprints as well.
He watched the shadows around the amphitheatre area. It looked clear to approach, but still he waited, shivering inside his overcoat. His meeting with Mogilenko had accomplished one thing. It confirmed that the assassination plot was real. Mogilenko hadnât been surprised. That meant he already knew about it, probably either from Cherkesovâs people or the SVR.
Assumption: Cherkesov had probably hired Syndikat and Kemo goons to break up the Kozhanovskiy rally. Second assumption: Mogilenko knew about the plot but had questions. Thatâs why he had agreed to meet with him. If that was true, it meant Mogilenko and the Ukrainian mafia knew about it, but they hadnât been contracted to do it themselves or they would have wanted to keep him alive, to either find out what he knew or use him to play one side against the other. Although, Scorpion had to admit, it was all speculation; there were a hell of a lot of ifs.
Checking the shadows one last time, he walked to the first bench near the steps and felt underneath for something buried in the ground. He had to pull off his gloves to feel through the snow and the frozen ground. The cold was intense; the snow burned his fingers. Maybe it wasnât there, he thought as he dug for it. Then his fingers touched something: a metal ring. He pulled hard, yanking out a wedge-shaped boxâcalled a âspikeââburied in the snow-covered ground.
He rubbed his frozen hands to warm them, then opened the spike. Inside was a Glock 9 x 19mm pistol, four standard seventeen-round magazines and four thirty-two-round extended clips, cell phones, SIM cards, bugs, a button spy video camcorder, NSA software on a flash drive, and other equipment. It was good to have a decent weapon again, he thought, loading and checking the Glock. When he was done, he put his gloves back on, forced the spike back into the ground under the bench, spread snow over it and left.
He headed up the hill past the church. It was too late for the Metro to be running, so he walked until he caught a late night mashrutka minibus on Povstannya. It was nearly empty and smelled of cigarettes and wet clothes. As the minibus moved through the snowy street, he thought about his next move. The obvious candidate for someone with a motive to get rid of Cherkesov was his opponent, Kozhanovskiy, but all the information about a plot had come to the billionaire, Akhnetzov, from the SVR; and if his assumption was right, had been transmitted to Mogilenko from the same source.
Scorpionâs eyes began to close. He was tired and jet-lagged, but soon the SVR and the SBU would find out he was in the game. The best time to hit the SVR was now, before they were aware of him. The problem was, how to do it without getting killed?
Chapter Ten
Shevchenkivskyi
Kyiv, Ukraine
T he apartment was on the fourth floor of a Soviet-style building near the Golden Gate, the thousand-year-old stone gateway of ancient Kyiv. Scorpion studied the facade from a doorway across the street. There were no exterior security cameras or alarms. The street was empty and white with snow. He could hear it crunch underfoot as he crossed to the building. Using a Peterson universal key with a tap from the Glock, he opened the outer door lock and stepped inside.
The hallway was dark. It smelled of cigarette smoke and fried onions. Somebody had made varenykyâ dumplingsâhe thought, taking out a pocket LED flashlight. As he made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor, the building was silent, and in the light of the flashlight cold enough to see his breath. He paused on the fourth floor landing and peered into the
He watched the shadows around the amphitheatre area. It looked clear to approach, but still he waited, shivering inside his overcoat. His meeting with Mogilenko had accomplished one thing. It confirmed that the assassination plot was real. Mogilenko hadnât been surprised. That meant he already knew about it, probably either from Cherkesovâs people or the SVR.
Assumption: Cherkesov had probably hired Syndikat and Kemo goons to break up the Kozhanovskiy rally. Second assumption: Mogilenko knew about the plot but had questions. Thatâs why he had agreed to meet with him. If that was true, it meant Mogilenko and the Ukrainian mafia knew about it, but they hadnât been contracted to do it themselves or they would have wanted to keep him alive, to either find out what he knew or use him to play one side against the other. Although, Scorpion had to admit, it was all speculation; there were a hell of a lot of ifs.
Checking the shadows one last time, he walked to the first bench near the steps and felt underneath for something buried in the ground. He had to pull off his gloves to feel through the snow and the frozen ground. The cold was intense; the snow burned his fingers. Maybe it wasnât there, he thought as he dug for it. Then his fingers touched something: a metal ring. He pulled hard, yanking out a wedge-shaped boxâcalled a âspikeââburied in the snow-covered ground.
He rubbed his frozen hands to warm them, then opened the spike. Inside was a Glock 9 x 19mm pistol, four standard seventeen-round magazines and four thirty-two-round extended clips, cell phones, SIM cards, bugs, a button spy video camcorder, NSA software on a flash drive, and other equipment. It was good to have a decent weapon again, he thought, loading and checking the Glock. When he was done, he put his gloves back on, forced the spike back into the ground under the bench, spread snow over it and left.
He headed up the hill past the church. It was too late for the Metro to be running, so he walked until he caught a late night mashrutka minibus on Povstannya. It was nearly empty and smelled of cigarettes and wet clothes. As the minibus moved through the snowy street, he thought about his next move. The obvious candidate for someone with a motive to get rid of Cherkesov was his opponent, Kozhanovskiy, but all the information about a plot had come to the billionaire, Akhnetzov, from the SVR; and if his assumption was right, had been transmitted to Mogilenko from the same source.
Scorpionâs eyes began to close. He was tired and jet-lagged, but soon the SVR and the SBU would find out he was in the game. The best time to hit the SVR was now, before they were aware of him. The problem was, how to do it without getting killed?
Chapter Ten
Shevchenkivskyi
Kyiv, Ukraine
T he apartment was on the fourth floor of a Soviet-style building near the Golden Gate, the thousand-year-old stone gateway of ancient Kyiv. Scorpion studied the facade from a doorway across the street. There were no exterior security cameras or alarms. The street was empty and white with snow. He could hear it crunch underfoot as he crossed to the building. Using a Peterson universal key with a tap from the Glock, he opened the outer door lock and stepped inside.
The hallway was dark. It smelled of cigarette smoke and fried onions. Somebody had made varenykyâ dumplingsâhe thought, taking out a pocket LED flashlight. As he made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor, the building was silent, and in the light of the flashlight cold enough to see his breath. He paused on the fourth floor landing and peered into the
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