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Authors: Andrew Kaplan
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hallway.
A security camera was hidden in a wall lamp mounted near Gabrilovâs apartment, positioned to cover the area in front of the door. It looked like a simple single-channel model. Standard SVR offsite, he thought, then approached from the side away from where the camera was aimed. He used the screwdriver of his Swiss Army knife to disable the channel so it wouldnât record or set off an alarm.
That done, he checked the door for alarms, but couldnât see any. He didnât expect Gabrilov to be home. He had called the Russian embassy earlier in the day to confirm that there was a reception that evening to promote a new Russian film. There would be bigwigs and the Russian stars of the movie, and as a cultural attaché, Gabrilov would have to be there as well. Just to make sure, Scorpion knocked, waited, then put his ear to the door. There was no sound, only a midnight silence. It only took a few seconds with the Peterson key to open it.
The living room was sparsely finished. Just a sofa, a table with a half-empty bottle of horilka, and a TV. The apartment smelled of pipe tobacco. He tiptoed to the bedroom door and opened it. The bed was unmade and empty. Using the flashlight, he checked the tiny kitchen and bathroom and a second bedroom. There was nothing of interest except for a laptop computer and a telephone on a table against the wall.
Scorpion turned the computer on, went back to the living room, took off the wall outlet cover and put in an electronic bug. Then he went back to the laptop and, using a flash drive, installed untraceable NSA software that would forward everything on Gabrilovâs computer to NSA receivers in Fort Meade, Maryland, and from there to a server he could access with his laptop. He heard a dog bark and froze. The sound came from somewhere outside. Another building, he thought. He turned the computer off and, using the knife screwdriver, unscrewed the base of the phone and put in another bug.
Just then he heard voices and the sound of a key in the lock. He had only seconds. A man was talking to a woman, and as the door opened, he just managed to duck behind the door in the tiny bathroom. He waited there in the darkness, smelling the bad plumbing, the Glock in his hand. He was hoping neither of them came into the bathroom, but if one of them did, heâd have no choice but to confront Gabrilov right then. They were talking. The woman said something about horilka and money. Heâs got a whore, Scorpion thought, listening to the clink of glass and a bottle and Gabrilov toasting, âBudmo!â
Through a crack between the door and the jamb, he saw the woman in the dim light on her knees in front of Gabrilov, his pants around his ankles. She was a buxom blonde, and after a minute she stood up and they went into the bedroom. Scorpion waited till he heard the bed creaking and the sound of heavy breathing.
Gabrilov had left his pants on the living room floor. He fished in the pockets and found the manâs cell phone. He input the number into his own cell phone, then replaced Gabrilovâs SIM card with a NSA-modified SIM. Waiting for a moment when he could hear the blonde moaning like it was worth extra, he opened the door carefully and left the apartment. In the hallway, he reconnected the security camera, and in less than a minute was down the stairs and outside the building.
By the time he walked back through the snow to Khreshchatyk, it was two in the morning. The boulevard was empty and it was too late for a taxi. He saw a lone car coming and flagged it down. The driver was a young bureaucrat on his way home. He said something in Ukrainian to Scorpion, who just handed him a hundred hryven bill and told him the address of his apartment. That was the thing about Ukraine. You could buy anything; they all needed money.
Scorpion closed his eyes and let the young man talk and drive. He was exhausted and jet-lagged, and everything that had happened that day finally
A security camera was hidden in a wall lamp mounted near Gabrilovâs apartment, positioned to cover the area in front of the door. It looked like a simple single-channel model. Standard SVR offsite, he thought, then approached from the side away from where the camera was aimed. He used the screwdriver of his Swiss Army knife to disable the channel so it wouldnât record or set off an alarm.
That done, he checked the door for alarms, but couldnât see any. He didnât expect Gabrilov to be home. He had called the Russian embassy earlier in the day to confirm that there was a reception that evening to promote a new Russian film. There would be bigwigs and the Russian stars of the movie, and as a cultural attaché, Gabrilov would have to be there as well. Just to make sure, Scorpion knocked, waited, then put his ear to the door. There was no sound, only a midnight silence. It only took a few seconds with the Peterson key to open it.
The living room was sparsely finished. Just a sofa, a table with a half-empty bottle of horilka, and a TV. The apartment smelled of pipe tobacco. He tiptoed to the bedroom door and opened it. The bed was unmade and empty. Using the flashlight, he checked the tiny kitchen and bathroom and a second bedroom. There was nothing of interest except for a laptop computer and a telephone on a table against the wall.
Scorpion turned the computer on, went back to the living room, took off the wall outlet cover and put in an electronic bug. Then he went back to the laptop and, using a flash drive, installed untraceable NSA software that would forward everything on Gabrilovâs computer to NSA receivers in Fort Meade, Maryland, and from there to a server he could access with his laptop. He heard a dog bark and froze. The sound came from somewhere outside. Another building, he thought. He turned the computer off and, using the knife screwdriver, unscrewed the base of the phone and put in another bug.
Just then he heard voices and the sound of a key in the lock. He had only seconds. A man was talking to a woman, and as the door opened, he just managed to duck behind the door in the tiny bathroom. He waited there in the darkness, smelling the bad plumbing, the Glock in his hand. He was hoping neither of them came into the bathroom, but if one of them did, heâd have no choice but to confront Gabrilov right then. They were talking. The woman said something about horilka and money. Heâs got a whore, Scorpion thought, listening to the clink of glass and a bottle and Gabrilov toasting, âBudmo!â
Through a crack between the door and the jamb, he saw the woman in the dim light on her knees in front of Gabrilov, his pants around his ankles. She was a buxom blonde, and after a minute she stood up and they went into the bedroom. Scorpion waited till he heard the bed creaking and the sound of heavy breathing.
Gabrilov had left his pants on the living room floor. He fished in the pockets and found the manâs cell phone. He input the number into his own cell phone, then replaced Gabrilovâs SIM card with a NSA-modified SIM. Waiting for a moment when he could hear the blonde moaning like it was worth extra, he opened the door carefully and left the apartment. In the hallway, he reconnected the security camera, and in less than a minute was down the stairs and outside the building.
By the time he walked back through the snow to Khreshchatyk, it was two in the morning. The boulevard was empty and it was too late for a taxi. He saw a lone car coming and flagged it down. The driver was a young bureaucrat on his way home. He said something in Ukrainian to Scorpion, who just handed him a hundred hryven bill and told him the address of his apartment. That was the thing about Ukraine. You could buy anything; they all needed money.
Scorpion closed his eyes and let the young man talk and drive. He was exhausted and jet-lagged, and everything that had happened that day finally
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