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Authors: Charles Brokaw
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trafficker to look the other way while he made his escape. The man had been on several international lists as a wanted fugitive.
Cherkshan had caught the man and forced him to the ground. The whole time, the trafficker had bellowed at Kudrin to help him, that he had paid him to help him. Kudrin had first ordered, then had begged Cherkshan to let the man go, but he refused. In the end, Kudrin had pulled his service pistol and shot Cherkshan in the thigh, narrowly missing the femoral artery. In return, Cherkshan had shot Kudrin between the eyes, then shot the trafficker when he had grabbed for the gun. With the death of an FSB agent involved in the crime, the man would have been executed anyway, no matter what his nationality. Cherkshan had only saved the courts the time and cost of a trial.
He’d saved more than that though. He’d saved the investigation into Kudrin that would have ruined the lives of his wife and three daughters.
***
Nevsky watched Cherkshan in silence for a moment. “No denials, General?”
“I would not argue with you, Mr. President.”
“Do you know how I knew about Viktor Kudrin?”
“No, Mr. President.”
“Because I was the FSB agent who was in charge of the resulting investigation into his death. I knew what you had done then, and I knew why you did it.” Nevsky sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I had my eye on the presidency even then. Perhaps it surprises you that I was so ambitious or so certain of myself.”
That was a dangerous statement to respond to, so Cherkshan merely sipped his own tea.
“I knew that once I got into this position, I would want someone I could trust to work with me on special projects. Someone who, like me, was very Russian. You, General, are a true Russian.”
“Thank you.”
“You made mistakes with Kudrin, you know. Other than trusting the man.”
Cherkshan sipped more tea and waited, not knowing where the conversation was going.
“He shot you in the leg, and you covered that well enough by saying that the trafficker had taken you prisoner and Kudrin had shot to kill him. But you had trouble explaining how Kudrin and the trafficker were both shot with the same weapon. You didn’t think the situation through.”
Cherkshan knew that. He had known that the very minute after he’d pulled the trigger and killed the trafficker.
“You claimed that the trafficker had taken your weapon, killed Kudrin, then you’d managed to take the weapon from him and shoot him.”
The story had been thin, but it had been the only one Cherkshan could come up with as the other FSB agents had closed in on him. Questions had come at him like machine-gun fire.
“Of course, there was no time to think, General. Not then. Still, you recovered quickly, thinking on your feet while still reeling from your partner’s betrayal and death at your hands. I applaud you.”
Cherkshan said nothing, but for a moment, he was back in that tunnel in Little Odessa, and the gunpowder stink and scent of blood filled his nose. Under the table, he squeezed his hand into a fist and relaxed it. He would play whatever game the president wanted, but he would get out of the room with a whole skin, if that was still possible.
“If you were to have to handle the situation again, what would you do differently?”
Cherkshan shrugged. “Given the scenario you just outlined, I would kill the trafficker with his own weapon and change mine out with his. Or I would shoot him with Kudrin’s weapon and say that they’d shot each other.”
“There would still be problems with your story.” Nevsky’s dark hazel eyes glittered. “If someone checked, and I did check all weapons involved, the switch would have been discovered. Then, if someone investigated further, they would learn that the bullet had not been fired from where Kudrin had been standing.” He put his teacup back on the table. “As it was, you had no signs of an altercation on your body. The only thing found was the bullet hole in
Cherkshan had caught the man and forced him to the ground. The whole time, the trafficker had bellowed at Kudrin to help him, that he had paid him to help him. Kudrin had first ordered, then had begged Cherkshan to let the man go, but he refused. In the end, Kudrin had pulled his service pistol and shot Cherkshan in the thigh, narrowly missing the femoral artery. In return, Cherkshan had shot Kudrin between the eyes, then shot the trafficker when he had grabbed for the gun. With the death of an FSB agent involved in the crime, the man would have been executed anyway, no matter what his nationality. Cherkshan had only saved the courts the time and cost of a trial.
He’d saved more than that though. He’d saved the investigation into Kudrin that would have ruined the lives of his wife and three daughters.
***
Nevsky watched Cherkshan in silence for a moment. “No denials, General?”
“I would not argue with you, Mr. President.”
“Do you know how I knew about Viktor Kudrin?”
“No, Mr. President.”
“Because I was the FSB agent who was in charge of the resulting investigation into his death. I knew what you had done then, and I knew why you did it.” Nevsky sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I had my eye on the presidency even then. Perhaps it surprises you that I was so ambitious or so certain of myself.”
That was a dangerous statement to respond to, so Cherkshan merely sipped his own tea.
“I knew that once I got into this position, I would want someone I could trust to work with me on special projects. Someone who, like me, was very Russian. You, General, are a true Russian.”
“Thank you.”
“You made mistakes with Kudrin, you know. Other than trusting the man.”
Cherkshan sipped more tea and waited, not knowing where the conversation was going.
“He shot you in the leg, and you covered that well enough by saying that the trafficker had taken you prisoner and Kudrin had shot to kill him. But you had trouble explaining how Kudrin and the trafficker were both shot with the same weapon. You didn’t think the situation through.”
Cherkshan knew that. He had known that the very minute after he’d pulled the trigger and killed the trafficker.
“You claimed that the trafficker had taken your weapon, killed Kudrin, then you’d managed to take the weapon from him and shoot him.”
The story had been thin, but it had been the only one Cherkshan could come up with as the other FSB agents had closed in on him. Questions had come at him like machine-gun fire.
“Of course, there was no time to think, General. Not then. Still, you recovered quickly, thinking on your feet while still reeling from your partner’s betrayal and death at your hands. I applaud you.”
Cherkshan said nothing, but for a moment, he was back in that tunnel in Little Odessa, and the gunpowder stink and scent of blood filled his nose. Under the table, he squeezed his hand into a fist and relaxed it. He would play whatever game the president wanted, but he would get out of the room with a whole skin, if that was still possible.
“If you were to have to handle the situation again, what would you do differently?”
Cherkshan shrugged. “Given the scenario you just outlined, I would kill the trafficker with his own weapon and change mine out with his. Or I would shoot him with Kudrin’s weapon and say that they’d shot each other.”
“There would still be problems with your story.” Nevsky’s dark hazel eyes glittered. “If someone checked, and I did check all weapons involved, the switch would have been discovered. Then, if someone investigated further, they would learn that the bullet had not been fired from where Kudrin had been standing.” He put his teacup back on the table. “As it was, you had no signs of an altercation on your body. The only thing found was the bullet hole in
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