The Defector

On the projection screen was an image, captured by an American spy satellite, that provided coverage of western Russia. It showed a small dacha, located precisely one hundred twenty-eight miles northeast of the Kremlin’s Trinity Tower. Carter’s red dot was focused on a pair of Range Rovers parked outside the house. Two men stood next to them.
    “Our photo analysts believe there are more security guards posted on the back side of the dacha”—the red dot moved three times—“here, here, and here. They also say it’s clear those Range Rovers are coming and going. Two days ago, the area received several inches of snowfall. But this image shows fresh tire tracks.”
    “When was it taken?”
    “Midday. The analysts can see tracks going in both directions.”
    “Shift changes?”
    “I suppose so. Or reinforcements.”
    “What about communications?”
    “The dacha is electrified, but NSA is having trouble locating a landline telephone. They’re certain someone in there is using a sat phone. They’re also picking up cellular transmissions.”
    “Can they get to them?”
    “They’re working on it.”
    “What do we know about the property itself?”
    “It’s controlled by a holding company based in Moscow.”
    “Who controls the holding company?”
    “Who do you think?”
    “Ivan Kharkov?”
    “But of course,” said Carter.
    “When did he buy the land?”
    “Early nineties, not long after the fall of the Soviet Union.”
    “Why in God’s name did Ivan buy a parcel of birch trees and swampland a hundred miles outside Moscow?”
    “He was probably able to get it for a couple of kopeks and a song.”
    “He was a rich man by then. Why this place?”
    “CIA and NSA have many capabilities, Gabriel, but reading Ivan’s mind isn’t one of them.”
    “How big is the property?”
    “Several hundred acres.”
    “What’s he doing with it?”
    “Apparently nothing.”
    Gabriel rose from his seat and walked over to the screen. He stood before it in silence, hand pressed to his chin, head tilted to one side, as if inspecting a canvas. His gaze was focused on a section of the woods about two hundred yards from the dacha. Though the woods were covered in snow, the aerial view showed the presence of three parallel depressions in the topography, each precisely the same length. They were too uniform to have occurred naturally. Carter anticipated Gabriel’s next question.
    “The analysts haven’t been able to figure out what those are. The working assumption is that they were caused by some kind of construction project. They found several more a short distance away.”
    “Is there a photo?”
    Carter pressed a button on the console. The next photo showed a similar pattern: three parallel depressions, overgrown by birch trees. Gabriel cast a long glance at Shamron and returned to his seat. Carter switched off his laser pointer and laid it on the table.
    “It’s clear from the vehicles and the presence of so many guards that someone important is staying at that dacha. Whether it is Chiara and Grigori . . .” Carter’s voice trailed off. “I suppose the only way to know for certain is to put eyes on the ground. The question is, are you willing to go in there based on the word of a Russian assassin and master kidnapper?” Carter’s eyes moved from face to face. “I don’t suppose any of you would like to go into a little more detail about how you were able to track down Petrov so quickly?”
    The question was greeted by a heavy silence. Carter turned to Gabriel.
    “Should I assume Sarah took part in the commission of a crime of some sort?”
    “Several.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say.”
    “With Petrov, I take it?”
    Gabriel nodded.
    “I’d like her back. As for Petrov, I’d like him, too—when you’re finished with him, of course. He might be able to help us close a couple of outstanding cases.”
    Carter returned to the satellite photo. “It seems to me you have two options. Option number one: go to the Kremlin, give the Russians the evidence of Ivan’s involvement, and ask them to intervene.”
    It was Shamron who answered. “The Russians have made it abundantly clear they have no intention of helping us. Besides, going to the Kremlin is the same as going to Ivan. If we raise this matter with the Russian president—”
    “—the Russian president will tell Ivan,” Gabriel interjected. “And Ivan will respond by killing Grigori and my