The abyss a max austin t.., p.25
The Abyss: A Max Austin Thriller, Book #5, page 25
“I’ll leave you two to chat,” Gabrieli said. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” The silk dress swished as she smiled at Max and left the room.
“That woman has a real future in this business,” Andrei said. “Emma! Bring us some of that vodka.”
Emma glared at them, so Andrei shouted a string of curses. “Damn it, woman, I only have days left to live. I want to share a drink with my son.” Under his breath, Andrei whispered to Max. “This one, however. Her days are numbered.”
Emma approached with two crystal tumblers and a green-labeled bottle full of clear liquid. Max took the bottle, offered the nurse a smile, set the alcohol on a table, and helped Andrei sit up. Andrei’s hand shook as he held the glass and Max poured them both a finger.
“To your health,” Andrei said. They clinked glasses and his old man tossed back the drink. “Ah, that’s good.”
Emma retreated to the kitchen while Max poured another shot for them both.
“I think that woman is the daughter of Satan,” Andrei muttered.
“She’s just doing her job, Dad.” That word feels surreal.
“Yeah, well, who’s in charge here? No cigarettes. No red meat. I draw the line at alcohol. It isn’t going to make a bit of difference. My number is up. Who knew it would end this way? In a damn hospital bed with tubes stuck in me. Drag that stool over. This might take a while. I need to stay alive long enough to explain everything.”
Max perched himself on the stool and touched his father’s arm. Not a hallucination.
“Now let me look at you, son.”
Max tried to smile, but emotion welled up. Love conflicted with anger and confusion from being deceived.
“Ah, you look good, son. Except for that scar.”
“Egor Dikov.”
“That old prick? Jesus, I hope you put him out of everyone’s misery.”
“He’s locked away somewhere in the Swedish justice system.”
“Well, good riddance.” Andrei held up his glass. Max clinked his glass to Andrei’s and they sipped. The vodka reminded him of childhood when the bottle sat on the table at dinner like red wine in a French household.
Andrei closed his eyes as he swallowed. “The bomb at the house was an unfortunate necessity, Mikhail. The komissariat had just proclaimed me persona non grata, and I had to take drastic action to protect myself.”
“But what happened to Mom?”
A groan from Andrei morphed into a spasm, and Emma rushed to hold a cloth next to Andrei’s mouth. The cloth was red when she removed it, and Emma shot Max a glare. Max took the cloth from her and draped it on the metal rail.
“It was a heart-wrenching decision, son. But your mother… By now you know Julia is your true mother. Katherine was compromised.”
“Compromised?”
His father’s big black eyes held Max’s. “She crossed over. She worked for the komissariat. Gave them intel on my whereabouts and actions.”
“What? Why?”
“It was difficult, Mikhail. Even with…my relationship with Julia, I loved Katherine. When I found out she was… It broke my heart.”
“But, why would she do that?”
“We’ll never know for sure, but I suspect they offered her safety in exchange for the information. Or threatened her. Once I was out of the way, she’d be in the clear. Who knows? Maybe it was her way of getting back at me for Julia.”
“You planned the bombing, which took out Katherine and staged your own death.”
Andrei’s face darkened. “To be more accurate, Victor planned the bombing. I found out about it and used it to my advantage.”
“Was Julia aware you were alive?”
“She suspected.”
“You didn’t trust her, did you? That’s why you gave her the fake documents.”
“She told you about that?” Andrei’s face turned slack. “It broke my heart, Mikhail.”
After another spasm, Emma brought over a plastic cup with a straw. When the nurse left, Max held the cup so Andrei could drink. “When I explain the whole thing, you’ll understand.”
“Does the Vienna Archive even exist?” Max asked.
Andrei reached out to pat Max’s arm. “It’s funny how we make these names up. The Vienna Archive. They were closer than they thought.” A coughing fit took over, and the old man spilled vodka on his bedclothes.
When Andrei was able to talk again, he spoke in a hushed tone, and Max had to lean close. “So far, you’ve only learned what I’ve intended for you to learn. It was for your own good, Mikhail. I knew if I had any hope of ending the consortium once and for all, you would need to be my weapon. My options were limited while I was in hiding. I was already sick when the bombing happened. I risked exposing myself to our enemies. I know these past months have been difficult on you, Mikhail, and I can only hope someday you’ll forgive me.”
Max touched his father’s arm. “You did what you had to do.”
Andrei glanced at Emma, who worked at the kitchen sink, and lowered his voice so Max had to lean even closer. “By now you know of the existence of the komissariat along with the operational councils for energy, defense, finance, and economics. You know these bodies are a shadow government operating with autonomy to carry out the aims of the komissariat leadership, a secretive group of men with ties to Lenin’s secret police, the Cheka. You know this group’s aims are to protect and enhance the Bolshevik power base in Russia and around the world. You know the komissariat’s mission is in opposition to the formal government in Russia and the president.” As he spoke, Andrei’s voice became stronger.
Max refilled both glasses with a splash of vodka. “What I still don’t understand is why this komissariat wants us all dead.”
“You’re going to want another hit of that vodka before I explain.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “Sounds ominous.”
Both men drank, and Max watched his father watch Emma.
When he spoke, Andrei’s voice was a whisper. “You see, I was once a member of the komissariat. I sat on the komissariat council of three.”
Forty-Five
1st District, Vienna, Austria
The confession landed with a thud, and the room swirled like a whirlpool. Max steadied himself with the bed’s steel railing and stared at his father. A man he thought was dead until thirty minutes ago. A man who always had another surprise in store.
What else are you going to reveal tonight?
“That’s right, Mikhail.” The glass was steady in Andrei’s hand, almost as if the vodka held the sickness at bay. “Our family is descended from the Cheka. Your great-great- grandfather, my great-grandfather, was Felix Dzerzhinsky. Felix had one son officially but raised another son out of wedlock, a boy named Dmitri. That illegitimate son took the surname Asimov when Dzerzhinsky initially disowned him. The two later reconciled, and Dmitri Asimov was given a high-ranking position in Stalin’s army. Later Dmitri Asimov became a charter member of the first komissariat established when Stalin died.
“Wait. Dmitri Asimov is my great-grandfather? Your grandfather? And Yuri Aristov, whose real name was Mikhail Asimov, your father, was Dmitri Asimov’s son?”
“Yes. As you know, Stalin’s death was a pivotal moment in Soviet history. The central committee established a collective leadership so no one might gain the kind of power Stalin had. The gulags were reformed, the Korean War ended, political prisoners were released, and many other reforms were put in place. The komissariat was formed by the hardliners to counterbalance the central committee’s reforms. The Bolshevik hawks wanted a return to Stalin’s ways.”
Andrei’s breath rasped as he leaned back into the pillows. Max held the oxygen tube to his father’s nose. “When Dmitri died in 1968, I took his place on the komissariat.”
“Why didn’t Yuri—I mean, your father, Mikhail, take the spot?”
“As you know from your talk with Yuri in the states, he took a different path. He was not as committed to the komissariat and focused on his career in the army. Eventually, events took their course, and Yuri made the decision to defect to the CIA.”
“So, what—”
“Right. What happened? What happened is I grew disillusioned with both the komissariat and the Soviet Union. The Berlin Wall came down, and things in Russia went crazy. Overnight, men became billionaires, our president asserted himself, the komissariat grew weaker, and the mistake of communism became obvious.” A wistful Andrei Asimov sipped his vodka. “I saw how communism failed, and I saw how the new regime in Russia failed their people. The only hope was to eliminate both the komissariat and the Russian president and replace it all with a true democracy.”
“That’s a lot for any one person to take on.”
“I had the means. The evidence of the komissariat in their archives was enough to take them down and prompt the Russian people to stand up against their government.”
“What’s the connection between the komissariat and the Russian president?”
“That is a good question, Mikhail. There are a lot of things I still don’t know. For example, I don’t know who the komissariat’s leader is.”
“What? How is that—”
“Possible? One of the ways the komissariat preserves its power is through secrecy. Only a handful of very powerful men know who runs the komissariat.”
Max sipped the vodka. “Some think the komissariat is now in the hands of someone else. A clandestine power foreign to Russia.”
Andrei’s big head nodded. “You and Badū have become acquainted. I’m glad about that. You can trust him with your life, Mikhail.”
“So it was you who orchestrated the prison break through general Bakunin?”
“Yes, but more on that later, Mikhail. We don’t know the relationship between the komissariat and the Russian president. As you know, the president is a very powerful man. Some believe he couldn’t be in power without sanction from the komissariat. Others believe the komissariat is a tool for the president.”
“So why the death sentence?”
“As my discontent grew, I collected evidence of the komissariat’s operations and stored that material away in a secret hiding place.”
Max looked around the apartment for a stack of boxes. “So this Vienna Archive exists?”
The glint in Andrei’s eye returned. “I’d have given millions to see Stepanov’s face when he opened that empty box in Stockholm.”
Max grinned. “He was livid.”
Andrei chuckled. “He deserved that. The komissariat gave him a deadline to find you and the files. He failed and that sealed his fate. If he’s not a corpse in Lubyanka’s basement, he soon will be.” After handing his empty glass to Max, Andrei bent over to rearrange the blanket, covering his legs.
Max helped his father pull the covering over his chest. The old spymaster took the opportunity to close his eyes, and the room grew silent except for chopping sounds from the kitchen and the faint Mozart from the speakers.
Don’t die on me, damn it.
Max was about to prod his father awake when the old man’s eyes popped open.
“The files, son, are well hidden.” The old man’s gaze darted around the apartment and rested on Emma. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Only I know their location. If I die, that knowledge will die with me.”
The damn Vienna Archive exists.
“What’s your intention?” Max asked.
Andrei erupted into a fit of spasms, and this coughing episode was so violent that Emma ran over to hold a cold cloth to Andrei’s forehead. When he recovered, Andrei sent Emma away and sipped water from the plastic cup.
“Where were we? Ah, yes. You were wondering why the komissariat issued the death proclamation on the Asimov family. Well, you see, Katherine found out what I was doing. She overhead something, probably a phone call between me and Julia, and reported me to Victor, who aspired a komissariat seat for himself. Imagine how this sat with Victor. He was my boss at the KGB, but I had ultimate power because I sat on the komissariat. I was one of the three.” When Andrei grinned, his eyebrows went up and down.
“Victor didn’t like that,” Max said.
“No he did not. Victor thought by turning me in, it would bolster his own stature. I believe what happened is the komissariat made an investigation, uncovered little but found enough to implicate me. Or maybe my past deeds came back to haunt me. Whatever the reason, I was summarily released from the komissariat. All of this took place while I was traveling in Europe. Luckily, I was tipped off before I returned. Otherwise, I’d have suffered the same fate as Ruslan Stepanov, and I might still be buried in a cell in the basement of Lubyanka. Staging my own death was the only thing I could think to do. You see, the komissariat’s policy, which dates back to Lenin’s secret police, is that traitors are sentenced to death along with their entire family.”
“It’s meant to discourage turncoats,” Max said. “This is still the culture in Russia.”
A nod from Andrei. “Right. This is why Moscow will chase traitors to the ends of the earth. Berezovsky, Poteyev, Yushchenko. All of them killed because they turned their back on Russia.”
“Tell me about the komissariat.”
“I figured you’d ask. And I’ll tell you. But just like you can’t put an end to the consortium by killing everyone, you can’t kill off the komissariat.”
“People keep telling me that,” Max said.
“They’re right. The organization is designed to live into perpetuity even if its members are eliminated. The only way to end the komissariat and the bounty on your head is—” This coughing fit ended in another blood-soaked rag, this one a deeper red than the first.
“Lung cancer, Mikhail,” Andrei said when he could talk. “Of all the things to finally get me.” Andrei rested his head on the pillows while Max held the straw to his lips. When the cup was half empty, he pushed the straw from his mouth. “Vodka.”
Max splashed some in Andrei’s glass and refilled his own. “You were saying something about the only way to end the komissariat and the bounty on our heads.”
“Ah, yes. Right. Two things, both which must be done simultaneously. It’s my belief that the only way is to publicly reveal the existence of the komissariat. It’s main source of power is its secrecy. Once the contents are divulged, there will no longer be a legitimate shadow government able to exert pressure behind the scenes.”
“And the second?”
“Money. You must cut off the source of their funds. Without the secrecy and the funding, they will be impotent.”
“And the best way to expose the komissariat is to reveal your files.”
“Yes, but it must be done in a particular way. You can’t just give the files to the Financial Times of London.”
The noises in the kitchen died down. Emma’s back was to them as she cut food on a cutting board. “Where is the archive?”
Andrei’s sigh was deep and generated a loud hawking noise from his throat, and he spit up a wad of blood-soaked phlegm into a cloth. “Before I tell you…”
Max groaned inwardly. Enough already.
Andrei waved him closer.
Max hunched over with his ear close to his father’s mouth.
“You can only trust a few people,” Andrei whispered. “Because I needed to keep my secret hidden, I assembled a small team of people. This team is all you have.”
“Gabrieli and Badū?”
Andrei nodded.
“General Bakunin?”
“General Bakunin is not a formal member of the team.”
“Are there others?”
“There are.”
As if on cue, there was a disturbance at the door and footsteps sounded in the hallway. Max turned and his mouth dropped open.
Tall and resplendent in a Burberry wool coat over a flowing black dress was Goshawk.
“Hello, Max.” Goshawk smiled coyly.
Andrei’s hand tightened on Max’s arm. “Do not blame her, Mikhail. She was acting on my explicit instructions. I knew we had a mole on our little team, and I suspected it was Julia. The whole elaborate plan with the fake one-time pad was to flush out the traitors. I needed to see who was with me and who wasn’t. I guess we found out.” The pain in his voice was evident. “I loved Julia, Mikhail. And now I wonder whether she ever truly loved me or if I was just a source to her.”
Goshawk deposited her coat on the back of the couch and retrieved a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator before perching herself on a stool within easy reach of the vegetables Emma cut.
“Anyone else on this team I should know about?” As Max asked the question, a face popped into his mind. “Kate Shaw.”
Andrei smiled but shook his head. “Ah, yes, poor Kate. Every team needs a foot soldier. She played a necessary role.”
“Does she know you’re alive?”
“She does not. Despite Kate’s treatment at the hands of the CIA, I predict her loyalties will be soon tested. You cannot trust any of the so-called intelligence agencies. I know you’ve been hanging around with the British, and their chief is the most morally sound of all of them. But each of them—the KGB, CIA, MI6, and the German BND—have their own agenda. They all want the archive. They perceive it to be the key to Russia’s petroleum strategy, and they’re right. As you have found out, the fight for natural resources outweighs almost all other considerations. Wars have been fought over natural resources since the beginning of time and will continue to be until we destroy this planet.”
“And Goshawk’s role?”
Andrei smiled at the tall and tattooed computer hacker. “She was necessary in our ruse against Julia.”
Max caught Goshawk’s eye and saw moisture there. A thought sprang to mind. It was the answer to a question that had plagued him since Baxter rescued him from the farm in Sweden.
“Someone had to tip MI6 off to where I was in Stockholm.” Max turned to his father. “You’re the only one who knew where the box was buried.”
“I alerted Baxter to your location,” Goshawk said. “I’m sorry for doing what I did. It was the only way to test Julia’s allegiance.”
