Lucas had left his phone in his sock drawer, with only a thin charging cable attaching it to the outside world. “I guess,” he said.
Weather was back in a minute and handed him the now silent phone. The call had come from the Marshals Service office in Minneapolis. He poked the redial and when the phone was answered, the woman on the other end said, “A man called here. Said it was critical that he talk to you, but he was going to throw his phone away in half an hour. That was…six minutes ago?”
“Who’d he say it was?”
“He said it was about the Russians you’ve been tracking. He had a Russian accent. I think it was a Russian accent.”
“Give me the number.”
Lucas punched in the number, which was answered on the first ring with a “Da?”
“This is Lucas Davenport. Who am I talking to?”
“I’m not sure I should give you my name, in case I manage to squeak out of this mess on my own,” the man said. “Anyway, I’m the man whose face you’ve been putting on television, the sketch from my neighbors in Minnetrista.”
Lucas dropped his feet to the floor, hunched over the phone as Weather sat down on the bed beside him. He pressed the speaker option so she could hear and asked, “What do you want?”
“There is an excellent possibility you will kill me later today. I don’t want that to happen. I’m what you Americans call a sleeper agent. I arrange the comings and goings of Russian spies in the United States. That’s all. I’m not part of the assassination squad sent here to kill Sokolov, but I’m with them…”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me? You don’t sound much like a Russian.”
“I can do a Russian accent if you want me to,” Titov said in a heavy Russian accent. Then back to his American voice, he added, “I’m a sleeper agent, for Christ’s sake. Of course I sound like an American. I even hate the Packers.”
Lucas nodded at a sentiment he recognized: “All right, so you’re either from the Twin Cities or Chicago. Possibly from Dallas.”
“I also hate the Cowboys,” Titov said.
“Yeah, so does everybody else,” Lucas said. “What do you want from me?”
“I maybe want to come in, but I don’t want to get killed if I do it.”
“Why should I pay any attention to what you want? Maybe I’d prefer to kill you later today,” Lucas said.
“That’s only a thirty percent possibility—I have calculated seventy percent we get away clean, thirty percent you catch us. If you catch us, after what happened, I think you will kill us.”
“That’s a good bet,” Lucas said. Weather was standing next to the bed, listening, raised her eyebrows, shook her head.
“I haven’t seen anything on television yet,” Titov said. “The shooter, who I think you killed, was very effective. I assume you also have dead?”
“Two FBI agents dead, another one in critical condition, and another one hurt bad,” Lucas said. “The FBI gunmen are seriously on the hunt.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Titov said. “I am in a position where I can give you Bernard Sokolov, who poisoned his father with Novichok and also the controller of the assassination squad, who is a woman. I’m sure you have seen her on your videos or know about her from talking to the doctor she took out of the Bison hospital.”
“All you want in return is…what?”
“That, I would negotiate. I know how these things are done,” Titov said. “No jail. That must be clear. I am going to pull the battery on my phone, so you can’t track it, but sometime in the next hour, you will send me an agreement by email guaranteeing no jail, nothing like jail. Freedom in the United States. The exact conditions we can negotiate. If it takes more than one hour, I’m gone, because the squad will be here to get me. Then it will be too late.”
“I’m not positive I can do that, but I think I can,” Lucas said. “I amworking here with a CIA agent, who I believe will be very interested in your offer.”
“Good. He is exactly the man I wish to talk to. To negotiate with, because he will see the value I offer. I want his name on the email, with yours, and the highest officials you can reach. I am now by myself, but in one hour, I will be back with the squad, and unable to talk. By the way, don’t bother trying to run down the location of the Gmail address I will send you. There are 1.8 billion active Gmail addresses. I have one hundred of them. I have never used the address before, and I will never use it again, after I read your guarantee. If I don’t see it, I will take my thirty percent chance.”
“I understand,” Lucas said.
“Good. If you can arrange this, I will see you later today,” Titov said.
One second later, he was gone, and Lucas looked up at Weather, who said, “My God.”
• • •
