Chapter Seven: Arrival in Russia
Ourumov showed his identification to the man stationed at the guard post outside Defense Minister Mishkin's headquarters. He had everything he needed to please the man, he just had to make sure Mishkin believed him.
Seventeen people were seated around the table, including Defense Minister Mishkin. "I'm apologize for my tardiness, Defense Minister, I was held up in traffic."
"Understandable, General." Mishkin leaned back in his chair. "You report on the incident in Severnaya?"
Ourumov sat down. "Approximately three days ago, Siberian Separatists assaulted the Severnaya Space Weapons Development Center. They stole a prototype weapon codenamed GoldenEye, and without knowledge of what it was used for, accidentally used it on themselves. We assume that one of the base personnel called in air force reinforcements. Three of our MiGs went down when the GoldenEye fired upon Severnaya."
"I presume base personnel all perished in the destruction of the base?"
"Correct."
"I went over the reports, two Severnaya personnel are missing. Programmers."
Ourumov felt himself frown. "I was aware of one, Defense Minister, and an unidentified body was found at the base. We assumed it was that of Boris Grishenko."
"There was a woman, also. Natalya Simonova, Level Two programmer. Her body was not discovered among the dead, nor were any matching her description."
"I see, Defense Minister. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."
Mishkin appeared to be suspecting something. "It would seem strange that you project blame onto Siberian Separatists when the whereabouts of your own people are uncertain. I will speak to you on this subject later, General Ourumov."
Ourumov stood and walked out of the building. Grishenko hadn't mentioned another programmer. He got back in his car and drove to the safehouse Janus had set him up with. It was a relatively nice place, considering its location in the slum district of St. Petersburg.
He walked up the stairs, nodded to the two guards posted outside, then entered the single room apartment. Grishenko was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Few of his wounds had healed from the two days of being beaten to death by Ourumov, Onatopp and various of Janus' top interrogators.
Ourumov sat in the chair in front of Grishenko after closing the door. He undid his tie, took off his hat and his jacket. "Boris," he said, lightly, "talk to me."
Grishenko spit out blood. "What do you want?" he slurred.
"What is this I hear of Natalya Simonova?"
Boris looked up. "Natalya? She was in the base when you arrived..."
"She's not dead. She's unaccounted for."
"Natalya's... alive?"
"And we need to find her, Boris. And we need your help."
Boris didn't look up, he just spit out more blood.
Natalya got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her chest. She used a hand towel to dry her hair, then sat down on the hotel room bed. The email icon on her laptop was flashing. She double-clicked the icon and an avatar of Boris' face appeared in an instant message box.
BGRISHENKO: Natalya, what's going on?
Natalya typed in her response: General Ourumov used GoldenEye on the base.
BGRISHENKO: Where are you?
NSIMONOVA: St. Petersburg. You?
BGRISHENKO: Same. Meet me at the church across from the slum district.
Natalya didn't respond to the computer.
I hope this is a good idea, she thought.
Bond stepped off the plane into the busiest airport in all of Russia. St. Petersburg was Russia's most populace city, as well. It was one reason Bond hated going to St. Petersburg. He walked out into the street and saw a man standing against a car, reading a newspaper. What struck Bond as odd was that the newspaper was in English, not Russian.
Bond walked over to the man and leaned against the car with him. "Got somethin' to say, buddy?" the man asked. His accent American.
"Only that in London, April's a spring month."
The man sighed, almost as if he was disappointed. "Good God, another stiff-assed Brit. Secret codes, passwords. How Felix ever put up with you bastards is amazing."
"Know Felix, eh?"
"Yeah. C'mon, my car's over here."
The man led Bond from the nice looking BMW he was standing beside to a junker VW Beetle, painted red and blue. He grabbed Bond's back and stuck it in the luggage compartment in the front of the vehicle. Bond took his chance—no one was looking—and grabbed the American by the collar, pushed him against the driver's door and drew his new P99. "Show me the rose."
The American groaned. "You want me to do it here?"
"Yes."
" Ah, for chrissakes..." the American turned around and pulled his pants down, revealling the tattoo of a rose, with the word muffy underneath. "Happy now?"
Bond let him pull his pants up. "'Muffy'?"
"Third wife." The American smiled. "Jack Wade, CIA."
"James Bond, stiff-assed Brit."
Wade laughed. "Heard about that sense of humour of yours from Felix. He's got nothing but good things to say about you."
"That so?"
"Yeah. Hey, Bond?"
"Yes?"
"You ever do any gardening?"
Natalya entered the church, looking for Boris. He was nowhere to be found. She wasn't very happy at that. A priest was standing at the alter. "Excuse me." Natalya waved to get his attention. "Excuse me, has there been a man here, about my height with glasses?"
"No, madame."
Natalya cursed Boris Ivanovich's name. The bastard could not be expected to arrive on time any more than he can be expected to treat any woman around him like worthwile human beings.
She walked away from the priest, towards the door. As she approached, it opened wide. Three people stepped in. One, she didn't suspect: Boris Ivanovich Grishenko. The second was a woman—just the kind of woman she expected Boris to be with—who was wearing a rather large fur coat. The third was General Ourumov.
"Natalya Fyodoronva Simonova, I presume?" Ourumov asked. Natalya nodded in surprise. "Good. Xenia, take her. Grishenko, come with me."
The woman—Xenia, it seemed was her name—grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along.
Ourumov watched as Xenia threw Simonova into the chair and tied her up. Grishenko was cowering in a corner. The physical abuse had taken its toll on him. He was now willing to do almost anything.
Ourumov leaned against the wall in front of her. "Miss Simonova. I had your friend, Comrade Grishenko, in this chair just as I have you. I don't understand how you escaped your fate at Severnaya facility, but I do know that you've lived solely to die very soon."
"What is going on? Why does the head of Space Division have to steal his own weapon?"
Ourumov frowned. "That is none of your business."
"He won't tell you anything, Natalya," Boris said, standing up. "He wouldn't tell me anything, either. All he did was punch. And punch, and punch until I started talking. You don't deserve that."
"And yet you put me in this situation, Boris!"
Ourumov walked toward her and grabbed her by the face. "If you do not shut up, you stupid wench, I'll kill you before our plan comes into action."
The cool British accent was still chilling to him. "Yes, General Ourumov, our plan." Ourumov turned around. Janus had entered the room. "And our plan is about to be well underway." He walked over to Natalya. "Tell me, how would you like to be bait for Her Majesty's best spy?"
Wade's car had broken down a half-mile from the CIA safehouse set up in St. Petersburg. Bond was leaning against the car as Wade was on his knees fixing the engine. Bond had to say, even Camille had a better working VW than Wade. "Y'know, Wade, I think I'm starting to regret not bringing my Aston Martin."
"Yeah, British cars. Good old American inginuity's what everybody needs."
"Volkswagon is German."
Wade looked up at him, sour-faced. "Yeah, well... Lookin' for Janus, right? St. Petersburg's the best place to start, but you probably won't find him anywhere in the city istelf."
"Why's that?"
"Nobody's seen the bastard. He'd be dead if they had. He's on some old Soviet missile train, last I knew."
"Soviet missile train? You mean twenty years after the Union's dissolution, they're still letting those things slip into hostile hands?"
"Twenty years, hell, those things'll be poppin' up everywhere for the next fifty years. Honestly, I think Janus may have some clandestine help from somebody high up in the Russian military."
"Arkady Ourumov."
"Oh, him. Christ! Didn't know about that."
Bond reached into the car and pulled out his new watch. "Does Janus have any enemies in St. Petersburg?"
"Oh, enemies, Jesus, Jimbo, I can't tell you how many enemies the man has. Mostly Russian mafia, but there are some political ones, too." Wade grabbed a sledge hammer from his tools and hit the engine with it. It roared to life quickly, then sputtered again. "Ah, goddamnit! Shit!"
"Who's his biggest threat at the moment?"
"That'd be a feller by the name of Valentin Zukovsky. Has a limp in his right leg, all sorts of other shit."
Bond recognized the name. "Valentine Dimitreveych Zukovsky? Ex-KGB?"
"You know him?"
"I gave him the limp."
