Chapter 14: The Tsar
The phone call from Yuen came precisely at noon. Yuen ranted wildly about how easily his men had thwarted the assault team. Hammond tried to downplay the US involvement in the plot saying that it was planned and executed by the South Koreans and that his people had played no role in it. He wanted Yuen to believe that he was willing to negotiate; he wanted to buy some time, but he wasn't sure why. The president was refusing any rescue attempt or negotiations, so why prolong this agony. Wouldn't it be better to just let Yuen kill Tony and get it over with for everyone? Based on his appearance on the video, Tony had already been badly beaten. The CTU doctors who watched the video said that his shallow breathing indicated that he had broken ribs that may or may not have punctured a lung. He was obviously favoring his left side, so they assumed it was on that side. He could easily have internal injuries as well. He was also supporting his left arm and they suspected that it was broken, too. He was in real pain and probably dehydrated and starving as well. Brad sadly thought that a quick death might just be the most merciful thing at this point.
Yuen repeated his demand to have his sons released from prison and returned to him. He also needed safe transport out of South Korea to Indonesia. "You have 72 hours to arrange this, Mr. Hammond." He said dispassionately.
"Before I do anything, Mr. Yuen, I need to know that Almeida is alive. Put him on the phone."
"You'll just have to trust me on that, Mr. Hammond."
"Not a chance. Either I talk to Almeida or we end the conversation now and you have no chance of ever seeing your sons again. I will make sure they are put in solitary confinement until they are old men."
Hammond had Yuen over a barrel. "Hold on, he's not near by." Brad listened while Yuen opened a door and walked a distance. His footsteps echoed over the phone and it sounded as if he was walking down stairs or through an empty hallway. Brad could hear keys jingling and the sound of a heavy lock turning. The door creaked as it opened.
"Mr. Almeida, your boss is on the phone." Yuen said as he held the phone to Tony's ear. "Don't say anything you will regret."
"Brad," Tony said then continued rapidly without waiting for a response. "I'm being held in an old army building. I count about seven hostiles…"
Tony's voice trailed off as the phone was pulled away from him. Brad heard a loud thud and Tony screamed in pain. The first thud and scream were followed by three more as one of Yuen's thugs beat Tony until he curled up in a ball near the corner of the room and gasped for breath.
"Are you satisfied, Mr. Hammond?"
"Mr. Yuen, the US policy is not to negotiate for the lives of our citizens. I am under strict orders from the President of the United States not to negotiate with you, however, you have one of my men and I want him back, regardless of what the President says." Brad was bluffing, he had no way of giving Yuen what he wanted but found himself saying anything necessary to keep Tony alive. He desperately did not want to have to deliver the news of Tony's death to Michelle. He didn't want to have to go to Tony's funeral and watch as some young Marine handed Michelle the carefully folded flag from his casket. "I am willing to work with you, but it's going to take me some time. I'm going to have to find some way to get your sons transferred into my custody without arousing any suspicions. That isn't going to be easy since everyone knows that you want them released. There is no way I can accomplish this in three days."
Baker and DuBose looked on stunned wondering what Hammond was trying to do. Why was he leading Yuen to believe that he would negotiate?
Hammond continued. "Once I get your sons released, getting you out of that compound and out of South Korea is going to be nearly impossible. South Korean agents have you surrounded, Mr. Yuen, you must know that."
"I can arrange to get out of the compound, Mr. Hammond. You just get my sons and arrange transport for them and me to Jakarta, Indonesia. Once that happens, I will tell you where to pick me up. I will have Mr. Almeida with me. I will release him when I see my sons." Yuen paused. "If you can show me significant progress over the next three days, I will give you an extra day. If not, I'll be nice enough to tell you where to pick up Almeida's body. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," Hammond said quietly. He listened as Yuen hung up his phone.
"Brad, what are you doing?" DuBose asked. "You can't negotiate with him. There is no way you can get his sons out of that prison. You know that they've been put under extra guard. It would take an act of Congress to get them out of prison."
"I know, Jeff." Brad said looking away. "I'm trying to buy some time, hoping someone will think of something." He stood and began to pace. He looked out the window, hands in his pockets. "I keep seeing that little girl, Almeida's daughter." He shook his head. "She looked so sad. This is just wrong, Jeff. She shouldn't have to grow up without a father. There is certainly no love lost between Tony and me, but he's obviously a good father. He loves those kids and he loves his wife. It's so unfair that they're going to lose him. Michelle is about six months pregnant. He's not even going to live to see that baby."
"Brad, I've got people working every angle we can think of. If there is any chance to save Tony, we'll do it. You haven't been home in days. Why don't you go home and get a couple of hours of rest."
"There's no point. I can't relax. I've got to go over to Division for a while. I'll take care of some things there and then I'll be back."
Brad sat at his desk at Division taking care of some of the pile of paperwork that had accumulated over the last few days when Ian Calvert knocked on his partially closed door.
Ian Calvert was second in command at Division. At sixty-seven, he was the only agent who was older than Brad. He should have retired years ago, but like Brad, he had little in his life outside of the CIA. He, too, had forfeited everything for his job but had long ago made peace with himself and no longer regretted all that he had given up. Several years ago he decided that he would work until he was forced to retire when he turned seventy. Because of his age, he had little to lose, so he was willing to go up against Brad whenever he disagreed with him, which was often. Brad had come to despise Ian, but he wasn't sure why. Ian was a very capable agent and when he opposed Brad he always had a sound reason. Brad looked at Ian and saw not only a frequent adversary, but a mirror image of himself. Ian had nothing, no one to go home to, no one to love. The part Brad couldn't understand was that Ian seemed to be okay with that. He had a small circle of friends and a quiet social life. He occasionally dated an attractive divorcee that he had met through mutual friends. On Christmas and Thanksgiving, instead of sitting at home alone, Ian worked at a soup kitchen or visited people in hospitals. He often spent part of the holiday in the home of one of his friends. He was never lonely. Brad knew he had no right to resent Ian, but he did.
"Bradford," Ian said. "Do you have a minute?" Calvert was the only person in the world who called him "Bradford" and Hammond hated it. It grated on his nerves like nails on a chalk board and at the moment it was enough to send him over the edge.
"I'm way behind, Ian. Is this important?"
Ian stepped into the office followed by a white haired man. The man looked familiar to Brad, but he couldn't recall where he had seen him before. "I thought you might like to meet someone, Bradford." He paused for a moment. Ian was never in a hurry. He spoke slowly and tended to make his points slowly. It was just another thing that irritated Brad. "Back when you were stationed in the Soviet Union, do you remember a covert agent that was code named 'The Tsar'?"
"Of course," Hammond said irritably. "The Tsar was a legend. He got more important secrets out of the Soviets than all other covert operatives put together. We picked up at least a half-dozen double agents because of the Tsar, not to mention finding out the locations of missile silos, and strategic military installations."
"I thought you might like to meet him." Ian stepped back as the white haired man stepped toward Brad. "Bradford Hammond, this is The Tsar."
"It's an honor to meet you, Sir." Brad said stepping out from behind his desk and extending his hand. He wasn't easily impressed, but at the moment he was awed by the man standing before him. "Ian, I had no idea that you two knew each other." He suddenly had a little more respect for Calvert.
"We go back more years than I care to count, Mr. Hammond." The Tsar told him as they shook hands.
Hammond looked closely at the older man. He still looked familiar although Brad knew that they had never met before. He was probably in his mid-seventies, but could have been older. His hair was cut short, but Brad got the sense that if it were a little longer, it might be curly. He was thin and pale and Brad suspected that he was ill. In contrast to his pale skin he had tiny red veins visible on his face and bulbous nose, unmistakable signs of long term alcohol abuse. Brad wondered if that was why The Tsar had seemed to disappear without notice from the Soviet Union in the early 1980s.
"Mr. Hammond, I have to be honest with you. I'm pleased to meet you, but I am here for another reason."
"You are?" Brad seemed surprised. "What would that be, Sir."
"I'm an old man, Mr. Hammond and, as you may have guessed, I'm not well. I gave everything for my country, like Ian did, like you did. In return, they turned their back on me when I developed a drinking problem. Instead of getting me help, they fired me. It's tough to get a job when your only experience is as a spy. Anyway, that is water under the bridge at this point. I'm here to ask for a favor, Mr. Hammond. You see, my son-in-law is in some trouble and I would like the CIA to help him."
"What kind of trouble are we talking about?" Brad asked. At this point he was completely confused and wondered if the old man was senile.
"He's been kidnapped and someone needs to rescue him."
"Bradford," Ian broke in, "maybe it would help if I told you The Tsar's real name. I'd like to introduce you to Evan Dessler."
"Dessler," Brad said looking back and forth between the two men as realization set in, "as in Michelle Dessler?"
Evan Dessler nodded. "Michelle is my daughter." Hammond now realized why the man looked to familiar. The heart shaped face, the curve of his mouth; they were identical to Michelle's. Their eyes were different but otherwise the resemblance was strong.
"Michelle never said her father was an agent." Hammond said unable to hide his surprise. "So she put you up to this. She sent you here to ask me to save Tony."
"Shelley didn't send me here. I doubt that she even knows that I was an agent. Sadly, I haven't spoken with Shelley since she was twelve years old. For all she knows or probably cares, I'm dead by now." Evan sighed and looked away. He seemed to be looking at some far off place that wasn't visible to those around him. It was only visible in his mind and it hurt to go there. "I left my family when Shelley was a child. It wasn't that I didn't love them, Mr. Hammond. I loved them more than you could imagine. But my job, the double life I was forced to lead, wasn't conducive to being a good father. I hoped that by leaving my wife that she would move on and find another husband. I knew if she remarried that she would choose someone that would be a good father to my children. They were good children; they deserved to have a good father. That didn't happen. She died just a few years later."
Brad smiled softly. "You call her 'Shelley'. I called her 'Chelle' one day and she told me very firmly that she preferred to be called Michelle. I always wondered why that bothered her."
"That was my name for her. She never let anyone else call her that, even as a child." Evan looked wistfully away.
"If you don't mind my asking, why didn't go back to your children after their mother died?" Brad asked.
"I was a worthless drunk at that point in my life. I couldn't have been of any help to them. It would have been like a drowning man reaching out to save another swimmer. I've kept close tabs on them, though. I'm a spy by nature, so it wasn't hard. They don't know it, but I've been there for all of the important dates in their lives; their college graduations and weddings. I sat in a corner of the choir loft when Shelley was married. There's a park near her house where she takes her children. I often sit on a bench reading a newspaper and watch her. She's a good mother." He shook his head and then continued. "My daughter has had a lot of sadness in her life, Mr. Hammond. She finally found real happiness with Tony Almeida. Even then, she had to spend almost two years without him when you charged him with treason."
"Why didn't you come to us for help then? Why are you so concerned now?"
"I was still drinking then, a whiskey soaked old sot! I couldn't come to you at that time. You would have taken one look at me and told security to throw me back out onto the street that I crawled off of. I'm clean now, Mr. Hammond. I have been for five years. Unfortunately it was too late; the alcohol took its toll. If I live six more months I'll be lucky. I was hoping to die knowing that both of my children were happy. After a lot of problems, my son has finally gotten his life together. I didn't think I had to worry about Shelley, but things have changed. I'd happily give my life to save my son-in-law's. There are ways this can be done if you'll just give it a chance."
"So what are you proposing, Mr. Dessler?"
"At the moment I don't have enough information to propose anything. I've planned a lot of covert operations with a lot less sophisticated technology than you have here today. I'm interested in looking at any information you've got and helping you plan a surgical strike and extraction of my son-in-law." He could see that Hammond wasn't buying it. "It can't hurt to have me look at it and put in my two cents worth. If you don't agree with my assessment, I'll accept that."
"This is classified information, Mr. Dessler. I could lose my job for this."
"And my daughter will lose her husband if no one tries to rescue him."
Ian spoke up. "Bradford, I'm willing to take the risk. I'll make sure you are kept out of it. I'll provide Evan with the information and the resources. I'm willing to take the fall when the President finds out. I'll protect you. You have my word on it. No one else has to know that this conversation ever took place. I know some former agents, friends of Almeida's that would be willing to help so no current agent is put at risk."
"Why are you willing to do this, Ian? You barely know Almeida."
"Evan put his life on the line for me more than once in Eastern Europe in the 70s. I owe him. The worst that can happen to me is that they'll fire me. I'll be retiring in three years anyway. They won't be able to take my pension away. I'll have a doctor who is willing to swear that I'm in the early stages of dementia and that my behavior was as a result of that."
"Why are you asking my permission, Ian? You seem to have already thought through this. If you're so willing to take the fall, why didn't you just do it?"
Ian smiled. "I know you too well, Bradford. I would never be able to pull this off without you figuring out what was going on. I need you to turn a blind eye to it. When there is an inquiry you'll be able to say that it all took place behind your back and that you were so busy working with DuBose at CTU and keeping the President informed that you didn't realize what I was doing. The inquiry board won't question it. They don't know you well enough to doubt that excuse.
Brad turned and walked a few steps away from them and looked out of the window. He was silent for a few moments. "This goes against the oath we took to this country, Ian. Can you live with that?"
"Breaking that oath I can live with. It's sitting idly by and knowing that I did nothing while Yuen kills Almeida that what I can't live with."
Brad continued to stare out of the window. "The director in me wants to say 'no' and call you a traitor, Ian" He looked at Evan. "Have you ever seen your granddaughter close up, Mr. Dessler?"
"No, only at a distance." Evan said smiling slightly.
"She's beautiful. She's charming. She just about ripped my heart out of my chest when she asked me to keep looking for her daddy. I can't stop thinking about her." He drew a deep breath then closed his eyes and slowly released the breath. His back remained turned. "Do it. I don't want to know anything about it."
"Thank you, Mr. Hammond." Evan said quietly. Ian was silent as the two moved toward the door.
"Good luck, gentlemen." Brad said sincerely as he turned to face them.