Brakes squealed setting off red sparks flying as the train muscled its way around a tight curve. It was midpoint to Moscow from Sochi. It had made good time.
In the last train, two women struggled with a heavy steel door as a conductor watched the door leading to the rest of the train. An interruption now would be fatal to all of them. With a metallic groan, the women wrenched the door open. Icy wind whipped through their hair.
Wordlessly, they stepped through the door to the small platform at the back. They tightened their hoods and secured their backpacks. They jumped as the rear section of the train entered the curve obscuring their activities. They rolled down the snowy embankment. In minutes they had gotten to their feet and began their planned trek to the nearest town then back to Sochi.
In Moscow hours later, passengers Ava Korolev and her daughter Nina were unaccounted for.
Moscow
Constantine Korolev did not acknowledge the cleaning woman who entered his office and began to dust the tall shelves. She had been doing it for decades. She was as familiar to him as his own family.
The woman bent down to lift Constantin's waste bin. With a flick of her wrist, a small, cream-colored envelope addressed to Konstantin in bold black letters landed on a stack of DVX Director's folders.
"Why did you ask for one?" whispered the woman in Russian. Her eyes darting about making sure no one was within sight of the open office door.
"It is necessary. Perception must be molded to our … advantage in all things. An exception would be suspicious. The cancer will be removed. Our families will be safer. That is all that matters to me," replied Constantin. "Go, Magda, before you are missed."
Almost shyly, Magda extended a thick peasant's hand to him. "Thank you."
He gripped her hand. "Tell Fedosya that I wish her well." During the handshake, Constantine transferred a tiny USB flash drive to Magda. Then he pocketed the envelope. "How long?"
"One hour." With that Magda bustled out of his office saying good morning to those she passed.
Constantine accessed his computer terminal. He changed the orders of every DVX agent on a list he had long ago memorized. It was the most protection he could provide for them. A few would go into hiding until control was re-established. The smart ones would defect to the West. Next, he cycled through recent orders created at Faison's behest. He made subtle changes to each one assuring that none of the orders would make much sense. Valuable time would be wasted attempting to get clarification from the bloated bureacracy that the DVX had become.
"That will keep them busy," he muttered. He called in his deputy and likely successor Anatole. It would be business as usual until the chaos began. Once it all ended, he smiled at the thought, the old would be gone and the new, all his people, would be in place. No armed conflicts and no one knowing the full story of the Quiet Coup.
In the major cities of the world, envelopes appeared on desks, inside residential mail boxes, dropped into handbags even one in the pocket of a coat in a cloak room.
A Gentleman's Club, Paris
The naked man sent the equally naked woman away so that he may dress in peace. He looked at his watch. He had a few minutes more before he was due at the office. He rose to his feet as the door opened slowly.
"You are in the wrong room, imbecile!" said the man in accented French.
The other man stepped inside. He was dressed in a trim dark suit like any other Parisian businessmen. But his eyes were remarkable - a deep, vivid arctic blue. He said in flawless Russian, "You are Sergei Dombrovski."
The head of DVX operations in Paris had not ascended to his present role by being a coward. Dombrovski faced the other man. "Yes. What do you want?"
"Do you remember a boy named Andrei Chernin?"
"No. Get out of here!" Dombrovski tried to push Andre out the door. Andre did not budge.
"As a new control officer one of Sergei Dombrovski first acts was to order Andrei Chernin be trained as a sleeper agent and sent to the West. Andre was removed from the only home he had ever known and placed in a cold and regimented school to learn to be a Westerner." Andre moved behind Dombrovski and grabbed him by the neck with a gloved hand. "I never had a choice in the matter. I do now."
"Wh-what are you doing?"
Andre forcibly dragged the man back to the bed. A chop to the neck and Dombrovski crumpled. Andre took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and ripped it open. He rubbed the card inside against Dombrovski's exposed forearm. WIth exaggerated care, Andre deposited the envelope and card inside a plastic bag which he pocketed.
Some minutes later, Dombrovski awoke groggy and in a panic. Seeing that he was still alive, he dressed quickly and headed for his office. Shortly, he was the late Sergei Dombrovski.
WSB HQ, New York City
In her office, all the monitors were set on the various news agencies reporting from all over the globe. Connie managed to listen to most of them with one ear while reading one report after another. What had started two hours ago as a trickle of information was now threatening to be a deluge. WSB operatives and informers were sending in frantic messages of unusual deaths, fatal accidents and strange disappearances.
Edwin Link, deputy director, walked briskly in. "All Russian embassies have closed worldwide. Paris reports Sergei Dumbrovsky was found dead in a taxi coming back from a … a brothel. Gerhard Renfrew, DVX Berlin, had a heart attack while playing ball with his toddler son. Professor Luigi Manfredi, a specialist in international relations and long rumored to be a DVX informer, drowned while swimming in the university pool in Rome." Edwin took out yet another sheaf of paper from his jacket pocket. "An hour ago in London, the first assistant to the Home Secretary complained of severe migraines. He went to bed and never woke up. General Anton Zawadski collapsed while reviewing troops in Warsaw. Billionaire Karl Zelic expired at the Theater of Monaco. There are more in the lower ranks of government, education, industries and the military."
Dr. Lionel Beam sloshed his gin and tonic while perusing a stack of reports. "There's no established pattern other than every victim has some connection to the DVX, past or present, firm or flimsy."
"Certainly a … a global coup in the DVX is occurring under our very nose," said Edwin. "We've been blindsided. Why didn't Guardian predict something like this was likely?"
"Machines do not know everything, young man." Lionel glanced at Connie. "You've been saying in the last few months that something was going to happen. Was this it?"
"No idea," said Connie. "My information was about the purge of those sympathetic to Hans Reinhardt's cause. An internal clean up. This is nothing like that."
"It's a very clean way of assassination, Connie. Even elegant. No messy shootings. No collateral damage to speak of," said Lionel. "It must have been planned in meticulous, painstaking detail. I wonder if we will ever discover who we have to thank for making our jobs easier."
"Whoever it is, I'd like to keep them friendly," said Connie. "Did the defectors know this was coming and is that why they left in such numbers?"
"It could be," said Lionel. "I remember one defector wrote in his statement that he felt things were changing without reason and he became afraid. His decision to defect was based solely on fear. However that fear had to come from something - an intuition, a set of facts that triggered action. Something spooked them."
Edwin looked at his clipboard and then his watch. "The meeting with global intelligence agencies will begin in twenty minutes, Connie. I'll set up conference room three."
"Lionel and I will be right there," said Connie.
"Perhaps one of the other agencies has an idea of the responsible party," said Lionel.
"Maybe." Connie gathered up her notebook all the while thinking of plausible ways to derail any investigation that could lead to Robert and Anna's group. She looked up at a knock at the door.
Lars Hansen, the civilian member of the WSB executive panel, poked his head in. "Connie, would you mind if I sat in on the conference call?"
"Not at all," replied Connie.
"You'll probably have your hands full so I'll report to the president about the call and the latest developments. That should buy you a little time to have a more comprehensive report prepared once you have more information," said Hansen.
"That would be such a great help, Lars," said Connie with a smile.
Lars took off his glasses and began to clean the lens with a handkerchief. Without his glasses, Connie thought him a much younger man than he was. "Just doing my bit and watching your back, Connie. Don't worry. I'm an observer nothing more. Besides my French is rusty."
"I didn't know you spoke French," said Lionel standing up and preparing to leave the office for the conference room.
"Oh, it's a skill acquired in … in my wasted youth," said Lars. He followed Lionel out the door.
Kelly's Diner
The diner was crowded. Patrons watched the news closely as they ate. Rumors and theories flew about the room. Coffeepot in hand, Bobbie flitted about the room refilling mugs. She greeted Felicia and Frisco as they came in.
"The ongoing instability in key allied countries has prompted the State Department to recall personnel back to Washington, D.C.," said the announcer. "This includes certain high profile diplomats such as former Ambassador and now consul Philip Coughlin."
"It's another plague. We need to prepare for an epidemic!"
"It's a conspiracy. Pod people are gonna replace all of us!"
"Close the borders before it comes over here!"
Felicia and Frisco found seats at the counter. Felicia said, "What's going on?"
The announcer continued, "The FBI has put all their offices on high alert. U.S. military bases have also been placed on heightened status. The WSB has no made no comment thus far."
Frisco was dismissive. "None of MY concern anymore. There's always something happening somewhere."
Lucky and Alvin stepped inside. Both looked drained and tired.
"I need some serious java," said Alvin coming to the counter.
"Morning, Bobbie!" called out Lucky.
"Hey, sweetie," said Bobbie giving her nephew a quick hug. "You look worn out."
"Yeah, you could say that," said Lucky. He eyed Felicia and Frisco. "Mrs. Jones, hello."
Bobbie introduced Felicia and Frisco to Lucky and Alvin. "Frisco, I don't think you've ever met my nephew Lucky."
Lucky extended a hand. "I've heard a lot about you at the department."
Frisco shook hands. "You're on the force?"
Lucky nodded. "We're detectives."
Frisco grinned. "I remember what that was like."
Martinez looked at Frisco with hero-worshipping eyes, "Nothing like the WSB though, is it, sir?"
"Frisco, please. I'm retired from the Bureau. Just an ordinary citizen now. Sam Wells and I graduated from the police academy together. I better watch my step around town."
Felicia tapped Frisco on the shoulder. "Tif's coming by in front to pick us up."
The couple made their goodbyes and left.
"Another retired WSB agent," said Alvin. "Coincidence or …"
"Must be something in the water here," said Lucky.
Command and Control
Each page of the sixteen page document was dog-eared. Streaks of red appeared in bunches as names were crossed off. It had been a document decades in the making. Each name collected and tested more than once. Those proven to have been subjected to mental programming by Cesar Faison stayed on the list. Their absolute loyalty was to Faison. They could never be turned. Ava Korolev had risked her life to bring the information to Mr. Skinner.
"Sergei Dombrovski confirmed," said Raine Trimble listening on her headset as Andre and Dimitri reported in.
Beside her, Edgar Stuyvesant found the name in the document and struck it off with a flourish. "He was not a pleasant fellow but he paid the ladies well."
"They're called ladies now are they?" asked Alys Norton. She had the same list and crossed of the names as a double-check.
"Ian Singleton, first assistant to the Home Secretary confirmed," said Raine. "There was a pompous windbag."
"That's the second name in the West," said Edgar flipping through his pages. "More to come."
"The train doubles of Ava and Nina have been picked up. They're tired but all right. Moscow Central will be in a tizzy in a few hours," said Raine.
Genji and Nestor monitored another situation from afar - a book signing in Helsinki, Finland. On their screen, they could see the lines of people waiting to meet the famed author P.K. Sinclair. The author would be there for several more hours.
Edgar let out a long breath. "Years of learning, watching, making adjustments, finding capable allies and recruiting the right people all for this one event. Three people aren't here - Simms, Jacques and Salim. They would be getting the biggest thrill out of it."
"When Anna told us of this operation yesterday I was stunned by its scope. Seeing it in execution is thrilling and appalling," said Alys. "Crossing off a name. Is it really that easy to get rid of someone?"
"What's the plan for when Faison is told the news?" asked Raine. "We didn't cover that in the meeting."
"We can't predict what he'll do. We can only delay that time for as long as possible. What happens, happens," said Edgar.
"Just dandy," concluded Raine. "Won't the cards be suspect themselves from a forensics standpoint?"
"The topical poison has a short life. Once exposed to air, it begins to chemically decompose within two hours," said Edgar. "A card would show no trace of the poison neither would the victim's body."
"What country do we have to thank for this invisible killer?" asked Alys.
"Jacques. He had a dab hand with poisons among other talents."
"Good thing he was on our side," muttered Raine.
The rest of the team watched the various monitors tuned to different news feeds around the world. The operation was in its earliest hours. Anything could go wrong.