At the Merlin Grand Hotel, in another newly opened suite, after the security team's inspection, this suite was secure.
Waving the bodyguards out, Yuri stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, watched the traffic below, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.
It rang a few times and then connected.
"You'd better have something important. I told you not to contact me unless necessary."
The voice on the other end was somewhat aged, carrying an air of authority.
"Someone is investigating me."
"What?"
"Someone is investigating me…"
Yuri reiterated, "Several bugs were found in the suite I checked into today. Choosing this hotel was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and for them to set everything up in such a short time, they're definitely professionals—corporate spies don't operate at this level. Also, my head of security says that judging from the methods, it looks like Americans…"
"CIA?"
"Not sure. I need you to verify that."
"Think—did you slip somewhere? Or say something to someone after you'd had too much to drink?"
Obviously, Russians' fondness for drink and for vodka has left a strong impression on people around the world.
"Absolutely not. I'm always careful. This line connects only to you—no one else knows."
The other side hesitated for a few seconds. "All right, I'll handle this. Be careful yourself."
…
Langley, CIA Headquarters
Ward Albert also stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, watching the traffic below.
After a few seconds of thought, he returned to his desk and pressed the intercom to his outer-office secretary. "Millie, check who has been operating in Moscow recently and give me a list."
He was one of the CIA's six deputy directors, a bona fide power broker. He didn't have the authority to know the specific contents of missions under other executives, but locations and team names were fair game.
The secretary didn't keep him waiting. There was a knock, and then a list was placed on his desk.
After she left, Albert picked up the list and browsed it item by item.
As the capital of the United States' greatest global rival, Moscow naturally drew a heavy share of intelligence activity.
The list was long. Albert read through it, and most of the names looked innocuous, but soon one entry caught his attention.
Pamela Landy… Team Four… Counterintelligence Center.
This one was the most suspicious.
Albert couldn't think of any other business the Counterintelligence Center would have in Moscow.
The last known appearance of the twenty million dollars had also been Moscow.
Albert removed his glasses and rubbed his temples in thought.
The Counterintelligence Center didn't fall under any deputy director's purview; it was outside the hierarchy, reporting directly to the Director.
To learn what they were doing would be impossible without the Director's authorization.
He hadn't worked with Pamela Landy but knew of her; she was reputed to be tough.
The quiet office filled with the sound of a lighter. Albert drew a cigar, toasted it with the flame, lit it, and took a few pulls until the spreading smoke veiled his face.
Behind the smoke, his expression looked a shade overcast.
Half an hour later, without any prior notice, Albert appeared in the Treadstone bullpen. Danny Zorn spotted him first and led him into Conklin's office.
Conklin was surprised by Albert's sudden arrival.
Although Treadstone's day-to-day operations were run by Conklin, Albert was the program's initiator and principal responsible officer; he rarely came in person, usually directing from afar.
Danny Zorn brought coffee, the office door closed, and Albert stated the purpose of his visit.
"Are you sure about this? Treadstone has never assassinated a U.S. citizen, much less a CIA supervisor."
Conklin wore a "you're insane" look; taking out a CIA operations supervisor was no small matter.
The Treadstone program was unlike other CIA action programs; it existed to use violent means to eliminate foreign figures who affected U.S. interests—essentially a dedicated assassination unit.
But that scope had never included U.S. citizens, and certainly not their own people.
"That's why I believe it's time for Treadstone to upgrade to Phase Two. As for her identity, I've already thought of a cover story for you."
Albert's voice was low, his cadence unhurried, carrying that irresistible authority that comes with being at the top.
As he spoke, Albert handed Conklin a slip of paper. "This is an overseas offline account. It isn't clean—it's been used in a few intelligence trades. All you need to do is create a link between this account and Pamela Landy."
His meaning was clear: this had to be done. And this time he wasn't going to do it off the books; they would find a legitimate pretext and go through official channels so that Pamela's death would look normal, not like a silencing.
Conklin knew the decision had been made; all that was left for him was to execute, not least because the two of them were in the same boat now.
Outside, Danny Zorn checked the time. The two had been conferring behind closed doors for twenty minutes.
Just then, the office door opened again, and Conklin saw Albert out.
"I need to know the latest developments," Albert emphasized before leaving.
"Understood. I'll report progress every two hours."
Watching the door close, everyone in the bullpen knew they were about to get busy.
Sure enough, Conklin immediately announced, "All right, everyone, emergency tasking. Pause whatever you're working on and throw everything into this.
Target—Pamela Landy, U.S. citizen, operations chief of the CIA Counterintelligence Center. It's now confirmed she's a defector. I need everything you've got—planes, trains, buses, hotels, banks, email, phones, all her relationships. In short, investigate every last thing about her and find her for me…"
When he finished, the bullpen fell briefly silent.
People were stunned that the target this time was one of their own, and simultaneously struck by the enemy's ability to infiltrate everywhere.
The Counterintelligence Center could be considered the CIA's last line of defense. Now even that last line had a breach.
The silence lasted only a few seconds before being replaced by a roar of activity. The entire department sprang to life like a newly started machine, its parts running efficiently and in order.
One day later
Conklin rubbed his throbbing forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, and not just his—everyone in the room had been up all night.
He took out a cigarette and lit it.
Because of the target's identity, Treadstone's investigation hadn't gone smoothly. The Counterintelligence Center held a special status; much of its information required the Director's personal authorization to access.
But Conklin couldn't brazenly go to the Director for authorization, so his people had to use other methods to infer and corroborate, which slowed progress.
Out in the bullpen, they were still analyzing leads: seasoned intel analysts, highly skilled hackers, excellent behavioral profilers, plus all sorts of resources they could tap. Conklin hoped they'd bring him good news.
"Found her," someone shouted excitedly.
Danny Zorn and Conklin hurried over. A staffer pointed at the screen and explained, elated, "I checked Team Four's reimbursement statements for the past six months. Some vouchers point to a false identity named Meryl Kaiser, and that identity booked a five-day stay at a Moscow hotel two days ago. I reviewed that hotel's surveillance—the user of that identity is Pamela Landy…"
Smiles spread across their faces. After all the effort, they had finally confirmed the target's location; everyone was a little keyed up.
Conklin issued the latest order at once. "Danny, activate Falcon immediately."
"Copy."
Danny Zorn worked the console, and moments later the tasking appeared on the main screen.
Target: Pamela Landy
Location: Room 708, Moscow Imperial Palace Hotel
Operator: "Woodpecker"
Time Limit: 48 hours