CHAPTER 59
Alexei Kaparov sat alone on a concrete bench a few blocks from his apartment, the dingy gray of Soviet-era block-style high-rises peeking through the trees. Old men crowded around chessboards on the stone tables lining one side of the park’s wide brick promenade, pigeons navigating their feet to peck at the lunch crumbs as they fell.
Kaparov had never taken to chess. He’d taken to vodka instead during his spare time, which had been scarce before he’d retired from the FSB a few years ago. Now, he had all the time in the world on his hands, and there was only so much time he could spend drinking—a challenge he rose to every day. Maybe he should take up smoking again to fill the void.
He took a short pull from the stainless-steel flask he had brought on his daily walk and relished in the comfortably warm glow that followed. His buzz was cut short by the phone in his pocket. Kaparov debated whether to check the phone or take another swig of vodka. He didn’t get many calls these days, so he set the flask on the bench next to him and pulled the phone from his pocket, noticing that he’d received a text message a minute earlier that had somehow gone unnoticed.
The message came from a different number, containing a code word established long ago by an old friend. Kaparov was coming up on the second anniversary of his retirement, a benchmark the two of them had agreed would be the earliest they could finally meet in person as allies and not adversaries. He answered the call.
“Karl. So good of you to call,” said Kaparov. “I’m very much looking forward to next year’s trip, though it’s difficult to determine if this all-inclusive idea of yours is legitimate or some kind of scam to get you out of paying full price. I saw something on Tripadvisor about top-shelf liquors not being served, so—”
“Alexei. Sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid this is a business call, and a very serious one at that,” said Karl Berg.
“You know what I’m doing right now?” asked Kaparov.
“Drinking vodka.”
“Besides that.”
“I haven’t a clue,” said Berg.
“I’m sitting on a park bench watching people older than me play chess,” said Kaparov. “Thinking about learning chess. Because I’m bored out of my fucking mind after retiring. I’m retired, Karl, which means I’m no longer in a position to help you.”
“I think you might be able to help,” said Berg. “What do you know about Yuri Pichugin? Specifically, his ties to the GRU.”
“Please tell me you haven’t somehow made enemies with Yuri Pichugin,” said Kaparov. “He’s one of the wealthiest and connected oligarchs in Russia. Connected right to the top, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. I’ve stumbled across something that might be connected to him,” said Berg. “It’s definitely connected to Viktor Belsky. Does that name sound familiar?”
“I know the name, but not much more than that,” said Kaparov. “Midlevel oligarch with decent connections. Returned to Russia from the US in the mid–two thousands, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“It serves you well. Viktor Belsky and his father sold a company based in the United States to Yuri Pichugin around that time,” said Berg.
“Must have been a very successful company,” said Kaparov.
“That’s the thing,” said Berg. “The Belskys had money, but not that kind of money, and the company they sold to Pichugin didn’t appear to have any assets beyond a sizable chunk of land in the middle of the United States. Valuable, but not that valuable.”
“Karl. Maybe my brain is a little mushy these days,” said Kaparov. “But what are we talking about here?”
“The bottom line is that I believe Yuri Pichugin is bankrolling a Soviet-era GRU-run sleeper network in the United States through this company and is pulling the strings on behalf of your beloved leaders.”
“And you have evidence of this?”
“We’re piecing it together, but the network is real. I’ve seen it firsthand. The network’s training camp was located on the land the Belskys sold to Pichugin. I’ve seen that, too,” said Karl. “The problem is that we’re unable to identify close to eighty percent of the network. We’re talking upwards of six hundred sleepers.”
“Six hundred! Come on. That’s a ludicrous number,” said Kaparov. “But assuming it was true, they’d all be in their seventies by now.”
“I’m talking about their children,” said Berg.