Ripple Effect

Chapter Seventy-Five: ...Andrei Kostov.

Conrad

10:59 AM

The arc of pale yellow light that had flooded through from the hallway and into the Situation Room tapered in an ever-narrowing wedge as the door dragged across the carpet and swung shut behind Conrad; it thinned to a chink and then disappeared altogether when the door juddered into the frame. Conrad's eyes took a moment to adjust to the twilight of the room—the blue gloom was softened by the glow cast from the screen mounted on the wall at the far end. A chill hung like static in the air compared to the warmth that thawed the corridors outside.

"Tell me what's happening."

Russell stood near the head of the desk. The red displays of the digital clocks glared behind him. "We've just had word from Moscow." He pivoted to face Conrad, his hands rested against his hips, his fingers splayed. The jeans and indigo plaid shirt that he wore nodded to the fact that he—and the others in the room—had been called in at the weekend. "Apparently they've found a way to get our friend Volkov to talk. My guess is it didn't involve tickets to the Bolshoi."

Conrad stepped up behind his chair and laid his hands atop the backrest. His fingertips curled into the leather cushion as he stared past the men sat on either side of the desk and he frowned at the images that jostled across the screen. "What do we know?"

Ephraim Ware twisted to face Conrad. His forearms rested against the edge of the desk, his fingers steepled in front of him. Gleams of white light reflected in the lenses of his glasses. "Our agents in country are reporting widespread arrests of members of the group we believe to behind the attacks on Secretary McCord, and reports suggest that a number of high level GRU officials have been detained, including those we've identified as having ties to the group."

"So, Volkov gave them up?"

Ephraim nodded. "It looks that way, sir."

"Makes you wonder what, exactly, they did to him—" Russell spoke in a mutter. He slung one arm across his chest, his hand wedged in the crook of his elbow, and he tugged at his chin. "—given he must know what'll happen when his associates find out that he snitched on them."

But given what the group had done to Elizabeth and what they still might have planned, they deserved whatever they got—and worse.

Conrad's gaze flitted from Ephraim to Director Haymond to Director Doherty. "And what about people operating on US soil? Do we have names?"

"We've been assured that Kostov's the last of them," Russell said. "Minister Avdonin gave me his word, for whatever that's worth."

Conrad turned to face him. His eyebrows raised. "And he's definitely still within US borders?"

"According to Volkov, he's right here in DC." Russell nodded towards the screen.

The footage from a body camera showed the beige-yellow bricks of an apartment block that towered up on the opposite side of the street. Curtains and blinds covered most of the windows, whilst bath towels and t-shirts hung over the steel railings of the inset balconies. A cloud blue sedan sailed past and momentarily obscured the view of the glass doors that opened onto the foyer.

Conrad's grip on the chair tightened. He didn't know whether he should feel relieved that Kostov was within touching distance and they could finally put this whole episode behind them, or angry that the man who'd poisoned Bess had been under their noses the whole time.

Director Doherty looked up at Conrad. "Sir, my agents are ready to make the raid."

Conrad kept his gaze locked on the screen. His scowl deepened. "Do it." It was wrong that a man could inflict so much damage yet not face the death penalty. "And tell your men they have permission to take him by any means."