Free Scorpion: A Covert Ops Novel (Second Edition) by Ross Sidor

find out, so
he hopped in the nearest cab.
    He knew SCINIPH
was giving him the run around, running countersurveillance to see if he came
alone. Although he couldn’t blame him under the circumstances, it raised
questions in Avery’s mind because this was exactly what the handler directed
his agent to do before a meet. It also indicated that SCINIPH likely had
watchers along the route. But if SCINIPH was an FSB traitor spying for the
Americans, then who were his backup? This was starting to feel more like a
legit FSB op.
    The cab ride lasted
ten minutes.
    Avery tipped the
driver, exited the vehicle, and strode inside the restaurant. The hostess spoke
poor English, so he just repeated the name of the reservation and was soon
shown to a corner table in a back corner near the kitchen and handed a menu. He
hadn’t eaten since leaving DC, and the hunger was suddenly sinking in. He
opened the menu and had only enough time to realize it was an Italian
restaurant before he was aware of someone approaching his table.
    The man was
short but thickly built. He had a badly receding hairline trimmed close, with a
stubble beard and strong Slavic features. He pulled a chair out and sat down
across from Avery and placed both hands on the table, but he could easily, and
likely did, have a gun beneath his half-opened leather jacket, just like Avery.
SCINIPH was FSB, and Avery had no doubt that he was armed. He looked to be in
his mid-thirties, too young to be a KGB hold-over, but his 201 file indicated
that he’d seen plenty of action in Chechnya, the Balkans, and Georgia, ran
anti-mafiya ops in the former Soviet republics, and had more than a couple
kills under his belt.
    “Sciniph,” Oleg
Ramzin said in thickly accented English by way of introduction.
    “Darren,” Avery
replied, holding eye contact. He returned his attention to the menu and was
aware of the Russian’s eyes on him. Ramzin was a pro. He’d know how to read
people. “Thanks for coming. I know you’re taking a risk being here.”
    “Robert was a close
friend of mine,” Ramzin said. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. It
was the same scented tobacco Avery smelled in the theater. “He is a good man. I
am most concerned.”
    “So are we.”
    “These Uzbeks
are a nasty lot. I’ve spent time in Tashkent. I have seen firsthand what they
do to their enemies. They are savages, worse than animals.”
    “What do you
know about what happened to Robert?” Avery decided that Ramzin, if he was on
the level, could be a valuable source. Naturally, FSB would take an interest in
Cramer’s abduction, and the Russians had better sources here than CIA did. The
problem was Ramzin couldn’t do anything unnatural like express too much
interest in the American hostage, without arousing the Russians’ suspicions.  
    “You are aware
of my position, yes? I have my sources, too. I work closely with Tajik security
services. I heard the early reports of a missing American from the embassy and
another found dead. But I didn’t know it was Robert until I saw the video they
put on Internet earlier today.” He shook his head sadly. “You know, my country
hunted IMU long before America invaded Afghanistan. These Uzbeks are vicious,
far worse than the Arabs or the Afghans, especially this fellow Otabek Babayev.
He was in GRU once, did you know that?”
    Avery didn’t.
That bit of information hadn’t been in the dossier CIA had on Babayev.
    “He was a
lieutenant of vozdushno desantnye
voyska ,
airborne forces, assigned to Military Intelligence Directorate. His father was
white Russian, his mother an Uzbek and a devout Muslim. In Afghanistan, his
patrol searched a village after a Soviet chemical weapons attack. The
commanding officer ordered Babayev’s troops to execute surviving villagers.
There was a young Afghan girl there, badly burned and suffering. Babayev tried
to comfort her. He held her in his arms, but her skin peeled off. He shot her
through the back of her head so