The next picture she examined was the best shot taken from the security camera and showed Natalia, bloodied and bruised, in the lobby with a man that clearly wasn’t Dario Russo. Interesting. She closed the file and sat back in her seat, wondering if she should send the picture of the man in the harness contraption to Agent Dan Bailey. It might curtail his extracurricular activities and restore some dignity to the legal attaché‘s office in Buenos Aires. She laughed out loud at the thought, after deciding it would probably only serve to give him another bad idea.
Chapter 40
8:32 AM
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Frederick Shelby pressed the blinking red button on his office phone. “Agent Sharpe, good to hear from you. Things are shaping up nicely on my end. Nothing I can share with you at the moment, I’m afraid. Margaret said this was important?” he said.
“Very important. I just received several digital photos from our legal attaché in Argentina. The photos confirm that Daniel and Jessica Petrovich are living in Buenos Aires,” Sharpe said.
“These are recent photos?”
“The Petroviches went by the names Dario and Natalia Russo. Ten Serbians were found massacred in their high-rise condominium. Jessica managed to escape the carnage. We don’t think Daniel was in town at the time of the attack.”
“Who attacked whom?”
“That’s unclear at the moment, though I’d put my money on the Serbians attacking Jessica.”
“She killed ten men by herself?”
“No. She had help. I have a picture of her being escorted out of the building by Jeffrey Munoz.”
“Sweet lord. This seals it,” the director said.
“That’s what I thought,” Sharpe said.
“Keep this quiet for now. In a few days, it won’t matter. The last thing we need right now is for Daniel’s picture to be linked to this mess. Interpol will attach a red flag to Russo’s passport, and I guarantee Sanderson will be notified. We don’t want to give Sanderson any reason to pack up and vanish. I’ll handle the legal attaché in Buenos Aires.”
“Understood. We’ll keep digging into the finances. You should already have an email from me, with the Legat’s assessment and the pictures.”
“Thank you, Ryan. This will help ease some minds on Capitol Hill. I’ll be in touch,” he said and hung up the phone.
Frederick Shelby immediately opened the pictures, which filled his screen.
“Christ, that’s a lunch killer,” he said, minimizing the image of Josif Hadzic’s suspended body.
Chapter 41
8:45 AM
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Thomas Manning interlocked his fingers and turned away from the forty-two-inch flat-screen monitor mounted to his office wall. Audra waited for him to speak. Surprisingly, she hadn’t been nervous about this meeting. The potential disaster looming over the United States and its European allies dwarfed the potential issues raised by the breaches of protocol and procedure she had authorized. If Manning chose to focus on these aspects instead of a confirmed bioweapons threat, there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t know Thomas Manning well enough to make a personal assessment of how he would respond, but he had a solid reputation for being practical. Still, nobody rose to the rank of National Clandestine Service director without a solid foundation in political maneuvering. This was the only facet of Thomas Manning that concerned her.
“We have a serious problem on our hands. Don’t make any plans for the day and cancel any meetings you have scheduled. I expect to walk this up to the director’s office within the hour. From there, we’ll be on immediate standby to meet with the national security advisor. I can’t imagine the Helsinki lab will sit on these results for very long, and if Reuters can confirm any of the story passed to them from Monchegorsk, this will break wide open. The White House will want to stay slightly ahead of this, if that’s even possible at this point.”
“The lab assured me complete discretion. I reinforced the need for that discretion with some scary-looking operatives and cash, which was accepted.”
“I’m not even going to ask any questions about who you have running around Europe,” he said.
“You really don’t want to know,” she said.
“I bet I don’t,” he said and paused before continuing. “Excellent work on this, Audra. All of it.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“Now that I got that out of the way, I needed to know about the Predator drone as soon as you requisitioned it,” he said.
“But you wouldn’t have authorized an armed Predator drone for this mission. Nobody would have, based on the scant information available at the time,” she said.
“And your initiative in the case still falls under the ‘excellent work’ category. Still, I should have been notified when it was used to attack Russian forces.”
“We still don’t know they were Russian. The helicopters were unmarked and the ground forces were dressed like locals. If they were Russian, the Kazakhstan government should be happy that we defended their sovereign borders.”
“Luckily, the threat you uncovered far overshadows things like unauthorized Predator strikes or illegal invasions on Russian soil,” he said.
“A simple snowmobile trip to the Kola Peninsula. It’s a popular destination this time of the year,” Audra said smoothly.
“Most tourists don’t return with a severed head in a cooler. I assume they avoided customs?”
“Presumably,” she said, smiling.
“When the dust settles, I’m sure we’ll…I mean you’ll have to answer some questions, along with your partner in crime, Karl Berg. I’m promoting him to the position of assistant deputy director. Effective immediately.”
“I didn’t know that position existed.”
“Everyone complains that we lack the resources to fight the War on Terror. I’ve just enhanced our capabilities…and when we talk to the White House, I need this to look like a consolidated effort by the National Clandestine Service. “
“He’ll be happy to hear that.”
“Don’t count on it. Karl Berg likes to operate in the shadows. In many ways, he’s most effective on the fringes, just out of sight. Give me a few minutes to process all of this and stay close. We could be walking down the hall at any minute,” he said.
Chapter 42
6:23 PM
FSB Headquarters, Lubyanka Square
Moscow, Russian Federation
Alexei Kaparov closed the small window on his desktop monitor and tapped another cigarette out of the pack he now kept in plain view on his desk. If the Internal Affairs Division monitored his smoking habit, they would have noticed that he had started smoking three packs a day since the beginning of the weekend. That alone should have alerted them to the fact that he was up to no good.
Agent Prerovsky’s friend in Special Operations had turned out to be more than Kaparov had expected. Lucya was a senior analyst in the division, with a computer software engineering degree from Moscow University. Far from the desk clerk that Kaparov’s prejudiced mind had imagined. She had access to the Special Operations Division’s (SOD) inner sanctum, often serving as lead data technician for live operations. She was in the perfect position to feed them information, and after several expensive, romantic dinners, she had agreed to help them.
Fortunately, the two had started dating well before the Reznikov fiasco had surfaced, or he would likely be sharing a cell with Prerovsky on charges of treason. She had responded well to his request, especially when he told her the truth about Monchegorsk. Even within the Special Operations Divisions, the situation had been described as a violent political revolt, sustained by an armed insurgency. Everyone with the Operations Center knew this sounded like nonsense, but early details about Monchegorsk had been suppressed.
The window he had just closed was fed by a direct link engineered by Lucya. The Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) was
deploying Spetznaz assets to Stockholm, Sweden, where they would wait for further instructions. She felt confident that they didn’t have a specific address or location for Reznikov, but she sensed they were getting close to a breakthrough.
The deployment of SVR Spetznaz on foreign soil was a risky venture under any circumstances; a decision never taken lightly by the Special Operations Division. Given the serious, yet sensitive nature of the mission, Kaparov had little doubt which assets they would use. SVR leadership would activate “Zaslon” operatives from Directorate S, the Foreign Intelligence Service’s “Illegals” division. Comprised of deep cover operatives living abroad, Zaslon Spetznaz were considered to be the most elite and specialized covert operations group ever produced by the Russian Federation. The group was all that truly remained of the original Cold War era Vympel Spetznaz and its existence had never been acknowledged by Russian authorities.
He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a text message that would reach halfway around the world in less than a minute.
**
Karl Berg felt his cell phone vibrate against his chest. He reached into his sport coat and pulled the phone out of the inner breast pocket. He stopped halfway up the stairwell that emptied onto Audra Bauer’s floor. He had been summoned to meet with her quite suddenly, and she had asked him to “dress it up” a little. She also informed him that he would probably be out of the office for most of the day, which left him a little concerned. He just hoped that he’d be allowed to return with a job. She hadn’t said a word about her earlier meeting with Thomas Manning.
He read the text.
“Recommend a visit to Stockholm. Very pleasant to visit this time of year, but can be a little crowded. Make sure to properly outfit. Be ready to jump at some of the early attractions.”
He dialed a number kept on speed dial.
“How can I help you, Mr. Langley?”
“Very funny. Move your team to Stockholm immediately. They’ll need to be ready to roll at a moment’s notice. We don’t have a specific location, but I’m getting real time information. You should assume they’ll be up against Vympel Spetznaz. Our team has to move fast. We need Reznikov alive,” Berg said.
“Our team? There might be hope for you after all, Karl.”
“Call it sucking up. I might be on a flight to Argentina later today if my next meeting doesn’t go well. I hope you can use a former CIA agent with a considerable worldwide network of contacts,” Berg said.
“I can’t guarantee the pay to be better,” Sanderson said.
“Somehow I doubt that. I’m on the way to meet with my boss and I suspect we’ll be taking a trip across the Potomac a little later today. This will go straight to the top, very quickly.”
“You should keep our names out of this for now,” Sanderson said.
“You think? I didn’t plan to unveil our relationship in front of the national security advisor…on account of the fact that every name I might mention is on the FBI’s most wanted list. Let me know when the teams are in place, and if you need any help with equipment.”
“I’ll handle the equipment this time.”
“What, your team didn’t like having to rummage around a trunk full of Cold War era Spetznaz goodies?”
“Not really. I recommend that you contact the team directly with Reznikov’s location when you get it. Success in Stockholm might come down to seconds. Calling me will waste precious time that they won’t have. You have their satellite phone number. I’ll make sure the team is ready to roll,” Sanderson said.
“Sounds good. I’ll touch base with Petrovich,” Berg said.
The call went dead.
**
General Sanderson clutched the phone in his hand and jogged from the armory to the headquarters building, one hundred meters away at the edge of the woods. The dirt path led up a gentle incline that didn’t give him the slightest pause. By the time he had reached the log and beam structure’s covered porch, his heart rate had just started to rise, ever so slightly. Sanderson could be considered a physical machine at any age, but for a man in his early fifties, he was an anomaly. He stayed in top physical shape out of pure habit forged by over twenty plus years in the U.S. Special Forces.
He started out as an infantry officer in 1973 after graduating from the United States Military Academy at West Point and was quickly identified a few years later as a candidate for the recently formed 1st Ranger Battalion. His superior performance and reputation within the battalion earned him a spot on the ill-fated rescue attempt of the American embassy hostages in Iran. Captain Sanderson watched in horror as Operation Eagle Claw unraveled.
From his distant position at the westernmost roadblock, he felt the heat from the fireball that engulfed a C-130 transport plane and crashed one of the RH-53D Sea Stallion helicopters at the “Desert One” landing site. Unaware at this point that the mission had been aborted, Sanderson scrambled back to the site for information. His radios had been rendered useless by the sand.
He nearly knocked over Colonel Charles Beckwith, who suddenly appeared out of a sand cloud kicked up by the nearest surviving helicopter. Beckwith had created Delta Force, America’s brand-new counter-terrorism group, less than a year before Operation Eagle Claw. Sanderson had never heard of the unit before he had been assigned to the rescue mission. Colonel Beckwith informed him that the mission had been aborted and that his Rangers would board the last C-130 along with his Delta Force operators.
Sanderson stared with disbelief at the remaining helicopters. To him, it looked like they still had what they needed for the rescue operation. Beckwith put his hand on the captain’s shoulder and said, “Son, it’s not our call to make.” By the time the C-130 had landed at their staging base at Masirah Island, near Oman, Captain Terrence Sanderson had been personally invited by Beckwith to attend the next 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta “selection course.”
Sanderson spent the next eleven years with Delta Force, eventually emerging as the unit’s commanding officer. His plans for the Black Flag program had been born while in the Delta ranks, and by the time he had finished his tour as Delta’s commanding officer, the first round of selectees had been assembled at the primary training site in Colorado. Colonel Sanderson was assigned to a “ghost” billet at Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) and promoted to brigadier general. He promptly disappeared from the radar, along with millions of dollars funneled to his “nonexistent” program.
Black Flag had been his vision to address the greatest shortfall he encountered while serving with Special Forces: a costly reliance upon the CIA for nearly all human intelligence. Costly in terms of lives and wasted resources. In his experience, CIA operatives lacked a specific military focus in their deep cover intelligence gathering, which limited the value of information flowing to the real operators. Rivalry between the Pentagon and Langley often resulted in situations where no intelligence was shared and devolved to the point where the Pentagon rarely trusted what the CIA finally produced. In Sanderson’s view, the system for acquiring the useful, mission critical information necessary to conduct special operations had ceased to exist. The Black Flag program was his solution to the problem, and it was embraced by the top Pentagon brass…behind closed doors.
He opened the door to the lodge and stepped inside. Parker looked up from his workstation at the large conference table.
“Things are shaping up on all fronts,” Parker said.
“Indeed they are. I just spoke with Berg. Move Petrovich’s team to Stockholm. Set them up in a central location just outside of the downtown area. Good access to major roads. Berg’s contact in Moscow said the Russians are sending assets to Stockholm. They’ll be in a race with the Russians to get to Reznikov, and we’ll likely be a few minutes behind. Let Petrovich know that Berg will contact them directly with Reznikov’s location. Send some additional operatives up from mainland Europe.”
“We have two more readily accessible to Scandinavia. Hubner and Klinkman.”
“I’ll send Hubner to meet them in Stockholm. He can arrange the transfer of weapons from our cache in Poland. I don’t think he’ll have any problem getting the weapons into Sweden via fast boat, with the right crew and a ton of cash, of course.”
“Get everyone and everything to Stockholm as soon as possible. No rules of engagement on this one. We need Reznikov, period.”
“I’ll make sure they understand,” Parker said.
“All right, let’s get this moving. The Russians could come up with an address at any time.”
As he opened the door to step back outside, he could barely contain his excitement about the future. His plans were shaping up nicely. They just needed to grab Reznikov before the Russians. He’d call Berg and see if the CIA had anyone that could be trusted to make a move against Reznikov in the event that the address was uncovered prior to Petrovich’s arrival in Stockholm. If the location was disclosed soon, the Russian team wouldn’t be in place either. A quick CIA grab might be an option, though he loathed the thought of relinquishing control of Reznikov. In the grand scheme of things, it probably wouldn’t matter, as long as Reznikov didn’t fall into Russian hands.
Before calling Berg, he needed to reach out to señor Galenden and assure him that the situation was under control in Buenos Aires. The massacre at the apartment dominated headlines and pictures of the Russos had been leaked everywhere. So far as Galenden’s police contacts could tell, their passports had not been flagged, which was a temporary blessing.
Black Flagged Redux Page 31
