Black Flagged Redux

by Steven Konkoly

  Dario Russo had been identified in the media as being out of the country on business and, according to Galenden’s source, was not being treated as a suspect. Natalia Russo was wanted for questioning in the case, but no warrants for her arrest had been issued either. The Argentine Federal Police were still trying to make sense of the killings. Either way, these identities were compromised. Sanderson felt comfortable letting Daniel use Dario’s passport to enter Sweden, but beyond that, Sanderson would arrange new temporary papers for both of them. It wouldn’t be long before the FBI stumbled across the striking resemblance between the Petroviches and the Russos.

  Chapter 43

  5:15 PM

  Odengatan

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Daniel closed the door to the third-floor apartment and nodded for Sergei to shut the curtains. The rest of the team dropped the four suitcases on the floor between the dining room table and the light brown sectional couch that faced an aging oak entertainment center.

  “Let’s break out the gear and stage everything we need for a quick departure. We’ll use the duffel bags to move the weapons into the vehicles. Pack one for each. Body armor will be worn at all times. I want to be out the door within ten seconds of receiving the call. Assault rifles go with the van. Load weapons, check gear and prep your bags,” Daniel said.

  The team descended on the suitcases, opening them at the same time and stacking their contents on the shaky dining room table. When the suitcases were finally empty, the dining room table was stacked with high end weaponry and equipment.

  “Perfect selection, Konrad. MP-7’s go to the assault team. Like Daniel said, rifles go to the support van,” Farrington said.

  Konrad Hubner reached forward and grabbed one of two G-36C assault rifles, locking the bolt open to examine the chamber. He depressed the bolt catch button just forward of the trigger guard, and the bolt slammed forward. He depressed the trigger on the empty weapon, and they all heard a click. The G-36C was a compact, futuristic-looking weapon fitted with a Zeiss RSA-S 3x Reflex Sight. It fired 5.56mm steel-jacketed projectiles from a 30-round detachable magazine and could be concealed under a three-quarter-length jacket. Hubner and Schafer would be equipped with the two rifles for use against any Russian operatives preventing the assault team’s extraction from Reznikov’s location.

  The assault team, comprised of Daniel, Farrington, Sergei and Leo, would be armed with Heckler and Koch MP-7 submachine guns (SMGs). The German-designed weapon fired a unique 4.6X30mm solid steel projectile, capable of penetrating Kevlar body armor at two hundred meters. Smaller than the G-36C, they retained the handling and concealment characteristics of a small SMG, but could match the power of a modern assault rifle at shorter ranges. The four MP-7s on the table were fitted with Zeiss 1x Reflex Sights and a side rail-mounted flashlight. Daniel saw a sizeable stack of 40-round magazines for the submachine guns and four six-inch-long suppressors.

  Suppressors were mandatory for the assault team. He had no idea what they would encounter as they pulled up to Reznikov’s address in their rented Volvo sedan, but he knew they would need every spare second available to grab Reznikov and move him safely away from the site. Berg’s source told them that the Stockholm police response would vary, depending on the location and reported problem. A report of automatic gunfire would generate a massive response. The longer they could delay a concerned citizen’s call to the police, the better their chance of avoiding a confrontation. He just hoped the Russians were playing by the same rules.

  Six waist level bulletproof vests, equipped with front and back ballistics plates, sat stacked on the chair at the head of the table.

  “Vests first. Get used to wearing these under your expensive jackets. Ballistic plates stay in. I guarantee the Russians won’t be playing around with full metal jacketed bullets. Expect the same ammunition we’re using,” Farrington said.

  Everyone grabbed a vest and stripped off their jackets. The jackets had been purchased at a designer boutique on the way to the apartment. Their distinctly Russian brands stood out at the airport, and Hubner shook his head in disgust and embarrassment as the group emerged from their rental vehicles to help him offload the suitcases from the boat. Several thousand dollars later, they looked “acceptable” for Stockholm, according to Hubner.

  “Will these plates stop armor-piercing rounds?” Leo said, knocking on the front of his vest.

  “You’re looking at Enhanced Small Arms Protective Inserts. Should defeat most engineered hard core ammunition, up to 7.62mm AP. I figured the Russians would be equipped with PP2000s firing their new 9mm AP rounds,” Hubner said.

  “They don’t know we’ll be right on their asses, so their load out might be a little lighter than usual,” Daniel said.

  “Don’t count on it with Vympel Spetznaz. They wrote the book on this type of operation,” Farrington said.

  “Hopefully we won’t have to test these plates,” Daniel said. “Who wants Thai food? There’s a takeout place right down the street,” he added.

  He heard some complaining.

  “Pizza might be easier on the stomachs. Move the gear into one of the bedrooms, and I’ll call a place that delivers. I’ll run down to one of the corner markets to grab some instant coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

  Before he opened the phone book, he unfolded the map of Stockholm given to him by Hubner. He spread it out on the kitchen counter and removed a portable GPS from his coat pocket. He folded the map to show the immediate suburbs of Stockholm and pinpointed their location on Odengatan. The apartment was situated one block north of the Stockholm School of Economics, within view of the National City Park. From this location, they could access major roads leading in any direction.

  Their placement in the city, just like that of the Russians, would decide who arrived first at Reznikov’s location. Luck would play a bigger role than usual. Given their similar objective, Daniel wouldn’t be surprised if the Russians had chosen a similar location nearby. He wondered if Berg’s Moscow contact would pass along the Russians’ location.

  Possession of this information could help shape their strategy when Reznikov’s location was disclosed. Although tempting, he didn’t think a preemptive strike against the Russians would be a wise move. Too many variables and their inside intelligence suggested the possibility of facing more than ten Russian operatives. Ultimately, it might not be his decision, but he liked the idea of surprising them on the street better than trying to strike a fortified location.

  Chapter 44

  6:25 PM

  Sveavägen

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Major Stepan Eristov studied the city map of Stockholm with their local contact, Dmitry Solomin. Solomin worked for Gazprom’s Stockholm branch and had been chosen to provide the assembled Zaslon team with a suitable city location and detailed information about traffic patterns and city routing. He had been recruited by Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service in 1993 and had lived in Stockholm as a Gazprom executive for the past eight years, facilitating SVR operations in Scandinavia with the help of several other Gazprom “employees.”

  Captain Georgy Rusnak and Master Sergeant Ivan Zhukov joined them standing around the dining room table. The rest of the team, consisting of seven additional “illegals” from northern Europe, sat around watching television or reading magazines. Their weapons and gear had already been checked, double checked, and stuffed into small individual backpacks that sat with each man. They were ready to leave the apartment within seconds.

  “I assume major traffic through the downtown area is limited to the typical morning and afternoon hours?” Eristov said.

  “If you need to travel south of the downtown area at any time of the day, make sure you link up with the Klarastrand well north of the lower Stockholm interchanges. Any other direction from this location will carry the typical traffic patterns. Morning is always crowded, but unless the target location is south, you should move along nicely. The afternoon could be slower as eve
ryone heads to the suburbs,” Solomin said.

  “The traffic won’t matter getting to the target location. I’m more concerned with extraction. We have orders to try and remove the target, if feasible. Either way, we won’t be returning to this apartment. Control has given us a location north of the city in a rural location,” Eristov said.

  “I know it well,” Solomin said.

  “Then you should try your best to forget about it,” Captain Rusnak said.

  “Understood,” Solomin said.

  Eristov regarded Solomin with caution. The fact that Directorate S trusted him to be in the same room with Zaslon operatives had spoken volumes about the operative, but his participation would go no further than helping them with the last second routing and staying behind to sanitize the apartment. He had already fielded a few questions about Solomin’s fate from members of the team, none of whom would have been surprised if Eristov had told them he would be killed and stuffed into the bathtub. Zaslon operatives didn’t exist according to Moscow.

  Most of them had ceased to exist on the active SVR rosters within the past ten years, and despite the fact that they were assigned military ranks, the ranks were meaningless in the traditional military sense. For the Zaslon operatives, ranks were determined by time in service and operational experience, which translated into a meritocracy-based leadership structure.

  They had all served with various military and SVR Spetznaz units prior to their assignment to Zaslon, but Major Eristov didn’t hold a university degree or family connections over Sergeant Arkady Greshnev, who sat on the couch sharpening a small knife. Seven years of operational experience separated the two men, which signified a world of difference as an “illegal” operative living abroad.

  “We’ll sleep in shifts determined by vehicle assignment. The call could come at any time. From what I understand, they’re close to making a connection,” Eristov said.

  “I’ll keep the coffee going all night,” Solomin said.

  “No sleep for the wicked,” Zhukov added.

  Wicked indeed, Eristov thought. The men gathered in this apartment had been chosen carefully for Zaslon. Life abroad as an “illegal” required a unique psychological profile that would leave most behavioral health professionals stunned. Unlike the KGB “illegals” of the Cold War era, who melted into their surroundings and remained inactive for decades, Moscow had higher expectations for the newer breed. Candidates were carefully screened for the mental resilience required to live under a false identity and the moral flexibility necessary to carry out Moscow’s orders.

  Eristov had operated in Poland for fourteen years and had spent most of his time tracking and watching industrial sector contacts, both Russian and foreign. A considerable amount of time was spent on the surveillance of Russian business contacts. Several times a year, he participated in an operation similar to this one, but never with this many operatives.

  He never received any specifics regarding the target’s background, and like every mission prior to this, he wasn’t told why the target needed to disappear. He suspected that Reznikov was significantly more important to Moscow than the rest of the targets Eristov had been assigned in the past. Reznikov had been assigned “capture/kill” status, which was rare. Most of them were designated “kill,” but for some reason, Moscow wanted them to try and bring this one back. This made Eristov feel better about their mission. Lately, he had grown weary of assassinating businessmen that had somehow aggravated the wrong billionaire crony in Moscow.

  “Make sure the drivers are familiar with the major routes and have their GPS systems programmed with several waypoints. Solomin will help them determine points within several neighborhoods, along multiple routes. We’ll fine tune the routes on the way to the target,” he said and slapped Captain Rusnak on the back.

  “Ruslan, Greshnev, let’s take another look at this map, eh?” Captain Rusnak said.

  Greshnev slid his knife back into a small sheath along his ankle, hidden under his brown corduroy pants, and stood up from the couch with Sergeant Ruslan Ekel. Ekel would drive the Mercedes Benz Sprinter van that would transport Reznikov north of the city. He would also provide over watch support during the assault team’s breach of the residence. Greshnev would drive the Volkswagen Passat that carried the assault team.

  The van would arrive first and deposit the support team at various locations along the street. Once the van was parked, the Passat would bring the assault team as close to the residence’s primary entrance as possible. They would all attempt to park legally if possible, double parking only if necessary. They wanted to avoid drawing any law enforcement attention to the location, though the support team was equipped with non-lethal means to deal with limited police interference. Ultimately, it would be Rusnak’s call regarding how the support team responded on the street, to either civilian or police interference. Moscow had made one thing clear. They should let nothing stand in the way of success on this mission.

  Chapter 45

  1:30 PM

  Acassuso Barrio

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  Jeffrey Munoz closed the door behind the doctor and walked back to Jessica, who had propped her arm up on the couch. Her eyes looked glassy from the sedatives and local anesthetic used to keep her from jumping off the portable medical table. Sanderson had arranged for a team of medical specialists to treat her superficial injuries, but most importantly, to repair Jessica’s left hand. They had done most of the work yesterday, and from what the doctor could tell, she would regain full, unrestricted use of the hand.

  The indirect shotgun blast had mangled three of her fingers, bending them at odd angles and stripping away a considerable amount of skin. Luckily, most of the raw material needed to reset the fingers and close up the wounds was still present. The finished work wouldn’t be pretty, especially without sophisticated skin grafting and plastic surgery, but it would suffice for the moment. Once Sanderson stabilized the situation, Jessica could seek further medical treatment at a private reconstructive surgery center. Her hand was wrapped in several layers of bandages and gauze, which the doctor would change regularly over the course of the following week, while checking on the hand’s progress.

  Jessica had been unusually quiet since they arrived at the private house, far north of the downtown area. Munoz would have preferred getting further out of Buenos Aires, but Jessica’s hand was in bad shape and the injury to her neck looked frightening up close. Driving their minivan into the gated courtyard of this house had been a blessing in disguise for all of them. They had desperately needed somewhere to stop and regroup their thoughts.

  Now it appeared that they would spend the next week here with Jessica. At least she had apologized repeatedly before being hit with the sedatives. She hadn’t been too coherent since the surgery, rambling on about nothing he cared to hear about and insisting on calling her husband. What choice did he have but to listen to her? They were trapped in this house, and he had no intention of letting her out of his sights. He especially had no intention of letting her use a phone to call Daniel.

  Sanderson had been specific about that, so he had disconnected the landlines and enabled passwords on their cell phones. He didn’t trust Jessica any further than he could throw her and wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she was pretending to be wacked out on painkillers. He’d removed every possible weapon, with the exception of the table legs and remote controls. He considered zip tying her legs together; to discourage an escape attempt, but Sanderson had made it clear that she was not to be restrained. For now, he just needed to make sure she didn’t vanish.

  According to Sanderson, Daniel and his team were stacked up against nearly impossible odds, which was why he didn’t want the two of them communicating right now. Daniel couldn’t afford the distraction.

  He watched her lean her head back against a cushion and close her eyes. He knew she’d been through a lot in her life. Before yesterday. Before Daniel. Maybe she deserved a second chance, or was this her third? He
had no idea. He just hoped Daniel made it back alive. He couldn’t imagine what she might do if Daniel was killed.

  Chapter 46

  11:10 PM

  USS DECATUR (DDG-73)

  Pacific Ocean off Chilean coast

  EW1 (SW) Robert Wegner studied the AN/SLQ-32(V)2 display screen again and checked the entire console. He’d done this several times over the past fifteen minutes and nothing had changed, except for the number of personnel lurking over his shoulder. It had started out with his chief, division officer and department head, which was bad enough, and had quickly expanded to every officer standing watch in the Combat Information Center. The crowd’s seniority culminated with the presence of the ship’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Shelly Davis, who would report Wegner’s assessment to DECATUR’s commanding officer and await permission to transmit the report to mission planners onboard the USS BOXER. At least Captain Higgins had stayed on the bridge. The last thing he needed was DECATUR’s commanding officer breathing down his neck too.

  “Everything still looks clear, Petty Officer Wegner?” Davis said.

  “The scope is clear, ma’am. I have a few commercial maritime radars, but these are typical for the fishing vessels in these waters. Nothing land based or airborne,” Wegner said.

  “What are the effective ranges for the radars you’ve detected?”

  “24 to 48 nautical miles…best case scenario. In this visibility, they’ll probably have the radar picture set to a modest range…maybe 12 nautical miles. Signal strength confirms low output associated with reduced power transmission settings. They won’t be able to detect DECATUR at any range with those radars. BOXER is a different story. Nothing stealthy about that ship, ma’am.”

  “That’s why we’re here first. I’ll let the captain know the area is clear of any contacts of interest,” she said.