Chapter 21
4:55 PM
Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) Headquarters
Yasanevo Suburb, Moscow, Russian Federation
Upon entering the secure conference room, Dmitry Ardankin stood at attention in front of the Foreign Intelligence Service Director and waited for permission to take a seat. As deputy director of Directorate S, Ardankin made the trip to the director’s office on a daily basis, and not always under welcome terms. His directorate had experienced its share of failures, mishaps and defections during his tenure, but it had also pulled off some of the most notoriously successful foreign operations in the Directorate’s recent history. Not to mention the weekly, if not daily “tasks” performed by his Zaslon operatives on behalf of the Federation’s more connected government officials.
He wasn’t sure what had angered Pushnoy more, losing Reznikov or losing eight of Putin’s errand boys. Probably the latter. The Zaslon group had devolved into Putin’s “business compliance” enforcers over the past several years, spending most of their time pressuring or assassinating Russian citizens abroad. Most of their targets were business types or entrepreneurs that had fallen out of favor with one of Putin’s key government or industry allies.
Zaslon was a throwback to the sleeper-cell program initiated during the Cold War and grossly overestimated by the Americans, often romanticized in Western espionage novels. The program had existed, but on a much smaller scale and mostly in Europe. Kremlin leadership had long ago determined that the decisive battle would be fought and won on European soil, so GRU and KGB programs focused on disrupting strategic and tactical NATO targets in western Europe by inserting Spetsnaz teams prior to the anticipated start of hostilities. Sleeper cells comprised a tiny portion of the Cold War plan, just as Zaslon operatives barely factored in the Foreign Intelligence Service’s global espionage network.
Still, they were extremely valuable, nearly irreplaceable assets, and the loss of a single member was treated as a disaster. The loss of eight Zaslon operatives at one time was an unmitigated catastrophe, and this didn’t even begin to address the implications associated with Reznikov’s disappearance. Unfortunately, their mess had fallen in his lap, and he’d managed to make matters worse, through no fault of his own. He’d sent eight of his best operatives, double what had been suggested by the director himself, and it hadn’t been enough. The best they could figure at this point was that the Americans had a similar “illegals” program, and that their operatives were possibly better trained. Of course, all of this would have been a moot point if the FSB hadn’t been compromised. Pavrikova’s deception had put the two teams on a fatal collision course, in which the better team had clearly prevailed.
At least all of the attention wouldn’t be focused solely on his Directorate. He’d take his lumps, but Federation Security Service leadership would take the brunt of the blame for this debacle. Pavrikova couldn’t have been more perfectly placed within the Center for Special Operations to spy on high-level joint operations.
He took his eyes off the wall behind Stephan Pushnoy for a brief moment to see if the director had finished scrutinizing the files he had forwarded an hour earlier. If Pushnoy was staring at him, then the meeting wouldn’t go well. The director’s cold blue eyes didn’t meet his glance. He was still absorbing the details of last night’s abduction.
“Dmitry, please take a seat,” he said, without looking up.
Ardankin started to feel better about the meeting. Pushnoy never invited one of his deputies to sit during an ass-chewing. He would have preferred that the director looked up at him, but this was better than the interminable silence that inevitably preceded the director’s wrath. He got halfway into the seat next to Pushnoy before the first question erupted.
“Reinhard Klinkman. What do we know about him?”
“Not very much. German citizen. Lives in Hamburg—”
Pushnoy looked up at him, which stopped him from continuing. He knew the look. The director was interested in simple, conclusive statements.
“Nothing in his publicly available record raised any red flags. There is no record of him entering or exiting Russia,” Ardankin said.
“I assume you found nothing unusual surrounding Nikolai Mazurov?”
“Aside from his involvement in the kidnapping of a Russian national and the murder of seven SVR agents? No.”
Pushnoy looked up at him again, and he could see the start of a sinister grin. He had to admit, the director looked intimidating. He had thick, dark brown hair, which contrasted starkly with his light blue eyes and pale skin. The imbalance made it nearly impossible to determine his age. Only the thick crow’s feet around the outside of his eyes and the deep wrinkles on his forehead suggested the kind of advanced age one could assume by his position as the senior ranking member of the Foreign Intelligence Service. He met the director’s gaze and held it, knowing from experience that the former KGB officer expected his subordinates to look him in the eye while speaking. He interpreted an aversion to eye contact as weakness or deception. Ardankin had no intention of falling under either label.
“I don’t expect they’ll turn up in Russia or Europe. The remote operations team reports that none of the surveillance teams responded to their radio calls. What is your theory about that?” Pushnoy asked.
“Klinkman and Mazurov had technical support. All P25 encryption systems are vulnerable to detection and jamming. Signal interception and hijacking is also possible, but requires an extremely sophisticated electronics presence. The camera feeds remained functional, so I suspect they targeted the radio network. Smart. If they had played around with any of the remote video feeds, our technicians in the Operations Center might have detected the intrusion.”
“Tech savvy and lethal. A dangerous and admirable combination,” Pushnoy said.
“Our agents have the same capabilities,” Ardankin reminded him.
“Then why are we losing so many agents?”
“This group operates in a radically different—”
“You mean they win!”
“I’m not making excuses,” Ardankin began. “What I mean is that—”
“I know what you are trying to say. Even the Americans’ Special Activities Division adheres to basic rules of engagement. This group appears to have no rules or boundaries. We’ve been spoiled for a long time, Dmitry, taking advantage of the West’s misguided sense of morality and ethics. I fear those days have passed. Hubner said he was sent to Stockholm by Sanderson. Brigadier General Terrence Sanderson, United States Army, retired. His name didn’t come up in any of our classified files. How did this man escape our attention for all of these years? Klinkman, Hubner and Mazurov were deep-cover operatives.”
“Here’s what we have so far,” Ardankin said. “The three you just mentioned are mystery men. We found established public records in Germany and the Russian Federation reaching back to the mid to late nineties. University records to start, followed by the usual markings of a citizen from that point forward. Utility bills, car registrations, city permits…everything you would expect. Hubner’s name came up in connection with several black market weapons dealers in Eastern Europe. He started small and worked his way onto the international scene, but promptly vanished in 2001, apparently deciding to pursue an advanced business degree in Munich. This sudden change of heart coincided with General Sanderson’s fall from grace back in the United States.” Ardankin paused to allow Pushnoy ask questions.
“You suspect a connection?”
“Absolutely. General Sanderson appeared briefly in 2001 to testify before the American Congress. Specifically, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. He retired from the army shortly thereafter. We know that Sanderson spent over a decade attached to the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, commanding the unit for nearly two years before taking a relatively obscure position at the Pentagon in 1991. He spent the next ten years in that position, which is extremely unusual. Our analysts found no mention of Sanders
on during that ten-year period. He basically disappeared with a paycheck.”
“Unusual indeed. The CIA had nothing on him?”
“Nothing, which is why his program never drew our attention,” Ardankin said.
“Assuming he created a program,” Pushnoy added.
“Of course, but here’s where it gets interesting. Cameras in Stockholm captured images of Hubner and another operative involved with Reznikov’s abduction,” Ardankin said.
“Petrovich.”
Ardankin nodded as Pushnoy shuffled the papers in front of him, removing two full-page photographs and setting them side by side.
“Daniel Petrovich. Now this is a complicated individual. His public record is sketchy at best. Graduated from Northwestern University in 1991. Commissioned in the United States Navy immediately upon graduation. Hometown news releases indicate that he was trained in Newport, Rhode Island as a surface warfare officer and—”
“Precisely what is a surface warfare officer?” Pushnoy interrupted.
“Shipboard naval officer. He was assigned to a frigate based out of Japan after completing about nine months of training at the surface warfare school in Newport. Nothing unusual about this training or his follow-on assignments. However, our analysts found nothing on Daniel Petrovich in the public domain after he reported to Japan—”
“Do you suspect he never reported?”
“We’re pretty sure he reported to Japan. Analysts found press releases filed by the ship’s public affairs officer and subsequently carried by his hometown newspaper. The latest date for one of these releases is November of 1993. At some point during this tour, he vanished. Daniel Petrovich didn’t reemerge until the fall of 2000. He attended business school at Boston University, followed by a corporate job in Portland, Maine, at a technology company. We found a Massachusetts marriage license dated in 2001. He got married during business school to Jessica Petrovich—”
“What was her maiden name?” Pushnoy asked.
“None listed.”
“Odd,” Pushnoy said.
“Very odd, but minor in the grand scheme of things,” Ardankin said.
Pushnoy raised a single eyebrow and stared at him.
“In the course of trying to identify Petrovich from the images taken in Stockholm, we discovered an amazing coincidence through Interpol. Daniel Petrovich bears a 93% resemblance to Marko Resja, a Serbian paramilitary sniper wanted by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. The charges leveled against him are highly specific, which is unusual for this tribunal. Torture and murder, to include a beheading. According to the documents, he fled Serbia in 1999, never to be seen again.”
“When did he first appear in Serbia?”
“The exact timeline is unknown. Tribunal documents state that he operated with the Panthers from early 1998, until he disappeared in the late spring of 1999.”
“Four years,” Pushnoy muttered.
“Four years?”
“His training lasted nearly four years. 1994 to 1998. That’s unheard of, even for CIA deep-cover agents.”
“We found two more possible members of this group. Richard Farrington and Jeffrey Munoz appeared on FBI wanted lists at the same time as Sanderson and the Petroviches.”
“Petroviches?”
“Daniel and Jessica Petrovich were placed on FBI wanted lists right around the time of the high-profile assassination spree in the United States,” Ardankin clarified. “Several Muslim businessmen were killed in one evening.”
“I remember that. This is nearly unbelievable. What about Farrington and Munoz?”
“Both of them were regular military. Lieutenant Colonel Farrington started his career in 1987 as an infantry officer and remained on active duty until he appeared on the FBI watch list in 2005. The details of his arrest warrant are sealed. Munoz’s profile resembles Petrovich’s. Entered active duty as a Marine artillery officer in 1992 and melted away, reemerging in early 2002 as a civilian. He was wanted in connection with the murder of one of the eight Muslim businessmen.”
“Was?” Pushnoy remarked, looking up from the files.
“That’s the most interesting aspect of this entire case. They all disappeared from the FBI wanted lists in late April of this year. A little more than three weeks ago,” Ardankin said.
“All of them?” Pushnoy said.
“All of them,” he replied blankly.
“This is all highly irregular. Were they taken off the FBI lists before or after Stockholm?”
“Archived snapshot data indicates that they were removed from the lists the day after the ambush in Stockholm.”
“You would think that if Sanderson’s group had been turned into a legitimate extension of the United States government, they would have been removed from the lists prior to the CIA-sanctioned attack on our agents,” Pushnoy said.
“The CIA has been known to utilize questionable assets. Maybe Sanderson’s group conducted the attack in exchange for some kind of immunity.”
“I’m not so sure. This group is homegrown. Not the kind of degenerate outside scum we use for missions requiring no links. The operative captured in Munich could have shed more light on this mystery.”
Ardankin noted the subtle implication that his agents had mishandled the opportunity. Unfortunately, this wasn’t far from the truth, though in all fairness, the Directorate “S” agents assigned to the abduction couldn’t have predicted their captive’s steely resilience and unnatural commitment to this newly discovered program.
“He killed himself on an agent’s knife. Careless, yet completely unexpected,” Ardankin said.
“It seems that General Terrence Sanderson has created a new breed of American operatives. We can expect nothing but the unexpected from this point forward.”
“Perhaps all was not lost with Pavrikova. Her kidnapping—”
“Defection. Though I’m surprised they didn’t just kill her. It would have been a lot simpler,” Pushnoy interjected.
“The Americans have always been soft when it comes to their contacts,” Ardankin said.
“Indeed. Have you notified FSB Special Operations?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t contacted you. Miss Pavrikova’s absence must have been duly noted this morning.”
“Arkady Baranov will tiptoe around this—” Ardankin started.
“Baranov? Tiptoeing? Hardly. If anyone is worried right now, it’s his boss, Greshnev. He’ll be concerned about my reaction, but infinitely more troubled about Baranov’s,” Pushnoy said. “Baranov is hardcore, old-school Spetsnaz. If he suspects that we made a direct move against one of his people, he might retaliate. Pavrikova was part of the Center for Special Operations.”
“She was a technician. Hardly the same as an agent,” Ardankin said.
“Baranov is a warrior. He doesn’t need much of a reason to pick a fight. Especially with us. Make sure you contact him immediately to explain the situation. And put an immediate end to any continuing surveillance of his personnel,” Pushnoy said.
“What if he doesn’t believe me?”
“You need to make him believe you. We can’t afford to have him as an enemy. Sooner or later, it will cost us more than just a few operatives.”
“I’ll take care of this immediately. How much information should I share regarding Sanderson’s program?”
“Nothing about Sanderson. You can give him the names of the men involved in the abduction and their biographical information, but nothing connecting them to Stockholm. Let him draw his own conclusions, while we formulate a strategy to deal with this new threat,” Pushnoy said.
“Understood. Shall I consider Pavrikova a dead end at this point?”
“I think so. We’ll issue a capture-kill bulletin abroad, but I’d be surprised if we ever saw her again.”
“What a fucking mess this has been. The Americans crossed the line on this one,” Ardankin said.
“Everyone went over the line on this on
e,” Pushnoy corrected. “At least something good came of it. We’ve uncovered a potent threat to Russian Federation security.”
“Potent indeed,” Ardankin said, waiting for Pushnoy to dismiss him.
The director cast his eyes down, examining the file for a few seconds before closing it. “I’ll prepare a briefing for the Prime Minister. Make sure you call Baranov immediately. Don’t bullshit with him. The sooner he’s off your case, the better.”
“Of course, sir,” Ardankin said.
“Don’t wander too far today. I may need you to fill in some of the details for my briefing. Putin will not be pleased with this update. That will be all.”
Ardankin simply nodded, keeping his thoughts, or any visual betrayal of these sentiments, to himself. Pushnoy opened his laptop, which meant the meeting was officially finished. At this point, Ardankin ceased to exist. He turned unceremoniously and approached the conference room door, thinking dangerous thoughts about why Putin wanted Reznikov erased so badly.
Chapter 22
3:32 PM
Neuquén Province
Argentina
Richard Farrington leaned over the rustic lacquered conference table and examined the map, tracing the routes leading south out of Novosibirsk. He was still unsettled by the clear lack of options for their escape and evasion plan. As always, Petrovich’s assessment had been a “no holds barred,” concise summary of their situation. The first words out of his mouth had been, “I’m glad I won’t be in attendance.” What followed summed up Farrington’s first impression of the job. “Looks like a straightforward deal going in…getting out promises to be a motherfucker. Good luck.” Not exactly the words Sanderson wanted broadcast to the team during the videoconference, but at least his sentiments cleared the air. The group selected for this mission didn’t balk at his pessimism. If anything, they embraced the challenge, which resulted in a robust, yet deeply flawed escape plan.
Black Flagged Vektor (4) Page 14
