Black Flagged Vektor (4)

by Konkoly, Steven

  Heading north through Novosibirsk was quickly eliminated due to the location of a sizable military garrison northeast of the city. The possibility of going north was considered solely on the merits that it would be the least expected route. Vektor Labs was located south of the city in a small urban settlement called Koltsovo, which had easy access to the M52 Highway. The highway led south to several smaller roads that reached the Kazakhstan border and provided the quickest path out of Russia. They had little doubt that the Russians would focus their search efforts south along these routes, leaving the northern roads relatively unguarded. The trick to heading north would be Novosibirsk.

  Situated twenty-five kilometers north of Koltsovo, road options were limited and would no doubt be heavily patrolled once the alarm was raised. The key highway northwest of the city was only accessible by crossing the Ob River at one of two bridges located well within Novosibirsk city limits. They could imagine few scenarios in which those crossings would be left unguarded once they completed their handiwork at Vektor. The critical question for the northern attempt centered on whether they could travel roughly twenty-five kilometers before the police and military response became organized enough to establish roadblocks. Nobody felt optimistic about their chances to break through Novosibirsk.

  With a northern escape off the table, all of their efforts became focused on a southern escape and evasion plan. Farrington liked what his team had devised, but they would be forced to rely on some sketchy variables to reach the border area. Getting across the border was another story. One that would likely require a small, U.S. military sponsored miracle…or a series of them. He’d leave that part of the equation to General Sanderson, who had an uncanny ability to produce miracles on a near biblical level.

  “My biggest concern is trusting our escape to the bratva. One lapse, whether intentional or unintentional, will put us out of business,” Farrington said, glancing up at Sanderson.

  “We either trust that money buys their loyalty, or we try to figure out a way to do this without them,” Sanderson said.

  “Reznikov’s holding back key information. I don’t see us having a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice. This is your team, so it’s your call. My gut tells me the Russian brotherhood will honor their end of the deal, though I have no doubt they will hit us up for more money right at the end. Mafiya is mafiya,” Sanderson said.

  “And we’ll cover that?”

  “We’ll have to. I’ll send the CIA a bill later.”

  “Good luck collecting,” Farrington said.

  The general exposed a thin smile.

  “Equipment won’t be an issue?” Farrington said.

  “Not at these prices. I’ve been assured top-of-the-line gear. Latest generation Russian military hardware and high-quality commercial-grade electronics. All included. Berg has given them a basic list of items based on our earliest assessment, so they can start to source the equipment. You can fine-tune that list with your bratva contact before the team departs.”

  “Sounds good,” Farrington said. “What about border crossing?”

  “I’m working on that with Berg and my DoD friends.”

  “You still have friends at the Pentagon?” Farrington asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Christ. Are you taking over Petrovich’s role as camp comedian too?”

  “His personality rubs off on you after a while.”

  “Wonderful. As long as some of his skill rubbed off at the same time, I can deal with it. Anyway…I can’t guarantee what we’ll muster from Uncle Sam, but we’ll get you something decisive,” Sanderson said.

  “Worst-case scenario, we split up and go to ground. Wait for opportunities to cross, or double back into Russia and blend into the population,” Farrington said.

  “Besides Novosibirsk, you’re not looking at any major population areas,” Sanderson said. “Options will be very limited with the Russian government on your heels. I’ll get you out of there. I have Parker working with Admiral DeSantos in D.C. to push the case, along with Berg and a few other allies. I’m sure Berg has a few surprises left in him.”

  “He’s been pretty resourceful in the past.”

  “I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side,” Sanderson said.

  Farrington heard a knock at the lodge door and turned in time to see the screen door swing inward. One of the Russian Group operatives poked his head inside and spoke to someone standing on the porch.

  “They’re inside. Good luck,” he said and disappeared.

  Erin Foley stepped inside the post-and-beam structure, surveying her surroundings. “It’s a little more rustic than I expected, but I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said, not waiting to be invited to the table.

  She shook hands with Sanderson first, then Farrington. Her grip was strong and cold, which didn’t match what his visual senses had predicted. He had been too preoccupied in Stockholm to take in many of the salient details. He remembered her wearing gray, carrying a red purse and sporting blond hair. The woman standing in front of him looked drastically different. A jet-black, shoulder-length bob had replaced the golden locks sported in Scandinavia. She wore stylish, functional clothing, a mix of J Crew and Patagonia that had probably been purchased in a boutique mall somewhere in Buenos Aires.

  She looked more like a highly primped adventure traveler than a hardened espionage operative, but looks could be deceiving. Berg had assured them that she was the real deal. Another Jessica Petrovich in the making. He highly doubted that, but Daniel had vouched for her lethality based on what he had witnessed in Stockholm, and that was good enough to earn her a place on the team. Her skills and attractiveness would play a critical role in the early phase of their plan.

  “It appears that I’m a little overdressed for the camp,” she said.

  “Welcome to the team, Ms. Foley,” Sanderson said. “I trust your trip went smoothly, but most importantly, unnoticed?”

  “My journey west from Buenos Aires was unremarkable, beyond the antics of Rico Suave and Julio Iglesias,” she said.

  “Munoz and Melendez escorted her from the airport and kept an eye out for unwanted attention,” Farrington explained.

  “You were in capable hands,” Sanderson assured her, “despite the comedy routine, which seems to be the only bad habit I can’t eliminate here.”

  “Oh, they weren’t cracking jokes. The two of them bickered like a married couple throughout the entire ride. I think they need to get out more often,” she said.

  Sanderson broke out laughing, catching Farrington off guard.

  “They get out plenty. Mostly together, which is the real problem. They’ve been joined at the hip for over a month now,” he said, pausing to glance at Farrington.

  “So, Ms. Foley,” Farrington said, “are you ready to take your field craft to the next level? Your role in this operation will be unlike anything you’ve experienced. You’ll work hand in hand with the Russian mafiya to execute your objectives.”

  “I won’t be working with the rest of the team?”

  “Once you leave this compound, you may not see any of the team again…unless I can persuade you to permanently join our modest operation,” Sanderson said.

  “I don’t know. I’m not big into nature,” she said, glancing around the lodge.

  “Very well. Would you like to go over the basic concept of your role in the operation, or do you need to freshen up after the trip?” Sanderson asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” She brushed past Farrington to examine the map, staring at it for several seconds before looking up.

  “It’s a little over four days on the train from Vladivostok. Don’t you think it might be easier to fly me into Kiev? I could drive or take a shorter train to Novosibirsk.”

  “We thought about that,” Sanderson said, “but Karl Berg thinks that a western entry would be too risky at this point. Several recent developments lead him to believe that the chance of you being intercepted is too high. I’m not sur
e if you’re aware of this, but the deputy station chief in Stockholm disappeared. The Russians are getting desperate, and you’re no doubt on their short list of people they would like to interview. The CIA is putting together cover paperwork that will pass scrutiny in Vladivostok. The details haven’t crystalized, but you’ll likely pose as an Australian travel blogger taking the Trans-Siberian Railway. You’ll find plenty of tourists onboard the train, along with little scrutiny. The rail system still operates in a relatively archaic mode. There’s very little technology involved. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be on a flight back to the States before the fireworks start.”

  “Like Stockholm? That was supposed to be a simple surveillance job, but I did the math and decided to stick around. I was apparently the only operative who could count,” she said.

  “Actually, Ms. Foley,” Farrington said, “Stockholm went precisely as planned.”

  Foley regarded him for a moment. “You purposely drove your vehicle into a Spetsnaz crossfire?”

  “Yes. Everybody on that team knew exactly what was at stake, and nobody hesitated. That’s how it works here. While your role in this mission isn’t a cakewalk, your situation is vastly different than the rest of the team’s. When you’re finished with your part, you’ll board the next available flight out of Russia, presumably flying first class. Nobody on my team will have that luxury. Once we hit Vektor Labs, it’ll take a miracle to get us safely to the Kazakhstan border. I tell you this to provide some perspective. The men you’ll get to know over the next day or two are a fairly optimistic and highly capable group, but they harbor no delusions about their chances of escape. Be careful what you say around them. They know you’re holding the golden ticket out of there.”

  Erin Foley maintained her unreadable facade, but he could see a fire ignite beyond her eyes. He was glad to see this. She was angry that she wouldn’t share the same risks as the rest of the team and was hungry to prove something.

  “I get it. I didn’t mean any disrespect. How much time do we have before I leave for Vladivostok?”

  “We’re still waiting for Berg and his masters to convince the White House. They’re bringing new information to the president tomorrow,” Sanderson said. “We expect a green light shortly after that. Full mission briefing and talk-through at 1700 hours. Expect a long night. You can eat with the team at the Russia House. No more pickled herring, fancy baked goods and good coffee for you.”

  “No more smorgasbord.” She sighed.

  “Watery cabbage, potato-based soups, unseasoned boiled meats, salted fish, porridge…it grows on you,” Farrington said.

  “What about blini or pirozhki?”

  “We haven’t hired a pastry chef, yet,” Farrington grumbled.

  “Might be a future condition of my employment,” Foley said to Sanderson.

  “You pull this off for us, and I’ll send our cook to a few fine Russian cuisine classes,” Sanderson replied.

  “Deal.”

  Foley nodded and turned for the door, hesitating before facing them again. “What if I don’t want to take a flight out of Novosibirsk?”

  Foley was starting to grow on him. She had a slightly irreverent sense of humor and cold affect, but he sensed that she would never back down from a fight. Her decision to stay on Bondegaten Street after fulfilling her assigned role in Reznikov’s takedown wasn’t a fluke. He could see it in her eyes. He now wondered if he’d gone too far with his dressing down and implication that she had the easy job. This clearly didn’t sit well with Foley. He’d have to keep a close eye on her and make sure she didn’t try to expand her role. He had no doubt that she was a capable, intelligent operative, but her skill set would require an extensive retrofit to match the team selected to breach Vektor Labs. Her job would be just as critical to their success, but he needed to keep her at a distance.

  “Ms. Foley, you have a long, arduous path ahead of you. Your role is critical to the operation,” Farrington told her. “You’ll gain a much better appreciation for your importance to the mission tonight. Trust me. And for the record…everybody here knows what you did for us in Stockholm. You’ve already earned their respect…and mine.”

  “All right,” she said, faltering to say anything beyond that.

  “Grisha will show you to your accommodations,” Sanderson said.

  On cue, the same operative that had shown her inside minutes earlier materialized in the doorway. Grisha, aka Grigory Usenko, stood an in inch short of six feet, built on a sinewy, muscular frame. His drab, loose-fitting clothing gave the impression that he was simply thin, which in terms of body mass and height to weight ratio would be an accurate surface observation. Under the surface, Grisha was pound for pound one of the strongest and quickest human beings Farrington had ever met. The first generation Belarusian looked indistinguishable from the average East European male, with short, faded brown hair and blue eyes. He nodded with a disaffected look plastered to his thin, angular face.

  While Farrington commanded the overall team, Grisha was the de facto assault element lead. His lightning reflexes and unmatched quick decision-making capacity made him a natural choice for this role. With Grisha on point, Farrington could concentrate on the bigger tactical picture, satisfied that all immediate threats would be assessed and dispatched flawlessly. Grisha had trained exclusively with three other operatives for the past two years, forming a tightly knit team that operated on a near subconscious level.

  Watching them conduct drills reminded him of the team assembled to check out the abandoned laboratory in Kazakhstan. Andrei, Sergei and Leo had been his first team, and like Grisha’s crew, he had trained alongside them for nearly two years before they were sent out with Petrovich to unravel the madness created by Vektor Lab’s star scientist, Anatoly Reznikov. Andrei and Sergei had been killed during their mad trek across Russia and Europe. Leo had been severely wounded in Stockholm, losing the full use of his right shoulder. He was unlikely to be reintegrated into the program at this point.

  Farrington would like to return as many of Grisha’s comrades as possible from this operation, but he wasn’t overly optimistic. At this point, without U.S. military assistance, taking down Vektor was tantamount to a suicide mission. Nobody on the Russian team had said a word about the final stage of the evasion and extract plan. Sanderson had created a pervasive and unequivocal cult of loyalty and service among his operatives.

  Like Farrington, everyone knew that he would work tirelessly behind the scenes to get them what they needed for every aspect of their assigned missions. It was also implicitly understood that their personal safety was secondary to mission accomplishment, and nobody questioned or balked at this key premise of their existence as Black Flag operatives. Lives would never be cast away on worthless causes. If Sanderson’s operatives were put into action, their mission objectives represented the solution to an essential national security problem that required the use of untraceable, “off the books” assets.

  The Vektor Labs raid fit all of the above criteria, but took the concept a step further. Sanderson had made it clear to Farrington that there would be no middle ground for operatives sent against Vektor, meaning that capture by Russian Federation forces was not an option under any circumstances. He hadn’t decided when to broach this non-negotiable term with the team. Ultimately it would be his responsibility to ensure compliance with this directive, which meant that it was unlikely that he could allow the team to split up and try to make their own way across the border if Sanderson failed to arrange an extraction. As if reading his mind, Sanderson addressed him as soon as the steps faded from the porch.

  “Have you decided when to tell them?” Sanderson said.

  “Not tonight. I think this will be part of the final brief. I don’t need this clouding their thoughts. They’ll be pumped full of adrenaline at that point. Less chance to register and cause them to hesitate or falter.”

  “I’d recommend telling Grisha and letting him make the final decision. He knows that crew like t
he back of his hand. I’m willing to bet that he won’t want to tell them at all.”

  Farrington knew what that meant. Bringing two of them in on the secret ensured that the final directive could be carried out if one of them was taken down. He didn’t want to spend any more mental energy on the worst-case scenario, but he agreed with Sanderson.

  “I’ll talk to Grisha tonight. Let him weigh in on the decision.”

  “We’ll get you the support. Berg has something up his sleeve, I can tell by his tone. He won’t let me in on it, but if I know Berg, this promises to be a good one,” Sanderson said.

  “Sounds like a plan. See you at 1700.”

  Farrington didn’t push the issue. He knew better than anyone that Sanderson would sell his soul to the devil to get the support they needed. His only concern was that Sanderson didn’t have any of his soul left to leverage. To have brought the Black Flag program this far, through two iterations, he’d likely signed it over several times. Farrington had been working with Sanderson ever since the two of them reconnected outside of a Senate hearing on April 12, 2000, when Sanderson’s original program came under fire from the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.

  With a disgruntled former Black Flag operative’s help, one of Sanderson’s career enemies, Brigadier General William Tierney, started to stir up trouble from his comfortable, dead-end perch in the army’s Plans and Resources Division. Farrington never learned why Tierney hated Sanderson, but something had clearly gone awry between the two of them and had festered for years. With Tierney raising difficult questions, Pentagon supporters of Sanderson’s classified program started to shy away, taking their budget with them. Derren McKie had turned on the Black Flag program, following a precipitous fall from grace for his role in attempting to arrange and ultimately conceal a sizable arms shipment destined for elements of the Irish Republican Army.

  McKie had committed two cardinal sins. First, he had violated one of Sanderson’s non-negotiable rules of engagement for Black Flag operatives: No direct action will be taken against U.S. or allied military, law enforcement or civilian entities, nor shall indirect courses of action be set in motion that would do the same. McKie’s illicit weapons shipment would most certainly be used to fuel Provisional Irish Republican Army attacks against British interests, which violated Sanderson’s directive. The general set down very few rules for his operatives, but the few he established were considered sacrosanct.