by Stuart Woods
“Ah, yes, divorced. Well, what can I do for you, Mrs. Rule?”
“Senator, there is a matter of what I believe to be the utmost importance, that I would like to discuss with you at the earliest possible moment. May I see you this morning at your home before you leave for your office?”
“I have a nine o’clock appointment with the president, Mrs. Rule, but if you could be here by, say, seven o’clock, I will see you then.”
“Thank you, sir, I can be there by that time.” She wrote down the address. “And, Senator, I hope you will keep this in confidence, at least until you’ve heard what I have to say.”
“Of course. I’ll see you at seven.”
Rule showered and dressed with a feeling of excitement mixed with unease. Before the day was over, she might well be unemployed, or worse, under arrest.
Before leaving the house, she went to her study, switched on the copying machine, and made two copies of everything she had collected in her files. She was pleased to see that the satshots copied very nicely. She drove quickly through the still-empty streets of Washington, conscious that she was about to take an irrevocable step. Carr’s house was on Capitol Hill, one of a row of Victorian structures that had been gentrified during recent years. He had lived there long before it was fashionable.
He answered the door himself, already in a necktie, but wearing a silk dressing gown over his shirt. “Come into the study,” he said, leading the way to a sunlit room at the back of the house. They sat next to each other on a leather Chesterfield sofa, while he poured her some coffee. Then he got right to the point. “Now,” he said, “what’s this about?”
Rule put down her coffee and tore her attention from the oakpaneled room, with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases and photographs of the senator with half a dozen presidents. She opened her briefcase. “It’s hard to know exactly where to start, Senator, but I suppose this is as good a place as any.” She handed him a sheaf of papers. “This is a copy of an Agency document describing a disinformation operation called Snowflower, which ran, or at least, began, in the early summer of 1983. As you can see in the summary paragraph, the idea was to convince the Soviets that Sweden was secretly considering joining NATO, in the hope of scaring them into moving forces into the Baltic, where there is actually no threat to them. The Agency hoped that some of these units would be moved from East Germany, where, as you know, there is a heavy concentration of Soviet ground forces.”
The senator’s eyebrows went up as he read. “As you know, the Agency is obliged to come to the committee for approval of covert operations, but they never came to us with this. I suppose they could argue that since this didn’t involve troops, it didn’t count, but I wouldn’t buy that. This could have all sorts of ramifications.”
“I believe it already has. I believe that this operation may have resulted in an entirely unanticipated course of events.” She took him carefully through everything she had—the running aground of a Whiskey class Soviet submarine near a Swedish naval base in October of 1981, and the subsequent sharp increase in submarine sightings in the Swedish archipelago; the background and discovery of Firsov/Majorov and his odd removal from high position in the KGB to the command of SPETSNAZ forces; the indications that what appeared to be a sports complex might really be a submarine and SPETSNAZ base; the marked increase in Swedish studies programs in Soviet universities; the successfully secret Soviet development of a wing-in-ground-effect troop transport, previously thought unworkable; the massing of Soviet forces in Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia, ostensibly for long-planned maneuvers; the recruiting of Emilio Appicella and his electronic message to her.
The senator listened intently to her presentation, occasionally asking a question. “I take it,” he said when she paused to sip her coffee, “that you believe the Soviet Union is considering some sort of military adventurism in Sweden, is that it?”
“Senator, I believe they have been considering it for a long time; I believe a full-scale invasion may now be imminent.”
Senator Carr blinked. “That is a very startling statement, Mrs. Rule, coming from someone in your position.”
“I know, sir, and I hope you will believe that I have not come to that belief rashly.”
“You don’t seem like a rash person to me, Mrs. Rule, although I expect there must be people in your agency who would regard such an assessment as rash, coming, as it does, from a woman.”
“I am afraid that is entirely true, Senator.”
“It is my assumption that you have already brought these facts and suppositions to the attention of your superiors, and they have not reacted as you believe they should.”
“That is correct.”
“Have they taken any action at all?”
“Not so far as I can determine, and my sources are good.”
“Why not? Well, never mind their reasons for not acting; why do you believe they have not acted?”
“First of all, because of Snowflower. This was a highly secret operation, one that I am not supposed to know about. To admit that the Soviets are about to act would be to admit that the Agency may have provoked their action.”
The senator nodded. “Yes, I can see how that might prove just a bit embarrassing, if it came out.”
“Beyond that, Senator, I don’t really know why my superiors have reacted the way they have, except for the fact that my ex-husband seems to find my presence in the Agency an embarrassment and may have had a tendency to ridicule the theory, because it came from me. I do know that the Director of Central Intelligence, himself, has seen or heard most of the material in this file, and that he reacted very angrily to it. My immediate superior has indicated to me that if I continue to pursue the matter, even on my own time, that I might expect to be removed. My ex-husband has suggested that I resign and implied that if I don’t, I might be dismissed.”
“Mrs. Rule, forgive me if I ask this, but I must, and I must ask you to be perfectly truthful with me.”
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Rule, might a thorough investigation of your employment at the Central Intelligence Agency reveal grounds, quite apart from this Swedish business, that might suggest that you are in trouble there, that you might be a candidate for dismissal in any case?”
Rule sat up and felt her face flush. “Senator, I am thirty-five years old, and I hold the Soviet Office of the Directorate of Intelligence. I am the youngest person ever to do so, and I am a woman. Does that answer your question?”
The senator burst out laughing. “Yes, I believe it does. I am very sorry, indeed, but you can see why I had to ask that.”
“Yes, I suppose I can,” Rule replied, somewhat mollified.
The senator looked at his watch. “There are a great many other things I would like to ask you, Mrs. Rule, but I have an appointment with the president in less than half an hour. It does not take much thought to see that the Soviets might perceive many advantages in controlling Sweden, but let me ask you, why, with all they will have to endure from the rest of the world—military, economic, diplomatic sanctions—why, in the light of all that, do you think they would do it?”
“Let me ask you a question in reply, Senator; do you believe that the United States would use nuclear weapons to defend Sweden from a Soviet invasion?”
The senator looked at the carpet. “No,” he said, finally. “I don’t believe so.”
“Well, sir, there is no other way to prevent them.”
“What about the Swedes themselves? They have a muchpraised system of defenses—a fine air force, a navy, hundreds of gun emplacements along their archipelago, a very large and well-trained reserve army—why would they not defend themselves?”
“Senator, the Swedes are very well set up to repel a D-Day type invasion from the east. They claim they can raise an army of eight hundred thousand—that’s ten percent of their population—on thirty-six hours’ notice. But it won’t be a D-Day-type invasion, and they won’t have thirty-six hours. SPETSNAZ forces will knock out conc
entrations of their shore gun emplacements and missile stations early on, and the Soviets will enter quickly through relatively narrow gaps in the shore defenses. And from what we know about SPETSNAZ operating techniques, they’ll already have a sizable force in place on Swedish soil, knocking out communications and destroying the Swedish Air Force on the ground. I’m no military expert, but I believe it could all be over very quickly, if the Soviets have surprise on their side.”
“All right, you’ve told me how you think they’ll do it, now tell me why.”
“Because they’ve always been paranoid, and they think they’re threatened by NATO in the Baltic; because we won’t go to war to stop them, and neither will anybody else; because they’re in critically deep economic trouble, and they could harness the Swedish economy to their very substantial benefit; because the Soviets have never lost a man nor a square yard of soil to public opinion; because they have a great deal to gain and not much to lose; because they can get away with it.”
The senator stared at her for a moment, then got up and walked to his desk. “Mrs. Rule, what is it you would like me to do? I probably have a great deal less scope than you believe.”
“Take a copy of this file to the president. Ask him to warn the Swedes, to telephone the prime minister personally, if possible. I don’t think an invasion can work unless the Soviets have the advantage of absolute surprise. If the Swedes mobilize, the Soviets will have to back down. It would be too expensive and bloody a move if the Swedes are warned. Tell the Swedes. That’s all I want.”
“That’s all? You want an entire country to go on a war footing because of what’s in your file?”
“That’s not my decision, Senator, that’s not even the president’s. All we can do is tell the Swedes, and then it’s their decision. But can you imagine what will happen if we suppress this information and the Soviets do invade? Never mind history, what would it do to this country right now, let alone to the balance of power in western Europe? We’d have to pour troops into Norway and Denmark and Germany; we’d have to deploy a whole new series of Cruise missiles, with all the political consequences that entails; it would cost us tens of billions of dollars. Not only that, but our armed forces would be at full alert for months, and so would the Soviets. The chances of an accidental nuclear launch would increase exponentially. And need I mention world opinion? We’re having a tough enough time as it is. We’ve got to tell the Swedes, Senator.”
“That’s all you want, then? For somebody to tell the Swedes?”
“That’s all.”
“Well, I can’t go to the president with only what you’ve got here. First of all, he would suspect it, coming from me, in the opposition party. Second, even if I convinced him it was worth looking into, he’d want the advice of everybody in sight—the Pentagon, in particular, and not least, your own Agency. That would take time, and if this is as imminent as you think it is, well …”
Rule stood up. “Thank you for your time, Senator, I won’t trouble you again.”
“No, wait, wait,” he said, taking her arm and steering her to a chair. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, I just can’t go to the president. Maybe there’s a better way.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe we can arrange for you to tell the Swedes yourself.”
“How?”
“Are you the young lady Will is meeting in Copenhagen tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
The senator walked around his desk and picked up the telephone. He looked up a number in his address book, glanced at his watch, and dialed a lot of digits. “Go to Stockholm instead,” he said. “Hello? Hello? Is that Mr. Carlsson’s office? This is United States Senator Benjamin Carr calling. May I speak to Mr. Carlsson, please?” He put his hand over the phone and turned to Rule. “This fellow is Head of Chancery at the Swedish Ministry of Defense … Hello, Sven? This is Ben Carr, in Washington, how are you? Good, yes, I’m well. Listen, I’m calling you on a matter of some importance. A friend of mine is going to be in Stockholm …”he looked at Kate … “tomorrow?”
She nodded.
”… tomorrow, and I would be very grateful if you would take the time to see her. Her name …”
Rule was waving frantically at him. “No, not my name over the phone!”
”. .. just a minute.” He put his hand over the phone. “What name should I give him?”
“Brooke Kirkland.”
“Sven, her name is Brooke Kirkland, have you got that? Good. Now listen, Sven, I want you to understand that this lady is a serious person, and I hope you will listen to what she has to say. Please take my word that she is who she says she is, that’s very important, and her information may be of great value to your people there. I think you might want her to meet your minister. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but you understand. Yes, I hope we’ll see you in Washington again, soon. Thank you, Sven, and goodbye.”
He hung up and turned to Rule. “Sven Carlsson, as I said, is Head of Chancery, the top civil servant in the Swedish Ministry of Defense; his office is right across from the minister’s. We’ve met a number of times; he’s been a guest in my home. You heard what I said to him. When you see him, explain that this is being done unofficially, that it is not a message from our government. But when he’s seen what you’ve shown me, perhaps he will be impressed enough to take you to his minister, and perhaps he, in turn, will go to the Prime Minister. I’m sorry I can’t do more, but at least, this way, they’ll have your information tomorrow and not next week.”
Rule stood up and gathered her papers together. She handed the senator a large, brown envelope. “This is a copy of everything I showed you. Make whatever use of it you wish.”
He took the envelope. “Thank you. If I have the right opportunity … and I’ll try to keep your name out of it.”
“I appreciate that, Senator, but I understand that it may not be possible. Do what you must. And thank you so much for listening to me, and for your help.”
“Call me when you’ve talked to Carlsson. I’ll let you know what’s happening here.”
She left Carr’s house, drove to a pay phone, and booked herself on an SAS night flight to Stockholm, canceling her seat to Copenhagen. She called the Grand Hotel in Stockholm, the only hotel there she knew about, and booked a room. She called the hotel in Copenhagen and left the Stockholm number for Will.
She got back into her car and drove to Langley. Somehow, she had to get through an ordinary work day. Then she would be free, free to try and stop this thing.
43
HELDER sat in the first row of the theater and watched Majorov take his audience through an abbreviated version of the slide show he had given the Politburo some days before. It was bold, he had to give the colonel that; in fact, it was brilliant. The country would fold before its people had known what had happened; the prime minister, or somebody who looked and sounded like him, would appear on television and radio, asking for calm and no resistance. There would be outbreaks of fighting, Majorov conceded, but they would be isolated pockets, militiamen with nothing more than small arms and soon-to-be-shattered hopes. The major population centers, though,—Stockholm, Gothenberg, and some smaller cities—would be taken very quickly, indeed, as would major military centers, such as the Stockholm Military District Headquarters, at Strangnas. Command of Swedish forces would be lost during the first hours of invasion, taken by crack units already in place. All this would happen if the element of surprise could be kept intact. Majorov did not mention his orders that, if surprise were lost, the invasion would be immediately canceled, and troop movements explained away as maneuvers.
“And now,” Majorov was saying to his obviously excited audience, “you will report to your division and regimental commanders for your final instructions. Remember, if you and your troops perform as you have been trained, you will write a page of Soviet military history that will be read and reread for centuries to come. And the Soviet people will shower upon you such honor and privilege as
you cannot now conceive.”
The audience was on its feet, cheering, then singing the SPETSNAZ anthem in lusty voices. Majorov beamed at them, then, catching Helder’s eye, motioned him to a side door. “Come,” he said to the younger man, “I’ll walk you to the sub pens.”
The two men walked briskly down the hill together, toward the guarded gates. Helder felt light-headed and short of breath. He had said his goodbyes to Trina Ragulin the night before; she had recovered enough from her bruising to make love to him repeatedly. He promised her that he would return, but he had no way of knowing that. He was going into battle, and he did not feel invulnerable. Death had come too close on the first mission. In spite of himself, his anger at Majorov had diminished somewhat, as he had been swept along in the excitement of this monumental military exercise. He knew, now, that if he could but survive, he would spend the remainder of his career in a position he had never dreamed of achieving.
“Helder,” Majorov said, “this is to be your day, more than any of the others. But for you to realize that, you must know a bit more than you have been told so far. This goes back to a blunder on the part of the American CIA, one so stupid that it was hard to credit, at the time. They made an effort to convince us that Sweden was about to become an enemy, a member of NATO, and by the time we discovered it was a lie—a discovery we made from inside their own ranks, I am glad to tell you—I had put a plan to the Politburo, then under Andropov, and had been given SPETSNAZ as the means of realizing the plan. Ever since the Great Patriotic War, we have been sending submarines into Swedish waters for reconnaissance, and after the development of the minisubs, we began sending SPETSNAZ units in for training, as well.”
Majorov scooped up a stone from the path and sent it skimming across the lawn. “Swedish sub-hunting technology was extremely poor, and we had little difficulty in penetrating their waters. Their capabilities in this regard were so small, in fact, that I believed we could endure even a major upgrading of their techniques, and I was right. My plan began and will end with provocation. In the autumn of 1981, I ordered a Whiskey boat to be put aground near the base at Karlskrona. The resulting uproar was all I could have wished for. Swedish public opinion turned against the Soviet Union, their parliament launched an investigation into the incident, and their prime minister, who had been most conciliatory towards us, was greatly embarrassed. It was wonderful.”
