Long Shot

by Sgt. Jack Coughlin

  “We are like the pilots who pursued the speed of sound with early jet planes back after World War Two,” Swanson explained.

  “The Great Patriotic War,” Ivan corrected, pouring another mug of beer.

  “Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, the sound barrier was out there somewhere and most experts believed that nothing could break that invisible wall. Bullshit, of course, because bullets were supersonic all the time. Eventually, an American pilot named Chuck Yeager broke Mach 1, and the so-called barrier vanished.”

  “We Russians did it first. Yuri Pobedonostsev!” Ivan hoisted his beer mug in salute.

  “Point is, my friend, that there was no barrier. Same thing applies to modern shooting. We don’t know the outer limit, but we snipers keep searching for it through the mud and the sand and the jungles. That unknown fact can get a man killed.”

  “Or a woman could get killed, too. Some of our greatest snipers were women.” The Russian’s dark eyes were growing misty and emotional, and he burst out in verse, with a sweep of his bottle in salute to his lost military future:

  “Hell and damnation,

  life is such fun

  with a ragged greatcoat

  and a Jerry gun!”

  “That was by Alexandr Blok,” he explained, and settled into a pout.

  Kyle drained his own beer. “Stop that. Stay on the topic.” Get a Russian drunk and they were as bad as the Irish for mixing mournful poetry with booze. “Look across the room, up at the stage, Ivan. You see that guy playing the acoustic guitar in the band?”

  “I do, most certainly. My eyes are perfect. Fucking doctors.”

  “How many strings are on it?”

  The Russian stared, with his hat tilted. Their table was better than fifty feet away, there was smoke streaming in the air and distracting movement everywhere. “He has six strings, of course.”

  “Twelve, pal. It’s a twelve-string guitar. You couldn’t tell the difference.”

  Ivan stood up, angry. “You play tricks with me. You say I am good enough for Stalingrad, but you fail me because of guitar strings? My superiors in the exchange program will insist that you give me a passing mark!”

  Kyle shrugged. “Sit back down, Ivan. I’m probably saving your life. You don’t want to be out in the bush and give such an edge to an enemy sniper. I know you’re a smart guy, a brave man and a good soldier, but I have to protect the brand of ‘Sniper.’ If I pass you, then I open the door to having to pass others who do not even have your level of professionalism. I cannot bend for political correctness.”

  “I have spent my life defending my Motherland, Gunnery Sergeant Swanson.” He plopped down heavily, his disappointment alleviated once again as he watched a sturdy blonde in denim and boots at the bar, who was watching him right back.

  “Then find a way to do that in another field, Ivan. Every sniper has to stop at some point, and this is the end of the line for you. Mine eventually will come, too.”

  “What will I do, then?”

  Kyle scratched an ear and shrugged his shoulders. “You are really good at computers, and could probably move into private industry and double or triple your salary. I can’t even suggest that I know all of your skills. Right now, I think you need to go ask that girl at the bar to dance and have another beer.”

  Ivan Strakov lurched wobbly to his feet. “That is the best thing you have said all night, Gunnery Sergeant. You are my friend, eh? My good friend!”

  “You bet,” said Kyle. And they had not seen each other since.

  Swanson was out of the hotel door at 6:30 a.m. for a morning run. He had never been to Helsinki before and looked forward to watching the city come awake. It was a good way to get to know a new place, he thought, and although it might not work in cities like Mosul or Kabul, a civilized place would reveal a lot about itself to a visitor who just bothered to look.

  A few minutes later, while he was stretching out in the Esplanadi Park that sloped down to the water, Swanson realized he was already too late. It was the fourth day of April, and although spring had not arrived, the snow was gone from the city and was being replaced by patches of green. The grass was coming alive. The Finns were already out in force—joggers, runners, walkers, cyclists and convoys of men, women, boys and girls who zoomed along the pavement on rubber-tired skis to stay in shape for next winter’s cross-country treks out in the deep forests. Fitness was a priority. He loped off, staying in the slow lane along the sidewalks and boulevards so as not to be run over by some Flying Finn.

  Senate Square, the cathedrals, Parliament House, monuments, government buildings, the libraries and government buildings, and boats in the harbor all spun quietly by, and all of them seemed extraordinarily clean and scrubbed. Early-bird workers in fashionable clothes were arriving on trams to get their offices open by eight, and vendors and customers were already busy in the Hietalahti flea market. Four miles later he was back where he started, bent over, hands on knees, catching deep breaths of cool air, and he understood that what he had witnessed were outward manifestations of contentment in the capital city of Finland.

  He found a newsstand and bought a copy of the International New York Times, then found a sidewalk café and sat outside beneath an umbrella. A young woman with thick golden hair that fell over her shoulders appeared as soon as he was seated. “May I suggest a light breakfast, sir?” The English was perfect.

  Kyle looked at her. Tall and athletic. “How did you know I spoke English?”

  “You look like an American and you’re reading an English-language newspaper. Almost everyone here speaks it, and Swedish, which is really our national language.” Her smile was as bright as the morning. “Finnish, too, obviously. It can be confusing. Since you are apparently a tourist, let me suggest a warm bowl of rolled oat porridge with butter, cheese and fruit, and a large mug of light-roast coffee.”

  “I like my coffee strong,” he countered.

  “Try this first. The water from the mountains makes it a local favorite. We should know. We drink more coffee than anybody on the planet.”

  “Seattle might challenge that.”

  “Seattle would lose.”

  “OK. I’ll give it a try.” She went away and Kyle leafed through the big pages of the newspaper. It seemed almost archaic in the world of technology, but there was just something about handling the paper, reading long stories without having to jump around through a lot of Web sites, and even getting smudges of ink on his fingertips that gave a newspaper the familiar feeling that Swanson enjoyed.

  Nothing on the front page interested him, since it was mostly about politics. Another bomb in Baghdad. Inside, there was a five-paragraph wire story about a terrorist being killed in Rome. Front-to-back, no mention of Ivan the Terrible. The breakfast came and the waitress had been right about the coffee. The porridge tasted like grits and berries. She had pink sunshine on her cheeks, edging away the winter paleness.

  A scan of his cell phone gave him no more fresh information than he had gotten from the newspaper. Janna Ecklund had e-mailed the day’s schedule for the Washington office of Excalibur, and she wanted to know how long he would be in Finland. He answered with a brief response that he would know more after the meeting at the Defence Ministry. In other words, he had no idea. The business-related chatter was needed to keep the cover tight.

  Then he still had some spare time before meeting Big Lem, so he had another coffee and thought about Finland some more. Why is he here? The nation was more complex than it appeared on the surface. The lessons of history had been very hard, but the people had put together a country that reflected who they were. Although they were not warlike, they were fierce fighters. The Nazis had found that out the hard way in World War II when they ran into the Finns in the mountains, as had the invading Swedes hundreds of years earlier, and the Russians later on. Even today, there was mandatory conscription of two years for every Finnish man, but peace had worked better than war in this isolated part of the world. There was a social democracy with a cradl
e-to-grave welfare structure that was uniquely Finnish. The citizenry was protected, educated, safe and secure. Laziness was not rewarded, however, and the country had a thriving economy. Camelot in the snow.

  So, Swanson thought, it seemed to have been sort of silly of him to carry a concealed weapon and his credentials on his sunny morning outing, but that was who he was. And just because no bunch of terrorists was running around throwing bombs, and there was no noticeable street crime, did not mean that danger was on holiday. In fact, Swanson had the sense that everyone in this city was intent on wringing every drop of happiness they could get out of this warm new season, before it was too late.

  He paid the breakfast bill, left the newspaper folded for some other reader, and headed back to the hotel, where he halted on the first step, turned and waited for the two people who had been following him to catch up.

  4

  THEY HAD NOT BEEN cautious with their movements, which indicated they had nothing to conceal nor anything to fear, which further indicated that they were a pair of cops.

  An attractive middle-aged woman wearing a plain-knit white crewneck sweater and jeans stepped forward. A mane of blond hair parted in the middle swept to her shoulders. Her partner was a solid, straw-haired man with sharp blue eyes set in an otherwise blank face that had been leathered by the winter sun. An outdoorsman, and in good shape, Kyle thought. The man edged off to one side, opening space to triangulate Swanson, who recognized the tactical shift. It was the move of a professional and meant that if Kyle chose to resist, he could only deal with them as individuals.

  “Mister Swanson, I am Inspector Rikka Aura, and this is Sergeant Alan Kiuru. We are with the Security Intelligence Service and would appreciate a few minutes of your time.” She flashed a badge. She was not really asking; she was telling. Inspector Aura was with Supo, the Suojelupoliisi, federal police, and had the power of her government at her back.

  “I’m right here in front of you, Inspector. What do you want?”

  “In private, if you please.”

  He grinned. “I prefer that we stay in public view. I feel more comfortable out here.”

  “I must insist,” Aura answered politely. “We prefer not to discuss national security issues in front of big hotels.”

  With the preliminary fencing complete, Kyle nodded. “Let’s go up to my suite. I’ll order some coffee,” he said. He had forty-five minutes before the American DSS escort agent was to arrive. The CIA was expecting him. People at the U.S. Embassy knew he was coming. The Finnish Defence Ministry had him scheduled for after lunch. Ivan the Terrible, the Russian who had started the dominoes falling, was aware that Kyle was probably on the way. Now a pair of Supo agents had shown up, and it wasn’t yet nine o’clock. For a mission that had begun in the utmost surprise and secrecy less than twenty-four hours earlier, a lot of people knew that Kyle Swanson was in Helsinki.

  * * *

  THE INSPECTOR GOT COMFORTABLE by taking the largest chair in the room while the sergeant stayed alert near the door. The room maid had not yet been around, but the place was still tidy because Kyle’s military training had ingrained in him the need for being shipshape in his personal space. Her eyes vacuumed the place while he ordered room service, coffee for three.

  “So. What is this about, Inspector?” Kyle asked.

  Like all cops, she answered with a question of her own. “Why are you here, Mister Swanson?”

  He came back with, “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Aura shook her head. “This is a courtesy visit. No, you are not in any trouble. Why are you in Finland?”

  Swanson sighed with resignation and found a straight chair off to one side. “A combination of business and pleasure.”

  The sergeant by the door had pulled a small notebook computer from his jacket and read from it. “Executive vice president of Excalibur Enterprises, Limited, based in London and Washington, D.C.”

  “Yes.” Best to keep the answers simple.

  “And you have a meeting at one o’clock today with Colonel Max Piikkilä at our Defence Ministry.” A bit of acting.

  “No. It’s at two o’clock.”

  Inspector Aura spoke. “That is your only business appointment, and it was only requested late yesterday afternoon. Why was that?”

  “I hope to get the colonel’s advice and permission for a tour of some Finnish industrial plants during the next few days so as to introduce our product line around. That sort of thing, Inspector. Normal outreach procedures, scratching for new customers and suppliers. You know how it is.”

  She kept the pleasant look on her face. “You arrived very late at this hotel. Why was that?”

  “I flew in from Italy after a business trip there, and it was a long flight.”

  Sergeant Kiuru pulled up more information and spoke. “Yet you did not arrive on any commercial flight. You cleared customs on the military side of the airport. That is peculiar.”

  Kyle answered, “Not in my world. We frequently fly on private aircraft, and, in fact, own one. Waiting in airports is a waste of time, and time is money.”

  Now the inspector’s eyes grew flinty as she took over. “The plane’s tail number shows that it is an aircraft that we know is owned by a front company controlled by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. So I am wondering why this wandering important business executive with only one appointment in Finland flies in on a CIA plane.”

  Swanson waved off the question as also being unimportant. “There is nothing mysterious about it at all, Inspector Aura. My company deals in advanced military technology and maintains very good relations with various government agencies. My office discovered the plane was available in Rome, while our company jet was in England. It was a simple lease arrangement and it happens all the time.”

  “A man with your incredible military record flies all the way from Rome to Helsinki on a CIA jet for a business appointment that had not yet been made?”

  “You spent a long time in the U.S. Marines,” read the sergeant. “Exceptional sniper.”

  Kyle did not respond other than nodding in the affirmative.

  “What of the pleasure side, Mister Swanson? You mentioned business and pleasure.”

  “Now you are getting personal, Ms. Aura.” He intentionally dropped her official title. “Who I want to see in my personal life is none of your business.”

  She rolled her eyes, as if enjoying the verbal fencing. “Ah. An affair of the heart. Perhaps you have a secret lover in our country. How touching. What’s her name?”

  “Again, none of your business.”

  “It is all my business. Sergeant? What does your computer say about all of this?”

  “There was nothing romantic at all. He was brought to the hotel by Special Agent Lem James of the U.S. Department of State Security Service, and they had drinks. The bartender and registration desk confirm.”

  “So Lem James is the friend that you came to see? I’ve known him for several years. Very nice man. Very professional and quite large. Do you know where he was born? I do. How many children does he have?”

  “You can ask him about his life story in about thirty minutes. He’s meeting me here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Lem is taking me over to the embassy to introduce me around to the trade and military people there. Then we have some lunch and I go to see Colonel Piikkilä…”

  “And then you go tour some plants and maybe take a reindeer sleigh ride and watch the northern lights with your secret lover. Before you do any of that, can you tell me why the U.S. Embassy has tightened its security so much? The Marine guards have even requested extra local police patrols. What’s going on, Mister Swanson?”

  “Since I have never been there, I don’t know what they do.” Kyle thought Inspector Aura’s grandmother may have been a great white shark.

  The woman got up and brushed down her jeans, as if she had just eaten crumbly toast. “No. Of course you would not know. I mean, how could you? Before we leave, however,
you need to understand a bit of important Finnish history.”

  “Fine. I’m listening. Anything to get rid of you.”

  She smirked. “Our country is a proud member of the European Union. We have never joined NATO, not only because we think that it is merely a front for American policy in the region, but also because we signed a neutrality treaty in 1948 with our trading partner and good next-door neighbor, Russia. Our government has no intention of antagonizing Russia more than we do already on almost a daily basis.”

  “May I reply to that nonsense?”

  “No. I came here to inform you, Mister Swanson, that whatever is going on with you and the American embassy will not be allowed to spill beyond those gates and put our country at risk.” Her words were sharp and then, from her purse, she withdrew a U.S. passport. “This is yours, sir. It will be returned to you tomorrow morning when you leave. You can make your own arrangements, but you are no longer welcome in Finland. Meanwhile, our people will follow you … for your own protection, of course. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to an important business executive.”

  “Wait a minute. You are kicking me out of the country?”

  She and the sergeant were at the door, ready to leave. “Yes,” she said. “And don’t come back.”

  * * *

  THERE WAS A SMALL traffic jam in the hotel hallway as the Supo officers almost collided with the coffee trolley being pushed by a room service boy, and Lem James stepped from the elevator.

  “Hello, Lem,” Inspector Rikka Aura said with a genuine smile. Old friends.

  “Morning there, Rikka. And Alan, too.” James was puzzled, but showed no surprise at coming so unexpectedly upon Aura and Kiuru. He saw there was a coffee service for three on the little cart that pushed through as they stepped back against the hallway walls to let it pass. Kyle Swanson was leaning against the open door of his room, grimly watching. James wanted to ask, “What the fuck is going on here?” but instead said, “You guys are up bright and early.”