by Matthew Dunn
Laith said, “It’s a damn shame none of us knows the layout of this city.”
Roger smiled. “We’ll improvise.” His smile faded as he looked at Will. “Staying on the target’s tail is the least of our problems. It’s what happens after that I’m worried about.”
Will looked out of the windshield, staring through the heavy snowfall. “Since when do you worry about anything?”
Roger huffed. “I’m married with three young kids. There’s a lot I worry about, including my wife getting a knock on the door from a government man who’s there to tell her that her husband died doing something insane.” He shared Will’s view of the outside downpour. “Not that you’d know anything about domestic responsibilities. You’ve no such worries.”
Will shook his head. “Thanks a lot.”
Roger laughed. “If you ever do meet a woman, put her in touch with me before things get serious. There’s a lot of stuff I need to tell her about you. Just so she’s forewarned.”
Before Will could answer, Laith spoke. “I’ve got a solitary person on foot, approaching the front entrance to the HQ.”
Roger instantly said, “Heard.”
There was silence for a moment before Laith said, “The pedestrian’s not slowing, is walking right up to the entrance, walks into the entrance…” The sound of Laith’s car engine was clear. “I’ve just moved a few feet. I can see the person by the reception. The guards are moving. One of them hands something to the person. Can’t see what it is yet. The person turns, removes gloves, lifts up something. Hold.” Laith was obviously adjusting position again. “It’s the envelope. Repeat, the person has the envelope.”
“Description of the pedestrian?” Will’s voice was urgent.
“Head to toe in civilian winter attire. But judging by the posture of the sailors, this person has rank and is deemed important. Three of the sailors are standing at attention.”
Will looked quickly at Roger. “It has to be the target.”
Laith continued his commentary. “The person withdraws the letter, holds it in midair, then replaces it into the envelope. It looks like the pedestrian is talking to the guards.” Laith said nothing for a moment. “Stand by.” Again silence. “The target is on the move, is leaving the building, is heading east on foot.”
Roger said loudly, “Any sign of a vehicle?”
“Not yet.”
Will nodded. “Then we have to assume the target lives close to the HQ and traveled there on foot. I’m going onto the streets. Listen to my instructions, and be ready for my order to make the snatch.” Will jumped out of the car, withdrew a Bluetooth device, which he fixed into his ear, and dialed in his cell phone so that he was on a conference call with Laith and Roger. Instead of walking directly toward the location of the target, Will moved to the far side of the parking lot and spoke as he did so. “Okay, I’ve got the central ground covered.”
Roger drove his car away. “I’m moving north and will hold still after five hundred feet.”
Laith spoke. “I’ve just passed the target and will set my position three hundred yards to the east. Roger, watch the eastern road adjacent to the HQ. If the target crosses it and heads toward my location, I’ll need to move before I give the target a double sighting of me.”
“Understood.”
Will wrapped his arms around his chest; his breath steamed in the icy air. He was alone; no other pedestrians or mobile cars were in the vicinity. Ignoring the snowfall and wind, he focused solely on his earpiece.
Roger’s voice was loud and rapid. “The target moves across the road, heading east.”
“Shit!” Laith gunned his BMW. “I’m moving farther east. Will, move your ass and pick up the tail on foot.”
Will sprinted across the parking lot, his feet crunching deep into the snow. Turning by the northeast corner of the Pacific HQ, he ran fast along the road leading to the port before slowing to a walk. He was right by the quayside. Tall warships were berthed adjacent to the route he needed to take. Looking around, he squinted through the snowfall before spotting the target walking along the quayside. “I’m by the port, have sight of the target, and am taking over command.”
Both CIA operatives replied, “Understood.”
The target was walking quickly. Will matched the pace, maintaining a constant distance of three hundred feet. Strong winds blew snow diagonally through the air from the port and through the gaps of the Udalay I destroyers, a Slava — class cruiser, and one Sovremenny — class destroyer. The target slowed, turned to face the deserted road, looked left and right, and walked across the route.
“Target breaking left and heading north.” Will kept his voice at medium volume, even though he knew his prey had no chance of hearing him given the distance between them and the noise of the weather. “I’ve almost certainly been spotted, although there’re no signs the target is suspicious. Roger, stay north but move five hundred feet east. Laith, move three hundred feet north.”
“Will do.”
“On my way.”
Will followed the target north into a narrow side street. As he walked he could feel his handgun, secreted under his overcoat and suit, rub against the base of his spine. The route was straddled by terraced buildings and had only a few dim streetlamps to illuminate the place. He looked at the buildings. All of them were clearly business-related and had no interior lights turned on. He looked at the target.
“Target moving east!” Will silently cursed the fact that he had taken his eyes off his prey. “Now out of my sight. Laith, move two hundred feet further north. Roger, I estimate you’ll need to move about a hundred and fifty feet east.”
Will ran quickly up the empty street, the icy air causing pain in his lungs with each inhalation. Reaching the crossroads where the target had moved right, he slowed to a walk, stopped, and glanced down the route where his quarry had gone. He saw the pedestrian a hundred feet away, continuing to walk. “I’m in a residential street. The target’s home could be here.”
“Your instructions?” Roger’s voice sounded strained over the sound of his vehicle’s engine.
Will momentarily stopped, looked at the target, looked again at the street, which this time was straddled by continuous homes, some of which had lights on, then made his decision. “You both should be a maximum of three hundred feet away from my location. Roger, head south and look west for the road I’m on. Laith, head directly west. You may even be on the far end of the same street.” He stayed still, counting in his head. After a count of five, he shouted, “Takedown, now!”
Sprinting toward the target, now no longer caring if he was spotted, he saw car headlights in the distance, racing down the street toward the pedestrian.
He heard Laith say over the roar of his powerful BMW, “I can see you and you can see me.”
The target stopped, turning quickly to face Will. Roger’s Audi A8 then appeared on the street from an alley on the left, screeching as it turned hard into the road barely thirty feet in front of Will. The target was now trapped between Laith’s and Roger’s vehicles. But Will sprinted faster, racing past Roger’s car, withdrawing his handgun, until he was fifty feet away from the target. He slowed, held his QSZ-92 high in two hands, and aimed it at the pedestrian’s head. The target looked left and right but remained in place.
Will walked right up to the target. “Korina Tsvetaeva.”
The woman took three steps back, looking terrified and confused. “Yes?”
Will marched right up to her, keeping his pistol trained on her skull. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
The GRU major looked toward Laith’s car, then over Will’s shoulder at Roger’s vehicle. “Then what do you want?”
Will smiled. “Your help.” His smile vanished. “But I will gun you down if you try anything stupid.”
Korina was dressed in a long fur coat and hat and was in her early thirties. She removed her hat, allowing her long black hair to fall onto her shoulders. Her eyes were still wide with fear, though when she sp
oke she seemed to be making an effort to control her emotions. “So the letter was a trick to flush me out.” She shook her head slowly. The wind receded, and snow fell gently over her face.
Will nodded, stepping right up to Korina. Lowering his handgun, he said quietly, “I mean you no harm. But we need to go somewhere private so that we can talk.”
Korina narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“A friend of someone who’s important to you, someone who’s in danger.” He glanced at Laith. The SOG operative was on foot beside his car with his weapon trained on the GRU major. He looked over his shoulder at Roger and saw that he was in an identical stance. He called out, “Lower your weapons.” He looked at Korina. “We need to go.”
Korina shook her head. “No.”
Will silently cursed, aware that at any moment they might be spotted by a civilian in one of the adjacent houses or maybe by a routine naval dock patrol. He stepped even closer to Korina, placed a hand on her arm, felt her flinch, but retained his grip and pulled her body right up to his. He whispered into her ear, “My name is William Archer. I’m a British Intelligence officer. I know who you really are. You’re an MI6 agent. The man who’s been running you has been captured by a Russian special forces officer who wants to kill you and others like you. If he succeeds, your death won’t be the first. Several weeks ago, he infiltrated a naval base and murdered a submarine captain. That man was your father.”
Chapter Thirty-one
It was ten P.M. Will, Roger, and Laith were in Korina’s tiny terraced house. The residence was barely three hundred yards away from where they had confronted her on the street. They were in her lounge, and the place was crammed with full bookshelves, had a small wooden dining table, one chair, a television that looked at least twenty years old, and little else. Korina had removed her coat to reveal jeans and a turtleneck sweater. She grabbed the wooden chair, spun it around, and sat on it the wrong way, with her arms resting on its back. After lighting a cigarette, she silently observed the three Western intelligence officers, who were perched on whatever they could find.
Will studied Korina for a moment, then nodded toward Laith and Roger while still keeping his attention on the GRU officer. “My colleagues are CIA paramilitary operatives.”
Korina looked at them and blew out a thin stream of smoke between her lips. “You look like killers.”
Will rubbed his cold hands together, then abruptly stopped doing so. “We’re hunting a man called Taras Khmelnytsky. Have you heard of him?”
Korina said nothing.
“You know who he is.” He nodded. “Khmelnytsky’s a colonel and the head of Spetsnaz Alpha. His profile will be well known to someone in your line of work.”
Korina continued to stare at Will, before asking, “He murdered my father?”
Will nodded. “Since then, he’s killed six other Russian MI6 agents. He’s got another three agents to murder. When that’s done, the world’s going to hell.”
He told her about Razin’s plan before asking, “You never knew that your father was an MI6 agent who worked for the same man as you?”
Korina shook her head; a tear ran down her face. “And my father never knew about my secret.” She wiped her face and composed herself. “Are you trying to trick me?”
“To what end? If we’re FSB, we’d have just arrested you.”
“Maybe you are who you say you are. But perhaps you’re not telling me the truth about the real reason you want Khmelnytsky.”
“You decide! But time is running out.”
Korina seemed deep in thought. Finally, she sighed and said, “For obvious reasons, I can’t take this to my superiors.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
She frowned. “Then what are you asking?”
Will leaned forward. “For Khmelnytsky’s plan to work, the explosion must look like an American strike. Are you aware of anything that the Americans are about to do that, if combined with a nuclear explosion, could spark war?”
“I-”
“Any briefings you’ve received? Information coming out of agents? Signals intelligence? Anything?”
Korina extinguished her cigarette, pulled out another, and froze. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
Silence.
“What, Korina?!”
More silence.
Then she spoke. “An intelligence report. Naval matter. Given I’m GRU navy, I was cleared to read it.”
Will spoke with deliberation. “What was in the report?”
Korina lit her cigarette with a shaking hand. “Three U.S. Ohio — class cruise missile submarines are going to be sailing in the Barents Sea.”
A sea that was above northwest Russia.
“Not unusual.”
“No, but this deployment’s different. They’re going to covertly enter Russian waters. Not too far, but just enough. We believe it’s the first time the Americans have tried this.”
“A training exercise?”
“The report came to no conclusion, though it did make one stark observation.”
Will waited.
“The cruise missiles have a maximum range of fifteen hundred miles.”
Will’s stomach knotted. “They’re entering Russian waters to bring them within range of Moscow.”
Korina nodded.
“This has to be the trigger.” Will’s mind raced. “But it doesn’t prove that Moscow is Razin’s target. The Ohio ’s deployment is a test sortie, I’m certain. It’s unlikely that a first strike against Moscow would be made by a cruise missile submarine-more likely a ballistic submarine from somewhere out in the Atlantic.”
Roger interrupted. “I agree.” The former sailor also seemed to be thinking fast. “But if war had already started, the Americans might use Ohio subs in the second or third strikes if they felt confident that Russia’s missile interception capability had been diminished. I think it’s a training exercise, just to see if they can get close enough if there ever is a need to hit Moscow.”
Will felt frustration. “Moscow’s not Razin’s target, because a detonation there will not convince Russian high command that it was an Ohio missile strike. While Russian air defenses are at peak performance, it just wouldn’t ring true to them. That means Razin’s target could be anywhere much closer to the subs. But that still leaves a vast range of possible targets.” He punched a fist on his leg. “Damn it!”
Laith said, “Maybe this isn’t the trigger.” He looked at Korina. “Could be something else that you’ve not been cleared to read.”
Korina shook her head. “No. This is the trigger. Without a doubt.”
Will looked sharply at her. “How can you be certain?”
Korina blew out smoke. “Because the intelligence report was written by Taras Khmelnytsky.”
Will went cold. “Who was his source?”
Korina seemed hesitant.
“I have to know!”
She looked incredulous. “You can’t expect me to reveal the identity of an agent.”
“Under the circumstances, yes, I bloody well can.”
She puffed on her cigarette. “He’s a low-level American sailor, but he works for an admiral and therefore has a higher security status than others of his rank. Razin’s his case officer. Beyond that, I’d have to check my database to get extra details.”
“Can you get his identity and naval facility?”
“I can, but not until morning. If I log on now, it might look suspicious to GRU HQ.”
“Okay.” Will clapped his hands together. “There’s still a chance. The Americans can put the squeeze on the sailor-get him to send a message to Khmelnytsky saying that the subs are deploying on a different date, that they have to meet in person so he can give him the details. That’ll grab Khmelnytsky’s attention. Then”-he smiled-“we grab the bastard.”
Roger frowned. “Why don’t we just get the submarines to turn around so that the incident is avoided?”
“No. If we do that, Razin will strike
another target and we’d have no idea when or where that would be.”
“He might, but unless he’s lucky it would be unlikely to spark war.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
Roger looked incredulous. “And yet you’re willing to take a gamble on something that certainly will lead to war if we fail.”
Will thought about this. “If we’ve not got him by the time the subs are drawing close to Russia, I’ll call it in.”
Korina said, “You’ll have to move quickly because the submarines will be entering Russian waters in four days’ time.”
Will’s smile vanished.
Four days.
One explosion.
War.
Part IV
Chapter Thirty-two
Colonel General Platonov walked through the grounds of his estate. It was late evening and dark, though the driveway’s lamps and discreetly positioned halogen lights gave him glimpses of the large garden’s brook, oak trees, ornate stone bridges, and special forces men with AEK-919K “Kashtan” submachine guns slung by their sides.
He hated having the bodyguards in his family home, but he was the highest-ranking military officer in the Russian armed forces and protection came with the job.
The man by his side was silent. That was understandable. The Russian president had a lot on his mind.
They stopped on a large rectangular area of concrete, where snow had recently been brushed away to reveal a symmetrical pattern of squares. At opposite ends of the yard were tall plastic chess pieces. On the edge of each corner of the yard, overlooking the giant chessboard, were man-sized stone statues of knights, their bodies and heads cloaked and hooded, their faces solemn, their hands clasped over the hilts of downward-facing broadswords.
Platonov looked at his house. The curtains were still open, all of the rooms illuminated. He could see the premier’s wife and his wife talking, smiling, glasses of wine in their hands. Upstairs, the young pajama-dressed children of Russia’s most powerful general were bouncing on beds with the children of Russia’s supreme leader. They were having a sleepover tonight. Their excitement was palpable.
