The Russian Affair

by Adrian D'hage

  Suddenly, O’Connor’s radio handset burst into life. Chief Kennedy was calling him from up on the Afghanistan–Pakistan border. ‘Hopi One Four, this is Hopi One Five, over.’

  O’Connor listened while Kennedy gave him an update.

  ‘Generators here are intact,’ O’Connor said when Rogers brought the rest of the men in, ‘which is more than I can say for Kennedy and his team. The news is bad.’

  Colonel Rabinovich controlled her emotions as the Black Sea dacha – the official residence of the Russian president – came into view. The pilots banked the huge twin-engined Mi-8, blades ‘blatting’ in protest. She stared, almost in disbelief, as the helicopter descended and the sheer grandeur of the president’s Black Sea palace came into view. The grounds covered over 70 hectares on a stunning headland jutting into the Black Sea near Praskoveevka in southern Russia. Constructed from elegant sandstone, the main building surrounded a massive hollow square not unlike its more famous counterpart, Buckingham Palace. Rivalling the eighteenth-century Winter, Mikhailovsky and Marble palaces of the Tsars in St Petersburg, Petrov’s Black Sea palace was surrounded by thousands of acres of oak and beech forests. As the Mi-8 came in to land, Rabinovich could pick out gardens and parks, swimming pools, fountains and sports fields.

  Rabinovich grabbed her bag, exited the chopper and kept her head down as the blades swished and slowed above her.

  ‘Welcome, Colonel.’ The young Spetsnaz aide snapped to attention and saluted. ‘The president is in the gym, but he would like you to join him for pre-dinner drinks on the patio. Let me take your bag, and if you will follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.’

  Ilana smiled to herself. The special forces captain looked even fitter than the president, if that were possible. As they walked down the stone corridors past the various reception rooms, Rabinovich found herself wondering if Brezhnev, the president’s long-serving mistress, would also be on the patio, or if she could expect to have the president all to herself tonight.

  ‘Welcome to Cape Idokopas, Colonel.’ President Petrov extended his hand. Behind him, Rabinovich could see a table had been laid with an exquisite linen and silver setting for just two. Ilana felt the aura of power that emanated from this man, and unusually for her, a small shiver ran down her spine. The president’s handshake was firm, although not overly so. The power radiated more from his eyes – an azure shade of blue that signalled both determination and intellect. During the briefing, his eyes had appeared hard and unbending, but as the sun disappeared toward Bulgaria and Romania in the west, they were now softer – almost mischievous. Had her evening attire caught his attention, she wondered. She had chosen a black, backless pantsuit that was suitably elegant yet revealing.

  ‘I’ve liberated a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal. 1979 was an exceptionally cool year, so the grapes ripened more slowly with greater intensity in flavour,’ the president said, nodding to the waiter who was hovering at a discreet distance. ‘I trust the flight was comfortable?’

  ‘I felt very spoiled, Mr President.’

  The waiter handed Ilana and the president crystal flutes of the Roederer. ‘Za tvoyo zdorovye! To your health! This is like drinking history,’ Petrov said. ‘First blended for Tsar Alexander II in 1836.’ Their eyes met and Ilana clinked her glass with the president’s.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?’ the president said after the chef had served the first course of smoked salmon and beluga caviar.

  ‘The thought had occurred to me, Mr President.’ She sipped her champagne, allowing the fine mousse to dissolve against her tastebuds.

  ‘We’re going to be having quite a bit to do with one another, so when we’re alone, we’ll keep it to Ilana and Dmitry.’

  ‘I might find it a little hard to make that jump, Mr Pres— Dmitry . . . but I’ll give it my best shot,’ Ilana replied. She smiled warmly, still coming to terms with the charm of the nation’s leader.

  ‘I’ll get to what I have in mind for you in a moment, but first tell me about your work at Sarov. What problems do we really face?’

  ‘Can I speak frankly?’

  Petrov smiled. ‘That’s why you’re here.’

  ‘We have overcome a great many development issues, Dmitry, but to be honest, we still have a long way to go. In an effort to boost the yield of the mini warheads, I’ve increased the amount of tritium gas, but the latest test results have been disappointing.’

  ‘Who was it that postulated the upper explosive limit was 6000 tonnes of TNT per kilogram of bomb?’

  ‘The American physicist, Theodore Taylor,’ Ilana responded, impressed with her president’s grasp of detail. ‘He designed the most powerful pure fission bomb ever built. The Oralloy bomb produced a yield of half a million tonnes of TNT, although we don’t need anywhere near that. To destroy any medium-sized American city like Washington or Boston with under a million people, 15 kilotons will more than do the job.’

  ‘And for the bigger cities? I think New York is approaching nine million, so that would be their largest,’ said Petrov.

  ‘Followed by Los Angeles with four million, Chicago with three and Houston with two million,’ Rabinovich agreed. ‘For bigger cities like those, we might be looking at as much as 50 kilotons. But as you’re aware, Mr Pres— Dmitry, the more densely populated a target, the greater the number of human casualties, although to a certain extent, high-rise buildings will shield the effect of a ground burst. So we have to ensure our guidance systems are not only deadly accurate, but we also need to be certain our warheads will explode at a pre-determined height. I have to ask though . . .’

  ‘Do I intend to use these weapons?’ Petrov paused and waited for the main course of lobster claws served with shiitake mushrooms and herbs in a light vinaigrette.

  ‘No, is the short answer to your question,’ he said, once the waiter had retreated, ‘but the Americans don’t know that. More importantly, as you’re aware, we have intelligence that both the United States and Israel are modernising their nuclear arsenals.’ Petrov raised his glass and admired the golden hue of the 1996 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Montrachet. ‘One of the reasons the world was a safer place during the Cold War was MAD.’

  ‘Mutually assured destruction,’ Ilana agreed.

  ‘Exactly. As long as the West thinks they will die in any attempt to launch a nuclear attack, they are unlikely to fire even a battlefield weapon, although this new president of theirs . . . Travers, seems erratic and very unpredictable.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ilana responded, ‘I would put him in the dangerous bracket because we’ve come close before. Do you remember that Norwegian research rocket?’

  President Petrov nodded, his expression suddenly grave. ‘The Black Brandt, 25 January 1995. I remember it only too well. I was in the Kremlin at the time. The Norwegians had warned us they were launching the rocket to study the Aurora Borealis but that warning didn’t reach all of our units. Out at an early warning radar station at Olenegorsk amongst the ice in Murmansk, the signature of the four-stage Norwegian research rocket at a height of over 900 miles looked exactly the same as a four-stage US Navy Trident nuclear missile. All of our defense forces were put on high alert, and our submarine commanders were ordered to get ready to launch a nuclear retaliation against the United States. Yeltsin was given the nuclear suitcase, but fortunately, he waited.’

  ‘And in 1979,’ Rabinovich added, ‘when that technician at their Aerospace Defense headquarters put a training tape into their live operational computers, giving rise to reports that we’d attacked and we’d launched our missiles.’

  Petrov nodded, his countenance still grave at the thought of what very nearly happened. ‘All their ballistic missiles were readied with the silo roofs retracted, nuclear bomber crews boarded and their president’s airborne command post was in the air. At 3 a.m. National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski was notified that Russia had launched 250 intercontinental ballistic missiles at the United States and that was quickly upgraded to 2200 m
issiles. Another call advised that satellites were not detecting the Russian launches, but one can only wonder what might have happened if Travers were president, which is why I’ve spoken with our ambassador in Washington. Once we’ve perfected these mini warheads, I’ve told him to use the back channels, and Travers will be briefed by his own people that even a single missile of ours penetrating his ballistic missile shields will result in 20 American cities being wiped off the map. With Travers in charge, this is no time for kid gloves, Ilana. They have to know we mean business. And so do those thugs in ISIS. The greatest danger of a nuclear holocaust is not one emanating from the superpowers. It comes from some mindless Jihadist getting his hands on a nuclear warhead.’

  ‘That worries me too, Dmitry, but security at Sarov has been increased considerably . . . perhaps on your orders,’ she added, smiling seductively. Ilana found herself strangely captivated by this man – captivated by his intellect, his charm, his determination, and his sense of humour. But more than that, she was attracted to his aura of power. For some women, power had long been a potent aphrodisiac.

  Petrov returned her smile. ‘But to more pleasant topics. Are you fond of wine, Ilana?’

  ‘To be honest, Dmitry, I haven’t tasted much, so I don’t know a lot about it, but this,’ she said, sipping on the burgundy, ‘this is like liquid honey.’

  ‘A good description. It’s a rare Montrachet white burgundy. Honey, with citrus and peaches. Za tvoyo zdorovye! To your health!

  ‘Tell me,’ said Petrov, after he’d dismissed the staff. ‘What do you make of General Dragunov? He’s something of a puzzle to me, so you can speak freely – it will go no further.’

  ‘He is a puzzle to me, too, Dmitry. There’s no doubt he is a very good nuclear physicist, but there is something that doesn’t quite add up. I can’t quite put my finger on it, and I have nothing concrete . . . Call it a woman’s intuition if you like,’ she added, taking another sip of her wine.

  ‘Which in my experience sometimes outdoes our vast network of intelligence agencies,’ Petrov offered impishly. ‘If you do find anything more concrete, I’d be grateful. I’ll make sure you have my private numbers. Now, apart from finding your company quite delightful, that brings me to why you’re here, and whatever your decision, this meeting, or at least our discussions, can’t go any further than this patio.’

  ‘Of course, Mist— Dmitry. You have my word.’

  ‘How would you feel about becoming an undercover agent in Israel?’ Petrov had deliberately put the question bluntly, watching for any reaction. He was not disappointed. Ilana simply reached for her wine, giving herself time to think before answering. Her face showed no emotion.

  ‘I’m intrigued, Dmitry. I’m a nuclear physicist. What makes you think I would make a good spy?’ Ilana responded with her own mischievous smile.

  ‘I’m told you’re one of the world’s best nuclear physicists, and it’s that quality that puts you in the frame. The intelligence I mentioned earlier on the United States and Israel . . . they’ve run into exactly the same yield problems as we have, although it appears they might be ahead of us. We’ve attempted to break into the US system, but ever since the Edward Snowden debacle, they’ve tightened things up. The Israelis have security problems as well and they even give their military officers polygraph tests. Mordechai Vanunu confirmed what we already knew – that the Israelis were building nuclear bombs, but that was back in the eighties. Security is still tight, but the Israelis are not as paranoid as the Americans are in the immediate aftermath of Snowden, so we’re going to have a crack at breaking into the Israeli system.’

  ‘I’m not sure how I could . . .’

  ‘Achieve that? It’s a long shot, but if we can convince the Israelis that one of our top physicists is being persecuted because of a Jewish background that we will manufacture for you, then asylum in Israel is not out of the question. They will dig into that background, but once they’re convinced it’s genuine, they’re not going to let someone of your capability sit idle. Our hope is they will give you a top-secret clearance and assign you to their nuclear weapons program at Dimona.’

  ‘In the Negev Desert,’ Ilana observed wryly.

  ‘Not the night-life capital of the world, I’ll grant you, but we’ll make that up to you on your return. This operation, however,’ the president warned, ‘will not be without risk. The Israelis will undoubtedly test you before they grant you a clearance, and at least initially, they’ll be watching you very carefully.’ Petrov waited patiently for Rabinovich’s reponse.

  ‘How do you intend to convince the Israelis that I’m persecuted here?’

  ‘I have in mind for you to make contact with the Israeli embassy in Moscow and we’ll teach you how to do that covertly. You will seek asylum on the basis that under me, Russia has lost her way and the Jewish community is being persecuted. Freedom of speech has, in your view, been drastically curtailed. Having put the request for asylum in train, as a pièce de résistance, I want you to give a speech at Moscow University in which you will be critical of both me and some of our policies.’ Ilana listened intently as Petrov outlined his plan.

  ‘If you think I can do it, Mr President, I’ll give it my best shot,’ Ilana said finally, reverting to formality at the gravity of the request.

  ‘I had hoped you would accept, but given the risks, I want you to be very clear you are under no obligation . . . we can use you here to great effect as well.’

  ‘When do I start?’

  Petrov smiled and refilled their wine glasses. ‘As soon as possible, but we’re not going to send you anywhere near them until we’ve trained you in the arcane art of spying.’ The president stopped short of revealing a key element in Russia’s involvement with the Israeli spy agency, the Mossad. Rabinovich would only be told if that became necessary.

  ‘You will be part, and a very important part, of my overall mission to make Russia great again. Your special forces training will stand you in good stead, because from here, you will be sent to a secret location just outside of Moscow where you will be given the most intense training a spy could ever receive – hand-to-hand combat, defensive driving, survival skills and covert communications. You’ll be taught how to lose a tail, both on foot and in a vehicle, and you will spend time on one of our submarines . . . just in case. You will be pitted against the best instructors we have, and you have my permission to take the gloves off, because they will. Although,’ Petrov said, ‘my money will be on you.’ The president got up from the table and guided Ilana to the patio balcony which afforded a sweeping uninterrupted view of the private beach below and beyond, into the velvet distance of the Black Sea. ‘Across there,’ he said, pointing to the north-west, ‘is Ukraine, and eventually we will bring her back into the Russian fold. It was a great mistake to allow the Soviet Union to dissolve. A great mistake, and one that I intend to rectify.’

  Ilana could feel the power and strength of this determined president, and she did not have the slightest inclination to pull away when Petrov put his hand on the small of her exposed back. Instead, she responded by moving closer.

  ‘We have already taken the Crimea.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re aware, Dmitry – the Russian people love you for that.’

  ‘Well, there is more to come, but Ukraine will take patience,’ Petrov mused. ‘And in any case, we needed time to modernise our military, but that’s now largely complete and we have significant forces within 30 kilometres of the border. From there, we can roll in at very short notice, but for the moment, I’m going to wait and see what this new President Travers is up to. If he moves on Iran or North Korea, then that and the current chaos in American politics can only play to our advantage.’

  ‘And Europe?’ asked Ilana, revelling in her closeness to the ultimate authority of her beloved motherland.

  ‘Circumstances are playing into our hands there as well. The more refugees flee to Europe, especially from Syria and Iraq, the greater the strain on the EU. Britain has
already pulled out, and hopefully the EU will disintegrate. If Travers pulls out of NATO, we will be left in a very powerful and dominant position. And if the Israelis are ahead of us in their nuclear development, and you can obtain the details of their research at Dimona, that too will be of immeasurable benefit,’ said Petrov.

  Petrov’s hand moved across Ilana’s tight buttocks and she turned toward him, melding against his hard, taut body. Their lips met and she hungrily searched his mouth with her tongue. Ilana parted her thighs as Petrov unzipped her pantsuit. She moaned softly as he gently fingered her.

  ‘The staff, Dmitry?’ she whispered, fondling his growing manhood.

  ‘I have a four-poster bed,’ he replied huskily.

  Hafiz Sayem held up his hand in a signal for the eight fighters behind him to halt and take cover amongst the snow-covered rocks. Increasingly, ISIS fighters employed a tactic of going to ground when they halted, fearful of the ever-present American unmanned aerial vehicles. They knew well that Predator and Reaper drones were continuously flying high above them, unseen and unheard, sometimes at 25 000 feet, scanning the mountains of the Hindu Kush below.

  Sayem was quickly joined by his second-in-command, Rustam Khan, who pulled his black woollen face mask more tightly around his cheeks as much in protection against the bitter cold as to hide his identity. Both were veterans of the Taliban campaigns, and both had come across to join the growing ISIS presence in what the Caliph had declared to be the Afghanistan Province of the Caliphate.

  ‘By my calculations, the generators should be on the edge of that village down there,’ Sayem said, scanning the area below them with his binoculars. He was navigating with an old map, because the Caliphate, fearing the Infidel’s ability to track their movement, had banned all Apple iPhones, tablets and GPS devices that would have enabled Sayem to confirm his position to the nearest metre.