by Tom Clancy
"And in many ways," General Orlov said sternly, "he is still a boy. You'll deploy your troops with round-the-clock watches in the train so that none of the cars can be approached, and admit no one without clearing it through me."
"Yes, sir," said Nikita. "When will I hear from you again?"
"I'll let you know more about the money or the Il-76T when I do," Orlov said. "Nikki, I have a feeling you're closer to the front than either of us realizes. Be careful."
"I will, sir," said Nikita.
The lieutenant pressed the button to the left of the mouthpiece and clicked off. He asked Fodor to clean the snow from the dish, then turned to the map on the computer. His eyes drifted along the route on the map, from Ippolitovka to Sibirchevo to Muchnaya and northward. Then checked his watch.
"Corporal Fodor," he said, "we should be arriving in Ozernaya Pad in approximately a half hour. Tell our engineer to stop when we do."
"Yes, sir," said Fodor, who went to the front of the car to use the intercom they'd rigged from the locomotive.
Nikita would see to it that the train was safe. This was for the future of Russia, and no one— not even his father, the General— was going to stop it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Monday, 7:10 P.M., Washington, D.C.
"Got it!"
Hood was napping on his couch, happy to turn over some of the routine duties to Curt Hardaway and the night crew, when Lowell Coffey entered his open office door with a flourish.
"Signed, sealed, and— ta-ta! — delivered."
Hood sat up and smiled. "CIC said yes?"
"They said yes," he said, "though it had nothing to do with me. It was the Russians themselves that got this for us by sending one hundred thousand soldiers into the Ukraine."
"I'll take it," Hood said. "'Did you tell Mike?"
"I just saw him," Lowell said. "He'll be coming over."
Hood regarded the document with Senator Fox's signature right on top, where the good conservatives would see it. He was glad to see it too, though. Lying here, he had already resolved to back Rodgers on the Striker mission. Checks and balances were good, he had decided, but sometimes decisive action was better.
As Lowell left to inform Martha Mackall, Hood sat back down on the sofa, E-mailed Hardaway, then rubbed his eyes and remembered exactly why it was he wanted to run Op-Center at all.
Hood and everyone he knew— including the President, with whom he often disagreed— did what they were doing, first and foremost, because it wasn't enough to salute their flag with the hand and a pledge. They needed to give it their lives and their full commitment. Rodgers had given him the brass plaque that sat on his desk, something Thomas Jefferson had once written: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." From the time he was in college, he had wanted to be a part of that process.
That sacred process, he corrected himself.
Rodgers and Bob Herbert arrived then, and after shaking hands the men hugged each other.
"Thanks, Paul," Rodgers said. "Charlie's eager to do this."
Hood didn't say it, but he knew they were both thinking it: now that they had what they wanted, they both prayed it turned out right.
Hood fell into the chair behind his desk. "So they're free to go in," he said. "What're we going to do to get them out?"
Rodgers said, "However the CIC went, my friends at the Pentagon have given us the Mosquito."
"Which is?"
"A top-secret aircraft, Stealth variety. The Pentagon hasn't finished field tests, and brought it to Seoul because they thought it might be useful in a pinch during the crisis we had there. But it's the only way we can get into and out of Russia without being seen, heard, or smelled, so we really don't have a choice."
"Charlie's okay with it?" Hood asked.
"He's like a kid with a toy." Rodgers laughed. "Give him a big, new hunk of hardware and he's very happy."
"What's the timing on this?"
"The Mosquito should be on the ground in Japan around ten A.M., local time. The transfer to the 76T should take another forty-five minutes, and they'll wait there until we give them the go-ahead."
Hood asked quietly, "What if the Mosquito goes down?"
Rodgers took a deep breath. "It will have to be destroyed as completely as possible. There's a self-destruct button for that, and it's pretty thorough. If the crew can't blow it up for some reason, Striker will have to. The Mosquito can't fall into Russian hands."
"What's the backup if the Mosquito fails?"
"Striker's got just over six hours of darkness to cross twelve miles to the 76T," Rodgers said. "The terrain's hilly but negotiable. Even in a worst-case scenario, with the temperature going down to five degrees above, they've got warm clothes and night-vision glasses. They'll be able to make it."
"How will the 76T hold up?" Hood asked.
"She's a cold-weather bird," said Herbert. "Nothing will freeze on her unless it gets to about ten below, which it shouldn't."
"And if it does?" Hood asked.
"If the temperature starts to drop," Herbert said, "we'll take off, notify Striker, and they'll have to hunker down until we can extract them. They've had the survival training. They'll be fine. According to Katzen's geographical studies, there's plenty of small game just west of the Sikhote-Alin' Range, and the hills are laced with caves for shelter or hiding."
"So we're okay if we get that far," Hood said. "What are our contingencies if the Russians ID the 76T and realize it isn't one of their own?"
"That's not likely," Rodgers said. "We managed to snatch an IFF beacon from one of the 76T's they lost in Afghanistan. The Russians haven't changed their Identification Friend or Foe technology in years, so we're okay there. It's not like our planes, which broadcast millimeter-wave microwave signals to transponders on other crafts and at monitoring stations."
"What about communications with the 76T?"
"Our only contact with the plane has been in code," Rodgers said. "The Russians are used to us sending false communications to tie up their resources, and they tend to ignore outside communiqués to their own planes. Over the next few hours we'll talk to more of their planes to make sure they think that's what's going on— that we're harassing them on account of their troop buildup. Meanwhile, the 76T will maintain radio silence like most of the other Russian transports. If Russian Air Defense starts to get antsy, we'll talk to them. The cover story we've given the pilot is that he's bringing in ordnance machine shop spare parts from Berlin and rubber fuel bladders from Helsinki. Rubber's in especially short supply in Russia right now. If for some reason the Russians noticed the 76T earlier, this will explain why they were in Germany and Finland."
"I like it," Hood said, "very much. I assume they're taking the long way around Russia to stay out of the air lanes and out of the Russians' hair?"
Rodgers nodded. "Those skies are pretty crowded right now. If the 76T is forced to talk to the Russians, they'll buy that, since what we're allegedly carrying isn't as crucial as troops, rations, and weapons."
"And if their cover is blown for any reason?" Hood asked. "Which STOP do we use?"
"If we have to execute a Sudden Termination of Project over Russian airspace," Herbert said, "our radio goes dead and we get the hell out. Plus, there are a few tricks we can use as we retreat. They won't shoot us down unless they're absolutely sure we aren't one of theirs— and they won't be."
"Sounds good," said Hood. "Tell TAS and the rest of your team they've done an incredible job."
"Thanks, I will," said Rodgers. He picked up the globe paperweight and began turning it over in his hand. "Paul, there's something else that's been going on. It's another reason the Pentagon wanted to put on a little show with the Mosquito."
Hood looked up at Rodgers. "A show?"
Rodgers nodded. "Two of the four Russian motorized rifle divisions on the Turkestan front have been pulled off and sent to Ukraine," he said. "Kosigan took a tank division from the Ninth
Army on the Transbaikal front and an airmobile brigade from the Far East front. If fighting breaks out with Poland and more forces are withdrawn from the Chinese border, there's a good chance Beijing will decide to make trouble. The Chinese recently put General Wu De in command of the Eleventh Group Army in Lanzhou. If you read Liz's report, you'll know that this guy is certifiable."
"I have read it," Hood said. "He was an astronaut in their aborted space program."
"Right," Rodgers said. "Now, we've run war simulations along these lines, so none of this is that far afield. In fact, the President has just asked the Pentagon to send them over. If the Chinese put their five Border Guard divisions on alert to threaten Russia with a second front, the Russians will not back down. Never have, never will. Skirmishes will break out, and war will follow unless a cool head in this case, Zhanin— prevails. Our policy in that situation is to back the pacifist, but to do so we will have to align ourselves with Zhanin and perhaps even support him militarily—"
"Breaking our agreement with Grozny," Hood said. "Helluva situation. We help keep Beijing and Moscow apart and get peppered with terrorist strikes for our efforts."
"It's a real possibility," Rodgers said. "Which is why our aerial 'sneak attack' wing of other Stealth aircraft becomes real important. The longer we can be involved in the situation without Grozny finding out, the better off we'll be."
The phone beeped. Hood looked at the digital code on the LED band at the bottom. It was Stephen Viens at NRO.
Hood picked up the receiver. "What's doing, Stephen?"
"Paul? I thought you were on vacation."
"I'm back," Hood said. "What kind of intelligence organization are you running, anyway?"
"Funny," Viens said. "Bob wanted us to watch that Trans-Siberian train, and there's been a change."
"What kind?"
Viens said, "Not a good one. Have a look at your monitor. I'll send the image over."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Tuesday, 9:13 A.M., Seoul
The windows of the hangar at the base outside of Seoul were bulletproof and painted black. The doors were locked, sentries were posted at each of them, and no one other than members of the Air Force's M-Team were allowed near the structure. The Mosquito unit was under the command of General Donald Robertson, a sixty-four-yearold dynamo who had discovered bungee jumping when he was sixty and did it once a day before breakfast.
Inside, the twenty-soldier team had run this drill dozens of times with a plastic and wood prototype. Now that the emergency and the cargo were real, they moved with even greater speed and precision, exhilarated by necessity, handling the surprisingly light, matte-black components confidently, silently. They had rehearsed loading it onto various aircraft, from the Sikorsky S-64 helicopter for missions under 250 miles to cargo planes ranging from the StarLifter to the RAF's old Short Belfast for runs of 5,000 miles or more. For the 750-mile trip to Hokkaido, General Milton A. Warden had okayed the use of a Lockheed C-130E. It had the largest cargo bay of any aircraft presently in South Korea, and the rear access to the main cargo hold, with its hydraulically operated ramp, made the process of getting in and out relatively easy. As Mike Rodgers had told Warden, speed would be desperately important once the Hercules landed in Japan.
While the M-Tearn loaded the cargo, the pilot, copilot, and navigator were reviewing the flight plan, checking the four Allison T-56-A-1A turboprop engines, and obtaining clearances from the tower at the secret U.S. air base midway between Otaru, on the coast, and the prefecture capital of Sapporo. The base had been established early in the Cold War as a staging area for missions into eastern Russia, and had been the home of between ten and fifteen U.S. spy planes until satellites rendered them relatively obsolete in the early 1980s. Now the troops stationed there called themselves "bird-watchers," keeping a radar eye and radio ear on Russian comings and goings.
But with two heavy transports on the way and the need for precise weather and geographical information, the bird-watchers were getting back into the flight game. And as the Hercules was rolled from the hangar in Seoul, the troops in Hokkaido were making preparations to help target, launch, and guide a vehicle that would leave the Russians wondering what had hit them.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tuesday, 4:05 A.M., the Gulf of Finland
The smell inside the midget submarine was terrible. The forced air was dry and stale. But for Peggy James, that wasn't the worst of it. She hated the total sense of disorientation. The submarine was constantly caught in currents, rocking from side to side or bobbing to and fro. The helmsman used the ship's rudders to adjust their course, which, for a moment, made the gentle hobbyhorse become a bucking bronco.
She was also having trouble seeing and hearing. To begin with, they were whispering. And the thickness of the hull and the surrounding water muted the sounds even more. Apart from the faint radiance given off by the control panel, the only light came from the small, hooded flashlight they were allowed to use. Its dull yellow light— not to mention the long hours she'd been awake, and the sleep-inducing warmth of the cabin— made it difficult to keep her eyes open. After just two hours underwater, she was keenly anticipating surfacing at the halfway point some four hours from now.
The good news was, David George had picked up the Russian phrases fairly quickly, which reminded her never to judge a person by his drawl or to mistake wide-eyed eagerness for naďveté. George was smart and savvy, with a boyish enthusiasm that infused whatever he seemed to be doing. Even though he was no less a landlubber than she was, George didn't seem to mind the ride.
Peggy and George spent time reviewing maps of St. Petersburg and blueprints showing the layout of the Hermitage. She agreed with the DI6 analysts, who believed that any spy activities would be an adjunct to the new TV studio, and that Fields-Hutton was probably correct about the studio being located in the basement. Not only was the studio a perfect cover for the equipment the Russians would need and the kinds of signals they'd be sending, but the basement would put them far from the western side of the second floor. That was where the museum's numismatic collection was kept, and the metal in the coins might affect sensitive instruments.
Wherever it was located in the museum, the facility would need communications cables. And if they found those, she and Private George would be able to discover what was going on inside. Moreover, if the Center was underground, chances were good that the cables would be located in or near adjoining air ducts. Not only was it easier to run them through preexisting passageways, it was easier to get to them for repairs or upgrades. The question was, would they have to wait until dark to do their electronic search, or could they find someplace in the museum to use the equipment she'd brought?
Her eyes growing heavy in the dim light, Peggy asked George if they could finish later. He admitted he was getting tired also and could use a break. She shut her eyes and snuggled down in her seat, not thinking about the submarine but imagining that she was on a swing outside a cottage in Tregaron, Wales. It was where she had grown up and had vacationed so often with Keith, in a Cold War world that was strangely less dangerous and more predictable than the new, post-Communist order
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, 6:30 A.M., St. Petersburg
"General," Radio Officer Marev said over the telephone, "Zilash said you wanted to know about communications between General Kosigan and Minister Dogin. There is one taking place now, scrambled, Code Milky Way."
General Orlov shot upright in his office chair. "Thank you, Titev. Put it on the computer."
Milky Way was the most complex code employed by the Russian military. It was used on open lines and not only scrambled the communication electronically, but scattered it over numerous wavelengths— across the heavens, as it were— so that a listener without a descrambler would need literally dozens of receivers tuned to different channels to catch every piece of it. Both the Minister's office and Kosigan's command center had the proper descrambler. So did Titev.
A
s Orlov hung up and waited for the descrambling and transcription, he ate the tuna sandwich Masha had made for him, and thought back over the past three hours. Rossky had retired to his office at 4:30. It was somehow reassuring to know that even the steel men of the spetsnaz had to rest. Orlov knew it was going to take a while for him to strike the right tone with Rossky, but he told himself that for all his flaws the Colonel was a fine soldier. The effort, however long it took, would be worth it.
Orlov had gone out to welcome the night crew to the fully operational facility, and had taken the opportunity to invite the Colonel's evening counterpart Colonel Oleg Dal, to his office. Dal, who found Rossky even more abrasive than Orlov did, was a sixty-year-old Air Force veteran who had trained Orlov and was one of the many officers whose careers came to a virtual standstill after German teenager Mathias Rust penetrated Russian air defenses and landed his small plane in Red Square in 1987. Dal hated how Rossky refused to relinquish command of anything, even in areas where the Colonel was less experienced. He too understood that that was the spetsnaz way. But it didn't make him like it any better.
General Orlov informed Dal about the 76T and its eastward progress. It was southeast of Franz Josef Land in the Arctic Ocean. He also informed him about the efforts by United States intelligence to communicate with other Russian transports. Dal agreed that the 76T seemed to be suspicious, not only because it was flying to the east, away from the action, but because there was no record of any transfer of goods in Berlin or Helsinki. Though the records might be held up in red tape, Dal suggested a flyby to signal the pilot to break radio silence and explain his mission. Orlov agreed, and asked him to take the issue up with Air Force General-Major Petrov, who was in charge of the four air defense divisions that patrolled the Arctic Circle.
Orlov had decided to say nothing about the money on the Trans-Siberian train. He wanted to try and find out what Dogin and Kosigan were planning before taking action, and hoped that this call would be somewhat more informative.
