by Andy Farman
For the past hour Scott had struggled to gain her total cooperation before realising he was never going to get it as things stood. Excusing himself he had gone to his boss, Max.
“There is no way that this girl is going to help us get what we want quickly. She thinks we are using a legalised form of industrial espionage at the behest of ‘Commerce’. I have this real bad feeling that something is about to go down and we are going to miss it, because we’re pussyfooting about here”.
“What makes you think that Comrade Peridenko hasn’t just gone entrepreneur, plenty of others have?” Max pointed out.
“I’ve been making enquiry’s since I first read the FBI report. Firstly, no one in the industry has ever heard of the company, and that just doesn’t happen, everyone knows someone who knows someone in the business. It is a pretty elite section of gaming, this virtual reality. Secondly, Commerce has pretty knowledgeable sources around the world. Not a whisper about financing for a Russian VT venture or a new company either.”
Max stretched out his legs under the table and looked fixedly at Scott.
“So what do you propose to do, I am pretty certain we are very close to infringing the young ladies civil rights here. In fact I’m surprised that she hasn’t already screamed the house down for a lawyer?”
Scott had already given it a lot of thought.
“Under that rebellious exterior I am pretty sure there lays a very patriotic soul”. He weighed up the odds of his being slapped down before continuing, “I want to show her what we have on Peridenko, I want her to cooperate because she has the same bad feeling about this as I have”.
“No way Scott, that stuff is classified.” He said with a shake of the head. “It’s all cold war stuff and still classified secret to protect the sources. As to your gut feeling, well all we have is a not very pleasant Russian who wanted virtual reality cities getting wasted, and unless no one told you, we and the Russians are buddies now”.
At that point there was a knock and a messenger handed over a bulletin. The nuclear alert had gotten them kept at their desks but they knew no real details of what had happened in London yet. So far, as far as they had known it was just a bomb scare. Until now.
“Ah, it seems the mythological suitcase bomb is now a reality”. Scott had been looking at his feet and trying to think of some angle, he suddenly stopped and looked at Max quizzically, although he already knew the answer.
“Wasn’t Peridenko named by a defector as being in charge of the KGB suitcase bomb project?” He let that sink in before adding. “And didn’t you find it strange that so far as we know from Ms O’Connor, none of her scenarios was of a Chinese or old Warsaw Pact location?”
Max picked up his phone, pausing before dialling.
“Go keep Ms O’Connor company, I’ll get back to you”.
Politburo Building, Beijing
The large committee room echoed hollowly to voices, some charged with emotion. Unlike the previous sessions there were only eight person’s present. Minister Pong, Marshal Lo Chang, Alontov and Premier Chiu were sat around the head of the table. Further along were Krusov and Gorebitski, the Russian political and economic experts with a very stressed interpreter from the Premiers confidential staff. Peridenko was at the far end of the room speaking angrily into a cell phone to a female in England. At least Serge assumed his colleague would not address a member of the male gender as a ‘Depraved dyke psycho bitch’ at the top of his voice, as he had done after a minute of quietly listening to the other party. As an insult, coming as it did from Peridenko, Serge decided he would definitely not wish to make the acquaintance of whoever was on the other end of the telephone.
Serge remained calm as three other occupants in the room ranted and accused, he listened to their concerns being voiced, albeit with passion at times. Whatever they were paying the interpreter, it wasn’t enough he thought. The poor man was trying to be diplomatic and filter out the harsh language flying back and forth in two languages. He noticed that the Premier was keeping his own council for the time being too. The Chinese sundry Ministry’s had been excluded from the meeting; the plan was likely to have totally fallen apart in this room with the full politburo being present. It was bad enough with those few who were here.
Serge heard Peridenko’s final comments to the London end.
“I want him dead, slowly, and as for the girl…. I want her starring in one of your friends movies, make her co-star a German Shepherd and make it a snuff movie, understood?” A snuff movie was the term for underground films where the star died on camera for real at the end. Serge made himself a promise, once this business was finished he was going to kill his colleague, which was the only way he would ever feel clean again.
Peridenko terminated the call and put away the phone. The Premier also saw the call had ended and silenced his top soldier and defence minister with a single word. The Russians voices trailed away as they realised attention was focused elsewhere.
As Peridenko walked back toward the group he was aware he was now the centre of attention, his mind raced with its search of some means to deflect blame from himself. Alontov was watching him with a cynically knowing half smile on his face. The soldier had built up a lot of kudos with these people; if it came to a face-off with the man he knew he, Peridenko, would lose in the eyes of the Chinese. So, forget about blaming the military, which just left the Irish. He was gambling that the Chinese would not learn the full extent of the London debacle.
Clearing his voice he addressed the group.
“It would seem the Irish terrorist group were compromised by fate. Following a shootout with the English police the weapon fell into the hands of their security forces”. An understatement and a massive avoidance of the truth if there ever was thought Serge, who was aware of far more of the true facts than Peridenko knew. The premier was looking at Peridenko unblinkingly, trying to judge the truth with his eyes before he spoke.
“How does this effect operational security Comrade Colonel General?” Serge could see Peridenko bridle at the slight from the Chinese Premier, security was Peridenko’s province, and his own was purely military. Deciding not to declare open war with his colleague he looked over at him.
“Anatoly?”
Peridenko nodded at Serge before stating to the premier.
“They have found one device, one out of a hundred. There will be confusion-fuelled conjecture as to its presence in London and in the current climate the finger of blame will likely fall on the collusion of Bin Laden with other terror gangs. However, expert examination will show it to be of Russian manufacture. We can argue that away by blaming deserters but there are likely to be calls for UN sanctions against my country.
“What of these terrorists, where any captured and if so what can they divulge under torture?” was the premier’s next question.
“The armed police unit was wiped out without casualties to themselves, they are now in a secure safe house” Peridenko answered before adding. “After a week the hue and cry will have relaxed, we can still proceed on schedule”.
The plan had called for the nuclear attacks on financial centres, as well as government, military and communications targets. The London bomb, detonating in the Rotherhithe tunnel below the river would have destroyed the nearby modern international financial centre around Canary Wharf. The British parliament would have been sitting for Prime Ministers Question Time. With little to impede the blast wave, and a river borne tidal wave would have destroyed the Palace of Westminster where Parliament sits.
“Is there any way of replacing the captured device?” asked the premier.
Peridenko nodded affirmation
“Yes comrade Premier”.
“Then see to it please” ordered Premier Chiu. He stood and the meeting was at an end.
Low orbit satellite SeaSpace B
Only from orbiting the Earth can some of Mother Nature’s works best be viewed by man. The great forest fires and El Nino for example, are such disasters and phenomenon
that are photographed, and then downloaded to the planet for fire fighters and scientists to work on.
The SeaSpace B was non-military and owned by a commercial venture but the camera package was under evaluation by the US government. Plugged by its makers as far superior to that presently in service it was being put through its paces monitoring and recording the oceans swells and giant ripples about the globe. These were being digitally downloaded for the oceanographers at the Naval Meteorology and Oceanography Command at Stennis Space Centre, Mississippi, USA.
The analyst’s at the space centre are used to seeing ships and their wakes appear in the frames but these do not cause much distraction from the real work at hand. However, the wakes of several ships in apparent naval formation do come under some scrutiny, if only out of professional curiosity. Several frames of one such group of ships heading south, 100 miles off the island of Komandorskiye Ostrova in the North Pacific Ocean were passed to the office of naval intelligence. Once there they were compared with RORSAT shots of the same area taken just 20 minutes before, the brown stuff hit the fan in the shape of the discoveries of compromised security in the United States vaunted satellite surveillance program, and that of the PLAN nuclear powered aircraft carrier Mao.
Oval Office, Washington DC
As days in politics’ go America’s chief executive was having a bit of a bad hair day, what with nuclear terror alerts and all. He was now speaking on the phone to a disgruntled large campaign contributor who wanted action on an environmental issue that could prove costly to his company. The Chief of Staff, Luke Garry and General Shaw, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs entered unbidden and caused him to lose track of his conversation. He was tempted to just hang-up but oil money had been largely responsible for his being in office and he owed markers they would not let him forget. He glanced up in annoyance at the two men, Luke looked away but General Shaw met his gaze. The marine was clearly not in the mood to pussyfoot with niceties. Cutting the platitudes short he ended the call. As with most people in office, who had never worn a uniform, let alone never been shot at he found the military a strange breed. Correction, strange and expensive.
“Is this about the nuclear thing?” The chairman of the joint chiefs shook his head.
“General, this had better be very important, and that means important by my definition, not necessarily yours!”
General Shaw met the challenge easily.
“None of our satellite photos or RORSAT scans can be relied upon. An enemy has subverted our elint capability by unknown means, possibly by infiltration into the ranks of the NSA. The Chinese have a nuclear powered aircraft carrier task force we didn’t know they had, and it is now at sea…oh, and a guy at CIA thinks Russia may be planning at best to de-stabilise us or at worst to launch a pre-emptive nuclear strike on us”, he paused momentarily before finishing with. “Depending on your scale of definition, I can either remain here or I can grab a doughnut and a coffee to-go from the kitchens on my way home, sir”. The sarcasm he had felt at the presidents rebuke was absent from his tone if not from his choice of words. The Chief of Staff quickly updated the president on the brief outline of what had transpired. Seeing that the general had apparently not been exaggerating, he ordered a full briefing for himself and the battle staff in four hours’ time.
At Langley a startled Scott Tafler received a call from his Directors office. After twenty seconds he put down his telephone receiver and began scrambling to gather all he needed to present his findings in the White House situation room.
St Johns Wood, London, England: 0323hrs.
The mobile phones vibrating and its repetitive four chord ringtone roused the Russian girl. She answered and listened to the instructions without expression before speaking quickly and without emotion.
After less than a minute Alexandra Berria broke the connection with Beijing and reset the plug-in encryption module on her cellular before calling the military attaché to confirm the instructions she had just received from Anatoly Peridenko. The colonel was not exactly thrilled with Moscow’s earlier order that he cooperate with her and Carmichael. That he resented his most recently received order to now obey their directions was evident in his voice. All available assets were to be alerted to be on the lookout for Major Bedonavich and Svetlana Vorsoff. They themselves would search the fugitive’s homes for any clues as to their present whereabouts, after which they would collect the Irish from Essex in order to be in a position to move in with force once the pair were located.
She was not alone in bed and awoke the brunette.
“Get dressed.” She told the brunette. “It is time you were leaving.”
At the instruction of a military attaché who was being forced by circumstance to perform an active role, the brunette had brought with her all the information she had supplied Major Bedonavich with previously.
As with the majority of traitors, this young woman was motivated by greed rather than any supposed higher calling. Like had recognised like during this first meeting and after Carmichael retired in preparation for another long day Berria had chosen not to follow his example.
Using the houses telephone she called a local cab firm and awoke her partner in his room, quickly updating him before running a bath for herself.
Carmichael was all smiles whilst dressing and hummed to himself, he was very pleased with Peridenko’s orders regarding Svetlana
A ring of the doorbell announced the arrival of Alexandra’s girlfriend’s cab and once she had waved her off Alexandra went to take her bath.
As the taxi turned a corner the passenger was surprised to see quite a number of uniformed policemen stood just out of sight of the street they had just left. She had only just taken it all in when she was thrown forward by the cabs sudden stop. Both rear doors were flung open by armed officers of the Mets SCO19, Specialist Firearms Unit who dragged her unceremoniously out onto the tarmac of the road. She was too stunned to react. The muzzle of an MP5 was thrust in her face and the orders she was given left her in no doubt that she was going to be shot if she made a single hostile move. Hands roughly bound behind her, she and her shoulder bag were quickly and expertly searched by a female officer in the same black coveralls, Kevlar helmet, goggles, ballistic armour and weapons rig as her male colleagues. One item was separated from the contents of the prisoners’ handbag and handed to the senior officer present. Exiting the cab its driver tossed the car keys to a uniformed constable to be returned to the cabs rightful owner, who waited at the outer cordon where he had been stopped. The Home Secretary had signed the order permitting the police to tap the telephone at the house, so the cabs arrival had been expected. The ‘cabbie’ then approached the prisoner and identified himself as being a Detective Inspector with the Counter Terrorist Command. He then informed the young woman that she was under arrest on suspicion of having committed terrorist offences and then cautioned her, which is the Brit equivalent of being read your rights, before her being manhandled into a waiting police van.
After the previous day the Met deserved some luck. The first catch of the day had been the brunette Detective Constable attached to NCIS. As he watched the van depart the Chief Superintendent in charge of the St Johns Wood operation, until his Commander arrived, looked again at the arrested young woman’s police warrant card, thanking god for small mercies she hadn’t been on duty last night when the tip-off had arrived.
A short distance away a specially equipped van was recording sound transmitted from small bugs placed on the glass of each room’s windows during the early hours’. A copy of the telephone call made by Berria, albeit only half of a conversation, was being listened to by a Special Air Service trooper whose specialist skills included speaking Farsi and Russian fluently in addition to being his team’s medic. Stopping, rewinding and restarting the tape, he rapidly transcribed Berria’s words onto paper in English. On completion he opened the rear door of the van, looking for his own lieutenant but not finding him, he hailed the Chief Super
“Oy
e, you wiv the braid on yer ‘at”. Accustomed to slightly more respect when being addressed the senior officer approached him. This man was not in his organisation and beside which he rather admired the quiet, yet competent professionalism shown by the trooper and his team leader. The two of them were his liaison/advisors-if-need-be. Two Troops from 22 SAS were at present in Essex poised to tackle the harder target, which would be assaulted simultaneously as SCO19 stormed the house around the corner.
“It is customary to address superior officers as ‘Sir’, is it not?” he enquired of the trooper.
“You ain’t my superior mate” was the reply “You just get paid more than me, so cop ‘old of this, I’m busy” and the van door closed again.
Telephone calls had roused the neighbouring residents and plain-clothes officers had led them to safety whilst the occupants of the target address slept. The next task had been to affix microphones to the windows and move marksmen into position.
Looking at his watch the Chief Superintendent joined the SCO19 Inspector in the Control vehicle.
Essex: Same time
Unlike the police team in London the troopers from G Squadron, 22 SAS had rather less cover to play with, at least from the point of view of an uninformed observer.
The troopers did not have innocent civilians to clear out of harm’s way, they did have however the bane of all covert rural operations to contend with, animals, and dogs in particular.
Anyone who has ever tried to pass covertly, upwind of a farmhouse, will tell you that no matter how silent you are the dogs will sense you and start to bark. Dogs have extremely sensitive noses. To simply go around downwind may seem the obvious solution, except that sods law dictates that there will be another farm upwind of you as you do so and they will have equally noisy dogs. The original farm dogs may not be able to smell you but they will certainly hear their kin and join in. Close Observation Platoon, ‘The COP’, intelligence gathering soldiers in Northern Ireland, where farms are much closer together than in Kansas, named this nightly embuggerance as the ‘Howl-we-hear-ya Chorus’. For the very dedicated, abstaining from all milk products in their diet goes a long way to altering the human scent that alerts the dogs. Alternatively, modern science has provided chemical masks that although not 100% proof all of the time, do at least inhibit the dogs from raising the alarm until they can be silenced with doctored meat or cheese wire garrottes.
