by Lou Dobbs
Severov realized it might not have been the smartest thing to do, but it sure felt good. He wondered how much he’d appreciate it when he had to watch his back the rest of the trip.
*
The hotel Walsh had found was everything he thought it would be: cheap, uncomfortable, smelly, and two blocks from Times Square. The Hanely Hotel was a narrow swath of sixty rooms wedged between an office building and a storage facility. It catered to tourists on a real budget or Europeans who didn’t check reviews. The nice thing was that Walsh and Alena seemed to be the only customers, and the clerk understood that an extra twenty bucks meant he wouldn’t ask for ID. The kid from the Bronx even said Walsh and Alena didn’t look like “wild-assed terrorists,” so he didn’t think there would be a problem.
They got settled in their room, which held a queen bed with the headboard pushed against the wall and about a foot of space around it on the other three sides. Alena was in no mood for small talk or cuddling once she was done showering in the minuscule bathroom and flopped into the bed wearing only a white towel with a brown stain in the middle.
Now Walsh was thinking tactically, and he liked the corner room that had access to a stairwell directly across from it or the elevators in the middle of the hallway. Looking out the window from the fourth floor, he could see the street below and anyone walking toward the front of the hotel. He had somehow managed to keep the pistol from Alena’s sight and hoped he didn’t have to explain it. He folded it into his pants and left them on the nightstand as he lay down in bed wearing his undershirt and underwear. Alena was snoring quietly a few minutes after the lights went out.
Walsh tossed and turned as he considered what had happened. He wished he could talk to his three best friends from his time in the marines. Mike Rosenberg was already helping him, and he knew Bill Shepherd probably had his hands full on the base in Germany. He wondered how Ronald Jackson would have viewed the situation. Each of them had strengths and weaknesses, but together they seemed to form the perfect team.
Ronald Jackson had devoted his life to the marines and knew every policy forward and back. He was the bedrock of their friendship. He also had an uncanny ability to locate the best activities during their leaves. A day in a Mediterranean port city and Ron could create enough good times to remember for a lifetime.
Michael Rosenberg was the smartest of the bunch. Perhaps “smart” was not the right word. He was clever, tricky. He had a way of viewing situations and looking at things that no one else would consider. He could piece together fragments of information into a simple report any grunt on the frontline could understand.
Despite his Boy Scout appearance and perpetually shaggy hair, at least for a marine, Bill Shepherd remained calm and unflappable in every possible situation. His demeanor was the same when they were having dinner as it was when they were under fire from an enemy mortar. His clear-headed thinking had saved them a number of times.
That made Walsh take a hard look at himself to figure out what he added to the group. It was clear, perhaps not heroic or sexy but obvious: He was organized. Not in a simple, keeping-things-clean kind of way but from the very basis of his being. He could look at anything and understand how it could be sorted or displayed. No one looked at someone who was good with numbers as heroic, but they always needed him around. He could put together a spreadsheet or expense record and make anyone understand how money was spent. But now, in his current situation, he had to look within himself and discover if he could do more. Maybe this was the kind of test he had expected his whole life. Instead, he had skated from one situation to another without any real hardship.
It looked like those days were over now.
*
Severov had been unnerved by his conversation with Amir. He needed to talk to someone he could relate to. It was a little early to be calling on the special cell phone he’d been provided. It was supposed to connect him directly to his commanding officer, who had sent him on this crazy mission in the first place. He was surprised to hear a different voice pick up the phone. It took him a minute to recognize the Georgian accent and realize it was the colonel’s adjunct, a Muslim officer who had barely given Severov the time of day.
Severov said, “I need to speak to the colonel.”
“He’s busy. He said you can give me your report and I’ll pass it on to him.”
“Why would I give a report to you? He’s my commanding officer. Give the phone to him now or be prepared to explain to him later why he received no report.”
He heard grunts and then a long pause before the colonel came on the phone. The colonel was in a typical jolly mood and seemed to have more questions about Severov’s trip and how pretty the girls in Estonia were than about the tactical issues he had been sent to study.
The colonel said, “What does it look like, Anton? Will the roads support our convoys?”
“Yes, sir. And I have a good track through Estonia. The rail lines can handle the heavy follow-on equipment and tanks. We won’t damage too much infrastructure and will be able to use the country’s electronic and Internet capabilities almost immediately. I estimate it will take us two days to reach the far border.”
“That is excellent news.” There was a pause, and Severov was certain the colonel was thinking something over. Then he said, “How are your guides?”
“They are certainly different from us.”
“Of course they are. They’re Muslims. Those desert folk aren’t used to the twenty-first century.” The colonel let loose with a loud cackle.
Suddenly Severov realized how wrong they had all been. Fannie and Amir were true Muslims. True believers all the way. The stereotype of the crazy, headgear-wearing nut was part of their strategy. No one in the Russian hierarchy took them seriously. They would never look at someone like Fannie and think she was a crazed zealot. But he knew she was a killer. They looked just like everyone else, but they were a dangerous bunch. More dangerous than a tank rolling down the middle of the street. At least then everyone knew there was danger. It instilled fear and made people get out of the way. A man with a bomb wrapped around his chest gave no warning.
Severov had realized that Amir’s fanatical need to cling to tradition and keep Fannie in what he considered her “place” was a minor manifestation of devotion to a cause, but that didn’t mean he was a lunatic. Both Amir and Fannie were the perfect example of what the West should fear from Islamic extremists. They were in no way “desert folk” and certainly more tech-savvy than the tubby colonel, who viewed them as dimwitted. It was difficult for most Westerners to understand the attitudes about life held by people willing to give their own lives to further their cause. Amir clearly had other personal reasons for being so interested in Fannie, but it was also his culture.
Severov finally answered his commanding officer’s question. “The guides have been helpful, but there is much I must tell you in person.
The colonel said, “That’s fine, because we’re going to move sooner than we planned. You should head back toward the border and double-check our route. Violence is subsiding in the West, and we’ll need you to lead your tank platoons. How does that sound?”
Severov took a moment to look over his shoulder and see that Fannie had joined Amir near the front door of the hotel. “It sounds a lot safer than staying here.”
*
It’d been a long day, and Vladimir Putin was happy to be back at his palace at Novo-Ogaryovo. He treasured the residence that had been built in the fifties and felt he used it most effectively. Not only was it his retreat from the stresses of his job, but it was his main office. Even though that was a contradiction in terms, he appreciated the time and effort it saved him of traveling into the main part of the city every day. He also enjoyed the grounds that were stocked with wildlife and the pool and workout areas that were never more than a few minutes’ walk away.
He was surprised and not particularly pleased to be told that Yuri Simplov was waiting for him in his official office. Yuri was one of
the few people who could ask for admittance in his absence and be allowed to wait. It was late and Putin was tired, and he would’ve preferred to hear any updates in the morning.
When they were alone in the office, Putin went to the comfortable chair behind the desk, making sure Yuri realized he still answered to Putin on everything. Putin said, “I really want to make sure you and I do not have more contact than usual during this critical period.”
Simplov said, “But it’s not unusual for us to talk four or five times a week.”
“Yes, but many of those conversations are over the phone.”
“I understand, but there is much to talk about,” Simplov said.
“I just finished briefing Andre on the operation and trying to explain to him that the protests in the U.S. and Germany were unplanned and spontaneous,” Putin said, “but now our agents are working to influence them. That is correct, no?”
“Our man in New York has taken advantage of an existing protest group and hired contractors to help incite them,” Simplov said. “Germany is a different story. The German youth have been looking for a cause to protest and are anxious to convince the U.S. that Germany no longer needs them as a military force in the country. Their protests turned violent quickly without much prodding from us. But to be accurate, some of their protest groups were already controlled by our SVR agents.”
Putin nodded and said, “Very good. It makes excellent television and focuses everyone’s attention on an issue that doesn’t even really exist. Sometimes fate smiles upon us.” He knew the power of the media and how an intelligence agency could use it. Years earlier, he had directed Yuri to plant four bombs in apartments all across Russia, including Moscow. In September 1999, the blasts killed more than three hundred people and injured seventeen hundred. The country was outraged to learn that Chechen rebels were responsible. The administration had used it as an excuse to start the Second Chechen War by bombing Grozny, and Putin had used that success as a way to succeed Boris Yeltsin as president.
There had always been rumors that the FSB had been involved, and there was even an arrest of three FSB agents who were planting additional bombs. But the agency claimed it was a training exercise, and nothing was ever proven. The Duma rejected calls for an investigation, and all Putin had to do for that was make sure key members were appointed to vital positions of power. That included his friend Andre Maysak.
Putin looked across the desk at Yuri and said, “Where are we in our current operation? And start with the bad news first.”
“We have lost the U.S. trader whose account we used to transfer the money. He knows nothing about us, but the FBI might be able to use him to find a connection to us. Initially, we hoped to eliminate him and make it look like a suicide. He has been much more resourceful than we expected. Still, our man in New York is determined to find him.
“You’ve already seen news reports that the Swiss bank was destroyed by a massive explosive device,” Simplov said. “That was done by our allies. The blast killed the young man who introduced the algorithm into the stock exchanges. It also eliminated the original computer and will greatly slow down any investigation into the algorithm. If anyone is ever able to piece together what happened or who developed the program, it will be long after we have taken complete control of Estonia.”
Putin nodded but refrained from giving any specific praise. This was the SVR’s job, after all. The whole idea was for the agency to control situations like this, and he was not particularly happy there was a loose end like the missing trader.
Yuri said, “The terror attacks are drawing all the media attention, as well as the law enforcement and intelligence attention, in the Western countries. As we talked about earlier, the initial wave of attacks has run out of steam, and now the attacks are occurring with much less frequency. Some of these attacks were planned but had to be delayed for one reason or another. I think it is all working out to our advantage.
“The military is preparing to move and have conducted an in-depth reconnaissance of their route. We did make use of a talented Muslim to help there, but I’m assured the connection is secure. There appear to be no issues, and the Estonian defense force will provide little, if any, resistance. We feel that the sight of Russian tanks rolling across the border will be enough to cause them to surrender.”
That was what Putin wanted to hear. Now he said, “So we can now focus on the military aspect of the operation. The Muslims have completed their assignments. We will see how long our truce lasts with them.”
Simplov nodded his head. “I can have our contacts in ISIL eliminated, if you don’t think we will ever have need of them again. We could even eliminate their contact whom we used during our recon of Estonia. I understand, however, she is French by birth and is gifted with languages. We might have more use for her later if you are comfortable with it.”
Putin nodded his head. “We can always use good people. Leave the contact alone unless there is a problem.”
“And the leaders in ISIL? We are technically fighting them in Syria.”
Putin shook his head. “If this is successful, who knows what we will do in the future. There will always be rumors about who we do and do not work with. This throws some mystery into the mix. I just want to be clear, and this is important, the military phase can begin now, correct?”
Yuri smiled and said, “Without delay.”
19
Fannie Legat tried to hide her disappointment when Anton Severov said he’d been recalled to his company. He told her while Amir was standing next to her and made no mention of their brief liaison. She hoped it meant something to him and she wasn’t just another woman he had met during his career. Soldiers expected women to melt at their feet, but she had gotten the impression Anton Severov was different.
She appreciated how he had considered what the Russian invasion might mean to the people living in Estonia, as well as his professional demeanor as he made sketches and notes about their route. He was nothing at all like what she had expected. And she hoped he felt the same about her. Since she’d been sixteen, all Fannie had considered were the wrongs against Islam. Over and over her teachers and imams had told her essentially that everyone outside of Islam was a danger, but that Americans and Russians were an actual threat. She would often hear the older men talk about their time fighting the Russians in Afghanistan. That was where Osama bin Laden had learned many of his tactics and honed his rhetoric. The younger men talked about fighting the Americans in Afghanistan.
Partly due to the difference in decades, but also to a different philosophy, the Russians used brute force and tactics that drove all of the Afghanis away from them. Their tanks would level villages, and they would kill indiscriminately. No one was even sure why the Russians cared about Afghanistan. The popular political rhetoric was that the dying Soviet Union had to assert itself somewhere in the world, and Afghanistan was the best place to show off its military power.
The Americans were not met with as much resistance. Much of the country rallied to them in defiance of the Taliban. Also, the American tactics were considerably different. They avoided civilian casualties whenever possible and had such precision ordnance that they were able to take out military targets with very little collateral damage.
In the mosques and schools she attended, this distinction was never made. They talked about America as a breeding ground for a new generation of crusaders who saw Islam as standing between them and oil.
This experience with Major Severov had put a human face on the enemy. He’d even made her consider all the people who died in the bank building in Bern who had no knowledge of what was going on and were no immediate threat to Islam. Was this her conscience popping up?
The U.S. and Europe was another story. The French had kept her bottled up in a ghetto. The Americans treated all Middle Eastern people like petulant children or criminals. She abhorred their decadence and wastefulness, what Amir would call “sinfulness.” She and Amir were what the West should fear. Intellig
ent and ruthless. Ruthless on a scale Westerners couldn’t easily comprehend. Not only would she give her life for the cause, but she would sacrifice any of her comrades, too. As long as she hurt the West she would feel fulfilled.
She was sorry to see the town of Valga, on the Latvian border, disappear behind them as she headed north to the border with Russia. She had to talk the Russian major into sitting in the front seat, because he didn’t like having Amir behind him, but he had agreed. Anton Severov mostly looked out the window but would occasionally glance over at her, and her heart felt like it would explode.
From the backseat, Amir said, “Perhaps once we get rid of you, we can straighten out Fannie and turn her back into a good Muslim.”
Severov shifted quickly in his seat to look back at the little Iranian. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s none of your concern. You must plan to oppress these people in Estonia. You will not have time to worry what Fannie and I do once you are gone.”
Fannie was about to say something, but she saw the look on Severov’s face. She decided to see where this conversation would lead.
*
Grabbing sleep in short spurts had not helped Derek Walsh, and now, in the early morning hours, he sat on the edge of the bed staring at a TV, which was bolted to the wall, with the volume turned down low as he flipped between the different news channels.
Alena still slept soundly as he tried to piece together the events he was watching from around the world.
The BBC America channel focused on the meltdown of the London stock exchange, which had lost more than 16 percent in the last two days. They mentioned a faulty computer trading issue but acknowledged that the majority of that crash was panic selling by major funds. The newscasts showed protests turning violent in front of Parliament and even Buckingham Palace. English youth with shaved heads hurled bottles and rocks at police huddled behind shields.
The Russia Today “RT” channel seemed to cover the events in Germany, England, and the U.S. with a degree of glee not seen on other networks. He had barely even noticed the channel before, only seeing it in certain hotels. For the longest time he thought it was some kind of offshoot from MSNBC because they often talked about the same subjects with the same tone. It wasn’t until recently he realized it was a news station owned by the Russian government. It covered American news in English, much like Al Jazeera America. In this case, economists Walsh had never heard of were talking about the inevitability of these crashes and the inability of Western nations to sustain any serious growth. Specifically, they talked about the American desire to dominate the world militarily, hampering its ability to advance economically.
