“We thought about that,” Sanderson said, “but Karl Berg thinks that a western entry would be too risky at this point. Several recent developments lead him to believe that the chance of you being intercepted is too high. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but the deputy station chief in Stockholm disappeared. The Russians are getting desperate, and you’re no doubt on their short list of people they would like to interview. The CIA is putting together cover paperwork that will pass scrutiny in Vladivostok. The details haven’t crystalized, but you’ll likely pose as an Australian travel blogger taking the Trans-Siberian Railway. You’ll find plenty of tourists onboard the train, along with little scrutiny. The rail system still operates in a relatively archaic mode. There’s very little technology involved. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be on a flight back to the States before the fireworks start.”
“Like Stockholm? That was supposed to be a simple surveillance job, but I did the math and decided to stick around. I was apparently the only operative who could count,” she said.
“Actually, Ms. Foley,” Farrington said, “Stockholm went precisely as planned.”
Foley regarded him for a moment. “You purposely drove your vehicle into a Spetsnaz crossfire?”
“Yes. Everybody on that team knew exactly what was at stake, and nobody hesitated. That’s how it works here. While your role in this mission isn’t a cakewalk, your situation is vastly different than the rest of the team’s. When you’re finished with your part, you’ll board the next available flight out of Russia, presumably flying first class. Nobody on my team will have that luxury. Once we hit Vektor Labs, it’ll take a miracle to get us safely to the Kazakhstan border. I tell you this to provide some perspective. The men you’ll get to know over the next day or two are a fairly optimistic and highly capable group, but they harbor no delusions about their chances of escape. Be careful what you say around them. They know you’re holding the golden ticket out of there.”
Erin Foley maintained her unreadable facade, but he could see a fire ignite beyond her eyes. He was glad to see this. She was angry that she wouldn’t share the same risks as the rest of the team and was hungry to prove something.
“I get it. I didn’t mean any disrespect. How much time do we have before I leave for Vladivostok?”
“We’re still waiting for Berg and his masters to convince the White House. They’re bringing new information to the president tomorrow,” Sanderson said. “We expect a green light shortly after that. Full mission briefing and talk-through at 1700 hours. Expect a long night. You can eat with the team at the Russia House. No more pickled herring, fancy baked goods and good coffee for you.”
“No more smorgasbord.” She sighed.
“Watery cabbage, potato-based soups, unseasoned boiled meats, salted fish, porridge…it grows on you,” Farrington said.
“What about blini or pirozhki?”
“We haven’t hired a pastry chef, yet,” Farrington grumbled.
“Might be a future condition of my employment,” Foley said to Sanderson.
“You pull this off for us, and I’ll send our cook to a few fine Russian cuisine classes,” Sanderson replied.
“Deal.”
Foley nodded and turned for the door, hesitating before facing them again. “What if I don’t want to take a flight out of Novosibirsk?”
Foley was starting to grow on him. She had a slightly irreverent sense of humor and cold affect, but he sensed that she would never back down from a fight. Her decision to stay on Bondegaten Street after fulfilling her assigned role in Reznikov’s takedown wasn’t a fluke. He could see it in her eyes. He now wondered if he’d gone too far with his dressing down and implication that she had the easy job. This clearly didn’t sit well with Foley. He’d have to keep a close eye on her and make sure she didn’t try to expand her role. He had no doubt that she was a capable, intelligent operative, but her skill set would require an extensive retrofit to match the team selected to breach Vektor Labs. Her job would be just as critical to their success, but he needed to keep her at a distance.
“Ms. Foley, you have a long, arduous path ahead of you. Your role is critical to the operation,” Farrington told her. “You’ll gain a much better appreciation for your importance to the mission tonight. Trust me. And for the record…everybody here knows what you did for us in Stockholm. You’ve already earned their respect…and mine.”
“All right,” she said, faltering to say anything beyond that.
“Grisha will show you to your accommodations,” Sanderson said.
On cue, the same operative that had shown her inside minutes earlier materialized in the doorway. Grisha, aka Grigory Usenko, stood an in inch short of six feet, built on a sinewy, muscular frame. His drab, loose-fitting clothing gave the impression that he was simply thin, which in terms of body mass and height to weight ratio would be an accurate surface observation. Under the surface, Grisha was pound for pound one of the strongest and quickest human beings Farrington had ever met. The first generation Belarusian looked indistinguishable from the average East European male, with short, faded brown hair and blue eyes. He nodded with a disaffected look plastered to his thin, angular face.
While Farrington commanded the overall team, Grisha was the de facto assault element lead. His lightning reflexes and unmatched quick decision-making capacity made him a natural choice for this role. With Grisha on point, Farrington could concentrate on the bigger tactical picture, satisfied that all immediate threats would be assessed and dispatched flawlessly. Grisha had trained exclusively with three other operatives for the past two years, forming a tightly knit team that operated on a near subconscious level.
Watching them conduct drills reminded him of the team assembled to check out the abandoned laboratory in Kazakhstan. Andrei, Sergei and Leo had been his first team, and like Grisha’s crew, he had trained alongside them for nearly two years before they were sent out with Petrovich to unravel the madness created by Vektor Lab’s star scientist, Anatoly Reznikov. Andrei and Sergei had been killed during their mad trek across Russia and Europe. Leo had been severely wounded in Stockholm, losing the full use of his right shoulder. He was unlikely to be reintegrated into the program at this point.
Farrington would like to return as many of Grisha’s comrades as possible from this operation, but he wasn’t overly optimistic. At this point, without U.S. military assistance, taking down Vektor was tantamount to a suicide mission. Nobody on the Russian team had said a word about the final stage of the evasion and extract plan. Sanderson had created a pervasive and unequivocal cult of loyalty and service among his operatives.
Like Farrington, everyone knew that he would work tirelessly behind the scenes to get them what they needed for every aspect of their assigned missions. It was also implicitly understood that their personal safety was secondary to mission accomplishment, and nobody questioned or balked at this key premise of their existence as Black Flag operatives. Lives would never be cast away on worthless causes. If Sanderson’s operatives were put into action, their mission objectives represented the solution to an essential national security problem that required the use of untraceable, “off the books” assets.
The Vektor Labs raid fit all of the above criteria, but took the concept a step further. Sanderson had made it clear to Farrington that there would be no middle ground for operatives sent against Vektor, meaning that capture by Russian Federation forces was not an option under any circumstances. He hadn’t decided when to broach this non-negotiable term with the team. Ultimately it would be his responsibility to ensure compliance with this directive, which meant that it was unlikely that he could allow the team to split up and try to make their own way across the border if Sanderson failed to arrange an extraction. As if reading his mind, Sanderson addressed him as soon as the steps faded from the porch.