But Hood did not have time to consider the injustice of it all or even the condition of his daughter. The phone rang a moment after he hung up. The call was from another concerned wife.
The president’s.
THIRTY-FIVE
General Orlov was proud that his operative had been able to save the American. Proud, but not surprised.
Odette — Natalia Basov — had been working with him for three years. The thirty-two-year-old was a former decryption expert who had begun her career with the GRU, Soviet military intelligence. Her husband Viktor was an officer in the Spetsnaz, the Russian special forces. When Viktor was killed on a mission in Chechnya, Basov became deeply depressed. She wanted to get out from behind a desk. Because the GRU was being dismantled and its components downsized, Basov was sent to see Orlov. Orlov was happy to put her in the field. Not only was Basov skilled in electronic intelligence, her husband had taught her the self-defense techniques of the systema, the lethal martial arts style of the Spetsnaz. Orlov himself had studied the basics as a way of staying in shape. The systema did not rely on practiced moves or on physical strength. It taught that during an assault, your own defensive motion dictated what the counterattack should be. If you were struck on the right side of the chest, you instinctively turned the right side away to avoid the blow. As a result, your left side automatically came forward. Thus, your attack would be with the left arm. And it would not be a single blow. It would be a trinity. Perhaps a fist to the chin, an elbow to the jaw, and a swipe with the back of the hand, all in quick succession. While that was going on, you were positioning yourself to unleash the next trinity. Typically, an opponent did not get more than a first chance to strike. Multiple opponents were too busy avoiding their falling comrades to move in.
Basov had mastered the form well. And she had proven to be a valuable asset in Azerbaijan. Orlov’s people had created a false identity for her, and she had obtained a job with the police force. That put her in a job to watch and question people, other officers, guards, and night watchmen at plants and military bases. To learn what was happening in Baku’s corridors of power and in the military. Being a beautiful woman made men more inclined to talk to her, especially in bars. And underestimate her.
Basov said that she and her guest were safe, but they were not what bothered Orlov right now. What concerned him was finding the Harpooner. Basov had told Orlov that the Baku police radio was reporting an explosion in the harbor. A boat had blown up, killing everyone on board. Orlov was willing to bet that the boat had belonged to the Harpooner. That was his way — to destroy all the evidence along with some or all of his coworkers. The dead men would probably be blamed for the rig attack. Orlov wondered who they were. Azerbaijanis? Iraqis? Russians? There were any number of people he could have recruited for a job like that. Just as long as they did not know what usually happened to his employees.
Most of Orlov’s staff began arriving at half-past eight. The general had left e-mail for the two key members of his intelligence team, Boris and Piotr, to come and see him as soon as possible. If the Harpooner had been responsible for the attack in the Caspian, he probably would not attempt to leave Baku immediately. In the past, the Harpooner apparently waited a day or two after an attack. And when he finally moved, he often passed through Moscow. No one knew why. Unfortunately, by the time authorities learned he was in the city, he had vanished. General Orlov did not want that to happen again. The question was how to find him. And Paul Hood might have unwittingly given them a clue.
Boris Grosky was a sullen, gray-haired intelligence veteran who missed the Cold War. Piotr Korsov was an eager newcomer who had studied at Technion in Haifa, Israel. He was openly thrilled to be working in a field he loved and for a man who had helped pioneer space travel. The men entered the windowless office within a minute of one another. They sat on the couch across from Orlov’s desk, Boris drinking tea and Korsov sitting with a laptop on his knees.
Orlov briefed the men. Grosky became noticeably more interested when the general mentioned that the NSA and CIA might somehow be involved in the Caspian operation.
“What I want to know is this,” Orlov said. “We have eavesdropped on cell phone communications between American intelligence operatives before. We’ve gotten through many of their secure lines.”
“We’ve gotten through most of them,” Grosky pointed out.
“They try to keep you out by altering the signal from second to second,” Korsov said. “The shifts are all within just a few megahertz in the superhigh frequency. We’ve learned how to ride most of the shifts.”
“The difficult part is decoding the messages, which are scrambled electronically,” Grosky added. “The American agencies use very complex codes. Our computers aren’t always up to the task of decrypting the calls.”
“Do the same callers usually use the same signals, the same patterns?” Orlov asked Korsov.
“Usually,” Korsov told him. “Otherwise, there would be audio crossover. Callers would keep bumping into one another.”
“Do we keep records of the calls?” Orlov asked.
“The conversations?” Grosky asked. “Yes. We keep working on them, trying to decode—”
“I mean the signals,” Orlov interrupted.
“Absolutely,” said Grosky. “We send them up to the Laika so it can keep a lookout for those signals.”
The Laika was the Russian Op-Center’s sentry satellite. Named for the pioneering Soviet space dog, the Laika was in a high geostationary orbit over Washington, D.C. It could intercept signals from the United States, all of Europe, and parts of Asia.
“So, if the Harpooner spoke with an intelligence unit in Washington, we might have picked up the signal if not the content,” Orlov said.
“That’s right,” said Kosov.
“Very good,” said Orlov. “Go to the computer records for the past two weeks. Look up communiques between Azerbaijan and the National Security Agency in Washington. Get me all the information you have.”
“Even if we haven’t decrypted them,” said Kosov.
“Yes,” Orlov replied. “I want to know exactly where the Harpooner or his people might have been calling from.”
“When you know that, what will you do?” Grosky asked.
“I’ll call the American Op-Center and ask them to go through any satellite imaging they have for the region,” Orlov said. “The Harpooner had to move explosives and personnel into position. If we can pinpoint his location, there may be a photographic record of it—”
“And clues to where he might be,” Grosky said.
Orlov nodded.
“We’ll have that information for you as soon as possible,” Kosov said eagerly. “It would be a coup if we could catch that monster.”
“It would be,” Orlov agreed.
The men left. Orlov put in a call to Paul Hood to bring him up to date.
Catching the Harpooner would be a highlight of his career. But more than that, he wondered if this close cooperation between Op-Centers could become increasingly routine. If the trust and sharing could lead to less suspicion and greater international security.
That would be the real coup.
THIRTY-SIX
“Paul, I’m glad I found you,” Megan Lawrence said. “I think you should come here. There’s something going on.”
The First Lady’s voice was steady when she got on the line, but Hood knew her well enough to know that it was Megan’s “I have to be strong” voice. He had heard that voice during the campaign when there were hard questions from the press about an abortion she had had before she met the president. As she had years before, Megan was pulling this strength from deep inside. She would crash only when it was safe to do so.