General of the Army Pavel Sergeyev, the chief of the general staff of the Russian Federation, could read that story just by looking at the huge map of Europe that dominated an entire wall of his magnificent office on Znamenka Street in Moscow. All of those upstart Warsaw Pact deserters were now having second thoughts: Moldavia, Romania, Slovenia, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia were quaking in their boots. He laughed to himself. Tiny Lithuania had announced with great fanfare that it had formed a Rapid Reaction Force to confront any Russian aggression.
Sergeyev pressed the handset of a telephone close to his ear to better hear the cold voice of Colonel General Valery Ivanovich Levchenko, the commander of the Western Military District, who was headquartered in St. Petersburg. The colonel general was an active man, popular among his troops for his touch with the common soldier. Chief of Staff Sergeyev asked, “How was your run this morning, Valery Ivanovich?”
“Brisk and satisfying,” came the reply over the encrypted line. The man had the lean body of a greyhound. Each day, the colonel general went for a run of ten kilometers with an enlisted man from one of his services. Today, a common soldier from the 20th Guards Army had been given the honor of galloping alongside the fifty-year-old general, and the younger man’s fresh lungs were burning with effort by the time they finished the hard pace. The general did not jog; he ran and always finished with a hard, kicking sprint. It was all right for the enlisted man to finish first, and be rewarded with a week’s liberty, for the general was no longer in the condition he was in back during his Olympic years, but woe be unto any who could not finish the workout. Break an ankle, pull a hamstring, rip a knee muscle or fall out of the run for any reason at all and that soldier, sailor or airman would be demoted one rank on the spot and transferred to what the general called his “Goon Squad” that pulled every dirty job he deemed fit. For Levchenko, there was no excuse to ever quit until the job was done.
“Are you prepared to launch the exercise?”
“At your command, sir.” Colonel General Levchenko was not flustered by the implied criticism of his superior. Of course he was ready. “The needed infrastructure is in place along the border for Operation Hermitage, and we are shifting units forward as the fields dry out enough to support armored vehicles. More fuel and ammunition and air-assault units still need to be prepositioned. It will not take long.”
Chief of Staff Sergeyev thought that through for a couple of moments, with his head down and his chin on his chest. He puffed on a cigarette. “And where do we stand with the resettlement program?”
“The voluntary relocation is, of necessity, going slowly, but progress is satisfactory. Elements of the Sixteenth Spetnaz Brigade, in civilian clothes, are furnishing manpower to help convince dissidents in the target areas that they might be happier living elsewhere.”
“Nicely put, Valery. ‘Voluntary relocation.’ I like the sound of that,” said the army’s chief of staff. “I think that someday you may wish to take off that uniform and become a politician.”
The business was done, and they were just fencing now. “I have no interest in politics, Colonel General. I have served the Motherland for thirty years, and my only wish is to continue doing so as a commander. I understand that this operation is part of a larger and important political component and I gladly leave that to you and our other leaders in Moscow.”
“I know, Valery. I know. You are the best field commander I have and your skills are needed where you are.” There was a pause. “I told the men in the Kremlin that the only problem was that Valery Ivanovich would want to personally lead this from the front lines. They were shocked, and I agree with them. One reason for my call is to remind you, Colonel General, that you must remain within your headquarters.”
“Ah. The problem with being a general is that I cannot be aboard the lead tank going into the fight. I work best when my boots are muddy.” He poured a glass of good vodka and drank it down in one swift gulp.
“From where you sit in your St. Petersburg palace, Estonia is only ninety-two miles away. That is close enough for my valuable commander. Let our young soldiers do the fighting. That is why we train them.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Colonel General Levchenko, knowing it was a lie when he uttered the words. Things were in motion for the run-up to Phase One of Operation Hermitage and he did not have to be personally on the scene until it was time to spring the trap with Phase Two. Then he would be where he was really needed. The men within the redbrick Kremlin walls and generals in the military headquarters in the Arbat did not have to know that. Colonel General Levchenko did not believe in sharing his plans. The bureaucrats could order him to boil water, but building the fire was up to him.
Kyle Swanson got his first surprise of the day when he met the case officer who had been assigned by the CIA to oversee the initial debrief of Colonal Ivan Strakov. He recognized the blond hair, slim figure, elegant bearing, fashionable clothes and open smile of Jan Hollings. Calico stood and extended her hand.
“You?”
“Don’t worry, Mister Swanson. I left Anneli safely tucked away for a few days. The company brought me in last night because Ivan apparently operated partially on my turf. The theory is that I might be able to recognize flaws in his story.” She sat down again, then introduced two other agents, a younger tech and an older analyst. “I will return to Tallinn as soon as you are through with him and things check out. Still, it is nice to see you again so soon.”
The woman was full of surprises. At no point had she mentioned her husband, Colonel Thomas Markey. Agents were always changing their appearance with such little alterations. Beneath that cool outward appearance, Calico was a very complicated woman. Kyle had no problem with her running this show. Anybody, as long as it was not him, was acceptable.
“Fine by me. When you see Anneli, please tell her that I said hello. She’s a good kid. No word on her boyfriend?”
Jan twitched her lips. “No. Too soon to hope for that. I honestly do not have high hopes, but she thinks you are Superman and can find him.” She lifted her chin toward the tech, who switched on the video and audio equipment, and a black curtain slid away from the one-way mirror.
Ivan Strakov waited patiently in a chair at the usual table. He wore glaring orange coveralls, but was not in restraints. Instead, he was working a crossword puzzle, although he was not allowed a sharp object like a pen or pencil. Ivan was unraveling the tangle of words in his head.
The technician handed a clear earbud to Kyle, who stuffed it into the canal of his right ear and wiggled it to make it comfortable. It was invisible. “Testing. Can you hear me?”