Swanson said, “Perfectly. I’m ready.”
The technician slid on a pair of earphones and turned to his electronic control panel. “Ready here, too,” he said. The older analyst nodded, his pen poised over a legal pad.
Calico gave them all a final look, and said, “Then in you go, Swanson. Do this. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.” She opened the door and Kyle walked through, then she closed it behind him.
Ivan Strakov tossed the folded newspaper onto the table. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Kyle placed his briefcase on the flat surface, opened it and removed some notes. “Narva is a dump,” he said, spreading his papers. Sketches and written reminders with other notes such as laser ranges scribbled in open spaces.
“There are a couple of nice castles, though, right?” Ivan responded. “Good view from up in the gallery. So what did you see, Gunny?”
“Not much, actually. The only thing worse than being in Narva, apparently, is being across the bridge in Russia.” Swanson peeled through the data, point by point, for thirty minutes, then called a break. He mentioned the upcoming election, but did not speak of the fight in the tower, nor the young couple he had encountered. He stuffed the material back into the briefcase and returned to the other room and handed it to the analyst. “For your files,” he said, and the man took it without comment.
“That was a good general overview,” said Calico. “I recall much of that myself, although without the ranges and tactical details. Narva is a bleak place and doesn’t change much.”
Swanson poured two cups of hot coffee and took a sip of one. To the tech, he said, “Ask Ivan if he prefers milk and sugar.”
The youngster hesitated and looked at Jan Hollings, who looked at Kyle. “Come on,” Swanson said. “The guy is a spy. He knows we are watching and listening, so let me break the ice a little better with a common courtesy.”
“Milk or sugar in your coffee, Colonel?” The tech asked with a calm voice.
“Milk. Thank you,” he responded.
Swanson went back in and gave Ivan the coffee. They sat silently for a while, just waiting. “So you directed that you would only talk to me, Strakov, and I came. Then you sent me off to chase this goose in Narva. I went. So it’s your turn.”
Ivan agreed that it was fair to give something back. He asked, “Did you see the monuments?”
Swanson nodded in agreement. “Even the bald guy, old Vladimer Ilyich Lenin himself, who is now hiding in a niche of the castle instead of standing in the square. I tried to catch most of them.”
Strakov had a laugh, a genuine bit of humor. “Yes. Moving Lenin was quite a daring move by the Estonians. Then they also moved the war memorial, a statue of a Red Army soldier, and that really upset President Pushkin. What else? Think, Kyle. This is important.”
“If it was important, why didn’t you tell me to be sure to find it?”
“The process of discovery, Kyle. If I pointed you to it, my information would have been discounted. Tell me about the sad-looking cross that rises out of the stones down by the railroad tracks, with the big numbers nineteen forty-one through nineteen forty-nine.”
“I’ve got to look at my notes again,” Swanson said to buy some time. He left his coffee on the table when he went back outside and checked through the papers. “Aw, shit,” he said softly, drawing a concerned look from Calico. “I should have caught that. So fucking obvious!” He went back in.
“That is the memorial to the Estonians who were deported to Siberia by the Russians during and after the war,” he declared.
Ivan Strakov rubbed his right palm over his face briefly, pulling at his cheeks. “Right.”
“The Disappeared.”
“Right. They are doing it again, this time to silence the critics and the dissidents, the journalists and clergy, the students and labor leaders. With those people removed in secrecy aboard what is known as the Black Train, a new tone can arise behind them and clever propagandists will rally to return beneath Moscow’s wing.”
“You are preparing the battlefield.” Kyle pushed back in his chair and crossed his legs. He realized with a clutch of his gut that Ivan’s comment explained what had happened to Brokk Mihailovich and why those punks had come after Anneli. Had to be. With Brokk and his energetic adviser out of the way, the other candidate would win the municipal election in Narva and try to return it to Kremlin ownership. “Incredible. Moscow must know NATO will react to that.”
“Of course, but it is not me. Moscow is doing it and fully realizes the risks and the rewards. The Black Train is the only free item on my menu today, Kyle. Now that I have crossed the line and left my job, I need money. I will want a lot of money for further information, with more to come as I yield more intelligence gold, and I want my new CIA friends to arrange a new and comfortable life for me.”
Kyle grinned. “How about this instead: We throw your skinny ass into a prison if you don’t tell us everything?”
Ivan did not change expression. “Ah. At last, we are bargaining. The best things in life aren’t free.” He finished his coffee in silence, then he spoke again. “That deportation tip is free because I wanted to establish a baseline that will prove my information is valid and important. I want a million dollars for the next big thing, which you obviously did not see during your visit. I admit being a bit surprised that you missed it.”
Swanson gave a derisive grunt. “Hardly. It does not require a genius to figure out that the new road construction, the fuel facilities, the nice new airstrip and the buildup of troops in and around the Ivangorod Fortress are to increase tension along the border.”
Now it was Strakov’s turn to smirk. “You really didn’t catch it, did you? I should be asking ten million.”
“What? You want the cash, earn it.”
“Go ask your masters, or put me back in my room, Swanson. You, of all people, know they could not break me in any interrogation.” He glared over at the big mirror. “When the shit hits the fan, the world will ask why the CIA let this all happen for a lousy million bucks. Let me remind you that we are not even at the good stuff yet; the codes and the data banks.”
Swanson walked out of the room. The analyst and the technician were sitting there dumbfounded and Calico was already on the telephone to Washington, describing the defector’s revelation. She held a finger up to keep him quiet and listened for a minute, then said, “Yes. I consider that the first nugget he handed over is very important. It is confirmation of what we had heard about a Black Train taking away prisoners, but could not confirm. Russia is clearing out its critics in the Estonian border, probably shipping them to Siberia, just like in the bad old days.”
Her golden hair picked up available light in flashes when she nodded in the direction of CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Her voice was soft, but firm. “Yes. That information about the Disappeareds alone is worth the price. God knows what else he’s got. I recommend we do it.”
A longer reply. Calico turned and stared at Kyle. “Yes. I recommend giving him the whole package: new identity, a secret account, the works. We can always take it back and shoot the son of a bitch if he’s lying.” Jan Hollings terminated the encrypted conversation and pointed at Kyle. “They are patched through on a live uplink, so they heard and saw it all. Go make the deal,” she said.
Swanson returned to his seat, carrying two cups of fresh coffee. “Okay, Ivan. You’re a rich man now. So impress me. What did I miss?”
Strakov said, “Excellent. Good decision. The Armata, Kyle. You did not mention the Armata!”