Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, and exhaled a long sigh, almost visualizing the panic in the adjoining room and back at Langley.
13
Swanson kept his face like stone, but thought: Well, that was certainly worth a million. It was also the ticket that would allow him to leave the negotiation. People at big desks and wearing stars on their collars would soon notice they were suddenly having trouble breathing, and wondering about those chest-tightening squeezes around their hearts.
Kyle had not seen an Armata nor any evidence whatsoever that there was one around Narva. The last memo on Russian military preparedness had declared the weapons platforms were not even supposed to exist yet. The timetable for the first MBT Armata T-96 main battle tank to roll off the production line at the Uralvagonzavod factories was still more than a year away. At least that was according to the best data collected by the Western intelligence agencies over the past decade. If Ivan was right, then the analysts had seriously screwed up and the Russians had fielded a tank that could maul the best U.S. armor in a head-on fight.
“An Armata?” he finally said to the colonel. “I call bullshit on that, Ivan. Russia has a hard time building a decent automobile, much less a Star Wars muscle tank way ahead of schedule. Even field testing has not yet begun on that toy.”
Strakov stifled a chuckle, and a big smile lit his face. He knew he had their attention now. “Kyle, we don’t care about building cars because we can buy Italian Ferraris or Japanese Hondas from dealerships in any of our big cities. Military development is an entirely different beast. There are at least one hundred operational Armata platforms in the immediate area around St. Petersburg, all of which could be vectored over to the Narva bridgehead within an hour. Black Eagle tanks, Boomerang armored vehicles, tracked artillery, mobile antiaircraft, and Kurganets infantry fighting armor. Quite a few are already around Narva. I was counting on you seeing at least one.”
“Well, I didn’t. So they are probably not there. You could be lying through your teeth about this just to get cash.”
“But I am not. What this tells me is that our new electronic stealth-and-cover technology is also working, leaving your satellites blind. Otherwise, how could they miss a fifty-ton tank being hauled into position? That information is probably worth another million, and I have a lot more than hardware.”
Swanson heard Calico’s voice in his ear, soft but urgent, telling him to wrap it up. He stood away from the table and stretched. “Well, buddy, you’ve just graduated far beyond my pay grade, so our session is over. You obviously have good info, and I think you can stop worrying about the value of a Russian ruble.”
Ivan Strakov was not ready to break off the talk. He held the upper hand and didn’t want to stop. “Oh, we’re not done yet, Kyle. I still want you as my intermediary.”
Swanson shrugged. “You are out of my league, Strakov. I’m just a washed-up old sniper who now hustles for a living in the private sector, while you are a slick intelligence genius. The U.S. government and NATO have specialists who can understand what you have to say. I do not. I mean, apparently I could not even see the world’s meanest tank when you pointed me straight at it. So, adios, compadre. See you around the campus.”
Strakov said, “Don’t think you can walk out on me, Kyle.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Colonel Strakov. Good guess.”
“You will be back soon.”
“No. I’m heading back to Washington in a few hours. My personal opinion is that you were a liar twenty years ago and you are a better liar now. Send me an e-mail in about thirty years to let me know how this all turns out. I’m done with you.”
Strakov’s eyes turned hard as marbles and humorless and he walked over to face the mirror, looking through his reflection to those on the other side. “You people in there have a problem. Your negotiator here thinks he can call me a liar, then just up and leave whenever he wants. Change his mind. You are facing a madman and a major threat to NATO. You have no time to spare; absolutely none!”
The three CIA people had the looks of a small herd of deer caught in oncoming headlights when Kyle reentered their lair. “You’re not seriously considering leaving now, are you?” Calico raised an eyebrow. “We’re just getting started. This stuff is gold, Kyle!”
“I am totally serious. Ivan will talk to your experts for enough money, or if you put a hood on his head and let our pals in Guantánamo have a crack at him. You don’t need me for either of those things.” Swanson held his hands before him, palms up. “Worse, I don’t like him, and I think he is blowing smoke. Do not think that a brick of cash will guarantee the truth.”
Jan Hollings said, “Armata battlewagons being deployed is not smoke, Kyle. Quite the opposite.”
“That hardware was going to be online sooner or later anyway, Jan. They have been on the trade-show circuit for so long that you can probably buy a detailed model at your local hobby store.”
“But we are not ready for something like that! NATO isn’t ready! It would be a disaster if those beasts start rolling.”
“Then tell NATO to get ready. There is nothing I can do about that!” Swanson was exasperated. All he wanted to do was leave. “The value of Colonel Strakov is in an entirely different area. You really want what he may possess: cyberspace, black information and intent. The Armata dump is a sideshow, just to get your attention. I am no tank warfare genius, but neither is he. No tank, not even a super-tank, can fight a war all by itself. He dropped that pearl just to get your attention. He got it.”
The analyst spoke in a low tone. “You are misreading the situation, Agent Swanson. The Armatas actually do represent a serious threat. If a hundred of those monsters descend along Estonia’s border all at one time, it would be catastrophic. NATO would have to respond. A war would erupt.”
Kyle blew out a breath. “That is not going to happen. You are the ones misreading the situation. The question is not about a new piece of hardware, but why is Ivan painting this nightmare. I am a trained scout, spent years doing it, and nothing that I saw over in Narva indicates any fight on a massive scale. For one thing, there were no huge ammunition dumps or major supply depots. Those things have to be as big as mountains to sustain a major attack. So possible trouble, yes. Escalating tension, yes. War, no.”
“But suppose you are wrong, Kyle?” Calico reached for the encrypted phone. “We have to imagine the worst-case scenario.”
“Whatever. I bid you all a fond farewell and wish you good luck, fair winds and following seas. I have a plane to catch.” He straightened his jacket and walked away.
Dirty weather came roaring down from the Arctic Circle early Sunday morning. Force-nine winds churned the Baltic Sea into a maelstrom, as towering rollers alternated with falling troughs and the winds skimmed away the foam on top in long streaks of spray. Captains of big ships buckled into their control-room seats. Overhead, the sky was the color of concrete and so turbulent that commercial airlines were rerouted rather than chance flying through the clouds. On the ground, trees and signs bent to the power of the storm, which threw debris at motorists. Animals huddled in shelters, away from the heavy snow-rain mix.
The ugly conditions did not darken the mood of Colonel General Valery Ivanovich Levchenko in his opulent headquarters. On some days, the commander of the Western Military District felt like a lone dray horse trudging along an endless road, pulling the heavy load of the entire Russian Federation in a sleigh behind him. It was tiring. Outside, the wind clawed at the windows of his office, teasing him.