It was as if Strakov was not even listening to his comments. The Russian was on a roll. “When Moscow controls the Arctic, it can control the world, and it’s there for the taking. You Americans and NATO are so militarily scattered, from Afghanistan and the Middle East to Ukraine to the Baltics and all over Europe that you are virtually naked in the region. A couple of submarines, some airplanes and some soldiers on skis? Why, President Pushkin could take that frozen frontier in no more than two weeks of fighting. It would be over before it started, unless you went nuclear.”
“If all that he has is an untested computer system that may not even work under stress in extremely cold weather, we will be all right.” Markey did not believe his own words.
Strakov was totally calm. “The Nehche system was more than a peaceful breakthrough. It opened the door, Tom, for improved laser weaponry. Where you use missiles, we will use beams of light. Mounted in a long-range Tupolev bomber, for instance, a high-energy laser system with Nehche guidance is a fearsome weapon.”
It was another blow to Colonel Markey. The U.S. Air Force had tried to build that very type of airborne laser with the YAL-1 system but eventually scrapped it. Years ago, the Boeing 747 that carried the experimental device had been taken to the USAF boneyard in Arizona and turned into scrap metal.
Markey put down his coffee and leaned forward. “Are you telling me that Russia has an operational airborne-laser system?”
“We have a lot of things, Tom. Which is why I came over to tell you about all of them.” The Russian stood and stretched, ready for a mid-morning nap.
“I’m no American general, Tom. But if I was, I would start looking more at the sophisticated enemy in the north and less at the deserts of the ragtag Muslims. Your country and NATO are pledged to defend these little nothings like Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. Pushkin counts on that, which is why he is pushing these minor military diversions such as overflights. So while you are tied down in the Middle East, and locked here in the Baltics defending the indefensible, things are going to get pretty hot in the world of the polar bears, who are not members of NATO. You are totally out of position.”
After a shower and clean underwear and a heavy robe, and then some chow, Kyle Swanson disappeared into the communication suite and set up a secure link to Marty Atkins at CIA headquarters in Virginia. “It is done,” he said.
“Yeah, I heard. Any damage to our team?” Atkins knew the risk factor had been high.
“One KIA,” Swanson replied, tired and expressionless. The emotions were under steel bands. “Our translator. The girl we pulled out of Estonia.”
“Does Calico know that?”
“Not yet. When she finds out, be ready for some blowback.”
“Tough.”
“Yeah. Did her death really make any difference, Marty?”
The CIA’s deputy director for clandestine operations chose his words carefully. “We may never know, Kyle. That’s not unusual in our world. But it definitely has created a stir. The Russkies are all bent out of shape because their general got popped. The Lithuanians are denying that any of their troops were involved except for ducking incoming Russian mortar shells.”
“Okay. Watch out for Calico. She will be on the warpath. Now I’m going to sleep. Appreciate it if you contact the One Sixtieth SOAR concerning the body.”
“Talk to you later, then. Good job.”
Swanson terminated the call and sat motionless for a few minutes. He had brought both Sir Jeff on the yacht and Marty at Langley up to date. Nothing more important left to do. Then he made his way back to the infirmary to get a few stitches and sterile bandages for minor scratches. A pain pill would help get him to sleep, although he knew as soon as he was in dreamland, the nightmarish but familiar Boatman probably would come to visit with a boatload of guilt. Anneli had crossed over. She would be a passenger.
26
Colonel General Valery Levchenko of the Western Military District was amused by the worry in the voice of his superior officer, Pavel Sergeyev, chief of the general staff of the Russian Federation. Pavel was scared.
Levchenko lit a cigarette and carefully blew out a ring of smoke that went almost to the ceiling of his office before being shredded by the air-conditioning drafts. “We cannot say that something like this attack was unexpected,” he told the man in Moscow. “Some snipers took out Victor Mizon and his security chief and got away. It was a very professional operation. I admire professionalism.”
“Is it true that we were warned in advance? Why wasn’t something done? Why wasn’t I told?” Sergeyev hardly knew Mizon, but that was beside the point.
“Yes,” replied Levchenko. “My people received and passed along a very vague warning that had taken its own sweet time coming through the security service pipeline. You should ask the FSB why you were not copied on the message.” He decided to dig at his superior a bit more. “If Moscow had been more alert, that message could have made a difference.”
General of the Army Sergeyev was provoked by the haughty attitude of General Levchenko in St. Petersburg. “Never mind that. A Russian general has been murdered!”
“He was only a fucking border cop, Pavel. You can promote another deserving soldier to fill that empty desk in Moscow.”
Sergeyev huffed, “I remind you that this happened in the Western District, not in Moscow. Your territory and your responsibility, General Levchenko.”
If that was a threat, it failed. Levchenko actually laughed, and the sound rattled in the ear of Sergeyev. “Actually, I do wish they had picked some other general, but the snipers did not ask for my choice of targets. We all knew that something was coming because of the MiG attack on Finland. This was it. Now it’s our turn again. Time to move on.”
“I shall confer with President Pushkin this afternoon about overall strategy along the border.” In his mind, Sergeyev remembered how his arrogant subordinate had only recently been raked over the coals personally by the president. This incident would further undermine the man’s reputation.
“Do not bother yourself with that, General Sergeyev. My staff is already taking the steps necessary and will suggest an appropriate response to President Pushkin. And forget about young General Mizov, sir. Let it go. Think of it as if he died in battle, and give him a medal if it will make you feel better. I have this matter under control.” He hung up before the old man could respond. Levhenko thought that Russia could use a few more dead generals.
Swanson slept as hard as a flop-eared hound, snoring on his back. Occasionally, he scratched at the leg bandage. Someone looking at the slender warrior would have thought this was a man at peace, although the closed eyelids twitched with the rapid eye movement going on. His brain was firing in overdrive.
One and one always equal two, he thought, while sound asleep. Always. No. In some computer languages, one and one equal only another one, because twos do not exist in those codes that open and close microscopic electronic gates. Therefore, nothing is truly absolute. Something did not add up.
Kyle had been anticipating an ugly dream visit by the Boatman, for those brief unconscious confrontations were his way of dealing with his post-traumatic stress. He had killed a man today, and had lost a good friend who had traded her life for his. Swanson had been on too many battlefields not to know that shit happens out there. A rise in terrain, a slip on a rock, the turn of a head can make all the difference between getting hit and being safe once the shooting starts. That was what happened with Anneli. She zigged when she should have zagged. It could just as easily have been Kyle in a body bag tonight.