In public during the campaign, the party’s candidates spoke of corruption within the Social Democrats, promised higher wages for all, an improved standard of living, a severe crackdown on criminals, a fight against greedy capitalists in Tallinn, lower taxes and strong security. In private, after hours, they always remembered when the city tried to secede from Estonia and reunite with Russia a number of years ago. Some 97 percent of voters had approved, but the federal government in Tallinn ignored the election and forced Narva back into line. Mayor Pran and his friends believed the time was ripe to try again; no, not to try, but to do it. Back then, Narva had no army standing by to guard its decision. This time would be much different. The entire police force was made up of tough Russians; active-duty soldiers in mufti. An entire protective armored force was poised in the town next door, separated by just a river. The council’s first and only piece of business that afternoon was to vote to secede.
With that accomplished, the new council members cheered and congratulated one another and drank toasts of vodka from little glasses. Food carts were wheeled in for a party, and families and friends joined them. Konstantin walked out hours later, filled to bursting with pride, and also a little drunk. He decided to make one final stop before going home. He had never seen an American spy.
The basement of the Town Hall smelled of decay and mildew. Over the years, it had primarily become the resting place for things that were unwanted elsewhere in the government building. During the Cold War, the space had been expanded to be deeper and wider to create several special rooms that would be bomb shelters when the Western powers attacked. These small rooms had been furnished, had stores of food and water, waste facilities and ventilation, and were expected to last for up to two weeks. The doors were of steel. When Russia pulled out, Estonia could not afford such useless hidey-holes, and all but one had been turned into giant storage closets for boxes and crates. The final room was used to hold special prisoners until the Russians could come and pick them up.
A young policeman with close-cropped dark hair was on sentry duty, seated in a wooden chair and reading. He put aside the magazine when he heard someone coming down the stairs, and snapped to ramrod-straight attention when the mayor appeared. Mayor Pran paused and inspected the guard. A sharp Spetsnaz commando. “Good man. You remain alert in this dreary place. I shall mention that to your chief. Now, please open the door. I need to speak to our prisoner.”
The tall cop did as he was told, and Pran knocked quietly on the steel panel three times before opening the door. The prisoner was a woman and he did not wish to find her in a compromising situation. Then he went inside.
Jan Hollings was on her feet, waiting, tense but not weeping. She was tall and had piercing blue eyes that made Pran think for a moment that she was Swedish or Norwegian and not American at all. A lightweight blanket was around her shoulders.
“Mrs. Hollings, I am Konstantin Pran, the mayor of Narva,” he said in good English.
“I know who you are. Why have I been taken prisoner?”
“Because you are a spy of the CIA, my dear.” He seemed amused, and looked at the little table with the wilting flowers and leftover food. “You have been treated well?”
“A spy? Mayor Pran, I am just a housewife who also runs a clothing company in Tallinn.”
“Yes, of course. You were here to spy on our election and report back to your masters.” He giggled girlishly. “This is the conversation of a thriller movie, is it not?”
“I want to go home.”
“And you shall. You shall be reunited with your important U.S. Army colonel husband very soon.”
Hollings felt a surge of hope. The man was tipsy. “Well, that will be very good, but I am no spy. You have made a mistake.”
Konstantin Pran smiled, his cheeks pulling aside to show capped white teeth. Such dentistry required money, Calico thought. She sat on the cot and crossed her legs, noticing when his small eyes checked her. He continued to stand, hands clasped before him.
“I watched you speak at the square this afternoon. Congratulations on your election.”
“I thank you for that, madame. It is quite an honor for me. My city is at the most important juncture in its history.”
Jan was looking directly at him, unafraid. She had just established that it was still the same day. She smiled shyly. “Narva has been around for many, many years, sir. Why is this time more important than all that has gone before?”
Again came the giggle and he waved one hand to dismiss this. “Ah, you are playing the spy with me again. It is no matter, for you will know everything by this time tomorrow. By then, Narva will once again be part of Russia.”
“You know that the Estonian federal government will never permit that,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
The mayor shifted his weight and his ego was boosted by the alcohol he had consumed. “There will be another rally in St. Peter’s Square tomorrow morning and I will formally issue a declaration of secession. At precisely nine o’clock on Tuesday, I shall walk across the bridge and invite Russian troops to come over from Ivanogrod to defend us. Colonel General Levchenko himself, the powerful district commandant, will personally lead the force into town.”
Calico was stunned. “NATO will consider that an act of war.”
The mayor spoke faster. “NATO is in disarray because of the new threats in the Arctic, so our move will meet little resistance. Russian troops will be in defensive positions before you Yankees and your NATO helpers can react in any significant manner. Afterward, things will only bog down in endless negotiations. The final piece will take place when you, Mrs. Hollings, are exchanged for a very important person.”
“Who?”
The mayor laughed aloud. “Probably, I have said too much already, but as I mentioned earlier, it will make no difference. By the time you can get back tomorrow night, this will all be over. A fait accompli, with no options but war or negotiation, and NATO will not fight for Narva.”
“You’re wrong, Mr. Mayor. Sadly, so very wrong. You know that if the Russians take Narva, they won’t stop until they have all of Estonia, and then they will move to make the rest of the Baltic dominoes fall. We will definitely fight to prevent that from happening. Without question. You are putting the world on the brink of a new war, and your city, Narva, will be ground zero. Your city will be utterly destroyed. Thousands will die.”
He shook his head, bid her a pleasant night, gave a slight bow and left. The door locked behind him, leaving Calico sitting there trying to absorb the enormity of what would happen. She wanted to shout the news, but no one would hear her.
The mayor stepped into the night and felt the moist air cool his cheeks. He got into a small car driven by an old friend, a retired policeman and who had become chief of the mayor’s security team, all ethnic Russians. Not that Pran thought he needed protection, because on this day, everyone loved him.
Moscow, always skeptical, insisted. There might be a few Social Democrat thugs who wanted to protest. Most of the dissidents had been disappeared over the past months, but a handful of activists were still around. In a way, he regretted helping make some of his countrymen leave aboard the Black Trains, never to return, but the dream of reunification was more important than a few lives.
The mayor and the guard shared a few laughs as the car drove away from the middle of the city and threaded through traffic to reach Pran’s suburban home, a modest detached building with a garage. He had raised his family there and knew every stone. Pran danced merrily up the steps and through the front door, calling for his wife. The guard parked the car at the curb, adjusted the seat and made himself comfortable. His twelve-hour shift lasted until dawn.