Everybody on the planet was cocked and locked after the bridge incident until President Vladimir Pushkin blinked, called President Christopher Thompson and lied like a thief. The man who headed the Russian government offered that he had not been kept accurately informed of what was happening in Narva because a previously trusted general had gone rogue. Pushkin insisted that after the earlier presidential telephone conversation, he had sought out the true facts and learned how Colonel General Valery Levchenko, acting without authorization from the general staff or the Kremlin, had decided to turn the routine Operation Hermitage war game into an invasion of Estonia. General Levchenko had, by some miracle, survived the bombing of the bridge and was now under arrest, although he was in grave condition from wounds. Doctors were pessimistic about whether he would survive to face trial.
Thompson responded that his own information had also become more clear. Apparently the mayor of Narva was trying to secede from Estonia. The man’s body had been recovered from the rubble of the western half of the bridge and the federal government in Tallinn had invalidated the local council’s decision. The rebellious local police had been temporarily replaced by NATO troops.
The Russian president commented that he considered that to be an internal matter for the Estonian government.
Thompson, in response, canceled DefCon Four and resumed DefCon Two.
Pushkin declared that the situation had stabilized all along the border, even in the northern climes of the Arctic Circle. The traitorous Levchenko had been in command of that area, too. Troops were told to stand down.
“One last thing, Vladimir,” said President Thompson. “We have this defector, a colonel Ivan Strakov, who, apparently, had watched the success and celebrity of Edward Snowden and hoped to get the same treatment from us. He was working with Levchenko to take the Baltics… against your expressed policy.”
“Christopher, are you asking for an exchange: Snowden for Strakov?” The Russian was curious.
“Not at all. You can have Strakov back for free, if you want him.”
Pushkin chuckled. “No deal, Mr. President. We have no use for such a worm. Do with him what you wish.”
“Then let us get back to work, President Pushkin. I’ve got an angry Congress to deal with on budget matters.”
“Have a good day, President Thompson.”
The colorful change of command ceremony in Brussels had gone without a hitch and Fred Ravensdale turned over his keys as deputy supreme allied commander for NATO with proper pomp and ceremony. Afterward, he was helicoptered out to the Vagabond for a few days of rest on the way home to England and his new job with CJTF 10. The yacht would cruise leisurely across the Strait of Dover, out into open water, and then up the Thames River to deposit everybody on the piers of London, and take a bit of time doing so.
The Vagabond was already swimming in deep water, headed due north, and Swanson joined the small group on the rear sun deck. Jeff and Ravensdale were side by side in high-back chairs at a long table spread with snacks and drinks for afternoon tea. Trevor Dash, the captain, was chewing a cookie and giving his passengers the current schedule. They would continue into the fringes of the North Sea overnight, then head east to London the next morning. Easy seas all the way. Should dock about this time tomorrow, he said. Kyle pulled up a chair on the other side of the table.
“Watch out for icebergs, Trevor.” Swanson dug out another beer. Afternoon tea was not his thing.
“Thank you for that vital warning, Kyle. We would never have thought about that on our own. I shall see you gentlemen at dinner.” Dash toured a lap around the deck to check details, then went up to the bridge. Privately, he spread the word for all crew members to confine their work for the next hour to the forward decks. No exceptions. If asked why, he told them to keep a sharp watch for icebergs. No one was to even look aft until further orders.
Jeff and Kyle kept the conversation vague for a while, talking about the never-ending and expensive American election cycles and contrasting them to the quick, cheap British voting rules. Cornwell looked over at his guest and asked, “Are you thinking about getting into politics, Freddie? When you retire?”
“Absolutely not,” the general replied. “No desire at all.”
“Too bad. Government needs good men.”
Kyle put his beer on the white tablecloth and leaned back, seeing that the sky was blue forever. “I have a question, General Ravensdale, if you don’t mind.”
“Ask away,” Ravensdale replied. He was in an excellent mood. It was finished. All over. Nothing had happened. His blood pressure was back to normal and last night he had slept a full seven hours. The only aching point was that Arial was not answering her cell phone. But now he was aboard a huge luxurious yacht, dressed in relaxed seagoing whites, from boat shoes to an old pair of cricket slacks and a linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was nice to just be among friends and have a good time.
“Well, when I got back to the boat a few days ago as things heated up, I had a call from a friend at our Department of State. He says that you called the Finnish Intelligence Service back when all this first began and gave them my arrival date, place and time. That started the ball rolling. Why make that call?”
He saw the lines tighten slightly around the eyes and mouth as Ravensdale coughed a little embarrassed laugh. “We have gone over all of this before, Kyle. I simply was making sure that you met with Strakov as soon as possible. You were the only person to whom he would speak.”
Swanson smiled. “Yes. That’s right. So I was thrown out of Finland the very next day to be sure I got there in a hurry.”
“Just so. And you did!” Sir Jeff took a triangle of cucumber and cream cheese sandwich as he watched the verbal exchange. “Played hardball with us, Freddie.”
“Just business.” The general shrugged.
“Then a few days later, when my team was down in Kaliningrad, I watched the Russians reposition their big guns until all were pointing south, toward Poland,” said Kyle. “No firebase would ever bet all of its firepower on a single azimuth without good reason, and our girl Anneli mentioned there was a rush of last-minute orders that she could not understand. Then the guard was doubled on our escape route and a BTR-80 was activated. At first, I thought they were just showing off for the arriving two-star, but I was wrong.” He looked directly at Ravensdale. “They knew we were coming.”
The man shifted his position. “We must never underestimate the Russian’s intelligence network. As I recall from our earlier conversation, you worried that there were a lot of unknown parts to that job. They moved quickly, but not fast enough. You still got your man; good for you.”
“Thanks. I had help. Then a short time later, the Russians kidnapped our spy, Calico, down in Narva. I got to thinking, which is never good for a jarhead marine like me, and is why I leave that stuff to officers. Anyway, Anneli had accidentally dropped the code name of Calico during the quick briefing I gave aboard this ship. Coincidences add up, General Ravensdale.”
“Kyle, are you saying that I am responsible for these situations? Preposterous.” The general was feeling an angry heat rising at the base of his neck.
Swanson got up from his chair and drank some beer. “Let me continue before you get too high and mighty. Before coming out to the Vagabond, I had a final meeting with Ivan Strakoff.”