While she wondered how a man as bright as Squires could be so stubborn, a call came in from Op-Center. He took it, listened— intently as always, mostly without speaking— and then handed the phone back to Ishi Honda.
"Okay, lady and gentlemen, gather 'round," he said, hunching toward his troops like a quarterback in a huddle. "Here's the latest. Private George, when we reach Helsinki, you'll be remaining behind. Darrell McCaskey has arranged for you to link up with a Major Aho of the Finnish Ministry of Defense. The Major will take you to your partner, DI6 operative Peggy James, and the two of you will take on the Hermitage by your lonesomes. Sorry, but the rest of us have business elsewhere. You'll hitch a midget sub ride from the Gulf of Finland into the Neva. The Finns've got a butt-kick Defense Minister who's been running surveillance trips right into the mouth of the river. The Russians don't monitor closely because manpower is stretched thin and Moscow doesn't worry a whole lot about being attacked by Finland."
"Sloppy," Sondra observed.
"You and James will raft into St. Petersburg in daylight," Squires continued. "General Rodgers would have preferred for you to wait for nightfall, but that's when they make the mini-sub trips, so in you go. Fortunately, the Russian Navy maintains a mini-sub base in Koporskiy Zaliv Bay not far from the city. You'll be given Russian naval uniforms when you reach Helsinki. If you're stopped for any reason, Ms. James speaks fluent Russian and you'll have the appropriate documents. The Finns are turning out Russian papers in the Security Ministry's forgery division. Major Aho will give you your cover story as well as visas and papers so you can get out of the country as Russian soldiers on leave. Once you reach the Hermitage, find out anything you can about the communications center they appear to have down there. If you can cripple it without terminating anyone, do so. Any questions?"
"Yes, sir. I assume Major Aho's in charge of the mission while we're in Finland. Who runs it in Russia?"
Squires's jaw shifted to the side. "I was getting to that. Op-Center's come up with a new one for us. James was going to be a subordinate as long as an officer was present. Since there isn't going to be one— me— she's along as an observer. In other words, she's not obliged to take orders from you."
"Sir?"
"I know it's an odd one, Private. All I can tell you is, do your job. If she has ideas, listen to them. If she doesn't like yours, negotiate. She's a sharp player, so it should be okay. Any other questions?"
George saluted. "No, sir," If he was concerned or excited, it didn't show in his rosy, youthful face.
"Okay." Squires looked around. "The rest of us will be taking a little trip. We'll be transferring to a Russian transport we've had in cold storage, and flying to parts unknown. The rest of our mission will be communicated en route."
"Any idea what it is, sir?" Sondra asked.
Squires's steely eyes were on her. "If I did," said the Lieutenant Colonel, "I'd've told you. The minute I know anything, you'll know it."
Sondra managed to hold his gaze with her own, though her exuberance dissolved like the sugar she dared to use in her coffee. Their conversations earlier, and now this rebuke, had shown her a side of Squires she hadn't seen during her month with Striker: not the driving, blistering, "try-harder, move-your-ass, can't-you-hit-a-damn-bull'seye?" side, but the imperious commander. The change from taskmaster to leader was subtle, but demanding. It was also, she had to admit, impressive.
As Squires dismissed the troops and Sondra sat back down, she shut her eyes and did what they'd taught her in SEAL training, worked on whipping up her enthusiasm again, reminding herself that she wasn't here for Squires but for herself and for her country.
"Private."
Sondra opened her eyes. The Lieutenant Colonel was leaning close so he could be heard over the drone of the engines, his expression less forbidding than it had been moments before.
"Yes, sir?"
"A bit of advice," he said. "Back at the base, you had one of the greatest go-get-'em attitudes I've ever seen. I don't know who you were mad at, or who you were trying to impress up here—" He touched his temple. "You sure impressed me, though. You also have skill and smarts or you wouldn't be here. But what the rest of my team knows, Private DeVonne, is that on a mission, the cardinal virtues are the cardinal virtues: prudence, temperance, fortitude, and justice. You understand?"
"I think so, sir."
"I'll put it another way," Squires said as he sat up and buckled up for the landing. "Keep everything open except your mouth and you'll do just fine."
Sondra slipped on her own shoulder harness and leaned back. She was still a little deflated and somewhat annoyed that the Lieutenant Colonel had chosen this time and this way to share his philosophy, but feeling more confident than ever that here was a man she could follow into battle
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
While Rodgers sat in his office, reviewing the latest Striker plans from TAS, Stephen Viens E-mailed the AIM-Satellite report on the crates:
CONTENTS OF EACH CRATE APPEARS TO BE A SOLID MASS.
PROBABLY NOT MACHINERY.
EASY FOR TWO MEN TO LIFT.
SENT PHOTO RECON TO MATT STOLL FOR ANALYSIS.
Rodgers muttered to himself, "Bricks of cocaine or packets of heroin would fill the bill. And I'd love to make the bastards eat each and every one of them."
There was a knock on the door. Rodgers buzzed Lowell Coffey in.
"You wanted to see me?" Coffey asked.
Rodgers waved him to a chair. Coffey removed his black trench coat and planted himself in the leather armchair. The attorney had bags under his eyes, and his hair wasn't as carefully combed as usual. This had been a long, tough day for him.
"How did it go with the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee?" Rodgers asked.
Coffey tugged his LC cuff links out from under the sleeve of his jacket. "I went over our revised outline with Senators Fox and Karlin, and was told we're crazy. Senator Fox said it twice. The answer was no change in the original Striker mandate. I think they have a problem with the prospect of engaging the Russian Army, Mike."
"I can't worry about the problems they have," Rodgers said. "I need my team in there. Go back and tell them we're not talking about an engagement, Lowell. We're just reconnoitering."
"Just reconnoitering," Coffey said dubiously. "They'll never buy that. I don't buy it. I mean, reconnoitering to find out what?"
"Where the soldiers are headed and exactly what they're guarding."
"You'll have to get on the train for that," Coffey said. "That's some pretty close reconnoitering. And if Striker is found out? What do I tell the Senators? Do we surrender or fight?"
Rodgers said bluntly, "Striker doesn't surrender."
"Then forget my even going back," he said.
"All right," Rodgers said. "Tell them we won't fight. Tell them we won't use anything stronger than flash/bang grenades and tear gas. We'll put everyone to sleep, no one gets hurt."
"I still can't do it," Coffey said. "I can't take that to the committee."
"Then screw 'em," Rodgers said. "Hell, we're still breaking international law even if we get their approval."
"True," Coffey said, "but if we get caught then, it's Congress in the hot seat and we don't get crucified. Do you have any idea how many national and international laws and treaties you can conceivably break with this one action you're proposing? The good news is, you'll never go to jail. You'll spend forty years in court fighting each of the charges."