Kolginov glanced at Surkov and shook his head. He knew that Surkov could probably disable Teresov in the wink of an eye, and he might even reach Gabovich, but eventually one or both of the CIS officers would gun them down. There was no use fighting it out here and now — better to wait. Kolginov and Surkov stepped backwards away from the two MSB agents, and Teresov made sure that they were retreating away from the conference level before rejoining Gabovich.
“Damn those Lithuanian busybodies,” Teresov cursed. “Do you think they heard what we were saying?”
“I do not know,” Gabovich snapped. “See to it that access by Lithuanian security forces is restricted or denied.”
“How do I do that?” Teresov asked. “The Commonwealth offers equal access to the Lithuanian Self-Defense Forces as it does to us. They let everyone in this place — Latvians, Byelorussian troops, Polish investors, everyone. We don’t have the strength or influence to get the CIS to keep the Lithuanians out.”
Gabovich was about to reprehend Teresov for asking such a question — it was his job to find ways to do things — but he fell silent. This was beginning to become a problem in all operations in Fisikous as the prospect of turning over the facility to the Lithuanians got closer and closer to reality. As part of the treaty between the Commonwealth of Independent States and Lithuania, the CIS was to turn over possession of all former Soviet land, bases, and facilities to Lithuania by the year 1995. The CIS could take all products and equipment made or brought into the country prior to the first of June 1991 out of those facilities and return them to the Commonwealth, subject to continuous scrutiny and verification by the CIS and Lithuania.
According to the treaty, the research and products made in the Fisikous Research Center, including the stealth bomber, belonged to the CIS. The problem was, the CIS did not know anything about it. The Fisikous-170 bomber was developed in near-total secrecy by a group of Soviet scientists, and its existence was kept off the books by the KGB and the Soviet Air Force for years. Viktor Gabovich, as senior KGB officer in Lithuania, became the driving force behind the project, tightening security at the facility, building a defense force around the facility of near-regiment strength, and recruiting the best and brightest scientists and engineers to work there — including his prisoner, David Luger.
When the Fisikous-170 program was canceled by the Soviet government in mid-1991, just after the August coup attempt, work continued on a part-time basis, with funds supplied by the Gabovich’s “special projects” account. As a “black” program, the Fi-170 enjoyed almost unlimited funding and support until 1992, when the newly formed Commonwealth of Independent States disbanded the KGB and the CIS-Lithuania treaty went into effect. Gabovich still enjoyed considerable power in Lithuania and throughout the region, mainly because of the strength of the “private” army and his former KGB intelligence network, which was still intact, but the gradually weakening Commonwealth and the rapidly strengthening Lithuanian influences in the area weakened that power.
When he lost Fisikous, he would lose all he cherished-power, wealth, and influence. He, along with most of the Soviet scientists in the Fisikous Research Center, had nothing to return to back in the Commonwealth. They would lose everything they had if Fisikous closed down.
Dr. Fursenko met up with Gabovich a few moments later, after the Lithuanians had departed. “Is Doctor Ozerov going to be all right?” he asked, worried.
“I think so, Doctor.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I should apologize for my colleague’s behavior—”
“Nonsense, General,” Fursenko interrupted. “Doctor Ozerov may be a little… eccentric but he is a welcome addition to the engineering team. You know he’s right, of course — our computer models do computer radar cross-section as a function of area and structural composition and not by lobal propagation. But, General… will Ivan… uh, Doctor Ozerov, be able to finish the modifications to the stealth computer-model applications as you said he would? He seemed very discombobulated this morning.”
“Doctor Ozerov is under a great deal of stress right now, Doctor,” Gabovich replied, “but he will be back in the lab to finish that program tomorrow.”
Fursenko looked so relieved that Gabovich expected him to kiss his hand, and he all but skipped back to the conference room.
“And, Doctor…” Gabovich said.
Fursenko turned back to Gabovich, his big grin still on his face. “Please remember, Doctor, that Doctor Ozerov’s presence here at Fisikous is still very classified. His name is not to be mentioned or published outside these walls. I will know about it if there is a leak.”
Fursenko nodded his understanding and departed.
Gabovich let out a sigh of relief. The program was humming along nicely thanks to Luger. Never in his wildest dreams did Gabovich expect the American to be able to contribute to it on the level that he had. The knowledge Luger had gained at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center in Nevada was proving priceless. And he, Viktor Gabovich, was the reason why — he had turned a man others would have regarded simply as a prisoner to be shot into a collaborator. Dr. Ivan Sergeiovich Ozerov, né David Luger, was a natural-born worker, as intelligent or more so than the scientists at Fisikous, but as easily controlled as a dog that could be tied up, kicked, and trained.
The one infuriating fly in the ointment was the programming. Gabovich tried to put it out of his mind, but there wasn’t any denying that Luger was having… problems. The behavior modification and assumption of Dr. Ozerov’s identity weren’t holding as well or as long as Gabovich had hoped.
The “booster” had better take care of that.
Or he would.
They called it the Zulu area, but the fancy name referred only to a dark, smelly, damp section of the second subfloor of the Fisikous Aircraft Design Center Security Facility. The security facility — whose ex-KGB personnel were separate from the Commonwealth security forces for the main Fisikous installation-had four upper floors and two lower floors. Luger’s apartment was on the top floor, along with surveillance and support rooms, and this was closed off to all personnel. Classified-document storage facilities were on the third floor; a complete arsenal for the four-hundred-man OMON Black Beret security force was on the second teams were on the ground floor; and more offices and storage areas were on the first subfloor. The Zulu area was a series of concrete-block cells and security systems amidst the mechanical equipment, boilers, and incinerators of the second subfloor.
The original idea behind Luger’s interrogation and brainwashing in the Zulu area when he had been brought to Fisikous was implementation of the traditional Shtrafnoi Izolyator, or punishment-isolation cell system, which usually guaranteed that a prisoner would break within ten to fourteen days. The usual technique was isolation and sleep deprivation, sometimes for days, followed by alternating “good” and “bad” interrogators. He was given about 800 to 1700 calories of food and no more than a half-liter of water per day, most times laced with neuroleptic drugs such as haloperidol or triftazin, and stimulants such as methylphenidate. Physical torture was rarely used, especially with military or government-trained personnel, since most prisoners with resistance training could shut off the pain and could even use their pain against their torturers.
But David Luger was different.
Extracting information was not enough — Gabovich had wanted Luger to be able to use his education and experience to contribute hands-on to the growing Fisikous- 170 stealth-bomber project. A beaten, battered, psychologically devastated Luger would not produce a workable collaborator. Since Fisikous had some of the finest electrical-engineering minds in the world working there, Gabovich had them design a machine to his specifications to try to “turn” David Luger without creating any psychological damage. His finely tuned intellect had to be left intact, even as his consciousness and short-term memory were being trashed and replaced with an alternate identity, that of Dr. Ivan Sergeiovich Ozerov.