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Ardankin considered another wry comment, but decided he’d already used up his monthly quota. Frankly, he was surprised Pushnoy hadn’t shut him down in front of the colonel. The director had never been one to hold back. Instead, he took the safest route.

“How can Directorate S be of service?”

“Colonel Levkin has been temporarily assigned to Directorate S, along with his new command, Spetsgruppa Omega.”

“Omega?” said Ardankin. “I assume the final letter of the Greek alphabet was chosen for its significance, not because the Russian Federation has plans for ten additional Spetsnaz groups?”

“The last. The end. The ultimate,” said Levkin.

“Levkin has handpicked the best special operators from the GRU’s Spetsnaz ranks to form an experimental unit,” started Pushnoy. “Colonel, why don’t you elaborate, as briefly as you can.”

“I’ve been tasked to create a company-sized, rapid-response force capable of carrying out emergency missions around the globe, Deputy Director,” said Levkin.

“No offense, Colonel, but isn’t that role currently fulfilled by our Federation Security Service’s Spetsgruppas?” Ardankin asked.

“You’re not mistaken, sir,” said Levkin, pausing as if to choose his words carefully. “The joint chiefs and the Main Intelligence Agency recently convinced the defense minister that we needed the same capability in each military district, without the usual bureaucratic delay.”

“Or the bureaucratic oversight, I imagine,” said Ardankin.

Levkin hesitated to agree.

“No need to play coy here, Colonel,” said Pushnoy.

“Very well, Director,” said Levkin. “Yes, the generals are tired of requesting assets for special operations missions outside of the traditional combat zones. Frankly, the current use of Federation Security Service personnel outside of the Russian Federation territory is bizarre.”

“And embarrassing?” said Ardankin.

Levkin grinned. “There’s plenty of that sentiment at the top as well.”

“I don’t have all day,” sighed the director. “Here’s how this is going to work. We’ll approach the task from two directions. Dmitry, I want a team watching Ernesto Galenden day and night. If the satellite imagery requested by Colonel Levkin shows the location indicated in the file to be abandoned, we will need to have a private talk with Galenden.”

“Easy enough,” said Ardankin.

He purposefully didn’t expand upon his directorate’s capabilities. He imagined the colonel had a fairly accurate concept of Directorate S’s mission and generic capabilities, but rumors had a way of inflating or deflating the truth, each scenario benefiting his Directorate, depending on the circumstance. In Colonel Levkin’s case, he preferred that the GRU officer overestimated. Legend among your countrymen never hurt.

“Colonel, my only hesitation, actually more a concern, lies purely in the numbers,” said Pushnoy.

“I’m not going to overestimate my unit’s capabilities,” said Levkin. “If this group is as skilled as you indicate and they presently occupy the position designated in this report, the numbers are not in our favor. Not without military-grade air and ground support.”

“How many men do you have in Omega?” asked Ardankin.

“I have two direct action platoons comprised of twenty men each,” Levkin said after a moment of hesitation. “Plus a special-purpose weapons team of twelve, which can be integrated with the direct action platoons as required.”

Members of this American mercenary unit had driven straight into what should have been a turkey shoot for his directorate’s Zaslon operatives. Not only did the smaller force of Americans drive away with Anatoly Reznikov, the Zaslon team’s target, but they also massacred every last Russian operative. Eight of the deadliest Spetsnaz officers in the Russian Federation’s arsenal lay dead on a Stockholm street. Killed within seconds of the Americans’ arrival.

Ardankin shook his head. “It won’t be enough. Not on their turf. Not without absolute surprise, which is unlikely to be achievable against these people.”

“Then what do you propose?” asked Pushnoy.

The question caught Ardankin off guard. He wanted to say let sleeping dogs lie. The American mystery unit had been quiet since the raid on Vektor Institute. Clearly Pushnoy didn’t feel the same way, or was he under pressure from above to make this work? The train of thought led to an idea. Probably a long shot, but it was the only hope of pulling this off.

“Colonel, if I’m off base tactically, please don’t hesitate to say so,” he said, continuing after Levkin nodded. “We stack the numbers in our favor by drawing them out of their lair?”

“It still leaves us with the same problem, just spreads it out,” said Levkin.

Pushnoy leaned back in his chair with an approving look. “You mean to suggest we go after Sanderson himself when he’s least protected.”

“Cut off the head of the snake,” whispered Levkin.

“And burn the framework of his operation to the ground, ensuring it can’t be used against the Russian Federation any time in the near future,” said Ardankin.

“How will we lure his people away?” asked Levkin. “I assume a string of firecrackers down the road won’t do the trick.”

“It might have to,” said Ardankin, turning to the director. “Unless the email containing all of this wonderfully convenient information included a return address.”

Pushnoy neither blinked nor changed his facial expression, which meant he had the man’s undivided attention and that his earlier assumption about the anonymity of the information was correct.

“With all due respect, Director, if they want us to do their dirty work, the least they can do is set the stage. Sanderson will need a convincing reason to deploy the bulk of his people. I hear that a certain high-profile bioweapons scientist is on the loose again.”

The director stared at him with piercing ice-blue eyes, the faintest hint of a grin on his face as he stood up. “This goes without saying, but the two of you will not be seen with each other outside of this office. Figure out a way to coordinate efforts.”

“Understood, Director,” said Ardankin. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

Colonel Levkin stood at attention, echoing his statement.

“Colonel, you are dismissed. Report directly to Ardankin from this point forward. My secretary will provide you with a secure briefcase for that folder. I can’t stress enough the confidentiality of its contents.”

“With my life, Director,” said Levkin. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Pushnoy, motioning for him to leave.

When his secretary closed the door, the director addressed Ardankin less formally, a surprise to him.

“We move cautiously on this. One misstep and we have a disaster on our hands.”

“I agree, sir,” said Ardankin. “I have just the man for the job.”

“Osin?”

“He has the most experience with Sanderson’s people.”

“Not many live to share that experience,” said Pushnoy.

“That’s why he’s so valuable. I have no doubt he will be eager to nail Sanderson’s coffin shut.”

Chapter 14

Neuquén Province
Argentina

General Terrence Sanderson stood on the deck of the timber lodge he had once called headquarters, and drew deeply on a Cuban cigar. He’d missed this place. The Black Flag program rose to full strength from the ashes here, forging men and women of the highest caliber for the dirtiest unacknowledged missions the United States had to offer. Now the valley compound served as temporary lodging for long-range reconnaissance and scout-sniper training. They didn’t spend much time in the valley that sheltered the complex before heading out into the massive expanse of land leading right into foothills of the Andes Mountains. The less time spent here, the better.