Before reading up on Belarus online, Avery had known next to nothing about the country. But Belarus made a logical destination for Ukrainian arms traffickers and rogue spooks. Maybe Minsk was just a layover and Cramer had already moved onto another destination or maybe he was still there. Either way, there was only one way to pick up Cramer’s trail now.
Avery had no contacts in Europe. He didn’t have a feel for the local gestalt and the mood on the streets. He wasn’t intimately familiar with the political and social landscape and climate the way he was with Afghanistan or Pakistan. He didn’t know the lay of the streets or how to get around there. He didn’t speak a word of Belarusian or Russian. In short, he didn’t know how to blend in there. He’d be even more of an outsider than in Tajikistan. And when someone felt like an outsider, they invariably acted the part — awkward, unconfident, apprehensive, and timid— and consequently stood out.
His previous experience in Europe was limited to a couple brief jobs back when he’d been a cleaner. In Poland, he was sent in when the defection of a Russian navy captain went sour, and Avery was tasked with getting both the agent and his handler out of Kaliningrad, the Russian enclave nestled on the Baltic Sea between Poland and Lithuania.
Then, in Germany, after a terrorist rendition operation went to shit do to incompetent management and poor OPSEC, Avery had been tasked with sanitizing the safe house used by the compromised CIA unit — who had already fled the country in a hurry, with warrants issued for their arrest — and retrieving vital equipment and materials before German federal police raided the place.
Those had been the most stressful jobs of his career, far worse than anything he’d come up against in Iraq or Afghanistan. He didn’t mind having to shoot it out with terrorists, especially in a war zone where his rules of engagement permitted him to shoot first. That’s why he trained so hard. But going up against another country’s police and counterintelligence services and risk spending the rest of his life in prison was a different story. He didn’t know how the Cold War generation did it.
Aside from essentially going into Minsk blind, he’d also be without backup. There’d be no support from Culler. Sideshow had very specific op orders, Afghanistan or Uzbekistan was acceptable, with Seventh Floor approval, but their mandate didn’t include Belarus. Avery could easily end up dead in an alley or spend the rest of his life in the Amerikanka, Belarus’s notorious Stalin-era KGB-run prison for spies and political prisoners. And no one would ever know or care.
Simply put, the Charlie Foxtrot potential was high.
Avery’s first priority was simply getting into the country. He couldn’t use his Nick Anderson diplomatic papers. But on a job, he always had a backup. He’d enter on an Irish passport in the name of Nick Ambrose, a Canadian who had immigrated to Ireland. Americans and Brits would warrant scrutiny from the Belarusian authorities as a matter of course, but nobody ever had problems with the Irish or Canadians. Nick Ambrose was a satellite dish engineer. Avery even had business cards and fliers, as well as the necessary credit cards, driver’s license, and a Kinsale Library card.
Aside from a plausible cover for action, the biggest hurdle was the visa application. Whether coming to Belarus on business or private matters, visitors were required to submit their visa application one week in advance. The applicant also needed to include contact information for the Belarusian citizens they were visiting or the offices they were doing business with.
Avery continued reading and clicking websites, and found his solution.
By special decree of President Lukashenko, visas would not be required for foreigners visiting Minsk for the three-week-long International Ice Hockey Championship games, as long as they had their tickets upon arrival.
Avery clicked onto the International Ice Hockey Championship website. The games had just started and were into their first week.
It was as solid a cover as he was going to get within twenty-four hours. Tourists from all over Europe were flocking to Minsk. And that’s exactly why Lukashenko was waiving visas. The games would be a huge boost to Minsk’s tourist industry and economy. But it would also be impossible for the KGB to keep track of every Westerner in the city, and their surveillance teams would hopefully have higher priorities than a Canadian hockey fan.
Avery bought tickets on his Nick Ambrose credit card for games later that week and printed them. Next, he put his flight plan together and paid for the airline tickets. The Aeroflot flight to Russia’s Sochi International Airport left Dushanbe International 8:45AM tomorrow, thirteen hours away.
Unfortunately, the lack of official cover meant no diplomatic lockboxes in which to smuggle his equipment into the country without going through Customs. The small x-ray proof compartment in his suitcase was large enough only for the Glock.
Sure, he could arrange through Gerald Rashid to forward his equipment to the embassy at Minsk so he could pick it up from a local case officer there, but that created an inevitable chain of records and paperwork in two countries, as well as back at Langley, and he definitely didn’t want to alert COS Minsk. Avery didn’t know who the local CIA chief was, but from experience, he knew these guys, or gals, were often appointed because they were politically reliable. Most didn’t make a move outside the embassy without ambassadorial permission. They’d be none too happy to have an independent freelancer, especially one with Avery’s reputation, operating on their turf, with weapons.
“And what’s the plan once you arrive in Minsk?” Poacher asked. He was skeptical and had already tried to talk Avery out of it.
Avery didn’t have an answer to the question. Mockingbird had compiled a list of restaurants, bars, and nightclubs owned or frequented by Russian mafiya vor, plus offices and facilities used by GlobeEx Transport. But scoping out these places in hopes of finding a familiar face from Ayni was a long-shot. They knew the hangar and terminal GlobeEx used at Minsk National. Another long-shot, scoping that place out hoping to catch a glimpse of Cramer, but so far it was the best he had.
“I’ve arranged a local contact for you,” Mockingbird said, before Avery could respond to Poacher’s question. Mockingbird had been quietly working on his laptop the entire time Avery had been putting together his travel plans. “The source that provided the intel on the Antonov. He’s willing to meet me, or rather you, I should say. He’s pretty interested in Litvin’s business, too. I think he’s a journalist, probably Russian. He said he’s working on a story in Minsk.”
“This can’t be a good idea,” Poacher said. He didn’t even need to elaborate why, because he knew Avery was already thinking the same.
“What’s his name? Have you checked him out?” Avery asked.
“He won’t provide a name, but I searched his screen name and got a few hits. That’s how I surmised he’s a reporter. He’s taking a risk by doing this. Belarus isn’t a safe place for an investigative reporter. If he’s on the level, he could be a real asset. At least he may have insight into Litvin’s operations and he’ll know his way around Minsk.”
“If he’s who you think he is,” Avery said, “and not a plant set up by Litvin or the Belarusian KGB.”
“There is that,” Mockingbird acknowledged meekly.
“If he wants to stay anonymous, how am I supposed to find him and identify him? I’m not going to sit around in a hostile country and wait for him to find me.”