HI SAM. JUST LETTING YOU KNOW THAT I'VE SUCCEEDED IN DIVERTING TARIGHIAN'S MONEY TRANSFER TO A TEMPORARY HIDDEN ACCOUNT IN OUR OFFSHORE BANK. THAT'S ONE PAYMENT THE SHOP WON'T GET.
--CARLY
28
THERussian military lagged behind the United States in stealth technology and only recently began to aggressively pursue an updated, modern approach to air defense development. The cause was advanced considerably by the recovery and sale of a shot-down U.S. Air Force F-117A stealth fighter during the 1999 war against Serbia. Serbs reportedly sold the remains of the American aircraft directly to the Russians. Since then, Russian fighter maker Sukhoi began to use the S-37 Berkut, or "Golden Eagle," as a test bed for developing technologies for the next generation of military aircraft. The S-37 eventually evolved into the modern Su-47.
Western intelligence speculates that the new Su-47 is a stealth fighter. To date the truth is not known to the U.S. or Great Britain, but Russian military insiders are well aware of the state of affairs. The stealth fighter does exist, if only in a prototype stage, and it is destined to compete with the F-117A.
An impressively designed aircraft, the Su-47 has swept-forward wings and a shape not unlike the Su-27 series. This configuration provides many benefits in aerodynamics at subsonic speeds and at high angles of attack. The foremounted canards are somewhat triangular and placed unconventionally far from the cockpit and close to the wings. The rear tailplanes are small but sleek and of unusual design. A strange hump behind the canopy encloses computer systems. There are two ordinary-looking D-30F6 engines and an IR targeting tracking blister mounted just in front of the canopy. With a wingspan of nearly seventeen meters and an overall length of twenty-two and a half meters, the Su-47 is the perfect size aircraft for stealth missions.
It was General Stefan Prokofiev who made one of the prototypes available to the Shop. He was in charge of the development team that was the liaison between Sukhoi and the Russian military. As a handful of prototypes emerged from the factory, Prokofiev made sure that one of them "disappeared" during a test flight. In reality it was stolen and diverted to one of the Shop's secret hangars located in southern Russia.
The only consolation Andrei Zdrok could attribute to the disaster that befell the diaper factory in Azerbaijan was the fact that their Su-47 was currently safely at rest in a different hangar in southern Russia. To replace the aircraft would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible, and it was a loss that Zdrok did not want to incur. Losing the twenty-three million dollars' worth of arms, equipment--and the Baku facility itself--was bad enough.
He was furious.
Too many strange things had happened in the past couple of days, and he was convinced it was not a coincidence. First, an intruder broke into the bank and blasted a hole in his safe. Nothing was taken--although Zdrok was certain that the documents were most likely photographed--and a great deal of damage had been done.
And now the warehouse/factory had been destroyed. By whom? Initial reports by his own investigators indicated that the Shadows might have had something to do with it. The site was littered with Tirma literature. Was that an accident or had it been done on purpose as a protest against the Shop's refusing to refund the money for the Shadows' lost arms shipment?
A knock on the door rustled Zdrok from his mind racing.
"Come in," he said.
It was Antipov. The man entered the room, stepped over the rubble that still lay on the floor, and shut the door. "The two policemen are fine," he said. "Their vests stopped the bullets. The night sentry insists that the man who made him use the retinal scanner was definitely American." He handed a CD to Zdrok and said, "This is from the camera at the warehouse. What was left of it, anyway. I think you'll find it interesting."
Zdrok took the disk and put it in his computer. They watched the clips together.
A man dressed in a jeballaand turban entered the back entrance. . . . He set grenades . . . he dropped leaflets . . . and then he left.
"Who is he?" Zdrok asked. " He's not American."
"Who knows? He's obviously an Arab militant. He deliberately left that Tirma stuff. It's a message, Andrei. Tarighian is sending us a message."
"What does he want, a goddamned war?" Zdrok fumed. He took out the disk and gave it back to Antipov. "I'm going to call the bastard."
He picked up the phone, consulted the directory in his computer, and dialed the number in Cyprus.
"Yes." It was Tarighian, otherwise known as Basaran.
"It is I," Zdrok said.
"Are you on a secure line?"
"Of course."
"How are you, Andrei?" Tarighian sighed. He sounded tired and stressed.
"I could be better."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong? You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Our facility south of Baku was destroyed last night. By one of your men."
"What?"
"We have him on tape. He left Tirma shit all over the place so we'd know it was you."
"I don't believe this! What the hell are you talking about? You're accusing me?" Tarighian sounded way too offended. Zdrok smelled a rat. The man was an actor--after all, he'd been acting a part for the last twenty years.
"Only a handful of people know about that place," Zdrok said. "And I trust every one of them with my life. Except you."
"What are you saying? That I was somehow responsible for this?"
"My friend, if you think you can get away with this, you are sorely mistaken."
"Andrei, it sounds to me as if we're being set up. It was not me, I swear it."
"Oh? Is this the American agent you told me about, then? Is he the one who maybe infiltrated our bank in Baku?"
"Your bank in Baku? I know nothing about that!"
"We think an American broke into the bank the other night."
"Well, no, I don't think it was the man who was here. My men said they killed him. He drowned in Lake Van. Although I must tell you that our facility in Van was breached the other night. My bodyguard was hurt. A lone operative was seen in the steel mill, but he escaped."
Zdrok was aghast. "Tarighian, if this man was a CIA or NSA agent and he obtained some of our secrets from you, I can't tell you how much you and your organization will suffer."
"For the love of Allah, Andrei, we're on yourside!"
"We're not on anyone's side but our own. You know that. I don't care about your bloody jihad. What you're planning to do with the materials we sold you over the last three years is foolish. I wouldn't be surprised if your own men turn against you. All I care about is the business. And speaking of that, why haven't we received payment for the replacement of goods that was sent to you? That was supposed to be in the account this morning, if you recall."
"What?" Now Tarighian really sounded concerned. "That money was transferred. I gave the order personally."
"It's not here."
"That's peculiar. I'll have to--"
"It's more than just peculiar, Tarighian. I suggest that you drop everything and look into the matter right now."
"Andrei, we're trying to finish our project. You know I have grand plans for what we've been building."