Huh… she thought. He’s quite stressed out for someone who just wanted to smoke. I wonder what the deal is with him.
…49
“Sir, with all due respect, she’s a civilian!” Jeremy’s voice escalated to the point where SAC Taylor frowned and felt the need to stand up, to assert his position.
“Weber, this is an order, not a debate. If SecNav and the director think she’s good enough to work this case, she’s in. Need I remind you no one here wants to work with you? I have no other partner to give you, and sure as hell you’re not working this case alone, in your typical cowboy style.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy replied.
“Let’s see how you make it work with Hoffmann. I better not hear from the director on this issue, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir, perfectly,” he said, and turned to leave.
“And Weber.” Taylor called.
“Sir?”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
…50
The modified Kalashnikov rifle made for an interesting choice of tabletop lamp, fitted with a black lampshade. It was unexpected and attention grabbing to see such a weapon displayed so casually. The unusual décor features gave the restaurant its unique personality: sassy, vibrant, screaming high-end cuisine and ridiculous prices. A hangout place for Moscow’s socialites and top politicians, Bon’s black walls, curtains, and accessories contrasted strongly with the white, starched Damascus tablecloths.
The typical lunch hour buzzed with guests, whose reservations had been made at least two days in advance to get a table. That Monday was different though; the restaurant was eerily quiet, and only two men occupied a table. Vitaliy Myatlev and his friend and lunch guest, Mikhail Dimitrov, minister of defense of the Russian Federation.
There were four other men in the restaurant, all standing guard at the doors, carrying automatic weapons. They were Myatlev’s personal guards, all ex-Spetsnaz. As for the servers, they moved almost unseen and unheard, catering to their guests’ connoisseur tastes and healthy appetites as discreetly as they could.
A waiter brought hors d’oeuvres on a set of black plates combined with tiny white bowls, all placed on a sterling silver serving tray. Then he opened a chilled bottle of Stolichnaya, filled their glasses, and withdrew quietly, leaving the two men to talk business.
“Ura!” Myatlev raised his glass, holding it up until Dimitrov clinked his own against it.
“Ura!”
They drank and set down the glasses noisily, a signal for the waiter to approach and refill them.
“It’s good to be out of the office, Vitya, great idea you had to take us out for lunch,” Dimitrov said, taking a piece of fried calamari and savoring it. “I have so many questions for you, after we talked last time. This plan of yours, the mass intelligence gathering, that made me think…”
“Yes, Mishka?”
“And the more I think, the more questions I have.” Dimitrov paused a little, delved into a miniature shrimp salad, and chewed with his mouth open.
“What do you want to know?”
“Look, between the two of us we can build a strong plan to rebuild the power of Russia to what it used to be. No doubt about that. Petya believes in us; I believe in us even more. But something I still don’t get, and that is how will you know what intelligence to gather? How are you thinking you can manage and process all that information?”
“If we apply enough pressure on our sources, they will tell us what we need to be looking for, even if we don’t know it yet,” Vitya said, starting to work on his appetizer, a tiny stack of blini, small crepes layered with smoked salmon and doused in a light, savory mayonnaise.
“You told me that last time we spoke, but still I don’t get it. What exactly are you planning to do? We need to get ready to go to war, Vitya. We can’t continue to sit on our asses and look impotent.”
“We are going to war, Mishka. We are at war as we speak. I call it our total war and it started already. There are no innocent bystanders in my strategy, and no one is safe from it. Our handlers will apply the necessary coercion on a variety of sources. Some will deliver; some will fail, or get caught, and will be the casualties of this first stage of total war. But they will be an acceptable loss, Mishka, even if these losses will hit the Russian diaspora living in the United States.”
“You’re targeting the diaspora?” Dimitrov’s eyebrows ruffled, brought together by a deep frown.
“No, but they are the keystones in my plan. They will be the first level of field assets, resources we can use in our deployment of Division Seven agents in the field. You see, given what we’re trying to do and how fast we need to compensate for twenty years of nonexistent military progress, I need to go big, Mishka. I need to go big and fast.”
“I understand, but how will it all come together?”
“Our handlers will recruit assets without a clear agenda in the first phase, leaving it to the assets to fight to prove their value. We cannot do that with incentives without spending billions; we talked about that. That’s why we need to bring more stick than carrot. We can achieve this level of engagement only if we use fear as our currency, and we coerce them into fighting on our side. Then we harness all the bits and pieces of information they will bring, and we will see clusters appear, signaling what we should target.”
“What clusters?” Dimitrov asked, while his eyebrows still furrowed.
“In the massive amount of data we are going to harvest, multiple sources of information will bring pieces of intel around certain items of interest. I’ve assigned a few of my brightest people to study big data analysis models and come back with plan scenarios. If we cast a wide enough net, we will start seeing clusters of value in certain areas, especially if the assets feel pressured or highly motivated to prove their own value.”
“But the diaspora might not necessarily have access to such valuable intel,” Dimitrov objected.
“Agreed. The diaspora is just the entry point and the support layer for our handlers. We will use the American big data banks and their own patterns of behavior to identify who are the most easy to turn individuals. The Americans have huge databases, but not very secure; nothing that our cyber assets can’t get into.”
“And then?” Dimitrov asked, still unconvinced, while the waiter discreetly removed the appetizer tray and served them hot borscht in small, black bowls.
“Then, when we have clusters formed and identified, we will know what to hunt for, and we’ll send in assets dedicated to certain targets. Let me give you an example of what I mean,” Myatlev said, seeing the unconvinced look linger on Dimitrov’s face. “The laser cannon, did we even know it existed until a week ago?”
“N — no,” Dimitrov replied, visibly uncertain of where Myatlev was going with that.
“Exactly,” he confirmed. “We didn’t know it existed before we sent in our best handler, Smolin, to enroll some assets and see what he could get. He enrolled an asset who brought the laser cannon news to us. Now we know exactly what we need, what to ask for. Smolin has a clear direction on what information he needs to target. He knows we need the plans for the cannon, the list of scheduled installations, everything there is to know about the cannon, about the same laser cannon we didn’t know existed last week.”
“Bozhe moi, I get it, Vitya, you are a genius!”