“I am aware of that,” Viktor said. “We are not a military transport ship. I don’t know why the government insisted we move this equipment. I also don’t appreciate all of these new military security forces aboard.”
Samsonov smiled and stepped back away from the captain, giving the man some space. “You can’t have cargo like this without personnel to safeguard it.”
Unfortunately, the man had a point. Viktor had ordered his normal ship’s crew to stay away from the cargo hold with the weapon.
“Is there anything else, Viktor?” Samsonov asked.
Yes, there was, but Viktor was afraid to ask what he really wanted to know. Like what happened to his first officer, Pushkin. He had a feeling only Samsonov could answer that question. But he also knew that if he asked too many questions, he could be disappeared as well. The ocean was not survivable here. The cold alone would kill him in just a few minutes.
Reluctantly, Viktor simply shook his head.
Samsonov smirked broadly and left the captain alone on the bridge.
Viktor glanced at the GPS screen again and realized once more that not all was right with this shipment. Normal shipping lanes would have them traveling much farther to the east, nearly hugging the coast of Ireland, before heading down past France, Spain and Portugal. Why had they been forced to track between the Faroe Islands and Iceland? Time would tell.
Dmitri Vladimirovich Samsonov went directly from the bridge to his cabin and found his satellite phone. He was not happy with the implications of the conversation he had just had with the captain, Viktor Drugov. The captain needed to understand that he had one job on this earth, and that was to simply follow orders.
He called to his GRU contact in Moscow and explained to him his concerns with the captain.
His contact said, “Keep the captain in place. At least until further notice. We might need his ignorance for plausible deniability.”
“I understand. But if he continues to question the mission?”
“The ocean is unforgiving.”
“Yes, it is.”
His contact ended the call and Dmitri returned the SAT phone to his safe and locked it inside. Then he took out that cigar he almost lit on the bridge, and fired it up now. Nobody told him where he could smoke a cigarette, and especially not a good Cuban cigar.
He smiled with that thought.
The Russian president, Anton Zima, sat at his desk and waited for the Minister of Defense to enter.
Finally, General of the Army Pavel Bykov was allowed in by the president’s security forces. The general was in his full uniform with his medals sparkling like Christmas lights. Bykov was in charge of all of Russia’s military, including the Main Intelligence Directorate, or GRU.
“Take a seat, Pavel,” the president instructed.
The general sat on the edge of the leather chair, as if he were at attention.
President Zima had not given his Defense Minister a reason to come to his office at this late hour, so the man was understandably on edge.
“Relax, Pavel. I simply asked you here for an update on our current operations.”
The Defense Minister let his shoulders release some pressure. “Yes, sir. Where would you like to start?”
“Finland.”
Pavel Bykov nodded. “One of our safe houses was raided this morning. SUPO took our people into custody. We will get them out by tomorrow morning.”
“I understand you lost a man there.”
The Defense Minister seemed shocked that the president would already know this fact. “Yes, sir. A conflict with the man from Murmansk.”
“Have you been able to identify this man that took video of our ship?” the president asked.
“No, sir,” Pavel said. “He was a Spaniard attending college. But then he left Murmansk under a passport with the name Nikolai Krupin.”
“Is there a Nikolai Krupin?”
“There are a number of men with that name in Russia, sir. None were in Murmansk. And none matched our passport records with the photograph of the Spanish man.”
“I see.” The president had planned this conversation, and knew exactly where he wanted to go next. “Where is our shipment?”
The Defense Minister cleared his throat before saying, “At this time, it is somewhere in the Norwegian Sea.”
“No. I meant with the crew. I understand there was a minor disagreement aboard the ship.”
“According to our officer aboard the ship, everything is under control, sir.”
His General of the Army didn’t know this, but Zima knew more than he disclosed. Knowledge was not only power, it was leverage. Which is the main reason Zima had not told his Defense Minister that he was running a parallel operation with SVR officers.
“Back to Helsinki, Pavel,” Zima said. “What are you doing to find this Spaniard with a Russian passport?”
The general hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Finally, he said, “Our contacts had agents on the ground inform them that the man had made it to the airport. But they don’t know if the man got on a flight.”
It took everything in Zima’s power to not smile. To hold back his smirk, he tightened his jaw to the point of grinding his molars. He didn’t want to let his Defense Minister know that he knew where this man had gone. But to keep the general from losing sleep, Zima said, “Since this operation is vital for all of us, I think it would be best to include the foreign intelligence service.”
“But, sir, this is a military operation,” the Defense Minister pled.
“It’s both, Pavel. Your people will maintain the lead organization with the shipment and ground operations associated with that mission. But we also need a civilian response. The SVR will handle that.”
“And the man from Murmansk?”
“I have assigned officers to find him,” Zima said.
The general looked disappointed. If not at the situation, then at his own failure to capture this one man.
The president dismissed the general and checked his watch. His wife would expect him home in a few hours, but his mistress would demand his presence at the apartment he kept for her in less than an hour. His wife was used to disappointment, but his young girlfriend had needs.
12
Luckily, Karl had been able to sleep on the short flight from Helsinki to Keflavik. The Agency had gotten him one of those seats with extra leg room, and he was the only person in a row of three seats.
He checked through customs quickly and started for an area of restaurants in the secure area. But before he could leave the customs area and go out to the area with other passengers waiting for flights, he was suddenly approached by two men who reached for him. Karl instinctively dropped his duffle bag, twisted one man’s arm and kicked the other one in the stomach, knocking the man back against a wall. But while he still had one man subdued with an arm twist, nearly pulling the right arm out of its socket, he was quickly surrounded by four uniformed Icelandic Police officers, their guns pointed right at him.
An attractive older woman stepped toward him and with a stern expression said, “Mister Konrad, we have a few questions for you. Please let my officer go.” Her English was perfect.
Great. What now? Reluctantly, he let go of the officer’s arm and raised his hands.
“You can go in cuffs, or nicely,” she said. “It is entirely your choice. But remember that you are on an island with nowhere to go.”
Outstanding. Maybe he should have traveled through Frankfurt or London.
Remembering his Canadian passport, Karl said, “I’m not a fan of cuffs, eh. What is this about? Have I done something wrong?”
She gave a slight smile and simply said, “Come with us, please.”