It told him that these targets were especially dangerous. If he wanted to collect the bonus that had been promised he'd have to render them helpless. He would have to separate them before it could be done.
He discarded the thought. Even if he succeeded in taking one, it would alert the others. Once they were on guard his job would become much more difficult. The extra money for making each of them suffer was tempting but it wasn't worth the risk. With these people he was only going to get one opportunity for success. It would be best to take them all out at once. His decision made, Dupree finished his coffee and signaled for the check.
CHAPTER 37
Stephanie studied the latest satellite and drone images of Western Russia and the Ukraine. There were hundreds of photographs of Russian military personnel and equipment staged along the border of Ukraine.
She focused on an encampment near Voronehz, east of the Ukrainian border. She could see orderly rows of tanks, all of their cannons pointing neatly westward. Stephanie had identified most as older T-80s, along with a few T-90s and some of the new Armata T-14s. The T-80 was a fast tank capable of reaching Kiev in under two days but was being phased out of the Russian arsenal. Ammunition for the autoloading cannon was badly protected. A hit from an antitank missile above the road wheels would detonate the explosive with spectacular results, as the Russians had found out to their dismay in Chechnya.
The Armata was a different kind of animal. Possibly the best tank in the world, it had never been tested in battle. It featured a combination of steel and ceramic plating that reduced weight and provided increased strength and protection. The Kremlin boasted that the armor could withstand any of the West's antitank missiles, including those with high explosive warheads.
The three-man crew sat inside a heavily shielded compartment with a 360° view of the battlefield relayed by high definition cameras. The view inside the capsule was unsurpassed in tank warfare but the system was vulnerable. Damage to the cameras would leave the tank blind. Armament included a fully automated turret that mounted a 125 millimeter, autoloading cannon capable of ten shots a minute.
The Armata was a milestone in tank development, guaranteed to dominate on the ground. The builders claimed that the tank was impervious to antitank missiles fired from the air. That was debatable. What was certain was that the T-14 was a formidable weapon.
The Federation wasn't supposed to have many of the new tanks ready for combat but there they were.
As Stephanie moved through the pictures something caught her eye in one of the photographs. It had been taken at dusk and it was difficult to make out the details but something was definitely out of place. She magnified the picture. It looked like there was a door in the side of the tank, where no door should be. The door was partly open. She zoomed in again. The picture was grainy and blurry but she was able to make out a metal shape inside the tank.
A truck!
She went to the next picture in the sequence. The door was closed. The tank looked perfect, just as a tank should. She put the two pictures up side-by-side on her monitor.
Son of a bitch. The tank isn't real. It's a fake.
She called upstairs. "Elizabeth, I think you'd better come down here and look at this."
"Is it important? I'm in the middle of something."
"It's important."
"On my way."
A minute later Elizabeth entered the computer room.
"What have you got, Steph?"
"Take a look at these two satellite shots."
Elizabeth studied the pictures. "I'll be damned," she said. "The tank is a phony. It's probably made of wood and they move it around using the truck. If there's one, there are others. I wonder how many of them are fakes?"
"I'll bet a lot of them are. Maybe all of them. Probably all of the T-14s. If the satellite hadn't caught it at the right moment we'd never know. You can't tell, even with the high definition cameras. The illusion is perfect."
"The allies did something like this in World War II," Elizabeth said, "before the Normandy invasion. Eisenhower created a ghost army in the south of England to confuse the Germans. He used phony trucks and tanks that looked like the real thing from the air. He didn't want the Nazis to see the actual force he was building for the invasion."
"What do you think the Russians are doing?"
"They want us to think they're going to invade the Ukraine," Elizabeth said. "Why they want us to think that is a different question."
"Maybe they're trying to distract everybody from what's happening in Albania."
"I don't see why they'd go to all this trouble over Albania. There has to be another reason."
Elizabeth looked again at the two pictures.
"I have to tell the president about this. Whatever Orlov is playing at, it isn't good."
"All those troop movements weren't fake."
"No, they weren't. But if those men and all their equipment aren't where we thought they were, where are they?"
CHAPTER 38
Lefortovo prison took its name from the Moscow district where it was located. Vysotsky always felt uncomfortable when he visited Lefortovo. It wasn't just the prison smell of unwashed bodies and fear. The building was saturated with an atmosphere of hopelessness and despair. Countless numbers had been tortured in Lefortovo during Stalin's reign before being taken into the courtyard and shot. It had been the last stop for thousands. It was still the last stop for many. One of them was Boris Vishinski.
Vysotsky's former boss had asked to see him. Alexei had thought about refusing. He had no desire to see Vishinski's humiliation. It could only remind him of his own vulnerability. In the end he'd decided to go.
Vishinski was housed in the wing for common criminals, a further attempt to humiliate him. It meant there was little chance his cell was monitored with microphones and cameras. Prisoners were held inside single cells. The cells had steel doors covered with layers of thick, yellow paint. Chips in the paint showed decades of indifferent maintenance. A single row of light bulbs in metal cages ran down the center of the hall. A guard dressed in a gray and black camouflage uniform and a beret escorted Alexei to Vishinski's cell and opened the steel door. Vishinski looked up from where he sat on his narrow bunk. Alexei stepped inside and turned to the guard.
"Close the door. Wait outside."
"Sir." The guard saluted.
The door clanged shut behind him, a sound that let you know you were trapped. The room was narrow and high and cold. The walls and ceiling of the cell were concrete, painted the same sickly yellow as the doors. A metal cage with a single bright bulb that never went out was mounted in the ceiling. There was no window. A metal shelf with a thin mattress projected from the rear wall. The room stank of human waste and stale sweat. A lidless metal toilet crusted with excrement was the only other feature of the room.
Vishinski wore gray prison clothes and paper slippers that matched his complexion. Alexei was shocked by his appearance.
"Alexei Ivanovitch. You came. I wasn't sure that you would. Or even if my message would reach you."
"Boris Nikolayevich. I am sorry to see you in this circumstance."
Vishinski laughed. "Yes, I'm sure you are, Alexei. And now you have my old job. Take a good look because it might be you sitting here next month."
Vysotsky suppressed his irritation. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"
"We've had our differences, you and I. But there was always one thing we had in common."
"What's that?"
"We are both patriots. We both believe in the Motherland. Insects like Orlov may come and go but it is people like you and I who make sure that Russia endures. Why do you think I've ended up here? Because of my sexual preferences? Because of corruption?"