“So Rostov’s a disappointment, is he? We had rather high hopes for him at one point.”
“There’s some very unpleasant news coming out of Moscow, Alex. Our highest priority is to protect the young states of Eastern Europe.
The Kremlin has already tried to force the collapse of democratically elected governments in Estonia and Georgia. And punished other independent neighbors by cutting energy deliveries.”
“To what end? They’re all sovereign states now.”
“We think all this strong-arming is only a prelude. There’s a strong possibility she may try to take them all back. Restore her old Soviet borders by force. And once she’s digested her eastern neighbors, she’s going take a hard look at the rest of Europe. Western Europe’s at Russia’s mercy, even now. The Kremlin can shut off the flow of energy to our European allies any time it damn well wants to.”
“Christ.”
“You could say that. That’s why this urgent need to revitalize our intelligence operations vis-à-vis the Russians. And we need to do it now.”
“And our new counter-Chekist branch will be based where?”
“Right here. On Bermuda. We’re going to the Dockyards in the morning after your appointment in Samara with Nigel Prestwick. Find some office space for you.”
“For me?”
“You’re to head up this new special division, Alex. I’ve thought long and hard on this, and I’m convinced you’re the ideal chap to take this on. You’ve put together quite an outstanding record these last years, you know.”
“I’m honored. Thank you, sir. Of course, I-”
“Alex, you can have some time to think this over. But time is short. I need you to be brutally honest. Do you have any qualms? Reservations?”
“My Russian is nonexistent, for one.”
“But your comrade-in-arms Chief Inspector Congreve is fluent. And you’ll be surrounded with other fluent personnel from the firm.”
“Ambrose knows about this-Red Banner?”
“He’s part of your team. Already signed on. Two other young fellows from the MI-6 Russian division have come over as well. Benjamin Griswold and Fife Symington. First-rate lads, both of them.”
“I see. Well-”
“Listen, Alex. I know this is all quite sudden. You don’t need to respond tonight or even tomorrow. But if your answer is affirmative, the sooner I know, the better, so I might get on to the next candidate.
It’s early days, but we’re at a critical moment in a new duel with these twenty-first-century Chekists.”
“Pistols at dawn?”
“Not quite. But we do need to move with alacrity. Something’s very much up, as I said, and I doubt it will be an extended olive branch. One year ago, I would have put the number of Russian covert operatives working inside Britain at fewer than one hundred. In the last month alone, I’ve seen estimates that put that number at well more than a thousand.”
“Astounding. Any correlation with what our American cousins are seeing?”
“The same, if not worse. Your friend Brick Kelly at CIA is just as concerned as we are. The Kremlin is sitting atop a deeply entrenched criminal enterprise with unlimited wealth and natural resources as yet untapped. The Russian economy is suddenly booming right along with the price of oil. As I say, they could bring Europe to its knees in less than an hour by simply turning off the oil and gas taps. They won’t do that unless pushed, of course. They like the cash flow too much. So, what the devil is going on with the big Russian bear? That, Alex, is what Red Banner is going to find out.”
“I understand. One question, if I may, sir. Why base this new operation in Bermuda, of all places?”
C smiled. “For one thing, it’s almost equidistant from London and Washington. But more important is secrecy. I can’t run this thing out of 85 Vauxhall Cross. Think about it, Alex. The Russians have invaded London. Not only the obscenely wealthy oligarchs buying up Mayfair palaces but the newly reborn KGB, as well. The bloody Russian spooks and tycoons are everywhere you look. Dysfunctional, amoral, and nothing is out of bounds.”
“I’d heard the Russian mafiya are buying up casinos and completely taking over London’s prostitution rings. White slavery run out of Eastern Europe and the Gulf States. Londonistan, I hear they’re calling it these days.”
“I’m afraid so, Alex. In the nineties, we were dealing with a kleptocracy, a government in chaos run by competing thieves. These billionaire bandits have stolen Russia blind. Literally, in a few short years, stolen an entire country in what amounts to the greatest theft in history. Now the country is in the hands of the secret police. Putin was first to put former KGB cronies in every possible position of power. The New Russia is the world’s first true police state, ground up. Now, rich beyond measure because of soaring oil revenues, they’re looking around for new worlds to plunder.”
“I’m still not sure I understand your choice of Bermuda for Red Banner, sir.”
“Again, geography. Is there a more isolated, a more pristinely British spot on earth than this tranquil little pastel archipelago? Any Russian setting foot on this island to poke about in our nest will stand out like a sore thumb.”
Hawke was about to mention the exquisitely beautiful sore thumb he’d met on the beach earlier that afternoon, but at that moment, Lady Diana Mars poked her lovely head inside the library door and said, “Gentlemen, dinner is served.”
“After you, comrade,” C said to Hawke with a smile.
“Spasiba,” Hawke said, thanking him and virtually exhausting his Russian vocabulary.
He’d have to learn some bloody good Russian swear words so he could let Ambrose have it for leading him by the nose into this little trap C had laid for him.
11
Sleigh bells ring, are you list’nin’? Paddy still got that old tingle. Christmas in New York, you couldn’t beat it with a stick. Something in the air, that’s what they said, and they were right. Fuckin’ magic, that’s what it was. He was leaning on the rail on the Fifty-third Street side, overlooking the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. He still got a kick out of it, just as he did when he was a snot-nosed kid living at the wrong end of Neptune Avenue in Brighton Beach. Coming into the city with his dad had been a big deal, especially at Christmastime.
A light snow was falling, like movie snow, it was so fine and sparkly, and it was getting dark fast, making that huge tree glimmer and shine. He squinted his eyes, making the tree go all hazy the way he used to do as a kid. How about that, huh? Beautiful thing to see, even at his age.
Even the skaters were still fun to watch. The babes in their little pleated skating skirts were the best ones. You couldn’t put on an outfit like that and step out onto the ice unless you could skate like an angel. Then you had the guys. Something about a guy lifting one leg and skating along like a friggin’ swan just didn’t sit right with him, never had.
Like guys who took tub baths instead of showers, tough to trust. The really good guy skaters had to be fairies, right? And the really bad ones, like this gangsta character who just took a header and slid butt-first into the wall, should not have been on the ice for any reason whatsoever.
“Hey, Spazmo! Yeah, I’m talking to you, the great one! Nice move, man, look like Wayne friggin’ Gretzky out there!”
He laughed and looked at his watch. The office Christmas party started at six, and here it was now already quarter past. After the endless flight from Fairbanks friggin’ Alaska, he’d gone straight to his room at the Waldorf and gotten a few hours’ sleep, leaving a wake-up call with the operator for four-thirty.
He’d stopped in at P.J.’s for a couple of pops and lost track of the time. But yeah, he was pumped about the party. It would be the first official event at the new corporate offices at the top of the Empire State Building. Somebody said they were having Gladys Knight, but that could have just been the water cooler talking.