“My field operations number two, Master Chief Adams,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“Master Chief,” the Russian replied, shaking hands again. “I’ve only been able to see a portion of your confidential files, but I must ask a question: What in the world does your first team nickname, ‘Ass-boy One’, relate to?”
Both Adams and Mike flinched at that and Adams shook his head.
“Colonel, I doubt that you have the stomach for the full horror of that story,” Adams said. “But if you have to know, you’ll have to ask… ” He suddenly stopped and shook his head. “Ask someone else.”
“Sergeant Vanner, my intel specialist,” Mike said, moving on rapidly. What Adams had nearly said was “Ask Ass-Boy Two” referring to Mike. He and Adams had been through Basic Underwater Demolitions and SCUBA training together in Class 203 where they, and others, had picked up the moniker “ass-boy” due to an unfortunate test the then commander of BUD/S had insisted upon. However, if Chechnik knew that team name, then he also had access to Mike’s other team name, Ghost. And since “Ghost” was known as the man who had broken up the Syrian operation, and thus drawn the ire of virtually every terrorist on the face of the planet, Adams had nearly handed Chechnik a piece of information worth both money and power.
“I sincerely apologize for the lapse in our own security,” Chechnik said, shaking Vanner’s hand. “The leak to the Chechens has been closed.”
“That one,” Vanner said. “But you ought to know that at least one of your people has been having regular sat-phone contact with Kamil Resama. All we’re picking up are the externals, some side-band waves and scattering, but whenever that one phone, coming from your Stalin Base in Subya, starts sending, Kamil’s phone’s duration is dead on for receiving quite a few of the calls.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chechnik replied, stone faced.
“Last but not least, my manager of internal matters, Anastasia Rakovich,” Mike said. He’d promised Anastasia that, unlike her former employer, she’d get introduced and not treated like a piece of furniture.
“The picture in your file does not do you justice, Ms. Rakovich,” Chechnik said, bowing over and kissing her hand.
“I have a file?” Anastasia asked, raising one eyebrow.
“You’ve had a file since you became the harem manager for Sheik Otryad,” the colonel replied. “It has simply been moved up in precedence since you’ve become the Kildar’s.”
“Oh,” Anastasia said, her face blank.
“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Chechnik said, nodding to the group. “I hope that we can talk at length sometime soon.”
“Meaning that right now you’d like to talk at length with me,” Mike said.
“Alas, yes,” the colonel replied. “If you don’t mind, I would like to have the talk in private.”
“Not at all,” Mike said. “Guys, I’ll see you later.”
Chapter Twelve
“Sit,” Mike said, collapsing behind his desk. His office was in one of the older parts of the serai, with thick stone walls and no windows. Vanner had checked it for emissions and it was damned near as good as a professional secure room. That was probably because of the high olivine content of the local granite, dolomite actually. Mike still had it swept once a week and Vanner had insisted on “touching up” with some impossibly expensive paint. The stuff was a nice light blue but apparently it was opaque to transmissions.
“What’s on your mind? And are you an emissary from Vladimir?” he asked, meaning the president of Russia. Chechnik’s position was much like that of Colonel Pierson, he was a briefer to senior non-military members of the Russian government. One of the people he regularly briefed was the Russian president who occasionally used him as a very covert conduit.
“Among others,” Chechnik replied, sighing. “In fact, it was I who convinced the president, and others, that I should come. I have some information that you need about your mission.”
“So give,” Mike said, frowning.
“Yes, that is the problem,” the colonel replied, sighing again. “Kildar, Mikhail, I believe that you are an honorable man, a man of your word.”
“He said, just before ripping the honorable man off,” Mike said.
“Nonetheless,” Chechnik said. “I must ask you this. I cannot give you the information unless you agree that you will not, in turn, give it to your government or the government of Georgia.”
“Oh,” Mike replied. “I could go for that, but it depends. Does this information have serious strategic or tactical bearing on the United States?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Chechnik said. “But my masters have determined that they are unwilling to share the information with the Ami.” The Russian paused and grimaced. “It has to do with an area that the Americans have chided us on. In my opinion with good reason. But it… this situation is extremely embarassing for our government. And we can only take so much embarassment. That thing with Paris last year, My God, the ripples are still refusing to settle. Then the Albanian thing that you turned up!”
“Every government had problems with that,” Mike pointed out. “That’s why it’s stayed so damned quiet.”
The Albanian op had turned up a load of files on a sex ring that had “honey trapped” dozens of officials in nearly as many countries. The worst part about the honey-trapping was that the officials, ranging from minor military officers all the way to one Assistant Home Secretary, had abused, raped and even killed the prostitutes involved. The files were still sending very quiet shudders through more than a dozen governments, including every major world power. And in the end, Mike had ended up holding all the originals. The thought on that went something like this: None of the governments trusted the others with the information. But somebody had to hold it. Mike was the easiest to wipe off the face of the earth if it came down to cases.
The DVDs, paper files and hard drives were buried in the basement of the caravanserai. The information in those documents was power in a very real sense; one person privvy to it had referred to it as “the blackmail equivalent of a nuclear weapon” with good reason. But it was a dangerous power that Mike intended to invoke as cautiously as possible and only in an extreme situation. It was a power that could topple governments. If he used it, he was going to be immediately targeted by some very pissed off, and hugely powerful, people.
Mike was far less worried about the Russians, for example, than the Japanese yakuza. Some of the files referred to actions of senior Japanese businessmen. They’d all, at this point, comitted suicide, even if some of them had to be helped with the knife. But the Japanese would not care for the loss of face if the information surfaced. Nor the French, Chinese… The list was very long.
“Yes, but most governments are not still recovering from the embarassment of one of their nuclear weapons almost vaporizing Paris,” Chechnik snapped. “If this got out on top of everything else… Please, Mikhail, I must have your word. If your mission is successful, let us hope to God, even then I hope I can persuade you to keep the exact nature of this secret.”
“That’s a hell of a lot to ask, Erkin,” Mike replied. “What’s so damned important? I mean, yeah, nukes are a big deal. But we already know about those.”
“Dr. Arensky is not carrying nukes,” the Russian replied, softly.
“Then what the hell is he carrying?” Mike asked, just as softly.
“Your word.”
Mike sat back and looked at the Russian for a long time. The colonel was a professional intelligence officer with a long track record. He’d been in a lot of hairy situations from what Mike had gleaned; he hadn’t always been a desk officer. But as Mike watched, a bead of sweat formed on his forehead and started to trickle down.