Morland remembered joking how he hoped he never got on the wrong end of one of these and here he was now, a week later, and some bastard was using one to fire into the crowd below.
Then, a second later, there was a haphazard burst of half a magazine on automatic. “That’s a bog standard AK 47M,” Morland muttered to himself. Now the shooting sounded as if it was the work of a lone lunatic and no longer a trained professional.
Morland saw the crowd part and start to run and, unable to see exactly where the shots had come from, he switched his binoculars there. On the ground, gushing blood, writhing and twitching in their death throes were the targets.
A TV crew from Russia Today, conveniently close by, rushed to get their close-up shots: three young, ethnic Russian girls murdered by a crazed, doubtless “nationalist,” gunman. But shot, Morland would swear, by one or more Spetsnaz snipers from the top of the university building. Those terrible images would be circulating the globe in moments.
Any more victims? No. That extra burst had definitely been for deception and had been aimed to miss. But Morland knew that the black-fleeced Russian with the mobile phone, the man whose picture he had in his camera, was the man who had planned this atrocity; the man who had given the kill order and who had as good as pulled the trigger.
“One day I’ll get you, you bastard,” he vowed.
0700 hours, Wednesday, May 18, 2017
FYODOR FYODOROVICH KOMAROV arrived early that morning at the National Defense Control Center, the NDCC, where the War Cabinet meeting was to be held. The news from Riga had been phoned through to him on Tuesday evening, just as he arrived back at his apartment behind Tverskaya Street. He’d been at the gym working out on the judo mat with the President. Komarov had checked again the arrangements for this morning’s meeting and was drinking tea in the office of the Commander, Lieutenant General Mikhail Filatov, as he waited for the President to arrive.
In the corner of the office, Russia Today was running and re-running the story of the killing of the three ethnic Russian girls on its 24-hour news bulletin. The open, smiling faces of the three girls, all promising students at the University of Riga, stared out from the TV screen.
Komarov raised his glass of tea in silent salute to Major Vronsky. He had chosen the victims well. They were beautiful. That alone would cause maximum impact and outrage and reinforce the messages being broadcast by Olga Bataman, the highly photogenic, articulate presenter on the morning news. Outrage that young, hard-working, well-educated Russian girls, their lives ahead of them callously snuffed out by a fanatic’s bullets. And all the while peacefully exercising their democratic right to protest against the discrimination imposed on them by the fascist Latvian state. Followed by desperate pleas from the Latvian Russian Union for Russian protection. Russian mothers in tears, fury on their faces, demanding protection for their children. The outrage of a sniper allowed to escape by the Latvian police. Who would be next?
Meanwhile, Filatov sat nervously at his desk. The youthful-looking Commander of the NDCC who, with his perfectly coiffed hair and full lips, seemed more like a fashionable hairdresser than a Russian general, clearly knew that this was a big day for him. But it was also a dangerous day. It was rare for the War Cabinet to meet here and that meant he and his staff had to get everything exactly right.
Opened in December 2014 and built on the banks of the Moscow River, the vast, neo-Stalinist classic edifice sent a powerful message about the new power of the reinvigorated Russian state, after the chaos and weakness following the collapse of the Soviet Union in the 1990s. The President, like the early Romanovs after the “time of troubles” of the early seventeenth century, saw himself as a new Peter the Great. It was his destiny to regenerate the greatness of the Russian Empire. The new top-security, fortified facility, with its imposing war rooms, brand new supercomputer in the heart of a state-of-the-art data processing center, secret transport routes for emergency evacuation and helicopter landing site, was a visible manifestation of his intent. It had better work perfectly now the time had come to use it as it was always intended or in this new, reinvigorated Russia, it would be very much more than Filatov’s job on the line.
“Sir,” Filatov’s Military Assistant interrupted, “all the members of the War Cabinet are assembled and the President’s helicopter is due in ten minutes.”
Shortly afterward, Komarov and Filatov, as the headquarters commander, stood at the edge of the NDCC helicopter landing site while the bulbous shape of the President’s preferred helicopter, an updated version of the tried-and-trusted Russian rotary-wing workhorse, the Mi-8 “Hip,” landed in a tornado of wind, roar of engines and clatter of rotors.
The side door slid open. Ignoring the steps rushed forward by the attentive ground crew, the President jumped nimbly out, his eyes hidden by wraparound sunglasses despite the overcast Moscow day.
The President gave Filatov a perfunctory acknowledgment of his smart salute. “Take me to the War Cabinet Room,” he ordered.
Filatov anxiously led the President past the Guard of Honor, not a man shorter than six foot three, with burnished, gleaming jackboots, all presenting arms with the standard ceremonial firearm, the old SKS Soviet semi-automatic carbine.
Then it was into the building with doors opening as if automatically, into the lift and down to the ballistically protected basement and the principal War Room, with its concentric rings of desks and banks of computers. Around the walls were interactive screens showing maps complete with icons indicating the positions of Russian formations and those of the enemy during the rapid advance through Ukraine to Crimea, together with satellite photographs of the destroyed town of Mariupol in southeast Ukraine. Other TV screens showed live 24-hour news: Russia Today, Al Jazeera, BBC News 24 and CNN.
As he walked onto the bridge overlooking the War Room, the President was greeted by General Mikhail Gareyev, Chief of the Russian General Staff; the high-cheekboned, muscular Tatar, very much the tough-looking, twenty-first-century Russian general, in bizarre contrast to the coiffured Filatov. Gareyev quickly updated the President on the ease with which Russian forces were cutting through to Crimea.
“We estimate we’ll have the route to Crimea secured within twenty-four hours, Vladimir Vladimirovich.”
“I am satisfied, Mikhail Nikolayevich,” the President responded curtly. “Now for the War Cabinet.”
A door at the back of the bridge opened and there, standing around a circular table, stood the other members of the War Cabinet. On the walls were smaller screens showing the same maps and satellite images as in the main War Room. Flanking the screens were the same green curtains as in the President’s office in the Kremlin, also tied back with the same gold ropes. Behind the President’s chair there was only one decoration: the gold double-headed eagle of Russia on a red shield.
There was little need for discussion. The President turned to the Director of the FSB, Merkulov. As a former FSB head and KGB operative himself, the President never made a move without ensuring he was not underestimating his enemy.
“Lavrentiy Pavlovich, I am interested in two things. First, is the ground now prepared in Latvia? Second, can NATO respond?”
Komarov noted with approval how Merkulov came to the point immediately.
“Vladimir Vladimirovich, the answer to your first question is yes. The riots in Riga yesterday were the culmination of a long-running operation. The Latvian economy has been crippled over the past two years by a series of strikes. Our propaganda has sharpened discontent most satisfactorily among the Russian-speaking minority and polarized opinion among the Latvians themselves. The RNZS militia is trained, organized and ready. And, of course, yesterday’s killing of the three girls has led to strident calls by Russian speakers for Russian protection. The integrity of Latvia as a state has been thoroughly undermined. My judgment is that the time is now ripe for the next phase of the operation.”