After contacting the Pentagon and explaining that Striker needed a ride into Russia, Bob Herbert was put in touch with General David “Divebomb” Perel in Berlin, who had the husky jet hauled from secret storage. It had been kept at the U.S. air base there since 1976, when it had been bought by the Shah of Iran and then clandestinely sold to the U.S. After studying the aircraft, the
Air Force had gutted it for use as a spy plane. To date, the II-76T had been used in only a handful of missions, measuring exact distances between landmarks to help calibrate spy satellites and taking radar and heat readings of underground installations to get a picture of their layout. On all of these flights, it had managed to fool the Russians as to its legitimacy by filing a flight plan through a mole in the Air Force. The mole was informed, by radio, to do it again for this flight.
This was the first time the II-76T was going to be used to carry American troops, and the first time it would spend this much time over Russian airspaceeight hours, as it flew from Helsinki to the drop-off point and then on to Japan. In the past, it was never in the air long enough to be spotted, discovered to be unregistered, and investigated.
Both Herbert and Perel were keenly aware of the danger the crew and the Striker team faced, and both of them expressed their deep reservations to Mike Rodgers in a conference call.
Rodgers shared their concerns and asked for alternative suggestions. Perel agreed with Herbert that while the operation was within Op-Center’s jurisdiction, the political issue was a matter for the State Department and the White House to decide. Rodgers reminded Herbert and pointed out to the General that until they knew for a fact what was on that train, this was strictly a reconnaissance matter. Until that situation changed, he had no choice but to pursue this course of action-regardless of the danger. On-site intelligence gathering, he said, was never risk free … and there were times, like now, when it was indispensable.
And so the II-76T was prepped and loaded with paratroop and cold-weather gear and took off, headed to Helsinki with special clearance from Defense Minister Kalle Niskanen-though he was told that the flight was only to reconnoiter, not that troops would almost certainly be jumping into Russia. That was a problem Lowell Coffey would have to smooth over once the plane was airborne, though the fiercely anti-Russian Minister probably wouldn’t have a problem with anything they wanted to do there. Meanwhile, Herbert contacted the Op-Center radio room and asked to be patched through to Lieutenant Colonel Squires.
THIRTY-TWO
Tuesday, 11:27 P.M., south of Finland
“It isn’t hypocritical,” Squires told Sondra as the StarLifter began its final approach to Helsinki airport. The Strikers had changed into civilian clothes and looked like any other tourists. “Yes, coffee is a stimulant, and it might be bad for your stomach if consumed by the barrel. But wine is bad for your liver and your mind.”
“Not in moderation,” Sondra said as she checked her gear again. “And wine tasters have as much right to fuss over vintage and flavor and body as someone does over coffee.”
“I don’t fuss over coffee,” Squires said. “I don’t swirl it around my Redskins mug and savor the aroma. I drink it, period. I also don’t pretend that getting high sip by sip in an elegant setting is elegant.” He chopped down with his hand. “End of debate.”
Sondra scowled as she zipped up the nondescript backpack that contained a compass, nine-inch hunting knife, M9 .45-caliber pistol, one thousand dollars in cash, and maps of the region that had been printed out by Squires’s computer during the flight. It wasn’t fair for him to pull rank like that, but she reminded herself that no one ever said the military was fair, that rank had its privileges, and all the other cliches her parents had thrown at her when she’d told them she wanted to join the military straight out of Columbia.
“If you want to travel, travel!” her father had said. “We can afford it, take a year. ”
But that wasn’t it. Carl “Custard” DeVonne had been a self-starter who made a fortune in soft ice cream in New England, and he didn’t understand why an only daughter who had everything would want to take her B.A. in literature and join the Navy. Not just the Navy, but fight her way into the SEALs. Maybe it was because she had had everything as a kid and wanted to test herself. Or maybe she needed to do something her overachieving father hadn’t. And the SEALs, and now Striker, were certainly a test.
While she wondered how a man as bright as Squires could be so stubborn, a call came in from Op-Center. He took it, listened-intently as always, mostly without speakingand then handed the phone back to Ishi Honda.
“Okay, lady and gentlemen, gather ’round,” he said, hunching toward his troops like a quarterback in a huddle. “Here’s the latest. Private George, when we reach Helsinki, you’ll be remaining behind. Darrell McCaskey has arranged for you to link up with a Major Aho of the Finnish Ministry of Defense. The Major will take you to your partner, D16 operative Peggy James, and the two of you will take on the Hermitage by your lonesomes. Sorry, but the rest of us have business elsewhere. You’ll hitch a midget sub ride from the Gulf of Finland into the Neva. The Finns’ve got a butt-kick Defense Minister who’s been running surveillance trips right into the mouth of the river. The Russians don’t monitor closely because manpower is stretched thin and Moscow doesn’t worry a whole lot about being attacked by Finland.”
“Sloppy,” Sondra observed.
“You and James will raft into St. Petersburg in daylight,” Squires continued. “General Rodgers would have preferred for you to wait for nightfall, but that’s when they make the mini-sub trips, so in you go. Fortunately, the Russian Navy maintains a mini-sub base in Koporskiy Zaliv Bay not far from the city. You’ll be given Russian naval uniforms when you reach Helsinki. If you’re stopped for any reason, Ms. James speaks fluent Russian and you’ll have the appropriate documents. The Finns are turning out Russian papers in the Security Ministry’s forgery division. Major Aho will give you your cover story as well as visas and papers so you can get out of the country as Russian soldiers on leave. Once you reach the Hermitage, find out anything you can about the communications center they appear to have down there. If you can cripple it without terminating anyone, do so. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir. I assume Major Aho’s in charge of the. mission while we’re in Finland. Who runs it in Russia?”
Squires’s jaw shifted to the side. “I was getting to that. Op-Center’s come up with a new one for us. James was going to be a subordinate as long as an officer was present. Since there isn’t going to be one-me-she’s along as an observer. In other words, she’s not obliged to take orders from you.
“Sir?”
“I know it’s an odd one, Private. All I can tell you is, do your job. If she has ideas, listen to them. If she doesn’t like yours, negotiate. She’s a sharp player, so it should be okay. Any other questions?”
George saluted. “No, sir,” If he was concerned or excited, it didn’t show in his rosy, youthful face.
“Okay.” Squires looked around. “The rest of us will be taking a little trip. We’ll be transferring to a Russian transport we’ve had in cold storage, and flying to parts unknown. The rest of our mission will be communicated en route.”
“Any idea what it is, sir?” Sondra asked.
Squires’s steely eyes were on her. “If I did,” said the Lieutenant Colonel, “I’d’ve told you. The minute I know anything, you’ll know it.”
Sondra managed to hold his gaze with her own, though her exuberance dissolved like the sugar she dared to use in her coffee. Their conversations earlier, and now this rebuke, had shown her a side of Squires she hadn’t seen during her month with Striker: not the driving, blistering, “try-barder, move-your-ass, can’t-you-hit-a-damn-bull’seye?” side, but the imperious commander. The change from taskmaster to leader was subtle, but demanding. It was also, she had to admit, impressive.
As Squires dismissed the troops and Sondra sat back down, she shut her eyes and did what they’d taught her in SEAL training, worked on whipping up her enthusiasm again, reminding herself that she wasn’t here for Squires but for herself and for her country.
“Private.”
Sondra opened her eyes. The Lieutenant Colonel was leaning close so he could be heard over the drone of the engines, his expression less forbidding than it had been moments before.
“Yes, sir?”
“A bit of advice,” he said. “Back at the base, you had one of the greatest go-get-’em attitudes I’ve ever seen. I don’t know who you were mad at, or who you were trying to impress up here-” He touched his tem- ple. “You sure impressed me, though. You also have skill and smarts or you wouldn’t be here. But what the rest of my team knows, Private DeVonne, is that on a mission, the cardinal virtues are the cardinal virtues: prudence, temperance, fortitude, and justice. You understand?”