Orlov felt as if he were dreaming, not only because of the events that were about to unfold but because of the position in which he’d placed his son. To stop Dogin, it would be necessary to order Nikita not to turn over the cargo that had been entrusted to him, and perhaps to take up arms against anyone trying to claim the crates. If Dogin were victorious, Nikita would be executed. If Dogin lost, Orlov knew his son: Nikita would feel as though he’d betrayed the military. Then there was also the possibility that Nikita would disobey his father. If that happened, Orlov would have no choice but to arrest him after the train had stopped and the cargo had already been delivered. Insubordination or disobedience of orders carried a prison sentence of one to five years, and not only would it be the final break between them but Masha would take it much harder than the trouble Nikki had had back at the academy.
Since the transcript and even the broadcast could have been faked at the Center-digitally cobbled together from earlier recordings-there was nothing he could take to President Zhanin as evidence of treason. But the crates must not be delivered, and that was something he could tell the Kremlin. In the meantime, he hoped he could convince his son that Dogin, a man who had served his country selflessly and had helped to prevent the boy’s expulsion from the Academy, was now an enemy of that country.
Colonel Rossky had not been resting.
Corporal Valentina Belyev had gone home, leaving Rossky alone in his office. He had been listening to communications between the offices at the Center, using a system that had been installed for him by the late Pavel Odina. It was because Pavel had put it in, and because no one else could ever know about it, that the communications expert had had to die on the bridge. Pavel was not a military man, but that didn’t matter. Sometimes even the loyal service of civilians must result in death. It was like the tombs of ancient Egypt, the security of which was ensured by the death of their designers. There could be no room for sentiment where national security was concerned. Spetsnaz officers were expected to kill any man who was wounded or who hesitated. Deputy commanders were expected to murder commanders who failed to kill the wounded or cowardly. If necessary,
Rossky would take his own life to protect a state secret. The outside telephones and internal communications net at the Operations Center were both linked to Rossky’s computer. But there were also electronic bugs, as fine as human hair, threaded through electrical outlets, inserted into air vents, and hidden beneath rugs. Each microphone had a keycode on his computer. That way, Rossky could listen to any of the conversations using headphones, or the conversations could be recorded digitally for playback or electronic transmittal directly to Minister Dogin.
Rossky had sat with his lips pressed tightly together as he played back the conversation between Orlov and his son. Then he listened as General Orlov ordered Titev to tap into the Minister’s conversation with General Kosigan.
How dare he! Rossky thought.
Orlov was a popular man, a figurehead who had been hired because his fame and charisma were needed to get money from the Finance Minister for the Operations Center. Who was he to question the actions of Minister Dogin and General Kosigan?
And now Rossky listened as General Orlov, this much-decorated hero, told his son that upon receiving word of his destination, he was to proceed there and, upon arriving, to refrain from turning over the crates to Minister Dogin’s representatives. General Orlov said he would send his own team from the naval college to confiscate the cargo.
Though Nikita acknowledged the order, Rossky could tell his heart wasn’t in it. That was good. The boy would not be charged with treason and executed along with his father.
Rossky would gladly have committed the murder himself. But Minister Dogin did not allow lawless tactics among his lieutenants. Before the Center had become operational, the Minister had instructed Rossky to get in touch with him and he would contact General Mavik, Marshal of Artillery, if it was necessary to have any of Orlov’s orders countermanded.
When General Orlov radioed Major Levski, commander of the twelve-man Molot team, and ordered him to prepare for a flight to Bira, Colonel Rossky had heard enough. He entered a computer code that accessed a private line, a direct line to the Ministry of the Interior, and apprised Minister Dogin of the situation. Dogin said he would contact General Mavik to arrange for Orlov’s departure, and instructed Rossky to begin making plans to assume control of the Operations Center.
FOURTY-FIVE
Tuesday, 8:35 A.M., south of the Arctic Circle
Lieutenant Colonel Squires looked on absently as Ishi Honda checked the communications gear in his rucksack. While they were on the 76T, they used the airplane’s uplink to talk to Op-Center. Once they were on the ground, however, they would be using the miniature black antenna tucked into the side of the ruck, next to the radio itself.
Honda knelt and unfolded the legs and arms of the seventeen-inch-diameter unit, checking to make sure that each prong was fully extended. He screwed the antenna’s black, coaxial cable into the radio, slipped on his headset, and listened as the system went through a self-calibration check. Then he checked the microphone, counting backward from ten, and gave Squires an okay signal.
Next, he checked the global positioning system receiver, a remote-control-sized device with a luminous digital readout stored in a side pocket of the rucksack. He sent out a quarter-second signal which would enable him to make sure the device was working and yet wouldn’t give the Russians time to fix their position. Private DeVonne was entrusted with the team’s compass and altimeter, and would be responsible for getting them to the extraction point once the mission was completed. Having woken from a nap, Sergeant Chick Grey checked his Tac III assault vest. Instead of containing a gas mask and 9mm submachine gun magazines, the pouches contained the C-4 they’d need for the mission. Before parachuting into Russia, all the Striker members would don their warm, rigid Nomex gloves, balaclavas, coveralls, goggles with shatterproof lenses, Kevlar vests, and assault boots. Then they would check the equipment in their Tac III overvests as well as the rappelling belts, the thigh pockets with flash/bang grenades, and their H&K 9mm MP5A2 submachine guns and Beretta 9mm pistols with extended magazines.
Only one thing was missing, Squires felt. He would have traded all the hot, hi-tech gear for a small fleet of fast-attack vehicles. Once they were on the ground in Russia, there wouldn’t be much that Op-Center could do to help them with the train or extraction. But a couple of FAVs to get them across the rocks and ice at eighty miles an hour, with maybe an M6OE3 machine gun forward, a rear-seated gunner with a .50-caliber machine gun-now, that would be nice. Hell to parachute down and assemble, but nice.
Squires walked to the cabin to stretch his legs and get an update from the crew. Everyone was feeling good about not having been contacted by the Russians, pilot Matt Mazer noting that it wasn’t a tribute to their stealth and cunning but to the massive amounts of air traffic.
After checking the map and seeing how far they had left to go across the Arctic Ocean and then down the Bering Sea and southwest over Japan, Squires returned to the cabin-just in time to receive a call from Mike Rodgers. Now that the 76T was within range of the Russian receivers, the call was being relayed through a radio link
Defense Minister Niskanen had set up in the tower at Helsinki so it couldn’t be traced back to Washington.
“This is Squires, sir,” he said when Honda handed him the receiver.
“Colonel,” said Rodgers, “we have a new development with the train. The Russian unit has stopped and taken on passengers-civilians There appear to be anywhere from five to ten men and women in each of the cars.”
Squires took a moment to digest the information. He and his squad had practiced train-clearing exercises with terrorists and hostages, where the enemies were fewer in number and the civilians anxious to leave. But this was something different.
“Understood, sir,” Squires said.
“There are soldiers in each car,” Rodgers said. His voice sounded drawn, almost defeated. “I’ve gone over the photos of the train. You’re going to have to get flash/ bangs in through the window, then disarm the soldiers and off-load everyone. When you’ve done that, we’ll contact Vladivostok and tell them exactly where to find the passengers. Leave them with whatever cold-weather supplies you can spare.”
“I understand.”
“Extraction time is at the bridge I told you about earlier,” Rodgers said. “Pickup is exactly at midnight. You’ll have eight minutes before the extraction craft leaves, so make sure you get there. The Congressional Intelligence Committee wouldn’t give us any more time than that. “