by Trevor Scott
“Yes, of course.”
“All right. Get it and throw it in the trunk with mine.” Jake got out and opened his trunk remotely.
A moment later and Kadri had put her duffle bag in with his, so Jake closed the trunk.
She took out her phone and was about to text someone, but Jake grabbed her phone from her.
“Hey,” she complained.
“Get in,” Jake demanded.
Kadri looked confused, but she did as he said.
Jake got behind the wheel and then turned to the young woman. “You were holding something back at the coffee shop,” he said.
She tried to feign misunderstanding, but was not very good at it. Some folks had a natural talent for lying, but Kadri struggled with it. Part of Jake liked that. But the practical side of him, the side that knew what made a good covert operative, needed someone who wasn’t afraid to lie. Someone who could sell that lie to her own mother or lover.
“Cut the shit,” Jake said. “What are you not telling me?”
Now she looked pissed that Jake had called her out. Finally, she said, “I’m not happy about leaving our American colleague behind.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s not what we should do.”
“In general? Or in this case?”
“Both.”
Jake started the engine and turned back to Kadri. “How long did you work with Karl?”
“Two weeks,” she said.
“So, you two got close.”
“We did not have sex, if that’s what you mean.”
He raised his hands in protest. “Hey, I’m not here to judge you. I just want to know your motivation. This seems personal to you.”
She lowered her chin toward her chest and shook her head. “How did you know?”
“It’s my job to read people,” Jake said. “You were telling the truth about not having sex. But I’m guessing it was starting to get more physical between you and Karl. You tried to keep things professional, but then you both realized that nothing was really stopping you from starting a relationship. Am I right?”
Kadri nodded her head and barely said, “Yes. But we have kissed.”
“How did that impact Hans?”
She shrugged. “Not at all.”
“Because he’s married and has two kids?”
Kadri turned to him quickly. “How do you know this?”
“The same way I know that you were a swimmer in college and have a younger brother in the Estonian army stationed with a NATO unit in Afghanistan. Your mother is a teacher and your father died three years ago from cancer.”
Her jaw hung open. Then she said, “How?”
“I need to know who I’m working with,” Jake said. In reality, that was about all he knew about her—other than her college, her years of service with KAPO, and her potential reliability. The Agency had assured Jake that she was on the rise in her organization. So was her partner, Hans.
“What do we do now?” Kadri asked.
Jake put his car in gear and said, “You show me how to get to the cruise terminal.” He handed back her phone. “Text Hans and tell him we’re coming. But don’t tell anyone else in your organization.”
“Tell them what?”
“Exactly.” Jake smiled and pulled away from the curb. He was starting to like this pretty, young jock.
Narva Reservoir, Russia
Karl Adams had spent the night huddled inside a grove of pines and cedars on the north side of the largest island on the reservoir. The weather had finally cleared enough for him to catch a glimpse of the Estonian coast over a kilometer from the closest point on the island. He guessed the swim would not be a major problem, but he would have to wait for nightfall. The Russians were still patrolling the water between his island and the imaginary border with Estonia. He had a feeling the Russians thought nothing of violating the Estonian territory, like they had the night they came and took him. They had no respect for their former satellite country, which they had brutally taken over after the equally obnoxious Nazis had devastated the country in the early 40s. Estonia was so used to getting beaten down, it was no wonder they had pushed so hard for NATO inclusion.
He had been drinking pond water, eating bugs and munching on a sparse crop of berries, but it had not been enough. His stomach ached now, and he hoped like hell he had not taken in a microscopic bug like Giardia, or he could be in big trouble. But he knew that dehydration would kill him faster than any intestinal bug. Hypothermia too, but he was lucky the nights had been relatively warm.
More than anything, though, was his concern that nobody seemed to be looking for him. He knew that the intelligence game could be dangerous, but he was acting on Estonian soil with Estonian officers. None of them expected the Russians to kidnap one of them. He guessed the Russians didn’t get the memo on fair play.
He was determined now to escape from the island this evening. He couldn’t wait any longer. Besides, there was no way the Army, the CIA, or the Estonian KAPO would cross over the border into Russia to secure his rescue. Now he had only himself. Only he could determine his own fate.
7
Tallinn, Estonia
Jake had just picked up Hans Vaino, the stork, at the cruise terminal and was now driving toward the international airport with Hans and his partner, Kadri Kask.
“Where are we going?” Hans asked from the back seat.
“I need to see a guy about something,” Jake said, his eyes checking out his Estonian colleague in the rearview mirror. Then he glanced to his right at the female KAPO officer. The jock seemed a bit subdued, as if she were not certain of what was going on.
Momentarily they reached the international airport southeast of the Old Town, and Jake found his way to the military operations gate, where he told the gate guard he needed to speak with the American in charge of the Air Force unit. A Colonel Poole. He had already cleared what he planned to do with the Agency and they had ensured him he would be cleared.
The gate guard looked at Jake’s Austrian passport and seemed confused. Then, nearly simultaneously, Hans and Kadri produced their KAPO identifications and the poor young Estonian airman looked like he might soil his uniform. The man said something in Estonian and pointed to a non-specific spot ahead.
“What did he say?” Jake asked.
Kadri said, “He said we can pull forward and park in that area ahead while we wait for an escort.”
Jake took back his passport from the obviously apologetic guard and pulled ahead to a small parking area just inside the gate. But they didn’t have to wait long. Moments later and two Air Force Security Forces airmen pulled up in a Humvee, saying they were there to pick up Mister Jake Konrad.
Glancing at his new friends, the stork and the jock, Jake said, “This will just take a few minutes.”
They both nodded as Jake got out.
Then the stern-looking senior airman and staff sergeant drove Jake to an operations building next to a large aircraft hangar. Out front were three U.S. Air Force C-17 transport aircraft on the flight line.
Inside the ops building, airmen were busy in front of computer terminals and moving around like any normal office building in the world. Jake was escorted into the office of Colonel Poole, who was a Dudley Do-Right looking character with a blond flattop and tight jaw. He was tall and slim, a runner, barely filling out his flight suit. Jake guessed he was a former fighter pilot who liked to pull as many Gs as humanly possible. But those days were over, Jake knew, since this man had one flaw that grounded more pilots than alcohol. His eyes. Something had happened to this man, since he now sported 50s-era black birth control glasses.
Colonel Poole met Jake in the center of his office, shaking Jake’s hand with great vigor. Then he went back and sat on the edge of his desk.
Jake remained standing.
“I got an urgent call from your boss zero four-thirty this morning,” the colonel said.
“Sorry about that,” Jake said. He didn’t want to explain to the
colonel that he no longer worked for the CIA. It was better that the man thought he did. “How is John?”
John was the CIA director, John Bradford, who until his appointment to that post was an Air Force general and former F-15E pilot.
“General Bradford and I are not on a first-name basis,” Colonel Poole assured Jake.
Jake nodded. “Right. Did he mention what I need from you?”
The colonel nodded. “He said to give you anything you require.”
Perfect. “What I require is an update on your drone activity on the eastern border.”
“The Army officer missing?” the colonel inquired.
“That’s right. Have you found him?”
The colonel walked across the room to a large map of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. He pointed to Narva, Estonia on the border with Russia. “According to our intel from our Estonian hosts, our soldier was taken here just south of the city center. We figure the Russians took him across the reservoir.”
Jake settled in next to the colonel. It was the first time he had viewed a detailed map of the area. After finding out his son had been taken, he had looked up the area on his phone before taking off from Berlin, but the detail was not great.
Pointing to an area near the center of the reservoir, Jake said, “My contacts said they heard gunfire here. And following that came an extensive search.”
“That’s what we heard as well,” the Air Force colonel said. Then he went back behind his desk and clicked at his computer terminal while he turned on a large LED screen on the wall opposite from the map. On full screen was an aerial view from a drone.
“Is that real time?” Jake asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s the reservoir between Estonia and Russia?”
“Yep.”
The camera detail was amazing. Jake could see two boats cruising along the center of the large body of water. He could even see birds flying about.
The colonel said, “Let me go back to the middle of the night around zero two-thirty.” He clicked on his keyboard and the large LED turned nearly black. But with the night vision, there was still enough detail to make out the shoreline and islands.
“What am I looking at?” Jake asked.
“FLIR,” the colonel said.
“I know it’s forward-looking infra-red,” Jake said. Then Jake pointed to a heat signature. “You’re talking about this in the forest?”
The colonel came over to the screen and pointed off to the largest island. “No, sir. That’s a moose. I’m looking at this smaller object on the island.”
“That’s pretty small,” Jake said.
“Not from the height of our drone.” The colonel smiled at Jake and added, “That’s a human.”
“You found him?”
“It has to be Captain Adams.”
“Did you run this up the chain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
The colonel shrugged. Then he ran his finger in front of the screen. “Probably because of this. That island is Russian soil. We can’t go get him there.”
“Well we sure as hell can’t leave him behind,” Jake said vehemently.
“Understood. But that’s above my pay grade.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
It wasn’t beyond Jake’s pay grade. Now he knew why the Agency was so compliant with his involvement. If the CIA complained to the Russian government, they would deny any knowledge of their activity trying to capture an American Army soldier from Estonian soil and hauling him across to Russia. Then the Russians would not only know that the CIA had found the man who escaped, but that they had taken an American and not an Estonian. Jake pondered his options—which took him less than a minute.
“All right,” Jake said. “How long can your drone linger?”
The Air Force colonel checked his watch, thought for a moment, and said, “Just a few more hours.”
“Recall it,” Jake said. “Then refuel it and get it back over the target.”
“What do you have planned?”
“I’m going to get our soldier back.”
The colonel looked doubtful. “Are you authorized to do that?”
“Morally, yes,” Jake said. “But I’ll need complete operational security. Nobody on the ground here will know about this. Do you understand?”
Moving his arms from crossed to planted on his hips, the colonel said, “What about the Pentagon?”
Jake laughed. “Especially not them. They’ve got more leaks than the Titanic. And I’ll run it up the Agency chain.” After the fact, Jake thought. Maybe.
The two of them worked out some tactical requirements, including communications frequencies and other housekeeping. Then Jake found the GPS location for the heat signature of his son and punched that into his phone so it would direct him right to the location. Yeah, he had an app for that.
Now he needed to head east and make this happen.
Jake got back to his car and the two Estonian intelligence officers looked to him for answers.
Kadri asked, “Is everything all right?”
He settled into his seat, fastened his seatbelt, and put the key in the ignition. Then Jake said, “How would you two like to take a drive to Narva?”
Hans leaned forward. “What for?”
“I’d feel much better if you showed me where the Russians took Karl,” Jake said.
“It’s over two hundred kilometers to Narva,” Kadri said.
“You have anything better to do?” Jake asked.
Both of them simply shrugged.
Jake had a feeling one of them had called back to their overlords at KAPO while he was in talking with the Air Force colonel, explaining what had happened that morning. He guessed they would do so. Autonomy was probably an alien concept to them. But he also knew that most of his old colleagues in the Agency would do the same thing. Fortunately, he would only give out information based on what he needed in return—like drone coverage. He wasn’t expecting backup or the cavalry to bail his ass out. A reality of independent security contracting.
Damn it. Now Jake would actually have to learn their names, instead of referring to them in his mind as the stork and the jock.
8
Riga, Latvia
In a non-descript building on the west bank of the Daugava River near the city’s Old Town, sat the headquarters for the Constitution Protection Bureau of the Republic of Latvia. The CPB, or SAB in Latvian after Satversmes Aizsardziras Birojs, was the Latvian intelligence and counterespionage agency—their CIA counterpart. When Latvia was still under the Soviet umbrella, the KGB had its regional office a few blocks from this building, but the Latvians had gutted that building and made it into a museum showing some of the horrors of that former agency.
Zaiga Ulmanis had worked for SAB for a little more than ten years after a stint in the Latvian army and then four years at the University of Latvia, where she studied international relations and languages. It was her love of languages that had caught the attention of SAB director Oskars Liepa, who had personally recruited her into the agency.
Now, Zaiga sat nervously in the outer office of the director, having been summoned just an hour ago by his secretary, her right foot tapping against the white tile floor.
“Are you sure he wants to see me?” Zaiga asked the secretary, who was an older woman who had been with the SAB since its inception after Latvia split from the Soviet Union in the early 90s.
The older woman’s eyes focused on the younger woman, as if her stare alone could kill the officer. “Patience.”
Zaiga stood up and looked out at the Daugava River. Rain and clouds gave the city a dreadful atmosphere, but she liked the rain. Even more, she liked the snow that seemed to put frosting on the old Soviet-era structures. Her brown eyes shifted focus to a reflection of herself in the window. She had been a biathlete in her youth, qualifying for the Latvian Olympic Team. Although she maintained her shooting skills, she had not had the time to cross
country ski in a few years. Maybe this year.
She ran her fingers through her black curly locks, wondering what she was trying to accomplish with this current cut. Zaiga shook her head in wonder at her own incompetence. If she didn’t do something, the casual observer would consider her a lesbian, and that was not her intention. Yet, since her days in the Olympics, she had gained only about two kilos—most of that in breasts and muscles, since she had shifted from aerobic exercises to martial arts and weight lifting in the past few years.
Finally, the secretary got up and opened the director’s door for her. Zaiga tried a smile as she entered the office, but the secretary wasn’t buying it.
The director, Oskars Liepa, was a tall skinny man who looked like a funeral director to Zaiga, with his constant expression of grave concern. The two of them had eaten together at various functions, and the man expressed the same concern for a bowl of soup. What little hair he had was cut short to mask a severely receding hairline. His lack of hair made his ears and nose even more prominent. She could only imagine how the man’s face would look in old age, when the average face seemed to shrink in comparison to ear size.
Oskars Liepa pointed to one of the wood chairs with leather upholstery, which Zaiga took and sat up straight like a student in the headmaster’s office.
Now she waited for her boss to speak. Zaiga had been assigned to special projects in the past six months, a position without a real job description but with favorable autonomy.
The director shuffled through some paperwork and seemed to settle on a specific page with curiosity. He slid the paper across the desk toward her and said, “What do you make of this?”
Zaiga stretched out to grasp the single page, which was marked with extreme secrecy. It was a report of increased Russian infiltration into all Baltic nations. This was not new to her, since she had been assigned to insert herself into a group in Riga two months ago. A group that she was sure had been formed by a Russian SVR officer. But this was different. It was from their friends to the north, the Estonians, who had seen a recent rash of kidnappings or the disappearance of intelligence officers. This was new to her. She had heard of one famous case a few years back, but that had involved the Russian FSB taking an Estonian intelligence officer and putting him in front of a kangaroo court. As far as she knew, that man was still imprisoned in Moscow.