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by Jack Kassinger


  Brandson was a prolific writer, and Windstrum knew it wouldn’t take him long to get her a report if it was in his best interest to do so. It was an hour later that she was preparing to leave for the director’s weekly staff meeting with the other deputy directors. Before leaving, she checked to see if the report had arrived. Sure enough, it was there. She printed it out and left for the director’s conference room. She opened the door and walked in. It was 0930 Friday morning and 1730 in Saint Petersburg.

  ***

  It didn’t take Allison long to get to the RAVEN’s garage after leaving the warehouse. She met with Otto in his office with the others.

  “We’ve got to get them on the road again, but with a different mode of transportation. Also, we need to get rid of the van, and we don’t have a lot of time. Does anyone have any recommendations?”

  “Come with me,” Otto said.

  They left his office and walked through the mechanic’s bay and out to the back of the garage. A large lorry in pristine condition was parked there, just waiting to be used.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s a damn big truck. I was thinking of something a little smaller, but this will have to do on short notice. Now all we need to do is get it to the warehouse and get them on their way. Where did you get it?” she asked as they turned to go back inside.

  “Don’t worry; it’s clean. It was a used freight truck that we bought at a local auction a few months ago. Reko put a new engine in it, and we gave it a fresh paint job. It hasn’t been registered yet. We’ll put some plates on it and throw some blankets in the back to help keep them warm during the trip.”

  “Good. What about the van? It needs to disappear, completely. Can you guys handle that too?”

  “I think so.”

  “OK, let’s make it happen.”

  A few minutes later, they were back in his office, and Otto was the first to speak. “The boss here wants to know if we can get rid of the van. I told her we could. Here’s what I’m thinking. We take the tow truck to the warehouse and hitch the van to it. Then haul it off in a different direction than the route the team will take to get to the cabin. Sakke, if we are stopped by the police, I’ll tell them that you received a call to pick the van up after it had broken down. If not stopped by the police, we’ll find a desirable isolated location, unhitch it, and set the damn thing on fire. Burning it should destroy any evidence of its use by the team.”

  “I like it. Great thinking,” interjected Allison. “Gear up. Let’s roll.”

  Ten minutes later, they left: first Allison, then Otto driving the lorry, and then Sakke a few minutes later in the tow truck.

  We’ll be back at the warehouse by 1900 and soon have them on their way, Allison thought.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Crying over Spilt Milk

  The CIA DDs sat in the conference room watching the video recording of a Predator strike that took place hours earlier in Afghanistan. The video showed two SUVs parked at an isolated compound, which they knew to be located just outside the city of Kandahar. Some men were standing guard at locations near the house. Two vehicles came into view and then parked. One was an SUV and the other a small pickup truck loaded with two men sitting in the back. Three men got out of the SUV. They were greeted by a guard and then allowed to enter the house. The two men from the back of the pickup truck got out and chatted with the some of the other guards. The audio recording between the CIA team on the ground monitoring the house from a distance and the Predator operator was recorded and played in concert with the video recording. The DDs heard the communication between the two entities.

  “SPUTNIK, this is SMALL TALK. We have positive confirmation of target. Repeat, positive confirmation of target. Execute, execute, execute.”

  “Roger that, SMALL TALK. Acquisition of target in process and… acquired. Firing now.”

  Moments later, the DDs saw the house explode and a cloud of dust rise where the house once stood. As the dust cleared, they could see vehicles turned upside down and the bodies of the guards lying strewn about the area. Two Hellfire missiles had destroyed the house and most everything else within a fifty-yard radius.

  “That’s it,” stated the director. “Thanks everyone for the updates.” He stood and looked at Windstrum. “Coffee, Claire?”

  As the DDs filed out of the conference room into the main hallway, Claire followed the director through a door leading into the foyer of his office suite. As they passed Mary’s desk, he asked her to bring them coffee. They went in and sat down. Claire handed him Brandson’s ops report.

  “You had better read this before we get started,” she said.

  He took it and started reading.

  Mary tapped on the door and came in with two cups of coffee. She sat them down on the corner of his desk and left the room, closing the door as she walked out.

  Claire reached for one of the cups. She had read Brandson’s report earlier while the other DDs were providing activity updates to the director. He raised his head occasionally to look at her while reading. He made no immediate comment, but Claire knew the director would have several questions when he finished.

  She sipped the coffee to hold back a yawn, hoping the caffeine would help with the drowsiness she suddenly felt. She looked around his office while he read. Claire’s mind wondered. She was the DDO at CIA. She had come a long way from the day she’d entered on duty as an analyst. She recalled meeting with a recruiter. It was while she was attending college at the University of Texas. Claire had been interested in pursuing a government career and was eventually approached by the recruiter who visited the campus each year to meet with seniors. She was graduating with honors and a degree in political science, with a minor in languages. She was someone the agency could easily train to become an intelligence analyst. A year later, Claire had passed her polygraph examination and was preparing to leave for Washington, DC. Her parents were small-town farmers who lived near Tulsa, Oklahoma. They weren’t pleased that she was going to become a fed, a G-woman, as her father once said. But she made the move and started to work at CIA.

  J. D. looked up from his reading. “You’ve read all of this?”

  “Yes I have.

  He didn’t say anything more.

  Claire was energetic and had worked hard as an analyst, eventually changing professions to become a reports officer in the operations directorate. That’s where she met many interesting people, operatives—the people who did the real spy work for the CIA. With tenure and a few years of experience to draw on, Claire began making a name for herself, but she wasn’t totally satisfied with just being a good reports officer. She wanted something more exciting and requested another professional change. She wanted to become a field operative. Not many women made it through the clandestine tradecraft training at the farm, but she did. She later spent several tours of duty overseas. On her last field assignment, Claire managed to recruit a Chinese ambassador. A hard-target recruitment assured her ascendency up through the ranks of the operations directorate. Breaking the glass ceiling and becoming the first female DDO was a huge accomplishment and honor, but the excitement of her new position lasted just a few short months. The assignment came with many unexpected and, often, unpleasant responsibilities. She was startled a bit when the director spoke.

  “Well, Claire, the good news, I guess, is that they have Mauldin, but they’ve left a dead man behind,” he said, reaching for the coffee cup. “The attendant won’t have any choice now but to tell the authorities a story other than the one we had hoped for, and we’ve got a problem—don’t we?”

  Claire’s posture changed just a bit as she formulated a response.

  “J. D., unexpected things happen in this crazy world of operations that we live in. Sometimes, an op goes down without a hitch, like the drone strike we just witnessed, and sometimes it doesn’t. If we could recognize and evaluate every conceivable obstacle in the way of an operation, then we could mitigate all risks, and we’d be living i
n a worry-free world, but that’s not the case. Now, as I see it, if there was a recording made, as postulated in Brandson’s report, then the attendant will have fessed up to something. What we don’t know, but that’s not important at this point.”

  “OK, so how do you see it playing out?” the director asked.

  “The institute will notify the Ministry of Defense that Mauldin’s been abducted; they in turn will notify the FSB. It’s possible that they could have a data image of Mike Shocklee, but I don’t believe that’s the case, as most of his career has been spent in Africa, so our hand in the operation should still be a secret. The biggest hurdle for the team, given Shocklee’s condition, will be getting from Checkpoint Charlie back across the border to the Bravo with Mauldin and our asset.”

  “By that comment, you’re obviously recommending that I approve the station’s request to process her for asylum.”

  “That’s right, J. D., and the sooner you get the general counsel started on the paper work, the better.”

  “What’s her real name? I think you can tell me that now, seeing as how she’s no longer going to be a covert asset.”

  “Nina Pukhova Lubikov. She’s the granddaughter of Kim Philby.”

  “What?” he exclaimed.

  “She’s been on CIA’s payroll for several years and has provided some of the most valuable intelligence we’ve collected on Russia’s military infrastructure in the Western District.”

  “For sure, then, the FSB knows that Lubikov is the granddaughter of Philby.”

  “Yes, that would be the case.”

  “Isn’t it possible, if we grant her asylum, that there could be some additional political risk and blowback because of who she is?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, but like I said, we don’t live in a perfect world. It’s possible the Kremlin will want to turn this into a public feud, claiming that we have given safe harbor to a murder suspect.”

  “Don’t you mean two murder suspects? Didn’t one of the SEALs kill the security guard?”

  “We don’t know that for sure. We could only see him being attended to by an institute doctor. They put him on a gurney and left, heading back in the direction of the main building. He could be dead, or alive and resting in a hospital bed. We just don’t know.”

  “OK, however, I’m now inclined to take this to the president for his input.”

  “There’s no use in fretting over spilt milk, J. D. We don’t know how long it will be before all this information—the killing of Brzezinski, the police report on Lubikov, and the abduction of Mauldin—reaches the FSB, so time is of the essence, and we don’t need to be pussyfooting around waiting for a decision from the president. We are at risk of having Lubikov left behind to be interrogated and punished by the FSB, and we’ve got her handler and other assets out there as well who need to be protected.”

  “I understand that. Your concerns have been noted. Now, Brandson has recommended, if I approve his request, that we get her to an embassy someplace in the region and showcase her as an asylum case. What are your thoughts on that?”

  He had brushed her concerns aside regarding the safety of the team. He was obviously more concerned about the political fallout of an operational decision than the lives of her people in the field. Claire didn’t like that at all and was disappointed in him.

  “That’s showboating, and I’m not crazy about his recommendation. I think that Nina Lubikov should simply disappear without the US government blabbing to the world that Kim Philby’s granddaughter was granted asylum in the United States—to do otherwise might simply add fuel to a burning Kremlin fire. I think she should stay with the team until they reach Den Helder and from there, we fly the three of them, Shocklee, Mauldin, and Nina back to the States. We’ll keep her in a safe house until her status is approved by the court and, of course, her name is legally changed at some point thereafter. The SEALs will be able to catch a military hop back to Fort Bragg.”

  “OK. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take me long to advise the president and get his consent.”

  “It’s your call, but you’re gambling with time and the efficiency of the FSB.”

  “I know that, but I feel strongly that this is something the president should weigh in on.”

  Claire looked at her watch.

  “It’s almost eleven and close to seven in the evening out there in Saint Petersburg. The clock is ticking. I’ll be waiting for your call so that I can give the team an update.”

  J. D. concluded their meeting by saying, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Twenty

  New Transportation

  Allison parked over to one side of the warehouse door, and Otto backed the lorry to the other side. Sakke turned the tow truck around and backed in toward the door. Allison got out of her vehicle and Otto and Sakke got out of theirs. They huddled together near Allison’s car, and she told them there would be no introductions to the team. They understood the “need-to-know” security protocol employed by the CIA.

  “Just wait here,” she said, and then she clicked the remote she had placed in her pocket and opened the warehouse door. Nina and Rick looked out to see them standing on the far side of Allison’s car.

  Allison nodded at the RAVENS and then left them and walked into the warehouse to meet with the others. Nina smiled at her as she came in, their petty quarrel long since forgotten. The others watched as Nina walked over to the back of the van where Mike was resting. He was lying on his back with his legs dangling over the bumper. She looked in further at Mauldin; he was still out.

  “Allison is here with new wheels, Mike,” Nina told him, but he didn’t respond. She thought he might be asleep. He wasn’t; he was in deep thought and resting his body, letting the morphine and penicillin help with his recovery. Mike heard her and spoke a few seconds later.

  “Give me a hand,” he said, sticking his out for help.

  Nina took his hand and gently pulled, helping him to a sitting position. Mike stood, and she moved close to his side and reached to put an arm around his waist to help him walk.

  “I’m OK,” Mike said.

  She stood aside and then followed him as he slowly walked over to Allison, who was chatting with Rick and the other SEALs.

  “I was just telling them about the plan, Mike. That’s your support team standing out there. Just wave at them, guys; they know we won’t be making introductions.”

  They all waved, and the men outside waved back.

  “OK, Mike,” she continued. “The truck is clean; it was bought at an auction a couple of months ago. It has a new engine and a fresh paint job. It hasn’t been registered; bogus plates have been added. When you guys leave, my men will tow the van away, opposite the direction you will be heading, and later dispose of it by setting it on fire on an isolated road somewhere. The chain wants you on the road ASAP, so it’s best you be gearing up. Can I have a word alone with Nina before you leave?”

  “Sure,” Mike said.

  The men stepped aside and started gathering up their gear.

  Allison moved over to Nina and looked at her face on. “Nina, you’re in trouble,” she said. “A police BOLO has been issued for your arrest; it’s in connection with Alex’s death—”

  “A BOLO on me,” Nina interrupted. “How did they find out that it was me who shot him?”

  “I don’t know. I heard the BOLO when it was announced over the police net. As I was about to say, you need to be thinking about your personal situation and what you want to do, or if you want us to help you get a clean start on life somewhere. You don’t have to answer now. Talk to Mike about it while you’re heading to the cabin. In the meantime, I’m going to ask for permission for you to leave Russia with the team, if that’s something you want to do. The chain will be in touch with Mike later, and you can make a decision then.”

  Nina had never expected this moment to come: being exposed to the police or having her CIA activities known to the FSB. Her first
handler had told her that she would be taken care of if ever that became the case, but she had never given it much thought. She was now faced with the disturbing reality and soon would have to decide what to do. Would it be the same decision as the one her grandfather had made many years ago? She thought about that before responding to Allison.

  “I understand what you’re telling me, Allison, and the consequences of my decision. Thanks for the information.”

  “OK, go ahead and get with the team, and get them on the road.”

  As Nina turned to leave, she heard Allison’s good-bye remark.

  “I hope you know how to drive a truck if you decide to come back. If not, just leave it there.”

  Nina looked back at her, smiled, and spoke softly, almost whispering.

  “Good-bye.”

  Allison rejoined the group and conveyed a bit more information before giving them a final farewell.

  “You’ll be sitting on the floor in the back of the lorry, but there are plenty of blankets in there to help keep you warm. It shouldn’t take more than three hours for you to get to the cabin. Also, there’s plenty of firewood stacked outside there, so stay warm while you wait for the boat to arrive. Good luck, guys,” she said, shaking each of their hands.

  “What about the truck?” Rick asked.

  “Nina will decide what to do with it later,” Allison told him. “I’ve given her instructions.”

  They walked out. Charlie opened the tailgate. He and Frank climbed in and then reached down to help Nina in. Ron and Rick lifted Mike up, and Charlie helped him to get farther back inside, closer to the cab. When Mauldin was removed from the van and placed inside, Rick closed the tailgate and tightened the tarp ropes, closing in the back of the lorry. Frank took a fluorescent glowstick from his ruck and popped it to give them a bit of light inside the cargo compartment.

 

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