Directorate of Science and Technology, Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Unlike its more primitive forebears, the KH-12 doesn’t use any form of photographic plate or medium: it automatically converts the images into digital form and then transmits the data to one of several communications satellites in geostationary orbit above it. The data is then either transmitted directly, or possibly via another communications bird, to the Mission Ground Site at Fort Belvoir, near Washington, DC. From the Ground Site, the images are sent to the National Photographic Interpretation Centre – N-PIC – located in Building 213 in the Washington Navy Yard. This technology means that the data is available in near real-time, within minutes of the picture being taken.
Seventy-five minutes after the Keyhole had overflown T’ae’tan, Richard Muldoon was looking at the first of six images on the twenty-one-inch flat-panel monitor of his desktop computer, sent by secure electronic transfer direct from Building 213. Muldoon’s Priority One instructions had ensured that an initial analysis had been undertaken the moment the N-PIC staff received the pictures.
Not that too much analysis was needed. Muldoon took one look at the distinctive tail-end of the aircraft sticking out of the hangar, and muttered ‘Fuck me, they’ve got a Foxbat.’
Chapter Eight
Wednesday
Perm, Russia
‘I don’t care who you are or what branch of the military you represent. You can’t just walk in here and expect to take over a murder investigation.’ The Perm chief of police was a short, fat, red-faced man, his complexion growing angrier and more choleric by the minute. So far Bykov hadn’t been getting anywhere with him.
The previous evening, he and Richter had flown in to Perm, a city about seven hundred miles east of Moscow, arriving too late to achieve anything useful that day. Bykov had left his card at the main police station, with a demand that the police chief make himself available for a meeting first thing next morning. The somewhat peremptory tone the GRU officer had used, Richter guessed, was probably the main reason why Kolya Wanov was so clearly unwilling to cooperate.
‘Superintendent Wanov,’ Bykov tried again, ‘we’re not here to either investigate the murder or impede your inquiries in any way. We just want answers to some questions. We understand that Georgi Lenkov’s wallet had been stolen, so why are you so certain he wasn’t killed in the course of a routine mugging that escalated out of control?’
Wanov shrugged. ‘There’s not much doubt about that,’ he replied grudgingly. Despite his belligerence, he knew he had little real choice here. Pissing off a senior GRU general would achieve nothing career-enhancing. ‘First, at some point that evening Lenkov’s wrists had been shackled with handcuffs. There were abrasions round his wrists consistent with restraints like regular police cuffs. If he’d been handcuffed, there would have been no need for a mugger to kill him. That’s the first thing.
‘We’ve received a couple of reports that a man answering to Lenkov’s description was arrested by two police officers in a bar near the river on Monday evening. The problem,’ the superintendent said with a mirthless smile, ‘is that no police officers were anywhere near that location at the time, and there have been no arrest reports subsequently filed. Muggers don’t usually work in pairs, impersonating police officers, and they certainly aren’t likely to chase their quarry into a bar where anyone seeing their faces could later identify them.
‘Third, the pathologist wasn’t absolutely certain because of the extensive damage to the skull caused by the bullet, but he thinks Lenkov received at least one violent blow to the back of his head, probably administered with a cosh or club.
‘And, finally, the body was found in woodland outside the city, and we know for sure he was killed there. The forensic evidence is overwhelming, even if we didn’t have a witness who actually heard the shot. Anyway, muggers normally look for their prey in city streets. It was a deliberate act of murder, no mistake.’
Bykov nodded. It looked as if the Perm police had done their work thoroughly. ‘That’s clear enough for us, Superintendent. But we believe the killing of this young Air Force officer may have wider implications affecting national security. We suspect the perpetrators are still here in Perm, and all we’re asking is that the local police extend us a little cooperation.’
‘What kind of cooperation?’ Wanov asked.
‘We’d like as little publicity as possible. Have you released details of Lenkov’s name and profession?’
‘Not yet.’ The police officer shook his head. ‘His parents live in Moscow, but they’re away somewhere at the moment. We can’t release details of the identity of the victim until they’ve been informed.’
‘So who knows about the murder here in Perm?’
‘It was reported in the local newspaper.’
‘What exactly was said?’
‘Just that the body of an unidentified young man had been found apparently murdered in the woods outside the city.’
‘How did you eventually identify him?’
‘A small stroke of luck. Whoever killed him took away his wallet, and emptied it, then discarded it. However, they overlooked an internal pocket where Lenkov kept his identity card. We compared the photograph with what was left of his face, and that was that.’
‘So who exactly knows he was an Air Force pilot?’
‘Just ourselves, and Lenkov’s commanding officer at Bolshoye Savino. Probably no one else.’
‘Can you keep it that way for a couple of days?’ Bykov asked.
‘If you can explain why, yes.’
‘Superintendent Wanov, my investigation is classified at a very high level, well above Top Secret. My colleague here’ – he gestured to Richter, who hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the room – ‘is an intelligence officer representing the government of Great Britain.’ That was news to Richter, but he said nothing.
Wanov looked at him uncertainly, apparently torn between his desire to find out just what the hell Bykov was talking about, and his discomfort at having an identified Western intelligence agent sitting there studying him silently.
‘Nothing I’m about to tell you is to leave this room, or is to be discussed with anyone else, at any level, at any time.’
Wanov nodded, then found his voice. ‘I understand.’
Bykov continued. ‘We believe that Lenkov was approached by agents of a foreign power and asked to steal a Mikoyan-Gurevich interceptor, one of the aircraft based at Bolshoye Savino. We assume he refused to carry out this act of treachery, and was killed because of that. We also believe those same agents are still here somewhere in Perm, and that they’ll be currently trying to suborn another officer from the airfield. It’s essential that we find out who these agents are, and who they represent. That means catching them in the act, and to achieve that we need your assistance and that of your officers.’
‘How are you going to do it?’
Bykov smiled. ‘At this precise moment, I’ve no idea. A lot will depend on what we can learn from the dead man’s commanding officer and from his fellow pilots. If we’re right, and he was approached by foreign agents, we’re hoping he might have talked to someone else about it. That way, we might even be able to get a lead of some kind. That’s our first job, but if we do manage to locate these agents, we’ll need you to provide enough men to ensure that they don’t slip through our fingers.’
Wanov nodded slowly. ‘That won’t be a problem, but make sure you give me as much notice as you can.’
Bykov stood up. ‘Right. Now,’ he said, ‘we must get to the airfield. We have an appointment there in just under thirty minutes.’
Office of the Associate Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia
‘So the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea has got itself a Foxbat. So what?’ Walter Hicks leant back in his seat, pulled out a stubby cigar and – in complete defiance of Langley’s rigid no-smoking-anywhere-in-the-building rule, imposed
by William Webster in September 1990 – lit it. ‘So what?’ he repeated.
And that was, Muldoon had to concede, a good question. Why should the CIA – or anyone else, for that matter – care in the least if the North Koreans had obtained a forty-year-old supersonic interceptor? But he suspected there had to be more to it than that.
‘If it was just one Foxbat, I wouldn’t care either, Walter,’ Muldoon replied, ‘but after seeing that picture from N-PIC I did some investigating, and I don’t like what I found. We only got this image because of the request from the South Koreans. Now, I think it’s significant that the first and only unplanned reconnaissance pass over T’ae’tan for the last two years should reveal the presence of a Foxbat. It appears the NKs have been timing their operations to coincide with periods when none of our birds have been in range. Yet, if they’re just upgrading their air force with MiG-25s, why would they bother?’
‘I suppose the North Koreans might consider re-equipping with Foxbats as an upgrade,’ Hicks mused, ‘but those aircraft are old and not that easy to fly. I’d have thought they’d be better advised to try stealing a few more Floggers or Fishbeds – or maybe even Fulcrums if they were feeling ambitious.’
Both the MiG-21 Fishbed and the MiG-23 Flogger are now obsolete, but are still being operated by North Korea. The MiG-29 Fulcrum was designed by the Russians as a direct competitor to the F-15 and F-16 interceptors, and is perhaps the most manoeuvrable fighter aircraft in the world, apart from the Harrier. With Mach 2 performance, it’s a formidable adversary.
‘Maybe they couldn’t source any other aircraft type. Don’t forget, their principal arms supplier now is China, not Russia. And if the NKs did manage to get their hands on some Fulcrums, keeping them in the air might prove a nightmare. Where would they find the spares? Do they even have maintainers skilled enough to work on them? The Foxbat, however, is an old and tested design with no fancy electronics.’
Hicks nodded. ‘Yes . . . maybe they just thought they needed something quicker than a Shenyang F-5, and located a source that could supply MiG-25s instead. Perhaps it really is that simple.’
‘I doubt it. I went back to check the Keyhole imagery for T’ae’tan for the last couple of years. You remember that in October of ninety-five the NKs relocated twenty-odd Ilyushin Il-28 bombers to that same airfield?’
Hicks nodded. ‘Caused some jitters in the South when they realized that put them within ten minutes’ flying time of Seoul.’
‘Exactly,’ Muldoon nodded. ‘And they still had the F-5 fighters based there. Well, according to the N-PIC analysts, they haven’t seen a single Ilyushin at T’ae’tan for the last eighteen months, and they’ve only been able to identify ten individual F-5s. That’s way short of the number we believed was based there.’
‘Perhaps they’ve kicked the bombers somewhere else. Maybe they thought having them so close to the DMZ was too provocative. As I recall, Seoul did complain about them.’
‘Maybe they did,’ Muldoon nodded, ‘but there are other things that worry me, like the new constructions we’re seeing there. T’ae’tan was never a major base, just a single runway and a couple of hangars dug into the hillside on the south side of the field, but the NKs have done a lot of work there recently. It’s difficult to tell from the satellite pictures, because of the overhanging rock, but it looks like they may have excavated four new hangars, and they’ve certainly built what looks like a new administration block close by.’
‘Maybe they’re updating it. Perhaps they’ve got plans to expand the airfield, add a new runway or lengthen the existing one,’ Hicks suggested.
‘A new runway’s not likely, Walter. T’ae’tan sits at the bottom of a fairly narrow valley running east–west, with hills enclosing it at the western end, rising to about six hundred feet. The land to the east is more level, but you’re right – they have extended the runway in that direction. It was originally about a mile and a half long, and they’ve added enough concrete to now make it nearly three miles. That was already picked up by N-PIC when the NKs started construction work, but it didn’t seem particularly significant just then.’
‘Well, they’d need all of that length to handle Foxbats – those mothers don’t exactly stop on a dime.’
‘But do you really think the DPRK would go to the expense of nearly doubling the length of the runway at T’ae’tan just to accommodate one Foxbat? The only scenario making sense is that they’ve now got several of them.
‘Now, I can’t confirm that,’ Muldoon continued, warming to his theme, ‘because absolutely the only photographic evidence we have is the picture of the rear end of a MiG-25 that N-PIC sent over yesterday. All that proves is that there’s at least one Foxbat at T’ae’tan. We know it’s not a mock-up, because the Keyhole’s thermal imaging sensors recorded that both the engine exhausts were still hot. It had either been recently flying or doing a ground run, but what the cameras picked up was part of a real aircraft.
‘Meanwhile, there are a few other pointers, like the lengthened runway and the hangars. Every time the N-PIC analysts have spotted an aircraft on the ground, it’s been parked close to one of the original hangars, not the new ones. When an aircraft’s pulled out of a hangar to fly or do a ground run or whatever, it’s normally left outside that hangar. That suggests the F-5s are in the two original structures, and there’s something different kept in the new hangars.’
‘Have they ever spotted anything in or near them?’ Hicks asked.
‘Not so far. Occasionally one of the birds might get a picture when one of the doors is open, but the hangars are built into the rock on the south side of the airfield, so the interior’s always in shadow. The pass made yesterday was the first time they’ve seen anything significant. And the other thing is that those four hangars invariably have guards stationed outside them, almost always two-man patrols. So my tentative analysis is that there are several MiG-25s based at T’ae’tan, maybe as many as a squadron. But that raises more questions, like where did they come from? We’re talking more freely to the Kremlin these days, and as far as I know they haven’t sold much to the North Koreans over the last five years.’
‘OK, Richard, let’s assume for the moment that you’re right, and that there’s a squadron, or at least a significant number, of Foxbats at T’ae’tan. If the Russians didn’t sell the MiGs to the DPRK, where did they come from?’
Muldoon smiled slightly. ‘That, Walter is the big question, but it’s always possible they stole them.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No, I’m not. A couple of days ago the NSA detected some traffic on a military net in Iran that might have been referring to a missing aircraft. They’re not certain, because it’s possible the two people overheard were talking about a crashed aircraft – the context was ambiguous. But it could also be that some pilot’s been bribed to fly his MiG out of Iran for a few pieces of silver.
‘And then there’s Aïn Oussera. We asked the Brits to go in there and take a look inside a heavily guarded hangar. They did, and found the building was empty, so the British SIS reckons the Algerians have also lost one or two aircraft, and the guards were simply there to preserve the scene while it’s investigated. That sounds far-fetched, I know, but I’m inclined to agree with them. Aïn Oussera’s known to be a Foxbat base, so if they have lost any aircraft, most likely they’re MiG-25s. And subsequently the Brits fielded a request from the GRU for assistance in tracing certain aircraft movements inside Russia, and N-PIC supplied some satellite pictures for them. I gather the SIS has a man working with the GRU in Moscow right now.’
Bolshoye Savino Air Base, Russia
In fact Richter was, at that moment, a long way from Moscow. After leaving police headquarters, they’d gone straight out to the airfield at Bolshoye Savino, and fifteen minutes later they were sitting in the 764 IAP commander’s office.
Lavrenti Oustenka was a full colonel, and looked it. He was one of those people who, no matter how they were dressed, where they were or
what they were doing, just looked like a senior military officer. His hair was cropped to within a millimetre of his scalp, his chin bore not the slightest sign of stubble, and even sitting in the chair behind his wide desk he appeared to be fully at attention. He also didn’t appear to show any particular aversion to having a Western intelligence officer involved in the operation to track down the men who’d recently killed one of his young pilots.
What he did appear to harbour doubts over was how successful that operation might be. ‘Perm is a big city, you know, with well over a million inhabitants. It won’t be easy to find these men, even assuming that they’re still here and didn’t leave straight after the killing.’
‘My guess, Colonel,’ Bykov said, ‘is that they’re still here. I won’t insult you by pointing out that this information is classified, but I can tell you that we’re unable to account for sixteen MiG-25 interceptors, from a variety of bases throughout Russia. We suspect that agents of a foreign power have been approaching MiG-25 pilots and inducing them to defect. And some of those pilots have been taking their aircraft with them.’
Oustenka shook his head. ‘With respect, General, I find that difficult to believe. We keep meticulous records of all our aircraft. If a pilot did decide to defect, like Belenko did back in the nineteen seventies, it would be immediately obvious. A plane takes off and doesn’t return – the station would soon know and Moscow would be informed. And there’s also the question of range. The MiG-25 has a ferry range of about two thousand five hundred kilometres with full tanks, and it doesn’t possess an in-flight refuelling capability. How could an aircraft stolen from here, say, possibly get as far as China or North Korea? It would run out of fuel hundreds or even thousands of kilometres before reaching its destination.’
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