‘Yes – and the fact that he’s dead means he wasn’t prepared to go along with them.’
‘But why would he even have talked to them?’ Oustenka asked.
‘We don’t know,’ Richter said, ‘but we presume their pitch would have been credible, and obviously unrelated to their real objective. For example, perhaps they told him they were making a documentary film about the Russian Air Force and would need some shots of MiG-25s engaged in practice air combat. Or they were trying to recruit current front-line pilots for instructor duties with a Third-World air force. Something like that.’
Oustenka nodded, and Bykov leant forward. ‘Yes, Colonel?’ he said.
‘When I heard that Lenkov had been killed, I interviewed each squadron member individually and asked them if they had any idea who might have wished to harm him. One officer, Pavel Bardin, told me he’d been with Lenkov in a bar in the city one evening when three men approached them. They claimed to be looking for qualified MiG-25 pilots to join the air force of one of the Gulf States. Bardin took their contact number, though he wasn’t really interested in taking such a step, but he said that Lenkov seemed more enthusiastic.’
Bykov looked triumphant. ‘Where is this Bardin? Can we see him?’
Oustenka stood up and walked to the door of his office. He barked an order, then returned to his seat. ‘He’ll be here in a couple of minutes.’
Office of the Associate Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia
‘Okay, Richard,’ said Walter Hicks, ‘you’ve almost convinced me about the “what”. Based on your investigations, I think it’s at least possible that the DPRK has acquired a squadron of Foxbats. But what I still don’t see is the reason. Why would the North Koreans go to all this trouble to get their hands on some forty-year-old obsolete interceptors?’
‘I have no idea,’ Muldoon shrugged. ‘If they’d got their grubby little hands on a squadron of any new-generation air-superiority fighters, I’d be a lot more worried, because that could indicate they’re planning an invasion against the South. You’re quite right, the Foxbat is obsolete. It’s not as agile as anything we’re flying today, although it’s still the world’s fastest interceptor. But sheer speed doesn’t count for a lot. Success in air combat is determined by agility, avionics, radar performance, missile technology and all the rest, and the Foxbat scores pretty damn poorly on most counts. But there must be a reason. They must want the aircraft for something and we have to figure out what.’
‘How?’ Hicks asked.
‘Right now, I don’t exactly know,’ Muldoon admitted. ‘We’ve got no sources we can tap inside the DPRK itself, and I doubt if Bae Chang-Su would be willing to risk infiltrating another of his agents north of the Demilitarized Zone. The NSA already monitors what signal and voice traffic there is in North Korea, and obviously they’ve not picked up anything of interest, or they’d have told us. So I guess the only avenue we have left is technical intelligence. I’ll mark T’ae’tan and that entire area of North Korea a Priority One target for N-PIC, and suggest they modify the orbits of the Keyhole birds so that the NKs won’t anticipate when they’re overhead. That way we might actually get to see whatever the hell they’re doing with those aircraft.’
Bolshoye Savino Air Base, Russia
Pavel Bardin was about six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes and a stocky build. He looked uncomfortable as he walked into Oustenka’s office, and even more uncomfortable when the colonel introduced his visitors.
‘Lieutenant Bardin,’ Bykov began, ‘let me assure you we have no interest in your reasons for engaging in conversation with these three men we’ve heard about. But we believe they were directly responsible for Georgi Lenkov’s death, and we want to trace them as soon as possible. Now, I have a question for you. Colonel Oustenka told us they gave you a telephone number to contact them if you changed your mind about their offer. Do you still have that number?’
Bardin nodded, still unwilling to speak, and reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket. He pulled out a piece of folded paper and passed it to Bykov.
‘It’s a mobile number,’ the GRU officer said, studying the first few digits. ‘That means we can trace it and find out who the phone is registered to.’
Richter broke in. ‘That’ll give you a name and an address, probably both false, but it won’t actually help us to find these men. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we just ask Lieutenant Bardin here to call them and set up a meeting for tonight?’
The three of them stared at the young lieutenant, who was already shaking his head.
‘Excellent idea,’ Oustenka boomed, ‘and I’m sure Lieutenant Bardin will be only too pleased to help avenge the death of his comrade.’
Reluctantly, Bardin turned the head shake into a nod and looked even more unhappy than before.
‘Don’t worry,’ Richter assured him. ‘You won’t be meeting them just by yourself. We’ll organize a full police presence and I’ll be there too.’
‘You?’ Bykov and Oustenka blurted simultaneously, their surprise obvious.
‘Damn right,’ Richter said, turning to Bykov and switching back to English. ‘Ever since I arrived in Moscow I’ve done nothing but tag along behind you, Viktor, like a spare prick at a wedding.’
‘A what?’ Bykov demanded.
‘I’ll explain it later. No offence, but I’m bored rigid. It’s time I did something to justify my presence over here.’
He looked across at Bardin, whose unhappiness seemed to have deepened still further at Richter’s lapse into a language he didn’t understand.
‘Don’t worry, Pavel,’ Richter said, once again speaking Russian. ‘This kind of thing – it’s what I do best.’
Chapter Nine
Wednesday
Pyongyang, North Korea
Pak Je-San sat stiffly upright on a hard wooden chair at the end of the long table, a notebook lying open in front of him. He was nervous and trying not to show it: the hierarchy of the North Korean government thrived on fear, using it to keep the population in line, and Pak sincerely believed they could actually smell any trace of it. For sure they – or more specifically Kim Yong-Su, sitting in an armchair at the head of the table – would pounce on any sign of weakness from him.
‘And when do you expect the last of the interceptors to arrive?’
‘Quite soon, I hope,’ Pak replied. ‘Ryu Chang-Ho reported that his first approach was turned down, but he has another possibility. If his offer is accepted this time, and the other officers can be bribed, the aircraft could be ready to leave the base within forty-eight hours. So the last two fighters could arrive in Pyongyang within four or five days.’
There was a grunt from one of the other four men. ‘When you say his offer was “turned down”, I assume Ryu ensured his target was not left in a position to reveal what had been discussed?’
Four pairs of eyes bored into Pak as he replied. ‘Yes, Ryu eliminated the target, as was done with every other unsuccessful approach.’
‘Good,’ Kim murmured, looking down at his notes.
Pak had been reporting to him at first on a monthly, then on a weekly, basis ever since this operation had started. And during every meeting he had hated looking into the man’s dead, black eyes, which seemed capable of stripping the very flesh from his bones. And at every such meeting he had dreaded having to admit even the most trifling error or delay.
Now Kim Yong-Su was eyeing him directly again, his face expressionless. ‘Exactly how many interceptors do you have now, Pak?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘If Ryu fails to obtain another two aircraft, will your twenty-four be enough to complete the operation?’
Pak appeared to give the question serious consideration before answering, but there was no way he was going to say anything other than ‘Yes’. Given a choice, he would have preferred a hundred MiG-25s, simply because there’s safety – and reliability – in numbers.
At present, the aircraft m
aintainers at T’ae’tan were achieving about seventy-five per cent serviceability, which meant three out of every four Foxbats being able to get airborne at any one time. That proportion, he’d been assured by a couple of the Russian mercenary pilots, was pretty good for an aircraft as old as the MiG-25, especially as they didn’t possess a full inventory of spare parts. But it also meant that one out of every four of the aircraft could not fly, so his squadron of nominally twenty-four planes was actually a force of only eighteen at best. But he wasn’t going to tell Kim that. As it was, he just gazed straight down the table, not quite meeting Kim’s eyes, and said, ‘Yes.’
‘And the missiles, what of them?’
‘We have one hundred and fifteen at present, and another forty-eight currently en route from Bulgaria to Iran. When they arrive here in a few days’ time, that will give us an arsenal of one hundred and sixty-three. A full warload for each MiG-25 is technically four missiles, but some of the pilots have suggested that two might be preferable, simply to allow the aircraft higher speed, better agility at altitude and greater endurance. My inclination is to arm each aircraft fully, but our decision will ultimately depend upon the tactical situation when we need to launch.’
Kim nodded slowly, but he wasn’t yet satisfied. ‘Pak, let us consider the worst-case scenario,’ he said. ‘Assume that Ryu Chang-Ho fails in his mission, or that the arrival of the last two interceptors is so delayed that the aircraft will not reach us in time to be deployed. Assume also that our enemies by some means discover that the ship travelling between Varna and Bandar Abbas is carrying the missiles and that they then intercept the vessel and seize the cargo.’
Pak didn’t respond, just stared up the long table, waiting.
‘Now, with that scenario, with two of your interceptors unavailable, and with almost thirty per cent of your arsenal of missiles seized, could your squadron of mercenaries still achieve the task we will be setting them?’
There was a long silence in the room, and Pak Je-San wasn’t the only man present who had noted Kim Yong-Su’s repeated use of the word ‘your’. If this venture should end in failure, Kim was making it absolutely clear that the entire responsibility would fall on Pak’s shoulders.
Again Pak considered his options, such as they were. If, on the one hand, he said his force would be able to cope, Kim might simply advance the schedule. But alternatively, if he said they wouldn’t, then his own life might be forfeit. He swallowed twice, and opted for the middle ground.
‘I believe the squadron would be able to achieve its tasking, but I would be very reluctant to commit our forces until we’ve made every effort to obtain those additional aircraft and missiles. Once the operation begins, there will almost certainly be no chance of organizing any resupply, and it would be unfortunate if the missiles were all ready to be flown in to T’ae’tan only to be stopped in transit by an air embargo.’
Pak thought for a moment he’d gone too far. Kim’s eyes stared at him unblinkingly, and for a very long thirty seconds he did not respond. ‘You should not, Pak Je-San, concern yourself with the government’s overall strategy or operational timing. I am merely seeking an assessment of the ability of the forces you already control to carry out our bidding. That answer you have now supplied. We will decide when the operation should begin.’
‘I understand that,’ Pak said hastily. It looked as if he’d survived, for the moment, but he knew there was something else he had to say. Kim Yong-Su was a Party animal in the Communist sense and had, as far as Pak knew, absolutely no military experience or knowledge. If the operation was to succeed, there were some essential measures that must be taken in advance.
‘If I may, there is also the matter of the tactical deployment of my’ – he thought he might as well acknowledge that the squadron, and by implication its success or failure, belonged to him – ‘assets prior to the start of the operation.’
‘Explain.’
‘At present, for logistical reasons all the MiG-25s are based at T’ae’tan. That is where we constructed the accommodation for the pilots and the maintenance staff, and where we have stored the spares and weapons. Before the operation begins, I intend to split the force into four, leaving one quarter of the aircraft and weapons at T’ae’tan, and sending the remainder to Nuchonri, Kuupri and Wonsan.
‘That will give our enemies four different targets to engage, and also gives us greater geographical flexibility in our response to threats. By dividing our MiG-25 force between these airfields, we will be better able to respond to attacks from any direction.’
Kim looked at him, then nodded. ‘That is sensible, Pak Je-San. I will ensure that you are told the moment we decide to commence our operation.’
Pak inclined his head in thanks.
The Party leader continued staring at him in silence for a few seconds more, then looked at the other men sitting at the table. ‘Any other matters?’ he asked softly, and was rewarded only by shaking heads.
Ten minutes later, Pak Je-San walked out of the building and, as always, sucked in a deep breath the moment he stepped outside – like a drowning man coming up for air.
Hammersmith, London
The Intelligence Director knocked on Simpson’s door, waited for his response and then entered. Carrying a red file in his hand, he looked worried, but that was nothing new. The man normally looked worried, and not for the first time Simpson wondered why he hadn’t taken up a less stressful career, like teaching. Though, he had to admit, getting thrown into a classroom full of the aggressive little bastards that were today’s schoolchildren was hardly conducive to a quiet life.
‘What is it?’ Simpson almost snapped, as the ID sat down in front of his desk.
‘An interesting though unconfirmed report from Vauxhall Cross. It’s classified Secret and categorized as Grade Three intelligence that’s come from an asset in Sofia, and it relates to a possible theft of munitions that might impinge upon Richter’s current tasking.’
Simpson counted to three, very slowly. He had considerable respect for the ID’s breadth of knowledge, and his dedication to the service, and the fact that his suits and shirts were always clean and neatly pressed, his shoes polished, and that his tie always displayed a perfect Windsor knot, but the man’s slow and pedantic delivery of information never ceased to irritate him.
‘I’m busy,’ he snapped, ‘so skip the caveats and just tell me what the fuck the man said.’
As usual, the ID looked faintly shocked at Simpson’s language. ‘Well, as I said, it’s not been confirmed yet, but it looks as if there was a major theft of missiles from Dobric in Bulgaria yesterday.’
‘Dobric? Never heard of it.’
‘It’s a disused airfield just over thirty miles north of the Black Sea port of Varna. Though it’s been closed since the year 2000, the Bulgarians still have a lot of equipment stored there. Everything from torch batteries to mothballed aircraft, from what I can gather. According to our source, yesterday some of the locals heard what sounded like small-arms fire coming from inside the base, and late yesterday afternoon a group of Bulgarian Air Force personnel turned up to investigate, heavily armed. According to an eyewitness, they had to force the main gate to get inside, and he claimed to have seen body-bags later being taken out of the base.’
‘And this has what, exactly, to do with Richter?’ Simpson was thinking the ID had strayed somewhat from the point.
‘Dobric holds a large stock of Russian-manufactured AA-6 missiles, NATO reporting name Acrid. They’re the ideal weapon for the MiG-25, and I understand that quite a few nations, including Russia, seem to have mislaid the odd Foxbat recently. The source’s witness reported seeing three trucks leaving Dobric yesterday afternoon, loaded with long wooden crates, each about the right size to hold an Acrid. So perhaps someone, somewhere, is intending to marry the aircraft to the missile.’
Simpson nodded and held out his hand for the file. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll make sure Richter’s informed as soon as possible.’
&
nbsp; Perm, Russia
The Bar Moskva stood on the Kama Boulevard, on the south side of the river, and the meeting was set for seven. They’d spent a good deal of time after lunch discussing what options they had, but in the end it came down to Pavel Bardin dialling a mobile phone number and telling the man who answered that he might, after all, be interested in moving to the Gulf. The call took place at just after five.
Once the rendezvous was set up, Richter and Bykov were able to make their own arrangements. In Richter’s case, that didn’t take long. Bykov found him a shoulder holster from somewhere, and Oustenka then offered him a choice of either a Makarov PMM or a Yarygin PYa to carry in it. Richter would have preferred something manufactured well to the west of Moscow, but nothing like that was on offer.
The Makarov is loosely based on the Walther PP and was the standard Soviet Army sidearm until the end of the twentieth century. It fires a non-standard 9x18mm cartridge, and has a relatively small magazine capacity of twelve rounds. But the Yarygin replaced it in 2003, and that was much more to Richter’s taste. It’s chambered for the familiar 9mm Luger/Parabellum, and the magazine holds seventeen rounds – in Richter’s opinion, the more bullets the better, always.
The Bolshoye Savino Air Base, like almost all military establishments in every country, possessed a pistol range, and Richter spent about forty minutes getting to know his borrowed weapon and firing a box of ammunition. At the end of it, he reckoned he stood a fighting chance of hitting most things he was likely to want to aim at, as long as the target didn’t move too quickly and also stayed within about twenty-five yards of him.
Bykov went back into Perm and talked Superintendent Wanov into providing a hidden cordon around the bar. The men were not to move into position until Bykov, who would be sitting in a car parked a short distance down the road, instructed them to. Till then the police officers would wait in closed vans strategically located in adjacent streets, and all of them would be armed.
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