by Stephen Makk
“Sir, what are we going to face?”
“I can’t tell you everything yet; the situation is developing as we speak.” Kamov smiled enigmatically. “You’re out there to recover an idea.”
Nathan frowned. What the hell was that?
“You’ll get the relevant information as we have it. Just prepare for and expect the worst that Ivan can get up to out there. Kamov out.”
The screen turned off.
“We’ll let the Chief and the Chief Engineer know about this, Nikki. Let the crew have their night out.”
“What do you think is going on, Nathan? What’s he mean, an ‘idea’?”
“I don’t know, but I know Kamov. He’s holding something back. I don’t like it, but we’re needed up north, that’s enough for now.”
Nathan knew Admiral Kamov was worried about this one; he could read him.
If it worried Kamov, then it sure worried him.
2
Two weeks earlier. Copenhagen. Denmark.
Nils Sondergaard walked into the café just a couple of blocks from Weibel Scientific. Nils was a young radar engineer, one of the best. He didn’t mention on his resume all manner of other interests he had, from microbiology and artificial intelligence to cosmology via quantum physics. His current project was an improved Doppler radar for a new missile system. Easy, tame stuff.
His real project was a secret just for him for now. It wasn’t finished yet, but it was getting there.
It had begun as an idea, a wild derivative of the stealth research and technology he worked with. He’d just taken it to its logical conclusion.
Secret projects didn’t get too many takers around here.
But in the meantime, if you’re in northern Europe looking for a quality Doppler radar, then Nils Sondergaard and Weibel Scientific Co have something you’d like to see.
Nils looked out of the café window on to the street; it was raining now in Allerod. The roads reflected the car’s lights and office displays in a windblown shimmery wet street cover. Just the same old wet Danish October.
“Same, Nils?” She’d owned the cafe since he been going there.
“Yes, Brigit, thanks.” He sat by the window.
Several minutes later, a swarthy looking girl with black hair covered by a woollen hat came in and sat at the same table.
“This place ok? You ok?”
“Yes. Both are fine.” He nodded, running his eye over the girl. A late twenties looker. Maybe she was from Iran, Turkey, Lebanon or Israel.
“Any recommendations?” she asked, pushing her scarf and woolly hat in her bag.
“The dark cake, I don’t know its name. That’s good.”
“I’ll have a try,” she said, going over to the counter to order. She came back with a coffee and a slice of the dark cake.
“It’s good,” she said with a half full mouth.
“It’s not a bad town either when it’s dry.” He gave her a faint smile.
What was going on? Was she trying to pick him up? He didn’t think so, but hard to say.
She nodded. “Copenhagen’s not far away. You lived here long?”
“Nine or ten years, since university. Have you been here long?”
She smiled. “No, I arrived here last night. From Yerevan via Paris.” She saw him frown. The young woman leaned forward. “Armenia. Yerevan’s in Armenia.”
“Not been there. I’ve seen pictures, it looks good.”
“So,” she looked into his eyes, “Nils Sondergaard of Weibel Scientific. Senior radar engineer. Denmark Technical University DTU. Read Electronics and Physics, about as good grades as it’s possible to get.” Nils tried to cover his amazement. “And now leading the team working on the radar for the Back-pass missile system.”
“How have I come to your attention? Miss…?”
“I’m Marjan Ghazaryan, that’s all you need to know. My employers,” he started to say something, but she cut him off, “have an interest in your work.” She fixed his gaze. “Not the work for Weibel, your other work.”
Nils shrugged. “I only work for Weibel.”
Marjan smiled knowingly. “Yeah, right. Look Nils, let’s just leave it, for now.”
The following night after work Nils made his way over the park green towards the café. The Armenian girl had stayed after he left, and they hadn’t arranged to meet again. He walked in and saw the girl sat to the rear.
“Hi.” He ordered his coffee and cake and sat by her. It wouldn’t do to sit elsewhere. Her mood had changed. She was suspicious and edgy, eyeing everyone who passed by.
“Had a bad day, Marjan?”
“No. A fucking worse one than that. It’s moving quicker than we thought. I’ve less time than I thought. We need some information from you.”
Nils rolled his eyes. “Ok, cut the shit,” he glared. “Who do you work for and what do you need from me? What’s this ‘other work’ crap?”
Marjan carried on looking into the street and spoke softly. “Your other work involves visiting online forums. Swapping information and chunks of math.”
“Yeah, if you mean Zoomeye and all the other linked places?”
“We do. We’ve been listening in to you.”
“And who’s ‘we’?”
She looked at him with a smirk. “I work for Israeli intelligence. Our Sig-Int people at Unit 8200 in the Negev desert have been following you and your contacts. Unit 8200 is akin to the NSA in the US, or the signals unit of PET here in Denmark. We have an idea of what you are working on; your work has been seen by our specialists. Your contacts on these forums.” She looked at him with her head tilted to one side. “Nils, you know Zelda-Pbook? She’s from Croatia and has two cats.”
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Zelda is actually two middle-aged men in Chelyabinsk Siberia,” she said, “and ChrisAA32 is three or four young officers in the SVR.”
“What?”
“Yes, Nils,” Marjan patted the back of his hand. “They’re all working for Russian intelligence, either SVR or FSB.”
“That’s mad.”
“You’ve been asked to meet someone, yes?”
“Yes, Zelda says her cousin is visiting Copenhagen. I’m going to show her around.”
Marjan laughed. “You’ll probably be met by two SVR men and within hours you’ll be in Russia.”
“You can’t just capture someone on the city street like that. The police…”
She looked at him with some pity. “If the SVR wants you in Russia, that’s where you’re going. Look Nils, work is going on to set up a safe place and to get you there.”
Nils frowned. “Ok, what’s the problem? Assuming all this shit is real. Why can’t I just leave with you tomorrow and fly off somewhere?”
She shook her head. “There are reasons.” He raised his eyebrows, and she looked away. “Ok, jurisdiction issues.” She shrugged in that self-deprecating Jewish way, and he laughed.
“So, they’re fighting over me?”
“It’s complex, you’re under protection.”
Nils smiled. “So, there are PET undercover people watching over me?”
Marjan shook her head. “It’s not something we trust anybody else with. Mossad is around, keeping a lookout. It’ll get sorted out, trust me. We’ll get you to safety Nils.”
The two of them sat quietly with two coffees. Brigit, the owner, looked at them briefly and smiled to herself. It’s good that Nils is getting on with a girl; he’s a decent man and deserves some luck.
“Drink up, Nils,” said Marjan. “You’re taking me for a beer.”
“I am?”
She nodded and stood. He followed her out. “We’ll go to Gustav’s, ok?”
“It’s your town, I’ll go where you say.”
Leo stood further back in the shadows. “They’re going, look Serge.”
“We’ll follow, keep back. I wonder who that slag is that he’s with.”
“We don’t want her. Moscow gave us a green light to tak
e him back with us. What do they want with some Danish scientist engineer?”
“They piss around, Leo, and then everything is rush about like there’s no tomorrow. That’s the way it is, SVR’s always been the same. Come on, but keep back.”
Nils and Marjan walked off down the wet street. A light rain fell and created a wet sheen that reflected street and shop lights. Serge followed at a safe distance. After two turns, the couple walked along an old street with cobbled stone paving. After 50 yards they entered Gustav’s bar. The bar was covered with stained glass windows, allowing the light to fall coloured onto the street, but the inside was shrouded.
Serge watched them and took out his throw away pay-as-you-go cell phone.
“Leo, get the van. They’ve gone in a bar. Gustav’s it’s called, on a narrow street Jespervej. I’m going in there.”
He entered the bar and saw them sat at a high table on two tall stools. So he ordered a beer and sat where he could keep an eye on them. The bar was quite busy but not full.
“So, Nils, tell me what all this is about?” Marjan said in her best seductive voice. “Your other work, that is, not the radar stuff you do at Weibel.”
Nils looked at his beer. “If you’re meaning the work coupled to the information I get and put out on the forums I visit, then its complex.”
“Try me.” She leaned forward and batted her eyelashes.
“Ok, you asked. It is radar related. Ever heard of quantum entanglement? Or quantum physics and its possibilities?”
“Yes, but I’ve no real idea. It’s something to do with a cat in a box being dead or alive isn’t it?”
Nils grinned. “Schrodinger’s cat. It’s dead and alive at the same time.” Marjan frowned. He gave her a weak smile. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not about a real cat. There’s a real phenomenon called quantum entanglement.”
He looked at Marjan warily, “This is going to be weird. Quantum entanglement says that two particles can be joined so that whatever happens to one must also happen to its partner, however far apart they are. Einstein called it ‘spooky action at a distance’. This happens instantly too. From here across the room or from here to a distant star, it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s rubbish, Nils.”
“It’s not, it’s real and proven.”
“Ok, so what has that got to do with what you’re doing and why the Russian intel people are interested?”
“I’ve made a huge breakthrough. I’ve been working on quantum radar and it’s regarding that. I’ll have to explain using some technical concepts. The device solves what computer science calls an ‘NP-complete’ problem: that’s a problem that’s impossible or nearly impossible to calculate on a classical device. Entangling allows the absorption spectrum and the resolution limit of quantum radar systems to be selected independently of one another. So, while current radar systems must compromise between range and resolution, quantum radar systems can simultaneously achieve the low attenuation/high range associated with a long wavelength and the high resolution associated with a short wavelength.”
“Give me the quick version,” said Marjan.
“A quantum radar could see through the background or camouflaging, through plasma shrouds around hypersonic air vehicles, through concealments hiding underground facilities, finding IEDs, mines and other threats. Aircraft, ships or missiles, of course, that would be chicken feed.” Nils grinned. “The big deal with all this is that the quantum radar source is undetectable.”
“What do they give you to smoke at Weibel? You’re on something, Nils. You’re telling me this radar can see anything and be invisible to the thing you’re looking at?”
“It’s more complex than that. But yes, in short, that’s about it.”
Marjan shook her head. “Fuck me.”
“Quantum radar can’t do that I’m afraid.” Nils laughed. “There’s more work to be done yet, but it’ll work. I’ve given it a name,” Nils said sheepishly.
“Go on.”
“I’ve called it the Eye of Ra. After the Ancient Egyptian Eye of Ra. It’s believed to be an all-seeing force that uses violence to subdue and control its enemies.”
Marjan smiled. “I can see why they’re after you. You’re either a genius or a nut job.”
Serge’s cell phone received a text message. That meant Leo was ready outside. He took out a map of Denmark and walked over to the couple sat on the tall stools.
“Excuse. I’m lost here. From Latvia, can you help? I need go to Odense city by car. Can you show? Outside?”
Nils took the map. “You need to get onto the E20. Come on.”
They stepped outside, and Leo climbed out of the van. The map was opened, and Nils started to explain the route. Marjan felt it first. A hand came around her head and closed over her mouth with a fabric pad. She smelt it. She knew it was a drug to render her unconscious. Marjan saw the other man had Nils in a similar grip, and she struggled. If she could just reach her leg scabbard and the knife. Marjan tried not to breathe the fumes.
“Titkofef.”
Someone pulled the hand holding the pad from her mouth. A man with glasses and blond curly hair stood before her, raised his pistol and shot the man holding the pad in the head with a silenced round. His colleague pulled the other man from Nils. The blond man put his gun to the struggling man’s knee and fired. He screamed and fell to the floor.
“Now, who are you?” demanded the man with the gun. He moved the gun to the man’s groin. The man with the shattered knee shuddered in terror.
“No, don’t, please.”
“Who are you?”
“Russian.”
The pistol pushed into the man’s groin.
“SVR, we are SVR. Don’t shoot.”
The man with the gun moved his aim to the Russian’s head and fired two rounds into his forehead.
He looked at Nils and Marjan. “Come.”
The blond man with the pistol pointed to a nondescript VW waiting nearby. The four of them got in and the car drove off.
“Fucking SVR, cruel bastards,” said the man who’d shot the last Russian.
“You shot them,” laughed Marjan.
“Yeah, well, they deserved it. You two need to get out of here.” He reached into the car’s glovebox. “Here, these passports will do. We’ll take you to the airport. Go anywhere in Europe. Get the first flight tonight and then get a flight from wherever you are to Oslo. You’ll be met there by one of us.”
Nils sat and watched the familiar Danish town pass by as they headed for the major highway. This last twenty four hours was mind blowing. A girl who hinted she was Mossad, he knew their reputation, and now shootings on the town’s streets. Russians were out to get him. This can’t be happening. The trouble is, it was.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Away,” said the driver. Nils looked at Marjan. She was a gorgeous looker. Mossad? He shook his head.
“Marjan, this sort of thing doesn’t happen. Not to me.”
She smirked at him. “Blame your brain. It got you into this shit.”
“You said we’ll be met by one of us. Who’s we?” Nils asked.
Marjan laughed. “Nils, haven’t you figured it out? You were rescued by the Mossad.”
The blond man turned and looked over his shoulder at the Dane. “You’re on a trip, my friend. Where?” He shrugged. “Just thank God it’s not Siberia.”
3
Oslo. Norway.
Marjan looked out of the window at the snow-covered homes and factories of the passing landscape below. The Finnair A321 was on finals for Gardermoen Airport.
At immigration, they showed their Polish passports and were admitted. They’d no luggage and so took the train into the city.
The two of them left the train and walked onto the modern concourse.
“Well, where are they? Your men?”
“They’ll be here somewhere,” she said. “Let’s get a coffee.”
They walked into a station ca
fe and ordered. Nils got a coffee and a fried egg sandwich.
Several minutes later, a young woman in ripped denims and a Greenpeace tee-shirt walked up to the table. “Is this free? Can I sit?”
Marjan looked up in concern. “Hmm, we are meeting someone soon. He’s not here yet.”
“I’m taking it anyway.” She looked at Marjan in contempt.
“We can move,” said Nils. “There’s a table over there. Oh, somebody’s taking it.”
Marjan sipped her coffee. This was a nuisance. She glared at the girl. The girl looked up at her. “Ata holekh thatsig et atsmcha?”
Marjan opened her mouth. “Ma?”
“Ah, so you speak Hebrew? I thought you were a Turk.”
Marjan snorted in disgust.
“What’s wrong with Turks?” The girl smiled at her barb; she knew Marjan was Armenian and calling her a Turk wouldn’t go down too well.
“You’re our Mossad contact?” said Marjan.
“No, I’m a whore. You want to sell this?” She pointed at Nils, then smiled. “No? Pity, I’ll bet he’s a bit of a hunk under that shit. Did you dress him?”
“Cut the shit, whore,” Marjan quipped. “What’s next? Where do we go?”
“That’s a difficult one. I’m expecting a call from Tel Aviv this morning. Get your breakfast. There’s no hurry, and it’s cold out there. Not good weather for a walk.”
The girl got up and ordered a ham, bread and cheese platter with pickles.
“Looks ok. I’ll get one.” Marjan queued for hers, brought it back and sat down.
“So, why’s it difficult? What do I call you?”
The girl smiled. “Boss. That’s my name.”
“Yeah. OK, Boss, why’s it difficult?”
The girl in denims sighed. “I’m told they’ve only a rough idea of what he’s up to, but they all want him. The Americans, the Russians and the European side of NATO. They know it’s some technical radar shit. We could have his ass in Beersheba tonight if we wanted. But it’s a risk, the fucking SVR are all over this and we’re undermanned here. Plus, NATO want’s first touch, America and Europe are bickering over him. We’ve been asked to look after him until they get their shit together. We threw the SVR a curveball. They think we took him to Berlin, but they’ll find out it’s not true soon enough.”