“Oh shit, that’s just great. This Rogov guy seems to be a smart son of a bitch.” Edward stared out at the depressing streets. “How about the rest of the operation? Is there any change of plan?”
“Not really. That could be Rogov’s only fault.”
“What?”
“His almost religious devotion to his plan. He hates changes and regards them as a manifestation of error. As I’ve told you, the final stages of the plan will be executed when your president’s plane is on the tarmac at Sheremetyevo Airport. The troops that are supposedly guarding the airport will surround the plane and hold him hostage. At that time they will activate the communication array, shutting down all normal media broadcasts during this part of the operation. Then he will come to the Kremlin and issue a statement declaring himself president, or possibly the new czar of Russia.”
“What will he do with Konyigin?”
“He will be unceremoniously shot. As for your president, I don’t know what General Rogov has planned for him. But I doubt it will be anything pleasant.”
“Are you telling me that this lunatic might kill the president of the United States?”
“Certainly Rogov is capable of this. He even suggested it at one point, although I think I managed to persuade him to change his mind. But as much as he likes to stick to his plan, he is also extremely unpredictable. At the slightest provocation he could lash back in a way that, well, let’s just say that anything could happen.”
“What about the other airports? Are they in Rogov’s hands too?”
“All except Domodedovo. The forces there are under the command of a Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov. I know him, a good man. His loyalty to President Konyigin is unquestionable.”
“If we can persuade the president to land at Domodedovo instead, that would buy us some time.”
“Undoubtedly. But can you do that? From what I understand of your situation, you are operating on your own.”
“We are,” Edward said bitterly. “Still, we’ve got nothing to lose by trying.” He sat in silence for a moment, his mind racing. Already he could see how his own plan would have to be modified.
“Listen,” he told Sokolov. “I’m going to need a car and a driver. I’ve been using the people at the safe house where I’m staying, but things are going to get pretty hairy, and I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“I will send Anton,” he gestured toward the driver, “as soon as I can.”
“I need to know where the Black Ghosts’ command center is.”
Sokolov had come prepared for that. He opened his briefcase and took out a map. “You see this marking here?”
“Yes.” Edward leaned forward.
“That’s where the bunker is.”
“And the communication array?” asked Edward.
“It’s housed in the bunker.”
“Have they tried to operate it yet?”
“I don’t know,” said Sokolov. “General Rogov is very secretive about it. But I understand that just a few days ago they took delivery of the final part of it, some sort of circuit board.”
“Well, we have a few secrets of our own,” said Edward.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Back in the States, Larry switched the activating circuit board with another one. What you have received is in fact what you could call a poison pill. If they activate the array, they destroy it.”
“So much the better,” said Sokolov, finally smiling. “So there is light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not an oncoming train,” Edward said with a sad grin.
Sokolov turned to the driver and exchanged a few words with him in Russian. In response to Edward’s questioning look, he explained. “Anton was making sure we were clean. We can take you to within a few blocks from your safe house.”
“No,” Edward said. “Just drop me off by one of the subway stations. I’ll get there myself.”
As they came to a stop, Edward said, “I need a way to get in touch with you. In case of emergency.”
“I have an apartment on the Kalinina Prospekt. You can call me there. If I am not there, you can leave a message with whoever answers the phone. It will be quite safe. If you get the answering machine, don’t say anything too specific. In fact, if you get the machine, just give a name, say . . . Mikhail. We don’t want any messages in English left on my machine.”
“Good. And thanks.”
“Thanks to you. Anton will meet you here in about two hours.”
It took Edward less than twenty minutes to get back to the safe house. If the Russians could only get everything else to work like the subway, Edward thought, they would have no economic problems whatsoever.
At the safe house, Edward found Igor sitting at the oak table. Alexi was lounging in an armchair, smoking an American cigarette and leafing through a dog-eared copy of Playboy. Edward wasted no time.
“Igor, we need to talk.”
“Okay, we talk.”
“I need an airstrip, my friend.”
“What is airstrip?” Igor looked puzzled.
“A place where I can land a plane.”
“You mean airport.”
“Well, yes, and I need a hangar—you know, where you put airplanes inside.”
“I know what hangar is.” Igor looked insulted. “How big the hangar?”
“The bigger the better.”
“There is an airport, was planned to be for the military outside Moscow. Is near where I grew up. I have uncle who has farm there. There is a big hangar, very big, built for the xxx transport. But I don’t know how good the . . .” He gestured with his hand, showing an airplane coming in to land. “I don’t know how the road for the airplane to land is any good.”
“You mean the runway?”
“Yes. I have to check.”
“When will you know?”
“Today. Is that all?” Igor sounded almost disappointed, as though his ability was not being taxed to its fullest.
“Not quite.”
“What else then?”
“I need some trucks and weapons.”
Alexi looked up from his magazine. A big smile spread across his face. “Now you talkin’ baby. What kinda shooter you looking for, cowboy?”
“I’ll need light weapons for about twenty men.”
“Light like in Kalashnikovs, or M-16?” Igor asked. “You tell me.”
“I’ll take the AK-47s, with about two thousand rounds per unit. I’ll need about six antitank rockets and launchers. Grenades, both attack and defense. Some bungalores, a couple of heavy machine guns . . . What do you have?”
“Anything you want, I get you. This all have to be cash before delivery.”
“You get me a price, a list, and then I give you ten percent. When I see the goods, you get the rest.”
The man who liked to be called Al Caponesky lowered his head. He said sarcastically, “Why, boy, you not trust mama?”
“No.” Edward smiled back. “By the way, what are the chances of this airstrip being secured by the army in the buildup to the president’s visit?”
Alexi grinned. “None. The Russian military does as it’s told. If the airfield isn’t on the list, it doesn’t get secured. And since we use it from time to time to bring things we have borrowed in other places, we made sure it wasn’t on any list.”
“Okay,” said Edward. “Let’s go for it.”
“Okay. I make telephone call.” Igor picked up the phone and dialed. From where he sat across the table, Edward could not see the exact number he was dialing, but as far as he could tell, it was the same number he had called the other night.
Igor spoke in Russian. Edward caught the name Sergei, then got lost in the heavy vowels and rasping consonants. But to judge from the cheerful expressions that danced across Igor’s mobile features, and the avaricious gleam in his eye, the negotiations were proceeding smoothly.
And so it was. Igor gave Edward the coordinates of the airfield and then left hi
m to get on with the next phase of the operation.
Now that Edward had clear evidence that the president’s life was in danger, he knew he at least had to get the Secret Service in on it. Larry’s concerns that the entire security system of the United States had been compromised by the infiltration of the Patriots would have to go unanswered. If they had gotten as far as the Secret Service, whose agents were willing if need be to take the bullet, sacrificing their own lives to save the president’s, then there was nothing Edward or anyone could do to stop the Black Ghosts.
Gambling that such was not the case, and that there were still a few good men at the disposition of the president, was Edward’s only option.
He looked at his watch: 4 p.m. That would make it 8 a.m. in New York. He called the safe house. Joe Falco told him Larry had gone downtown to the office building. It was there that Edward managed to reach him.
“Larry, do you have access to anyone in the Secret Service?”
“Natalie called,” Larry said, ignoring Edward’s question. “I was about to call you. She said she’s waiting at the apartment.”
“When did she call?” Edward could feel his heart pounding, a burst of joy overtaking him.
“Not ten minutes ago. I told her to stay put and that you’ll find a way to get to her. If you can’t, I’ll call her and tell her to get out of there.”
“No, no. I’ll get her out.” He felt the burden slowly lifting from his shoulders. She was alive and well, and he was going to see her very soon. “Okay. Now listen, Larry, do you know anyone you can trust in the Secret Service?”
“I may, why?”
“This is not about the Russians anymore, Larry. Now we’re talking about the president. We have to stop this goddamn visit.”
“That would be great, if I could swing it. If we stopped the visit they would probably cancel the coup.”
“No, I think they are committed. The coup will go ahead whether the president comes here or not. The only difference is that we might not have an exact timetable. On the other hand . . .” Edward was thinking aloud. “If they don’t know he’s not coming, they will go ahead as planned. But then my question is, who cares? I mean, why should we risk our people for them?”
Larry stopped him. “Edward, don’t get carried away. For the time being, the president will come. I will have a hard enough time even getting through, not to mention the fact that by now they must think I’m working for the other side anyway. I’ll see what I can do, but as far as you’re concerned, you know very well that if the bastards take control of Russia, we’re all going to be fighting a war.”
“What we need,” said Edward, lowering his voice, “is to at least persuade the Secret Service to change the destination of the president’s plane to Domodedovo. And I need the emergency radio frequency on Air Force One.”
“Anything else?” Larry sounded tired and sarcastic. “All right, all right, I’ll see what I can do. This isn’t going to be easy, you know.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because we’re dealing with a bunch of bureaucratic . . .”
“No, why should I care how easy it is?”
“Ha, ha,” Larry said.
“And Larry, make it quick. Things are going to start happening very soon around here. I need our boys here as quickly as possible.”
“Where are you going to land them?”
“We have an abandoned airfield outside Moscow.” He gave Larry the coordinates. “How soon can you get them here?”
Larry thought for a moment. “There’s still some work to do on the plane. Then it’s a twelve-hour flight. Say twenty-four hours. How are they supposed to come in, I mean radar and all that?”
Edward asked to talk to one of the two pilots. He instructed him to find a commercial flight and lose it during the descent. He would have to make it the rest of the way flying very low, but Alexi had assured Edward that there was a radar-free corridor leading up to the airstrip. He gave the pilot the entry point Alexi had given him and asked if what he had said made any sense.
“I read you loud and clear.”
“Can you bring a plane that big in without detection?”
“With the information you gave me, I could bring in an aircraft carrier if you could get it to fly.”
“Good. See you soon. And Dan, let me talk to Larry again.” When Larry was back on the line, Edward said, “Put Sparky on a commercial flight to Moscow right away. I don’t want to wait that long for him to get here. I have work for him.”
“Where should he go when he arrives? The airfield?”
“No, I’ll pick him up. Call me back when you have the flight number and ETA.”
“You got it.”
Edward hung up, satisfied that, as regards the operation, he had done all he could for the time being. Now he had to get Natalie, and for that he would need help.
He found Alexi slumped in front of one of the stolen televisions, sipping from a chipped teacup. The cup held a clear liquid that obviously was not water.
“Are you interested in making some money on the side?”
“Always. Come to think of it, that’s the only way I ever make money,” Alexi answered, not taking his eyes off the TV screen.
“It involves a little driving.”
Alexi shifted his large, heavy limbs. “No problem.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Edward gestured toward the chipped cup. From where he stood, he could smell the vodka fumes.
Alexi grinned lopsidedly. “Like I said, always.”
“Okay. First you drive me to the subway. Then I want you to drive to this address.” Edward handed Alexi a paper. “It’s an apartment. There’ll be a woman there. I need you to bring her here in safety.”
“A woman!” said Alexi, leering suggestively. “Is she cute?”
“That’s not the point,” Edward said impatiently. “The point is, somebody may be watching the apartment.”
“I guess she is cute, then,” said Alexi, laughing loudly. “Don’t worry.” Alexi took him by the shoulder, still grinning. “I can help you find your little piece of tail.”
Edward took a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” he said, his voice calmer. “I said, the apartment may be under surveillance. So here’s what I want you to do.” As he spoke, the urgency of the situation seemed to increase in Edward’s mind. He could imagine the soldiers knocking on the door, dragging Natalie screaming into their truck, pushing her into their interrogation rooms, torture chambers . . . With every passing moment, he could feel the chances increasing that his nightmare might become a reality. Now that he knew where she was and that she was waiting for him to rescue her, not making it in time was unthinkable.
With agonizing slowness, Alexi got to his feet and lumbered to the washroom. Ten minutes later he was ready to depart. At last, with a crash of gears as Alexi maneuvered the Volkswagen out of its parking spot in front of the building, they drove off.
With time to spare, Edward arrived at the subway stop where he was to meet Anton. Alexi drove back to the safe house in the pale green Lada.
Now all Edward could do was wait, again. He sat in an armchair, staring into space, trying to think of nothing, trying to calm his jangling nerves and steel himself for the next part of the operation.
“Hurry up,” he said to himself. “Hurry up and wait.”
CHAPTER 21
Brownstone office building, West 24th Street, New York City
March 26
08:15 hours
“Easy for you to say,” Larry mumbled to himself as he got off the phone with Edward. “I’ve got the whole of the U.S. intelligence community out to get me, and you want me to walk into the Secret Service and persuade them that I know what’s best for the president.”
In a universe where no one was where he was supposed to be but wanted you to leave your name and number after the beep and they would get back to you soon, Larry in his precarious situation was somewhat constrained. He had to make direct contact on a personal l
evel with a person he couldn’t reach. There was no one he could leave his name and number with, no one he could trust not to send in the crew-cuts to pick him off. As regards all the legitimate channels, Larry was persona non grata.
He had one hope. Years back, he had shared a convivial evening with an up-and-coming Secret Service operative, his wife, and a few other guests at their home in Silver Spring. James Fenton and Larry had always gotten along well when their professional paths had crossed, something that happened quite frequently after Larry was transferred to headquarters at Langley and saddled with a desk. Larry knew that if the whole damn world went berserk, Fenton would be standing there against all odds, defending his president.
Larry had no phone number and wouldn’t have risked it even if he had. But maybe, if he could just remember where the house was . . .
By the time Jean-Pierre had the minibus fueled and ready to go, Mario had already rounded up the platoon, and they were getting ready to move.
Standing in the living room was a group of people who until only days ago had been strangers to one another, with nothing in common except a shared background. They were now a cohesive unit. They could read each other’s gestures and had an abundance of the inside jokes that were the fruit of tough training and mutual trust.
Larry opened an attaché case and handed each of them an envelope. “There’s a grand apiece,” he said. “We’re going to the airport together. You’re all going to catch the same flight, but you each buy your own ticket. We don’t want to attract any attention. You can leave behind whatever you don’t need for the operation. It will all be here when you come back.”
“If we come back,” Doug Findley said.
They all laughed in approval.
“Okay,” said Larry, playing along, “if you come back your stuff will be here. If not, we’ll have a garage sale, okay?”
Within half an hour, they were on their way to LaGuardia Airport, still telling morbid jokes and laughing. Larry gave them the location of the airfield where the stolen 747 was waiting. One of the pilots was still with the plane, and Larry assured them that once they got to the airfield they would have quite a bit of work to do. “Get some rest on the flight over, and don’t get yourselves plastered.”
Black Ghosts Page 21