The Russian Defector

by Ethan Jones

  “Safe?” Carrie shrugged and craned her head toward the terminal.

  “ Relatively safe.” He smiled.

  “We have an apartment about three klicks west of the airport. We’ll meet the Russians there.”

  Ihor said, “That will be the last we use that place.”

  Justin looked at the man’s brown eyes full of suspicion. “I agree. Look for another location, in case we’ll need it. We’ll be in the city for at least twenty-four hours before crossing the front line.”

  Ihor nodded. “Yes, about that. What is our plan?”

  “We’ll figure it out soon. After we talk to the Russians.”

  Chapter Twenty

  CIS Safehouse

  Three Kilometers West of Donetsk Airport

  Donetsk, Ukraine

  The Russian team arrived in late evening, when darkness had enveloped the city. A bitter rain had started to fall around eight o’clock, making the atmosphere even more miserable. Justin had been looking at the narrow alley below their second-story apartment for the last ten minutes when he noticed the bright lights of a dark-colored SUV. It turned slowly into the potholed alley, then flashed the signal by turning the headlights on and off three times in a row.

  “Our comrades are here,” he said.

  Ihor sprang to his feet. “I’ll welcome them.”

  Carrie, who was sitting on a threadbare couch in the small living room stood up as well. “Look, Ihor, I know how you feel about them. We do too.” She glanced at Justin, who nodded. “But we have to play nice. They can take us across the front line without firing a shot. We need them.”

  Ihor shook his head. “We don’t need them, but I’ll go along because I have to.” He shrugged and walked to the door.

  Carrie glanced at Petro, her partner during their last incursion into rebel-held territory, when they attempted to bring out their local asset. Petro was making coffee and listening to the news on his phone. He must have felt Carrie’s eyes on him, because he looked up at her and shook his head. “Ihor’s right. The Russians can’t be trusted.” His English was almost flawless, and he barely had a hint of an accent.

  “We’re not trusting them,” Justin said, his eyes still on the SUV. “We’re accepting their assistance and intel.”

  “How accurate is the intel?” Petro said in a dry voice full of doubt. “And why are they ‘assisting’ us?”

  Justin drew back the curtain. “Because they want the same thing: They want to retrieve the missile before it has been launched…”

  Petro shrugged. “Do you know these people? Have you worked with them before?”

  Justin didn’t reply right away. He wanted to say that he trusted his boss, but Justin had his own doubts about the course of action and the choice of allies. Moretti had to make decisions with whatever little information was available at the time. And, on the surface, the Russians’ offer of support was genuine. “No, I don’t know them, but they come highly recommended. They know the terrain, they have assets, and their motives are the same as ours.”

  Petro poured a small cup from an old stovetop espresso maker. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t like this.”

  “Me neither.” Justin returned to observing the SUV. “But it’s happening…”

  The SUV had stopped, but no one had come out. When Ihor appeared at the back alley, a blonde woman stepped from the driver’s door. Her hair was cut in a short pixie. She was dressed in black jacket and pants, and she had an AK in her right hand. She nodded at Ihor, and they exchanged a few words while three men got out of the SUV. Ihor gestured with his hands, and they disappeared from Justin’s view.

  He drew back the curtain again and said, “They’re coming up.”

  Ihor was the first one to step through the doorway to the apartment. “This is Ava.” He pointed to the woman walking two steps behind him.

  “Justin.”

  They shook hands, and he was pleasantly surprised at the firm handshake. She had a warm look in her large, azure eyes. “You have a nice place here,” she said in a soft voice.

  “It’s all them.” Justin gestured at the Ukrainians. “You’ve met Ihor, and this is Carrie and Petro.”

  “This is my team.” Ava introduced the three men.

  They all shook hands, but it wasn’t exactly a warm greeting. It felt forced and unnatural. Justin stifled the sizzling feeling at the pit of his stomach, that sensation that always flared when something was wrong. It was usually accurate, but it had failed him once or twice.

  After everyone took a seat in the living room, Justin said, “Who wants coffee?”

  All the Russians said yes, so Petro and Justin prepared the coffeemaker and the espresso machine. Members of the two teams made small chitchat until coffee was ready, and everyone had settled into their seats with either a demitasse of espresso or a large cup of drip coffee. Then Justin said, “Why don’t we turn our attention to our joint operation, now, and then everyone can rest for the night?”

  “Sure,” Ava said. She nursed her demitasse and glanced deep into Justin’s eyes.

  “We’re all familiar with the objective.” Justin stood up and walked to a whiteboard mounted on the wall between the two gray couches. “We need to find and retrieve, or destroy, the Yars missile.”

  “Retrieve is our preferred option,” Ava said.

  Her teammates nodded.

  “Of course, that’s our preference as well,” Justin said. “But we’ll prepare for both options.” He pointed to a large map pinned to the wall next to the whiteboard. “Intel places the missile at one of these two locations.” He tapped the map. “Pokivka, ten kilometers from the front line—”

  “Not there,” said one of the Russians, a small man with a bald head and a full salt-and-pepper beard. His voice was strong, and his accent was very much pronounced.

  “It’s too close to the fighting areas,” said another Russian, who had a snake tattoo slithering along his left hand. His English rang with a tinge of British accent, and Justin wondered if the man was born in, or had lived for a long time in Britain.

  “But the area is well-defended and has seen a large concentration of troops within the last week,” Carrie said.

  Ava said, “It could be there. How old is your intel?”

  “Three days.”

  “A lot can change in three days. We’ll double-check.”

  Justin nodded. “The second location is Lugapol, near the Zhdanvatka aerodrome.”

  “More like it,” the bald man said.

  The other two Russians nodded firmly.

  “It’s deeper in the separatists’ area, about thirty kilometers,” Justin said. “But again, we have no certainty that it’s there.”

  Ava nodded. “We’ll have someone check that location as well.”

  “Yes, so our operation has roughly four stages: One, confirm missile location. Two, safe infil to the site. Three, retrieve or destroy the missile. Four, safe exfil.” He wrote the numbers one through four on the whiteboard. “Ava, your team, contacts, assets, whoever you have, will be tasked with covering stage one. We need to be absolutely certain the missile is at the site we’re raiding.”

  “Absolutely is a relative term in this situation,” Ava said.

  Justin grinned. Where have I heard that before? He looked at Carrie, who shrugged and gave him a sheepish glance. “I understand,” he said, “but let’s aim for the highest level of confidence. If the intel about the location is wrong, it’s all in vain.”

  Justin didn’t tell Ava that his team was going to also focus on finding out with the greatest possible degree of certainty the missile’s location. The CIS was already working with the CIA and the NSA to obtain the latest and the most accurate intel about movements on the ground.

  “We’ll do what we can,” Ava said without much conviction.

  That’s good enough for me , Justin thought. He put a checkmark and the letter R next to number one. He said, “Stage two: Infil. We will pool our local assets and resources to reach
these two locations safely.”

  “Both of them?” asked the tattooed man. “I thought we excluded the first one…”

  Ava said, “We didn’t exclude it, yet…”

  “I meant to say whichever is the correct location. We still need to reach it without raising any suspicions, and, needless to say, without any clashes.”

  “That’s difficult to do,” said the Russian who hadn’t spoken yet. His accent was very light, and could be easily mistaken for that of a German or someone from Scandinavia.

  He was a short-statured man, who Justin pegged as the oldest of the team, maybe in his mid-forties. It could have been because of the receding hairline that had consumed almost half of his hair. Whatever remained was close-cropped and mostly on the sides.

  “Not impossible,” Ava said.

  “So we’ll be extremely careful. Different routes, three vehicles, few and hidden weapons, enough money to buy our way in and out.”

  “I’m not sure money is the solution,” the older Russian said, “but we’ll try.” His voice carried the unmistakable tinge of doom.

  Justin shrugged. “We’ll refine the details as we get closer to zero hour.” He put a second checkmark and the letter E next to number two. “This is everyone’s assignment.”

  “We get it,” the bearded man said, always speaking in short sentences.

  Justin ignored the jab. “Stage three is perhaps the most complicated. Regardless of where the missile is located, we can expect it to be well-guarded by a large number of fighters. When we attempt to reach it, we’ll be met with fierce resistance.”

  “Needless to say,” said the bearded man.

  “Right, but we must be prepared for every eventuality. Our orders at this point are mixed: The Russians want the missile retrieved—”

  “Yes, we shouldn’t blow up millions of dollars,” the tattooed man said.

  Ava gave him a sideways, harsh glance, then said, “We should consider both options. Retrieval will work if we can pry the missile from the rebels’ hands, and if we can securely drive it away.”

  “I fail to see how that could work in practice,” Carrie said. “The Yars is a monster of a missile. Seventy-five feet long, with its own transporter erector launcher. Not something easily concealable…”

  “Of course,” Ava said. “Like I said, retrieval is still possible if we take it away from the rebels’ base, and store it at another location. Then, a second operation run solely by Russia can bring it back under Russian control.”

  Justin stifled a frown creasing his brow. He didn’t like the direction in which Ava was going or the fragmentation of their objective. Their assignment was nearly impossible even with all of them working toward the same goal. “We can hammer out those details tomorrow,” Justin said, not wanting to take sides at that moment. “Present me a plan including possible sites where the missile can be hidden.” He gestured at Ava.

  She nodded.

  Justin said, “The destruction, on the other hand, is the easy option. We’ll carry enough explosives to blow up the missile. Even if we don’t destroy it completely, a severely damaged missile is useless.” He placed a third checkmark on the whiteboard, along with the letter E. “Stage four: We get the heck out of the area. We split three ways, or more, if necessary and possible. Any questions?”

  The close-mouthed Russian said, “I’ve got a couple. First, what does the intel say about the number of troops at these two locations? And second, what is the believed target of the missile?”

  Ihor didn’t wait for Justin. “I can take the second. While we don’t know what the target is, we know for sure it’s not Russia.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Very clever. A Ukrainian admitting his ignorance.” The bearded man grinned.

  “Stop it.” Ava raised her voice just an octave about the normal level. “This isn’t between the Russians and the Ukrainians.”

  “It isn’t?” Petro said. “Those rebels are paid, trained, and armed by the Russians, and they’re fighting Ukraine, so the area can be annexed to Russia. How’s this not between Russia and Ukraine?”

  Justin jumped in. “Whatever this conflict is or might be, we’re not going to resolve it today. It’s not our place, and our opinion means nothing to the powers that be. Even if we all agreed it’s the fault of this country, or that country, what good does that do to our op?”

  “Sets the record straight,” Ihor spat out his words. “Who started this war, and who doesn’t want it to end…”

  Justin shook his head. “I’m not going to have it. The odds are extremely against us, and it’s very likely we might all die in this op. So, let’s make sure, a hundred percent sure, we’re all playing for the same team here… No secret agendas, no taking sides. This isn’t a mission against Russia, or Ukraine. This is about removing this missile threat from irrational minds. Can we all agree about that?”

  “We sure can,” Ava said. “We’re committed to this mission, and if any one of you isn’t sure about that, now it’s time to go home.” She looked at her team members.

  They all shook their heads and gave her blank faces.

  Ava said, “I’m going to repeat in front of everyone what I told you in private: I’m all in, and I won’t go into battle with a team I can’t trust. If I find out you’re trying to betray me, or our mission, I will kill you all, with my own hands.” She removed her MP-443 Grach 9mm pistol from her ankle holster, cocked it, and brandished it before them. “A promise I intend to keep.”

  The Russians nodded again.

  The bearded man said, “You have my word, and others have offered guarantees.”

  The tattooed man said, “Boss, we’ve fought together. I may not like this, but I’ll do it, to my last drop of blood…”

  The close-mouthed Russian said, “I’ve sworn to Mother Russia, and my record proves my intentions.”

  Ava nodded back at her team, then looked at Justin and said in a firm voice, “Here, there’s no problem.”

  “That’s good. Carrie and I, our commitment’s clear. This isn’t our war, but here we are, trying to make sure it doesn’t erupt again. Petro here,” he gestured at the man holding his rifle with its muzzle slightly up, “he literally took a bullet for my partner.”

  Petro unzipped his gray sweater, showing the Russians his bandaged shoulder.

  Justin said, “And Ihor, well, his legend precedes him… He’s been fighting these rebels since the day they fired the first round. So, everything is good on this side. No problems.”

  Ava nodded. She had already holstered her pistol. “Good. We can move on with our plan…”

  “Yes, the question about the resistance we might encounter and how the rebels might use the missile… let’s deal with the second one first. We’re in the realm of speculation here, since there’s no intel whatsoever about the intentions.” He looked at Ava.

  She said, “We certainly don’t have any. Educated guesses, as you’d call them, but nothing concrete…”

  Justin nodded. “A Yars is a global threat, and I don’t believe the rebels will use it. They’re not going to attack the US or Germany or another NATO country. The ramifications would be catastrophic for everyone who conceived or executed the plan. Not to mention that the missile would never hit any such target. The defense systems are cutting edge, and, no offense, even a Yars missile can’t penetrate them.”

  Ava nodded. “None taken.”

  Justin walked away from the whiteboard and stood near the kitchen’s entrance, so that he could see all seven people at the same time. “So, why even bother stealing such a behemoth? What does it prove if you can’t use it?”

  The tattooed man said, “Power, authority, look what we can do, and no one can stop us…”

  “What he said.” The bearded man gestured toward his teammate.

  The tattooed man said, “This is like when ISIS fighters stole those MiG jets. They never used them, but it was a convincing show of force. Don’t mess with us. They claimed ex-air force off
icers from Saddam’s day trained them, but never used the jets in any fights.”

  Carrie nodded. “Yes, they think just because you have a plane, that makes you a pilot.”

  “Can you fly?” Ava asked.

  “I manage.”

  “Cessnas?” the bald man asked in a voice that didn’t hide his contempt.

  “Yes, and other aircraft.”

  Justin grinned. The CIS operative was being coy about her abilities. The truth was that Carrie could fly pretty much everything with wings or rotors. She had received extensive training while in the Canadian Army, before she became a member of Joint Task Force Two, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the Special Operations Forces. While serving two tours of duty in Afghanistan, Carrie had flown a variety of Russian-made military helicopters and MiG fighter jets.

  Carrie said. “So, the rebels are probably pondering two options: Either using this weapon as a bargaining chip, or plotting to use it against a soft target?”

  The bald Russian cocked his head toward Carrie. “What is a soft target?”

  Ava said in Russian, “Civilians, usually undefended, somewhere easy to target them.”

  Justin nodded. He said in Russian, “Moreover, it could be a crowded place, like a stadium, a concert, or a protest.”

  All the Russians glanced at Justin with surprise and admiration when they heard him speak fluently in their own native tongue.

  Ava said, “My dear Justin. Where did you learn our language?”

  “School. They told me that my brain works in an interesting way. I found it easy to pick up words and expressions from watching movies or talking to friends who were native speakers.”

  The bald Russian said, “You still have an accent.”

  Justin shrugged. “Don’t we all? Back to the soft target. It would be harder to gather intel about the rebels’ objective, but we need to work on that.”

  Ava nodded. “I’ll pull some strings.”

  “Good,” Justin said. “About the numbers of fighters, we have some estimates. The base at Pokivka reportedly has about fifty to sixty troops. Intel places the militiamen defending the Lugapol base at about eighty.”