Arctic Wargame

Chapter Thirty-three

Grigori Smirnov stared for a long time at the Lubyanka Square. His weary eyes followed the black Mercedeses, Porsches, and other expensive vehicles zooming around the traffic circle. A stream of pedestrians flowed from the Metro station, heading for their offices, braving the chilling breeze and the first snowflakes blanketing the streets.

Smirnov sighed and frowned. His day had begun as chaotic as the traffic outside his office. It had been over twenty-four hours since he last communicated with Yuliya, just before the beginning of the Arctic Wargame. Smirnov hated silence. Silence meant bad news. Bad news meant mistakes, blame, and scapegoats. Especially since his superiors had started asking questions. Questions to which he had no answers. Or worse, questions he could not afford to answer.

He allowed himself a small grin. Yuliya had disappeared and he wished she was dead or somehow incapacitated. She and her silence had become a liability. And so had become Helma, the kidnapped wife of Gunter Madsen. The prick. Botching up a perfectly good operation.

He sighed again. His breath fogged a small section of the window glass. The view became blurry, and the cars and the people disappeared from his sight. He turned around and walked to his desk, determined to erase all traces of his involvement in the Arctic Wargame, his brainchild, and cut all his ties to this operation.

There was a knock on his door. Smirnov grinned. He was expecting the man behind the door. The man who was going to fix all his problems. The man he should have sent in Yuliya’s place. “Come in, Vladimir.”

A lean man in his late thirties entered his office. Vladimir was Smirnov’s assistant for overseas clandestine operations and the man who was personally involved in the kidnapping Gunter’s wife.

“Hello, boss,” he said and remained standing by the door.

“Take a seat.”

“OK.”

“There’s bad news. Arctic Wargame failed. We need to pull the plug.”

“OK.”

One of the reasons why Smirnov loved Vladimir’s work was his complete disinterest in the motives. When he was told to do something, he got it done, no questions asked.

“Yuliya Novikov has become a problem to this office and to our country,” Smirnov said.

“Shall we eliminate her?”

“She is most likely dead or out of the game. I need you to contact her family. Inform them in clear terms that if Yuliya is alive and starts singing, unfortunate events may take place in their lives.”

Vladimir nodded.

“If Yuliya is alive,” Smirnov said, “she’s probably in Canadian custody and highly protected. Difficult for us to put a hit on her. But we can ruin her reputation here, so if she says anything, no one will ever believe her. You know what to do.”

Vladimir nodded.

“Next issue, Helma. Can she make you or the other men?”

“No, she can’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We wore masks when we grabbed her and she was blindfolded most of the time.”

“She can recognize your voice?”

“Never talked to her.”

“The voices of the other man?”

“Perhaps. But they entered Denmark as tourists and ran into her at a market center. That’s not much evidence.”

Smirnov frowned and thought about Vladimir’s words for a few seconds. “It’s still evidence. If the Danes or the Canadians begin to connect the dots, I don’t want anything tying those men to you or me.”

“Shall we eliminate them?”

Smirnov nodded. “Unfortunately, we have to.”

Vladimir’s face remained void of emotions.

“Clean up the apartment where you held her. Fingerprints, DNA, sanitize everything. Then, let her go.”

Vladimir’s left eyebrow curled up.

“Yes, I don’t want her killed. The minister is on my tail and the Danish are already asking questions. No more dead civilians.”

Vladimir nodded.

“Once you’re done with that, delete all files, communications, reports, any trace we had anything to do with the Arctic Wargame. Burn it all up.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Any questions?”

“Just one.”

“Yes?”

“What did we do wrong?”

“We, you and I, we did nothing wrong. The people we selected for this operation, they failed us. They let us down. They were unprepared or performed miserably. I’ve learned the Canadians mounted a great resistance. Maybe we should have had a larger force carry out the attack.” Smirnov paused and took a big breath. “In any case, this operation confirmed our initial suspicions. We can slip through their defenses with ease, but the Canadians are tougher than they seem. Next time, we’ll just use a sledgehammer approach. We’ll go in with professionals.”

“Yes, boss.”

“That’s all.” Smirnov nodded toward the door. “Get it done.”

“Right away, boss.”