Command Authority

30

John Clark walked through the Obolon underground station on the Kiev metro’s blue line. It was four-thirty p.m., not quite rush hour, but the tunnels, escalators, and trains were quickly filling up with commuters.

The American made his way through the crowd, keeping his head down and walking purposefully to fit in with everyone around him. He headed toward the trains, but he wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, as his instructions were only to go to the Obolon station to meet with Keith Bixby.

Bixby had called Clark two hours earlier, asking for an urgent meeting and giving the time and location, which immediately sent Clark out the door of the rented flat to begin a series of twists and turns, a random sequence of cabs, buses, metros, and hikes through malls, department stores, and even a gypsy market, where he bought a knockoff Nike winter coat after tossing his own three-hundred-dollar one to a homeless man on the street so Clark could change his appearance on the fly.

Now he was here at the designated meeting place, hoping like hell that whatever burning issue Bixby wanted to talk to him about didn’t involve a team of State Department security guys and a coach ticket back to the USA.

As he neared the end of the station hall, he heard a soft voice close behind him. “Get on the train, direction Ipodrom, last car.”

The words were English, but it was not Bixby’s voice, Clark was certain. Without acknowledging the instructions, he merged across the crowd moving toward him and walked to the opposite side of the station hall, and then he climbed aboard the Ipodrom train that had just stopped at the platform.

The car was almost empty when he boarded, because Obolon was only the third metro station on the line, but Bixby was there, sitting in the last seat in the back. Clark stepped into the car, turning toward Bixby, while all around him the car filled with commuters. Clark moved back into the corner and sat down next to the Kiev station chief.

Bixby did not look at Clark, but he said, “Nice jacket.”

There were people standing and sitting ten feet away, but the racket of the train shooting through the tunnel would make it impossible for anyone to hear the conversation.

Clark put his elbows on his knees and leaned over, pretended to look at a paperback he’d pulled from his pocket. His head was less than a foot away from COS Bixby. “What’s up?”

“When we talked the other day I thought having you here on my turf was going to be a pain in the ass. Now, I’ve got to say, I’m seriously reconsidering your value.”

“Go on.”

He blew out a long sigh. “This morning we discovered that the number-two man in the Ukrainian intelligence service has been spying for the FSB.”

Clark showed no reaction. He just said, “You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. A security investigation by the Ukrainians turned up an e-mail account he was using to set up meetings and dead drops.” Bixby growled. “I mean, really. Who still uses dead drops in this day and age?”

“Did they arrest him?”

“Nope. He got tipped off somehow, and he disappeared. He’s probably in Moscow by now.”

“Does he know enough about you to compromise your operation?”

“You might say that,” Bixby mumbled. “He was my main liaison with SBU. He didn’t know everything, of course. He didn’t know about our NOCs, didn’t know the majority of our sources, methods, or resources.” Bixby sighed. “But still… we worked together on some things, so he knew a hell of a lot. I have to operate under the assumption that FSB is aware of the identity of all my case officers at the embassy and many of our safe houses across the country.”

“Ouch,” Clark said.

“It’s a crippling blow at the worst possible time. I’m pulling most of my people off assignments for their own safety, and I’m closing up some installations we have around the country.”

“I can understand why,” Clark admitted.

The train came to a stop, and the noise of the tracks disappeared. Both men stopped talking while people passed by and new passengers boarded. Bixby looked over faces and judged demeanors, and only when the train left the underground station and the noise of the tracks returned did he start speaking softly again.

“I’m heading down to Sevastopol tonight with a team. We’ve got a place there that’s been compromised.”

“A place?”

“Yep. SIGINT safe house we share with Ukrainian spooks. We have a technical team and a shitload of commo gear. There’s a small team of security contractors, and a team of CAG dudes there, too.”

Clark knew CAG meant Combat Applications Group, which meant Delta Force. It was no great surprise to him that Delta was in Sevastopol. It was the home port of Russia’s Black Sea fleet, after all. The United States would naturally do what it could to keep tabs on the area to see what the Russian Navy was up to.

Bixby said, “We’ve got a lot of equipment to break down and haul off, and a lot of files to shred and burn. I’ll be down there for thirty-six to forty-eight hours.”

“Sevastopol is a powder keg right now.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Clark said, “I’ve been fishing around. It looks like the Scar has been behind a lot of the riots and civil unrest here in Kiev.”

“I’ve been hearing the same rumors.”

“What can we do up here while you’re away?”

For the first time, Bixby broke cover, although just slightly. No one around noticed when he looked to the man on his right. “What can you do? Right now, Clark, I’ll take whatever I can get. You are my eyes and ears here in Kiev until Langley sends me fresh blood, and that won’t be for a week at least.”

Clark turned the page in his paperback. “Six guys. Including me, we are six guys. One Ukrainian speaker and three Russian speakers.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to come here in the first place. But since you’re here, why not keep an eye on Gleb? He is staying at the Fairmont Grand Hotel. The bastard has the entire top floor to himself. I’ve heard from a guy who works at the hotel that Gleb meets with a constant stream of characters all day long. Not FSB, at least not known faces.” Bixby shoved his hands deeper into his coat and leaned over a little closer. “A couple sets of trained eyeballs on him would give me a tiny bit of comfort knowing somebody was covering that part of the story here in Kiev.”

“Consider it done.”

“Sorry about being an asshole before.”

“You weren’t an asshole. You were just doing your best to keep your op buttoned up.”

Bixby smiled mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, look how well that worked out.”

The train arrived at its next stop. The station chief rose to his feet, and as he did so, he said, “See ya around.”

Clark replied, “I’ll be in touch.”

Bixby disappeared in the crowd leaving at the Tarasa Shevchenka stop. Without looking, Clark placed his left hand on the seat where Bixby had been sitting, and he scooped up a tiny folded scrap of paper. He slipped it into his pocket, having no doubt it would be the number to an encrypted phone where Bixby could be reached.

Clark sat back in the seat, already thinking about moving part of his operation to the Fairmont Grand Hotel.