Deep Black

34

Rubens pushed back in his office chair, listening as his stereo played the first act of Don Giovanni—the scene, in fact, where one of the Don’s lovers is warned of his treachery.

On his desk were two code-word classified, eyes-only papers. The reports were so secret that each one of their pages was imbedded with metal foil that acted as a tracking device. The reflective ink of the words and the fiber pattern in the paper itself made them difficult to read and harder to copy, although this was not impossible.

The top report was a twenty-page summary of the Russian coup plot, courtesy of Johnny Bib. The report expanded on the CIA estimate, backing it up with more specific information about the units that might be involved. Most notably for Rubens, Bib had managed to track down the MiG that downed the Wave Three aircraft, which belonged not to an IA-PVO or air defense unit but an IAP or Frontal Aviation squadron — the portion of the Air Force that ordinarily operated either outside of the country or, as the name suggested, on the front lines, not deep in the heart of Mother Russia. From the radio intercepts examined so far, only one Army unit was clearly involved, but it was a division of armor headquartered southwest of Moscow, within an easy drive of the Kremlin.

Like the CIA, however, Bib’s group hadn’t been able to pin down who was behind the coup. While the best guess was Defense Minister Vladimir Perovskaya, none of the very large set of intercepts concerning him — including literally thousands of phone calls he had made over the past few months — had so far yielded any trace of a coup. There were some materials still to be translated, and Bib had just directed one of his teams to review a series of digital images thought to contain encryptions mixed into the image data, but the only thing halfway incriminating was a series of instant messages sent in the clear with somewhat ambiguous statements: “Big Boy will fall” was about the worst.

Not knowing for sure that Perovskaya was behind the coup complicated the plan contained in the second paper on Rubens’ desk, a plan to deal with the coup. Code-named Bear Hug, it included two phases: Phase One was to monitor the coup as it progressed, pretty much a no-brainer decision, though there were some intricacies involved in selecting and moving around assets. There were never enough satellites or platforms when something like this happened, and everyone in the intelligence community seemed to have their own perspective on what the priorities ought to be.

Phase Two outlined a strategy to stop the coup. Coordinated by Desk Three, the plan called for a massive attack on the command and communications systems of the plotters, cutting off their leaders, crashing their computers and other electronic gear. At the same time, Desk Three would provide intelligence about the coup to the Russian president and his loyalists. Clear lines of communication would also be provided to the government. Bear Hug followed strategies developed during war games played during the second Bush administration, updating them with some new computer weapons — most notably Piranha IV, an automated virus that had already been implanted in the Russian defense system — and new remote vehicles, including the F-47C.

Rubens’ plan did not call for the direct involvement of any American force, since such a move might easily backfire. Field agents would be needed to monitor the situation in Moscow, augmenting the thick network of sensors. In addition, they would probably have to provide the Russians with radios, a delicate task Rubens wanted Karr and his team to handle.

Rubens, along with Admiral Brown and Johnny Bib, would present the plan at the White House in a few hours. While he would naturally defend it aggressively, Rubens did have some doubts. Not about whether it would work — surely it would. But like Blanders, he didn’t trust Kurakin. The Russian president had his own agenda, and his intercepts showed he didn’t think much of Marcke. Marcke had seen the intercepts, of course; even if they weren’t so blatant, there were plenty of other examples of Kurakin’s duplicity such as the laser system, which Kurakin continued to insist didn’t exist.

Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps Perovskaya had developed it on his own.

Highly unlikely, even in Russia.

The Federation might very well be part of NATO, but its history and relative strength still made it a serious threat. For all the concern about Islamic extremists and Chinese nuclear sales and rogue South American drug dealers, Russia remained capable of ending civilization at the push of a button.

The button on Rubens’ black phone for the direct line to the Art Room lit. He picked it up.

“Karr needs to talk to you,” said Rockman.

“OK,” he told Rockman. A second later the agent’s chronically overenthusiastic voice nearly broke Rubens’ eardrum.

“Hey, what’s happenin’?” said the team leader.

“You tell me,” said Rubens.

“I’m going north to check this base out where Martin is. How the hell did he get out of the plane alive? It was burned to a crisp.”

“I assume you’re the one who’s going to answer those questions,” said Rubens.

“Yeah, but the only way I can do that is by grabbing his butt out of there. Rockman says we have like five hours now?”

“I gave them six.”

“Not enough for us, boss. We need more time.”

“Tommy, I need you in Moscow,” said Rubens.

“When?”

“Tomorrow or the next day the latest.” Rubens wasn’t sure; the estimates on when the coup might begin were nebulous at best. “We’re working out the details.”

“Ah, we got plenty of time.”

“You don’t have the resources to take on a Marine brigade.”

“Relax, it’s just a battalion.”

“I doubt that would make much of a difference.”

“True. But the Russians would feel better with bigger odds,” said Karr.

“I want you in Moscow.”

“I’ll get there.” Karr’s voice became instantly more serious. “If it’s our guy, we have to get him. Got to.”

The truth was, Rubens really didn’t disagree. If Karr really did locate Martin, and really was convinced that it was him, he had to try to get him. They might not have the opportunity again.

Six hours was, in fact, too short.

“I need you in Moscow the day after tomorrow,” said Rubens finally. “Get the Wave Three wreckage to the transport point. Scout the site. Be prejudiced toward caution.”

“My middle name,” said Karr.

“Tommy, I’m serious about you being careful. I don’t want you going in there and up and getting slaughtered by a battalion or whatever it is of Marines. And I need you in — Tommy? Karr?”

He’d already hung up.