Long Shot

20

General Sir Frederick Ravensdale, GCB, GBE, DSO, had arrived by the time Swanson returned to the great cabin. The famed Briton was immersed in light conversation with his SAS pals — a corporal, a sergeant and a retired colonel — as if they were sitting around a campfire somewhere, telling war stories, instead of at a table set for dinner with fine china and silver. Like other elite services, the SAS did not let rank stand in the way of unit cohesiveness, and everyone was in a good mood. The general was tall, with silvering hair and a perfect smile and impeccable manners. Kyle had last seen him in London, and the man had not lost an inch of gravitas since then. Swanson sized him up and thought, some guys have it all. The welcome was quick and seemed genuine, but Kyle, on close inspection, detected the wary blue eyes had lines in the corners and shadowy bags beneath, not an unusual look for someone under immense pressure in an important job.

Swanson greeted him with courtesy, then sat in the chair that had been kept empty. He took the step needed to bury the hatchet and soothe the general’s complaint about Swanson not wanting to interview the Russian defector. “I apologize for the misunderstanding on that other matter, General. That issue is back on track, and I trust any disagreement has been laid to rest.”

Ravensdale nodded with solemnity. “Done and done, Kyle. It was never a personal matter. Only that NATO was very concerned with that delicate situation.”

“It seems to be getting more delicate by the minute.” Kyle had to keep reminding himself that he was now a civilian with money and influence, and did not need to say “sir” to anyone. He changed the subject. “In any case, I am glad you came out tonight. I need your permission to borrow these two SAS boys for a special mission. Maybe we can get them to do something more to earn their keep than babysit Anneli out here on open water.”

“Hey, I don’t mind this assignment at all!” Baldwin protested with a chuckle. “It may be hard duty, but someone has to do it.”

Anneli had been charmed by the suave General Ravensdale and was between the general and Sir Jeff at the table. She followed the banter, but did not understand some of the English old-chap and military idioms. She liked strong men.

“Is it something that we should discuss in private, then?” the general asked, glancing at Anneli.

Swanson rubbed his hands together, shook his head. “Not at all. She is part of it, so she might as well hear it now. Jeff is cleared for everything, so I can read in all of you at the same time.” For the next few minutes, he sketched the idea for the job that lay ahead, in very broad terms. The others listened without interruption. In retaliation for the Russian strike against the Finnish missile battery, Kyle had been tasked to raid an isolated Russian fire base in Kaliningrad and take out a senior military officer. The place bore the awkward code name of Rooster Cap Nowak.

Ravensdale kept his face rigid throughout the briefing, but was about to explode inside. “I had not been informed of any of this, Kyle. NATO has not been informed.” The voice remained soft, but was suddenly icy, and the jaw was clenched. “I find that to be most disturbing.”

Swanson calmly picked up a fork and speared a tiny tomato. “It was decided at the very highest levels, General Ravensdale. My assignment arrived about two hours ago, and I was instructed to inform you verbally. So far, the only people who know about it beyond the six of us in this cabin are the president of the United States, your prime minister in the UK, a handpicked few of their closest aides, my direct boss in the CIA, his target-choosing team, and the head of MI6 in London. The circle could not be tighter.”

Ravensdale eased a bit. “Very top secret. I certainly understand that, but the need for such an extreme measure escapes me. I trust every member of my staff implicitly.”

Swanson responded, “Of course you do. But a mole exists somewhere in our huge allied intelligence-gathering world. That disturbs me. I want this kept as tight as possible, since four of us at this table are going to be on the ground.”

Jeff spoke almost with a laugh. “It is too tight, Kyle! Hopelessly so! Many others will have to be involved. The logistics requirements alone will be horrendous. This cannot remain a close secret for very long.”

“You are absolutely right, so we do it with the highest possible need-to-know priority and hold all instructions until the last moment. Then we push everything through as fast as possible. Secrecy and speed are our best weapons and greatest protection.”

Ravensdale could accept that. “Very well. This is going to be dangerous. I certainly authorize that our SAS lads go with you, but why take Ms. Kallasti?”

Kyle looked over at her and recognized the excitement growing on her face. “She speaks about nine hundred languages and we need a linguist. Also, I think she will want to come anyway. She has a dog in the fight.”

Anneli spoke fast, the words gushing from her. “I will go. Of course I will! Are we telling Calico in advance this time?”

Kyle scowled. “She also will be informed when appropriate.” He was going to have to give Anneli a serious lecture on security. The people in this cabin could be trusted, but she had to understand that she must never mention CIA operatives in the open, even by code names. Ever.

Ravensdale apparently had taken no notice. He had a sip of wine, and said, “So this border firebase sits close to the point where the Kaliningrad-Polish-Lithuanian borders intersect, Kyle? I must say that it sounds quite dicey. How are you going to get in?”

“Good question,” echoed Sergeant Baldwin.

“I have no idea. As I say, I just received the orders and have been reading the briefing papers. We’ll figure out something. At worst, we could do a HALO.”

Baldwin laughed. “Anneli, HALO means a high-altitude, low-opening parachute jump from an airplane from about twenty thousand feet, into the middle of the night. We free fall forever before opening the canopy.”

She paled at the thought.

“Here is a better question,” said Jeff. “How are you going to get out?”

“Dunno. A big lake separates it from Lithuania, but there are plenty of roads heading toward Poland, and the Poles are always willing to twist the Russians’ tail. I don’t have an egress plan right now.” He sat back and opened his hands. “In fact, at this point, I do not even know if this thing is doable at all. I have to give the boss my final decision after finishing the planning. I will not lead a suicide mission.”

“When do you plan to hit this strange little place?” General Ravenscroft showed his skepticism. “Granted, Kaliningrad is surrounded by NATO territory, but it will be difficult to reach.”

Kyle returned the steady gaze. “I’m sorry, General, but I don’t know that, either. The shop back at Langley is going to send some maps and overhead satellite surveillance. Obviously, there are going to be a lot of moving parts. It will take some time to assemble everything. The logistics, as Jeff says, are horrendous.”

“And do you have the name of the target? Any history on him?”

“No, General. It does not matter. Whichever senior officer is walking around when we get there.”

“There are a lot of gaps, Kyle. Having so many unknown factors makes me uncomfortable.”

Corporal Perry finished his bottle of beer. “Oh, hell’s bells, sir. It will be a walk in the park, hey, mates? I like it.”

Run with it. A life in the Marine Corps had taught Swanson the importance of keeping control, pushing the momentum envelope, but making decisions based on fact. The longer it took, the more people would become involved. The more people, the more risk. He fell silent while eating a dinner of fresh seafood and vegetables, for his brain was busy processing what was to come. Only one ear was tuned to snippets of conversation that might require a reply.

General Ravensdale made his polite excuses and left right after the meal. Splendid dinner and all that. Delighted to see you all. Have to be back at work first thing in the morning. Good hunting and don’t hesitate to call if I can do anything. His ride back to shore was provided by the Excalibur Enterprises helicopter.

As soon as the bird whirred into the darkening sky, the Vagabond leapt forward at full speed and made a sharp course change. Kyle went belowdecks and brought the briefing materials as the others gathered in a conference room that almost floated in security. Once the door bolt was sealed, no sound escaped and the comfortable cabin was immune to electronic spying. He spread on the table the paper squares that had been transmitted and they taped them together to form a single map of the region. An electronic image of the area was projected on the wall screen. The men liked hard maps when the going got hairy and the electronics might blip and start giving directions to the nearest McDonald’s.

“Here’s what we are going to do,” he started.

“I thought you didn’t have a plan.” The corporal coughed.

“That was bullshit for anybody hanging around the dining area,” Kyle said as he stabbed his finger onto a neat layout of buildings. “I got it all. Our target will be at this fire base, this Rooster Cap Nowak, just inside the very tip of Kaliningrad. It’s about two miles from the Lithuanian border and about the same from Poland.” His finger moved east to the border area with Lithuania, which was dominated by a large body of water. “There is a low-lying beach area just on the edge of this big lake; you can see it here. I’ll blow it up on the screen.”

Swanson worked the computer keyboard and the screen narrowed to a satellite view of the lake, and magnified it to show a strip of cleared land that jutted from a thick forest. He flicked on a red pointer and put the laser dot on the beach. “Apparently, soldiers at the camp use this little place to go swimming and relax. Nobody should be there when we arrive in the dark, and besides, the weather and the water are still too cold in April. We insert and extract right there by helo.”

The sergeant looked over at Anneli and arched an eyebrow. “Do we fast rope or land?”

“Ropes. We hook her onto one of us with some D-rings on a harness and get down quickly. It should be only about thirty feet.”

She was standing with her hands on her hips. “You want me to jump out of a helicopter?”

“Consider it a very short circus ride, Anneli, but it will be over in a few seconds. The only alternative would be a HALO, trying to parachute in between a forest and a lake. Very bad things could happen,” said Baldwin.

“Oh. Okay.” She recalled with a shudder the idea of falling thousands of feet. “Helicopter, then.” The SAS guys laughed with her.

“Later,” snapped Kyle, keeping their minds on the job. “Once we are on site, we spend the day in our hides. The Russians are planning a little party right after dark for a visiting general, and when we acquire our targets, we all fire at the same time on a countdown. I call the bird to come get us, we exfiltrate back to the lake and the helo zooms in, we get aboard and are gone.”

“Where do we stage?”

“I’m setting up something out of Lithuania.”

“There are a lot of questions,” said Jeff in a pleading voice. “Are you really thinking this through?”

Swanson clicked off the pointer and studied the table map a little while longer in silence. “We can do it, Jeff, with a little luck.”

“What’s my job?” Anneli wrinkled her brow. “I’m not a sniper.”

“You will have a directional microphone that will allow you to listen and translate everything they say in the camp. That’s a pretty big intelligence edge for our side.”

“When do we go?”

“Two hours. I have to make some final arrangements, but you people go ahead and get ready. I want to be boots-on-ground by sunrise.”

The Excalibur helo, a gleaming white machine with the company’s gold logo, was radioed instructions to stay overnight in Belgium after dropping off the general. That left the helipad empty as the Vagabond pounded hard out of the North Sea and into the Baltic. At 2200 hours the aft deck lights were doused and the yacht nosed into the wind when a large MH-60R Seahawk helicopter, the Sikorsky workhorse of the U.S. Navy, arrived unseen in the blackness. It touched down only long enough for Swanson, the SAS team and Anneli to scramble aboard. The arrival, pickup and departure took only thirty seconds. The yacht peeled away to return to the popular pleasure cruising routes along the shoreline.

The helicopter crew chief slid the door closed and resumed his seat in the rear of the cabin, chewing gum and looking with interest at the four black-clad operators. One was a woman whose figure and face could not be disguised by the flight suit and smeared black and green face paint. All three of the men were strapped up with weapons, including long rifles in protective sheaths, while she wore a square backpack. Swanson was offered a helmet and a microphone, but did not want to communicate. His plan was in motion. The crew had been instructed not to ask questions, just to make the pickup from the Vagabond and fly directly back to the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier CVN-73, the USS George Washington, the centerpiece of the Baltic Sea Battle Group.

Anneli had never ridden on a helicopter before, much less one this large and noisy. Her friends rode as if they were on a familiar trolley car. Kyle was silent, running over the plan again and again. Baldwin read a novel on a back-lighted video screen. Gray Perry fell asleep. She could see only night through the small windows on the bulkhead and her entire being was tight with excitement. The helicopter clattered away and they were all enveloped by the dome of gloomy sky overhead and the dark waters beneath.

There was a new woman in the staid life of General Ravensdale. She had the green eyes of a jaguar and was as sleek as the jungle cat. Her chestnut hair was as stylish as her clothes. It was all very prim and proper. There was no outward change in his behavior, but everyone just knew because he was seeing her frequently in his off hours, or for lunch at some bistro or for an evening theater performance. The female staff members thought it quite romantic that the aging hero had finally discovered his Guinivere after mourning so long for his late wife. The men thought the general had landed a winner, for she was rich and beautiful and of an appropriate age, a better match for the boss than some sexy little Euro hard-body.

Arial Printas was about ten years younger than the general, the widow of a German industrialist who had left her a fortune, and she lived in a suite at a fine hotel. It was to that hotel that the general drove in his own car after being deposited ashore following the dinner aboard the Vagabond.

Arial met him at the door and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Hello, Frederick,” she said, drawing him inside by the hand and thinking how the NATO deputy supreme allied commander in Europe at times looked like a lost boy. She was barefoot and wore sky-blue silk pajamas beneath a light wrap. “You have something for me?”

Ravensdale stalked across the thick carpet and poured a stiff drink, no ice, at the bar in the long living room. “I hate myself.”

Arial settled into a big chair and tucked her feet beneath her. “Oh, stop the pity. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. It’s unbecoming.”

“I am nothing; a traitor.”

Arial made a show of yawning and pretending boredom. “We are not going through another of your emotional scenes, Frederick. You stamped your ticket many years ago with your fling with little Lorette. We rescued you from the Stasi and have left you alone for decades. In a few more weeks, we will disappear again and you will go back to whatever you want to do.”

“You people will always come back.”

“Probably not.” Her voice was smooth and disinterested. “Frederick, you are important to us right now only because of your job. I doubt that we could find much use for you after you retire unless you are foolish enough to go into politics. Now, why did you awaken me?”

The general took another full glass and sat on the dark maroon sofa. “NATO is planning a military response for the MiG attack in Finland,” he said. “Snipers are going to attack a fire base in Kaliningrad and kill a senior officer there.”

Arial spread her palms and rolled her eyes. “Is that all? When? Who?”

Ravensdale stared at the Russian intelligence operative. “The place is called FSB Artillery Camp 8351 and is located at the point where Kaliningrad meets Lithuania and Poland. I do not know the name of the target, and I do not know when, except that it will happen in no more than a few days. The information is just too fresh for all of the details. My guess is they will come in from Poland and egress the same way.”

“Frederick, my darling, this is nothing. Certainly it is not worth putting our private and personal contact at risk. One dead officer in Kaliningrad? Who cares?”

The general drank off half the glass, furious with himself for giving up an operation involving four people with whom he had just dined, and stung by her rebuke and rejection of the information. “You interpret it any way you wish, Arial. I see this raid as a strong reprisal, and therefore it is both militarily and politically important. Your superiors will want to stop it.”

She smirked, barely lifting the curved eyebrows. “Oh, very well. I will pass it along first thing tomorrow. But I warn you, Frederick. Stick to what we instruct you to do, and let these little matters go. We are not interested in every little scrap of soldier stuff that passes across your fancy desk. You are to help Ivan Strakov and legitimize his information.”

Ravensdale finished his drink and left the woman sitting there. He did have something better, but wanted to keep it as an ace that he could play later. The girl at dinner, Anneli, had mentioned the name “Calico,” and had asked Swanson if she would be angry about them leaving. Swanson had silenced her. So Calico was a woman, and a code name, probably CIA. The general would set his NATO intel dogs sniffing around to pin down that identification by claiming she might be an allied spy who was feeding information to Moscow.