Mirror Image

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Three… two… one. We're… on."

There were no cheers as Yuri Marev spoke, no smiles as General Orlov, pacing slowly behind the are of computers, acknowledged with a nod the functional status of the Russian Operations Center. The countdown had proceeded without a hitch, and while the long day was coming to an end for most of the workers, Orlov felt as though his day was just beginning. He had asked to see all the data that came in over the next hour, which he would review with the Directors of satellite surveillance and weather, cellular and radio communication, on-site operations, cryptography, and computer analysis, imaging, and interception. These included the four-to-midnight shift heads of each department— the prime team, which covered the heavy data flow when it was eight in the morning to four in the afternoon in Washington— as well as the Deputy Directors, who worked the midnight-to-eight and eight-to-four shifts. Rossky would also be present, not only as Orlov's second-in-command but as the liaison officer with the military. Rossky was not only in charge of analyzing shared military intelligence and feeding it to other branches of the armed forces and government, but of commanding the spetsnaz strike team that was at the Center's disposal for special missions.

Orlov looked over at Rossky, who was standing behind Corporal Ivashin. The Colonel's hands were clasped behind his back, clearly enjoying all the quiet activity. He reminded Orlov of Nikita the first time he took him to see the boosters and spacecraft at Star City: the boy was so excited, he didn't know where to look first. Orlov knew that would change very soon, though.

As soon as the Center was declared operational, Orlov walked over to Rossky. The Colonel took a moment before turning and saluting slowly.

"Colonel Rossky," Orlov said, "I would like you to tell me exactly where my son is. Everything in code, no need to log the order."

Rossky hesitated a moment, apparently having tried and failed to ascertain Orlov's motive. "Yes, sir," he said.

Rossky told Ivashin to have the radio room contact the base at Sakhalin Island and ask Sergeant Nogovin for the information. All communications were in Pencil Code Two/Five/Three: letters had to be erased before it could be decoded. In this case, every second letter of every word in the code was false, as was every fifth word— save for the third letter of each false word, which was the first letter of the word that followed.

Ivashin had his answer in less than two minutes, and his computer quickly decoded it for him.

His hands still locked behind his back, Rossky leaned over the screen and read, "Junior Lieutenant Orlov and his unit of nine spetsnaz soldiers have arrived in Vladivostok and are awaiting further instructions." Rossky fired Orlov a look. "General," he said tensely, "is this a maneuver of some kind?"

"No, Colonel, it isn't."

Rossky's jaw tightened and unclenched several times. Orlov waited several long seconds to make sure that Rossky was smart enough not to be insubordinate, not to complain that he had been excluded from a military maneuver. Rossky had to feel humiliated in front of the staff, but he remained silent.

"Come to my office, Colonel," Orlov said, turning, "and I'll brief you on the disposition of the Sakhalin spetsnaz unit."

The General heard Rossky's heels click smartly behind him. Once the door was closed behind them, Orlov sat at his desk and looked at Rossky, who stood before it.

"You're aware of Minister Dogin's shipment on board a private aircraft?" Orlov asked.

"Yes, sir."

"There's a problem," Orlov said. "Engine trouble. It can't go on. Because of the severe weather and the shortage of aircraft, I've ordered the shipment to be transferred to a train which Rear Admiral Pasenko has informed me is at our disposal."

"A train from Vladivostok will take four or five days to reach Moscow," Rossky said.

"But that's not where it's going," Orlov said. "My plan is simply to get the shipment out of Vladivostok to a place where an aircraft will be able to rendezvous with it. I was thinking that we might be able to get a helicopter out of the Bada Aerodrome to meet the train in Bira. That's only six hundred miles from Vladivostok, and appears to be far enough to the west to remain clear of the path of the storm."

"You've done a great deal of work on this already, sir," said Rossky. "Is there anything I can do?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," said Orlov. "But first, Colonel, I'd like to know how you first heard about the shipment."

Rossky said matter-of-factly, "From the Minister."

"He communicated with you directly?"

"Yes, sir," said Rossky. "I believe you were at home at the time, having dinner."

The General swiveled over to his keyboard and opened the log file. "I see. But you logged a report for me to look at later."

"No, sir," said Rossky.

"Why not, Colonel? Were you too busy?"

"Sir," said Rossky, "the Minister did not want the matter to become part of Center records."

"The Minister did not want it," Orlov snapped. "Is it not a standing order that every duty assigned by a superior be logged?"

"Yes, sir."

"And are you accustomed to taking civilian commands over military ones?"

"I am not, sir," Rossky replied.

"I can speak for the Center," Orlov said. "We're an autonomous base serving all branches of government and the military. But what about you, Colonel? Do you have a special loyalty to the Ministry of the Interior?"

Rossky took a moment longer to answer. "No, sir. I do not."

"Good," said Orlov, "because if there's another incident like this, I'll have you reassigned. Is that understood?"

Rossky's rock-rigid chin moved up and down slowly. "It is. Sir."

Orlov inhaled deeply and began scanning the day's log. He never thought that Rossky would rebel openly, and his restraint was to be expected. But he'd pushed the Colonel into a corner and he was about to push a little more. Rossky would have to do something.

"Did the Minister tell you anything else, Colonel, such as the contents of the shipment?"

"He did not," Rossky said.

"Would you withhold that information from me if Minister Dogin instructed you to do so?"

Rossky glared at his superior. "Not if the information is the business of this Center, sir."

Orlov fell silent as he failed to find the log of his own conversation with Dogin. He looked back at 8:11, which is when he remembered making the entry. The space was blank.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Rossky asked.

Orlov did a word-search of the entire file, just to make sure he hadn't mislogged the entry. Outwardly calm, inwardly he was agitated when Gulfstream did not turn up anywhere.

The General regarded Rossky. The Colonel's expression was relaxed now, which in itself told him something: Rossky had removed the order.

"No," Orlov said, "nothing is wrong. I misplaced a log order. I'll reenter it when we're finished." He sat back, saw a satisfied twist tug on the sides of Rossky's mouth. "I've spent enough time on this matter, and I trust my wishes are clear."

"Quite, sir."

"I want you to inform Minister Dogin of my intentions, and to take over the operation personally. My son respects you, and I'm sure you'll work as well together now as you did in the past."

"Yes, sir," Rossky said. "He's a good officer."

The telephone beeped, and Orlov dismissed the Colonel as he picked up the receiver. Rossky shut the door without a backward glance.

"Yes?" Orlov said.

"Sir, it's Zilash. Would you please come to the radio room?"

"What's wrong?"

"The dish is picking up densely coded communications," Zilash said. "We've sent them over to cryptography, but we've started to wonder if something might be happening before we're able to translate the messages."

"I'm on my way," Orlov said.

He left without bothering to relog the Gulfstream entry, certain that it would only be erased again… and angry that a meeting designed to put Rossky in his place merely underscored his growing concern that Dogin and the spetsnaz planned to run the Center with him as a figurehead.

Rossky's words echoed in his mind. "Not if the information is the business of this Center, sir." In the space of just a few hours, the death of an enemy agent and information about the Gulfstream had been kept from him. The Center was one of the most powerful reconnaissance bases in the world: Orlov would not permit Rossky and Dogin to turn it into their own private resource, though he would not do anything just yet. He had learned from his days in space that it was most important to keep his head cool when his seat was heating up to five thousand degrees Fahrenheit— and the pair had not yet come close to raising the temperature that high.

In any case, he still had a facility to run, and neither the Colonel nor a megalomaniac was going to keep him from doing his job.

Orlov sidled into the cramped radio room, which was even thicker with smoke than before. Zilash's narrow face was angled upward, his eyes staring at nothing in particular as he listened on his headset. He removed them after a moment and looked at Orlov.

"Sir," he said around his cigarette, "we've been following two series of coded communications, and we assume they're connected. The first is from Washington to an aircraft over the Atlantic, and the second is to Helsinki." He took two quick puffs, then stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray. "We had the satellite team take a look at the aircraft: it's unmarked, though they make it out to be a C-141B StarLifter."

"Big troop carrier," Orlov said thoughtfully, "a modified version of the C-141A. I know the plane well."

"I thought you might." Zilash smiled, then lit a fresh cigarette. "The StarLifter is on a course toward Helsinki. We listened to communications between the pilot and the tower: he'll be arriving around eleven P.M., local time."

Orlov looked at his watch. "That's less than an hour from now. Any idea who's on board?"

Zilash shook his head. "We tried to listen in on the cockpit with the Svetlana in the North Atlantic, but the captain says there's an electronic field in the plane."

"So it's definitely intelligence," Orlov said, though he wasn't surprised. He thought back to the British operative who had been spying on the Hermitage, and quietly damned Rossky for his handling of the matter. The man should have been watched, not driven to suicide— if indeed he took his own life. "Brief the Ministry of Security in Moscow," Orlov said. "Tell them I need someone in Helsinki to meet the plane and watch to see if the Americans are planning to cross over."

"Yes, sir," said Zilash.

Orlov thanked him, then went to his office and summoned Rossky and Security Director Glinka to talk about which plan to implement in case they had visitors.