Mirror Image

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bob Herbert loved being busy. But not so busy that he felt like wheeling his chair out of Op-Center and not stopping until he hit his hometown— "No, not that Philadelphia" — in Neshoba County not far from the Alabama border. Philadelphia hadn't changed much since he was a kid. He loved going back and reflecting on happier times. They weren't necessarily more innocent times, because he remembered well the chaos that everyone from the Communists to Elvis Presley caused when he was a boy. But they were problems that, for him, went away when he buried himself in a comic book or squirrel gun or behind a fishing pole at the pond.

Now his pager told him that Stephen Viens at the National Reconnaissance Office had something for him to look at, and after cutting short a briefing for Ann Farris, he swung his wheelchair into his office, shut the door, and called NRO.

"Please tell me you've got photos of the nude swimmin' hole back in Renova," he said into the speakerphone.

"I'm sure the foliage is still covering it up," Viens said. "What I've got is a plane whose heat signature we've been following for DEA. It went from Colombia to Mexico City to Honolulu, then on to Japan and Vladivostok."

"The drug cartels are dealing in Russia," Herbert said. "That isn't news."

"No," said Viens, "but when it landed in Vladivostok, we had a satellite in position to eyeball it. This is the first time I've ever seen a plane being unloaded by spetsnaz troops."

Herbert sat up straight. "How many?"

"Less than a dozen, all in camouflage whites," Viens said. "What's more, the crates were quickly loaded onto trucks from the Pacific Fleet. We may be looking at multi-service drug dealing."

Herbert thought back to the meeting between Shovich, General Kosigan, and Minister Dogin. "It could be more than just the military consortin' with gangsters," he said. "Are the trucks still there?"

"Yes," said Viens. "They're off-loading crates by the dozens. One truck is almost completely full."

"Do the crates look like they're evenly balanced?"

"Perfectly," said Viens. "They're oblong. But both ends seem equally heavy."

"Give a listen with the AIM," Herbert said. "Let me know if there's anything rattling around in there."

"Will do," Viens said.

"And Steve, let me know where the trucks go," Herbert said, signing off and buzzing Mike Rodgers.

Rodgers was out of his office and stopped by when he got the page.

When Herbert was finished briefing him, Rodgers said, "So the Russians are openly consorting with the drug lords. Well, they have to get hard currency from somewhere. I'm just wondering—"

"Excuse me," Herbert said as his phone beeped. He punched the speaker button set in his wheelchair armrest. "Yes?"

"Bob, it's Darrell. The FBI lost their guy in Tokyo."

"What happened?"

"Gunned down by the crew of the Gulfstream," McCaskey said grimly. "The Japanese lost their Self-Defense Force guy in the cross fire."

"Darrell, it's Mike," said Rodgers. "Anyone hurt on the plane?"

"Not that we can tell, though the ground crew didn't say much. They're scared."

"Or bribed," Herbert said. "Sorry about this, Dar. Did he have any family?"

"A father," McCaskey said. "I'll see if there's anything we can do for him."

"Right," said Herbert.

"I guess that cements the link between the plane and the Russian drug dealers," said McCaskey. "Even the Colombians aren't insane enough to have a firefight at an international airport."

"No," Herbert said. "They shoot the guys who are supposed to try the cases. They all stink deeply, and I'd love to turn Striker loose on the lot of them."

Herbert hung up and took a second to collect himself. These things always made the Intelligence Officer queasy, the more so when there was any kind of family involved.

He looked at Rodgers. "What was it that you were wondering a minute ago, General?"

Rodgers was more somber than before. "If this connects with what Matt found out. Our boy genius just conferenced with Paul and me," Rodgers said. "He hacked the Kremlin payroll through the bank in Riyadh that holds about ten billion dollars in IOUs. He found out they've been employing some very expensive executives at the new TV studio in the Hermitage and in the Ministry of the Interior— people with no prior records anywhere."

"Meaning that someone may have created names and identities for payroll purposes," Herbert said, "to pay people who are working secretly in St. Petersburg."

"Correct," Rodgers said, "as well as to buy a lot of hi-tech stuff from Japan, Germany, and the U.S. — components which were sent to the Ministry of the Interior. It's beginning to smell a lot like Dogin put together a very sophisticated intelligence operation up there. Maybe Orlov is there to help with any orbital hardware they're using."

Herbert tapped his forehead. "So assuming Dogin is the bossman, and is tight with the Russian mafia, there's a good chance he's planning a coup. He doesn't need arms. Kosigan has those."

"No," said Rodgers. "It's what I was telling Paul earlier. What he needs is money to buy politicians, journalists, and support from abroad. And that money might very well come from Shovich in exchange for future considerations."

"Could be," Herbert agreed. "Or Dogin may be planning to raise money by selling drugs provided by Shovich. He wouldn't be the first world leader to do that. Just the biggest. He could have the crap carried around the world in diplomatic pouches by officials sympathetic to his cause."

"Makes sense," Rodgers said. "The diplomats take out drugs, come back with hard currency."

"So those crates up in Vladivostok are probably a part of all this," Herbert said. "Either drugs, money, or both."

"You know what's a real kick in the head?" Rodgers said. "Even if Zhanin found out about all this, he couldn't do a damn thing. If he acted, one of two things would happen.

"One," Rodgers said, "he defeats Dogin, but his subsequent purge is so far-reaching and debilitating that it scares off the foreign investors he needs to rebuild the country. Result: Russia ends up in worse shape than it is.

"Two," Rodgers continued, "Zhanin forces his enemies to attack before they're ready, causing a long and bloody revolt with nuclear weapons in God knows whose hands. Our main concern has got to be what it was in Panama under Noriega or Iran under the Shah. Stability, not legality."

"Good point," Herbert said. "So what do you think the President will do?"

"Just what he did last night," Rodgers said. "Nothing. He can't inform Zhanin for fear of leaks. And he can't offer any military help. We bargained that option away. In any case, there's a danger in any kind of preemptive strike. You don't want to force Dogin and his cronies underground, where they would still be a tremendous threat."

"And how will the President explain to NATO that he's doing nothing?" Herbert said. "They're a bunch of chickenhearts, but they'll want to rattle their sabers."

"He may rattle along with them," Rodgers said, "or, if I know Lawrence, he may cloak himself in neo-isolationism and tell NATO to take a swim. That'll play well with the mood of the American public. Especially in the wake of the tunnel bombing."

As Herbert sat there, tapping his leather armrest, the desk phone beeped. He glanced at the ID number on the base. It was the NRO. He put it on speaker so Rodgers could hear.

"Bob," said Stephen Viens, "we haven't got your AIM reading yet, but we watched the first truck as it left the airport. It went straight to the railroad station in Vladivostok.

"What's the weather like at the site?" Herbert asked.

"Awful," said Viens, "which is probably why they did it. Real heavy snows. It's storming all over the region, in fact, and it's supposed to stay that way for at least forty-eight hours."

"So Dogin or Kosigan decided to transfer the goods from a grounded airplane to the railroad," Herbert said. "Can you see anything at the station?"

"No," Viens said. "The train is inside the terminal. But we have the scheduled departures and we'll watch any one that leaves when it isn't supposed to."

"Thanks," Herbert said. "Keep me up-to-date."

When Viens clicked off, the Intelligence Officer contemplated the cargo being placed in an ITS target— identifiable, trackable, strikable.

"And important," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" Rodgers asked.

"I said, obviously the cargo is important," Herbert said. "Otherwise, they'd have sat out the storm."

"I agree," Rodgers said. "And not only is it vitally important, it's also out there in the open."

It took a moment before Herbert really heard what Rodgers had said. He frowned. "No, Mike, it's not out in the open. It's heading deep into Russia, thousands of miles from any friendly border. This is not a short hop and you're back in Finland."

"You're right," said Rodgers. "But it's also the quickest way to hamstring Dogin. No bucks, no buckshot."

"Jesus, Mike," Herbert said, "think this through. Paul believes in diplomacy, not warfare. He'll never agree—"

"Hold on," said Rodgers.

Herbert sat there while Rodgers went to the desk phone and buzzed Hood's executive assistant.

"Bugs?" he said. "Is Paul still sitting in on the TAS session?"

"I believe so, " Bugs Benet responded.

"Ask him if he can come to Bob Herbert's office. Something has come up."

"Will do," Benet said.

When Benet clicked off, Rodgers said, "We'll find out right now if he agrees."

"Even if you can convince him," Herbert said, "the CIC will never in a million years go along with this."

"They already okayed a Striker incursion into Russia," Rodgers said. "Darrell and Martha will have to get them to approve another."

"And if they can't?"

Rodgers said, "What would you do, Bob?"

Herbert was silent for a long moment. "Jesus, Mike," he said, "you know what I'd do."

"You'd send them in because it's the right mission and they're the right team, and you know it. Look," Rodgers said, "we both shoveled dirt on Bass Moore's coffin after North Korea— I was in on that incursion. I've been on other missions where troops have been killed. But that can't immobilize us. This is what we created Striker for."

Herbert's door beeped and he let Hood in.

The Director's tired eyes showed concern as they settled on Herbert. "You don't look very happy, Bob. What's up?"

Rodgers told him. Hood sat on the edge of Herbert's desk, listening without comment as the General informed him about the situation in Russia and his thoughts on Striker.

When he was finished, Hood asked, "How do you think our terrorists would react to this? Would it be a breach of our deal with them?"

"No," said Rodgers. "They specifically told us to stay out of Eastern Europe, not central Russia. In any case, we'd be in and out before they knew it."

"Fair enough," said Hood. "On to the larger question, then. You know how I feel about force as opposed to negotiation."

"Same as I do," said Rodgers. "Better to shoot off your mouth than a gun. But we won't be able to talk this train back to Vladivostok."

"Probably not," Hood agreed, "which raises another issue entirely. Let's assume you get an okay to send Striker to reconnoiter and you find out what's on the train. Say it's heroin. What then? Do you seize it, destroy it, or call Zhanin to send Russian troops to fight Russian troops?"

Rodgers said, "When you've got a fox in your gunsight, you don't put down the rifle and call for the hounds. That's how you end up with Nazis in Poland, Castro in Cuba, and a Communist Vietnam."

Hood shook his head. "You're talking about attacking Russia."

"Yes, I am," Rodgers said. "Didn't they just attack us?"

"That was different."

"Tell that to the families of the dead," Rodgers said. He walked toward Hood. "Paul, we aren't another fat, pass-the-buck government agency. Op-Center was chartered to get things done, things the CIA and the State Department and the military can't do. We've got a chance to do that. Charlie Squires put Striker together with the full knowledge that they would be called upon to play with fire, no different than any other elite military team, from the spetsnaz to Oman's Royal Guard to Equatorial Guinea's Guardia Civil. What we have to work toward— what we have to believe— is that if we all do our jobs and keep our wits, this thing can be kept under wraps and dealt with."

Hood looked at Herbert. "What do you think?"

Herbert shut his eyes and rubbed the lids. "As I get older, the thought of kids dying for political expediency is increasingly nauseating to me. But the Dogin-Shovich-Kosigan team is a nightmare, and like it or not, Op-Center is in the front line."

"What about St. Petersburg?" Hood asked. "We decided that cutting the brain from the body would be enough."

"This dragon is bigger than we thought," Rodgers said. "You take off the head, the body may still be alive long enough to do some serious damage. Those drugs or money or whatever is on the train can make that happen."

Herbert rolled over to Hood. He clapped a hand on his knee. "You look as unhappy as I did, Chief."

Hood said, "And now I know why." He looked at Rodgers. "I know you wouldn't risk your team unless you thought it was worth it. If Darrell can swing this with the CIC, do what needs to be done."

Rodgers turned to Herbert. "Head over to TAS. Have them draw up a plan leaving as small a Striker contingent as possible in Helsinki, then figure out the cleanest, fastest way of getting Striker to the train. Bounce it off Charlie each step of the way, and make sure he's comfortable with it."

"Oh, you know Charlie," Herbert said as he swung his wheelchair toward the door. "If it involves putting his ass on the line, he'll be for it."

"I know," Rodgers said. "He's the best of us."

"Mike," Hood said, "I'll brief the President on this one. Just so you know, I'm still not behind this one hundred percent. But I'm behind you."

"Thanks," Rodgers said. "That's all I want or expect."

The men followed Herbert out.

As he rolled alone toward the TAS command center, the Intelligence Officer found himself wondering why nothing in human affairs— whether it was the conquest of a nation or the changing of a single mind or the pursuit of a lover— could be accomplished without struggle.

It was said that trials were what made the victory so sweet, but Herbert never bought that. From where he sat, he'd settle for having the victories come a little easier now and then