Black Ghosts (27 page)

“So our media people are where?” said Kay. In a normal operation of this kind, the president and his immediate entourage would travel in Air Force One, followed or preceded by a second identical plane, in which media people and other logistical and support crews would travel. On occasions there would be a Galaxy transport plane that would bring the president's limousine along. However, Kay was beginning to understand that this was not a normal operation.

“They'll be sent in ahead of time,” said Fenton. “To the Kremlin. That's where the big photo-op will be. There'll be a few people at the airport, mostly just taping the arrival. I don't want a lot of media jerks hanging around there.”

 

The telephone message was short and to the point. “Bakery. Pushkin Street. Two o'clock.”

The caller did not identify himself. Edward, however, knew Sokolov's voice by now and was relieved.

He asked Alexi, who seemed quite content to hang around the safe house not doing much, if he would drive him downtown. Alexi was only too happy to please, looking at Edward as the goose that laid the proverbial golden egg. He got them to the bakery on Pushkin Street with a few moments to spare. The rain had reduced to a slight drizzle.

“Want me to wait?” asked Alexi.

“Better not. I'll call you if I need a ride back.”

“Okay.” Alexi nodded and sped off with a screech of tires.

The aroma of baking hung in the air. Edward was beginning to think Sokolov picked the meeting places just to taunt him, reminding him of his other life, which now seemed to exist in another dimension. But then Sokolov couldn't know about that.

After a few moments of waiting, and still no sign of Sokolov or any of his people, Edward began feeling conspicuous and exposed. He wished the colonel had picked a more discreet rendezvous. The familiar knot of tension in his stomach was tightening.

Edward was worried about Natalie. He had not spoken to her since they had said goodbye at the Grave of the Unknown Soldier. He assumed she had followed Larry's advice and gone to her apartment. He tried to call her a few times but was unable to get her, either at the apartment or at the Hotel Metropole. He didn't dare go to the apartment himself, in case it was under surveillance. He could only hope she was safe. The fear that the Black Ghosts may have gotten to her tore at his insides. He began to devise a plan, resolving to put it into operation as soon as he finished his meeting with Sokolov.

He could feel the tension grow inside him with every passing minute he was made to stand alone on the street. Looking at his watch, he realized he'd been there for less than seven minutes, yet Sokolov was already five minutes late. Even though the “hurry up and wait” rule was almost the motto of the intelligence world, lateness for a clandestine meeting was never a good sign. Edward had just decided to give the man five more minutes and then leave, hoping he would try to contact him again later, when a pale green Lada came to a stop across the street.

This time, the lean-faced colonel was alone, except for the driver. Edward got in, realizing his hair was soaking wet.

“Sorry you had to wait,” Sokolov said. “I had to take precautions to be sure I was not being tailed.”

“I see. I was starting to worry. Five more minutes and I was out of here.”

“I know, but I had to be sure. Otherwise we'd both be sorry.”

“Right,” Edward said, his mood as dreary as the gray streets through which they were driving.

Sokolov spoke with a note of urgency. “Rogov has managed to get his own elite corps to be selected as the Kremlin Guard. President Konyigin will have a nasty surprise when he realizes the troops that have secured the Kremlin are loyal to the Black Ghosts.”

“When will those troops be sent in?” asked Edward.

“Early on the morning of the American president's visit. They'll be flown in to Sheremetyevo and then taken by truck to the Kremlin.”

“Who will command them?”

“I'm to command them.”

“Then we don't really have a problem, do we?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you're in command, just put them in some back section of the Kremlin and lock them up.”

“It's not that simple. My duty is to coordinate the takeover of the command from the regular Kremlin Guard. The special units have their own commanders who have already been briefed on the operation. If they suspect any deviation from the original plan they will not hesitate to eliminate me.”

“Oh shit, that's just great. This Rogov guy seems to be a smart son of a bitch.” Edward stared out at the depressing streets. “How about the rest of the operation? Is there any change of plan?”

“Not really. That could be Rogov's only fault.”

“What?”

“His almost religious devotion to his plan. He hates changes and regards them as a manifestation of error. As I've told you, the final stages of the plan will be executed when your president's plane is on the tarmac at Sheremetyevo Airport. The troops that are supposedly guarding the airport will surround the plane and hold him hostage. At that time they will activate the communication array, shutting down all normal media broadcasts during this part of the operation. Then he will come to the Kremlin and issue a statement declaring himself president, or possibly the new czar of Russia.”

“What will he do with Konyigin?”

“He will be unceremoniously shot. As for your president, I don't know what General Rogov has planned for him. But I doubt it will be anything pleasant.”

“Are you telling me that this lunatic might kill the president of the United States?”

“Certainly Rogov is capable of this. He even suggested it at one point, although I think I managed to persuade him to change his mind. But as much as he likes to stick to his plan, he is also extremely unpredictable. At the slightest provocation he could lash back in a way that, well, let's just say that anything could happen.”

“What about the other airports? Are they in Rogov's hands too?”

“All except Domodedovo. The forces there are under the command of a Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov. I know him, a good man. His loyalty to President Konyigin is unquestionable.”

“If we can persuade the president to land at Domodedovo instead, that would buy us some time.”

“Undoubtedly. But can you do that? From what I understand of your situation, you are operating on your own.”

“We are,” Edward said bitterly. “Still, we've got nothing to lose by trying.” He sat in silence for a moment, his mind racing. Already he could see how his own plan would have to be modified.

“Listen,” he told Sokolov. “I'm going to need a car and a driver. I've been using the people at the safe house where I'm staying, but things are going to get pretty hairy, and I'll need all the help I can get.”

“I will send Anton,” he gestured toward the driver, “as soon as I can.”

“I need to know where the Black Ghosts' command center is.”

Sokolov had come prepared for that. He opened his briefcase and took out a map. “You see this marking here?”

“Yes.” Edward leaned forward.

“That's where the bunker is.”

“And the communication array?” asked Edward.

“It's housed in the bunker.”

“Have they tried to operate it yet?”

“I don't know,” said Sokolov. “General Rogov is very secretive about it. But I understand that just a few days ago they took delivery of the final part of it, some sort of circuit board.”

“Well, we have a few secrets of our own,” said Edward.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Back in the States, Larry switched the activating circuit board with another one. What you have received is in fact what you could call a poison pill. If they activate the array, they destroy it.”

“So much the better,” said Sokolov, finally smiling. “So there is light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Let's just hope it's not an oncoming train,” Edward said with a sad grin.

Sokolov turned to the driver and exchanged a few words with him in Russian. In response to Edward's questioning look, he explained. “Anton was making sure we were clean. We can take you to within a few blocks from your safe house.”

“No,” Edward said. “Just drop me off by one of the subway stations. I'll get there myself.”

As they came to a stop, Edward said, “I need a way to get in touch with you. In case of emergency.”

“I have an apartment on the Kalinina Prospekt. You can call me there. If I am not there, you can leave a message with whoever answers the phone. It will be quite safe. If you get the answering machine, don't say anything too specific. In fact, if you get the machine, just give a name, say . . . Mikhail. We don't want any messages in English left on my machine.”

“Good. And thanks.”

“Thanks to you. Anton will meet you here in about two hours.”

It took Edward less than twenty minutes to get back to the safe house. If the Russians could only get everything else to work like the subway, Edward thought, they would have no economic problems whatsoever.

At the safe house, Edward found Igor sitting at the oak table. Alexi was lounging in an armchair, smoking an American cigarette and leafing through a dog-eared copy of Playboy. Edward wasted no time.

“Igor, we need to talk.”

“Okay, we talk.”

“I need an airstrip, my friend.”

“What is airstrip?” Igor looked puzzled.

“A place where I can land a plane.”

“You mean airport.”

“Well, yes, and I need a hangar—you know, where you put airplanes inside.”

“I know what hangar is.” Igor looked insulted. “How big the hangar?”

“The bigger the better.”

“There is an airport, was planned to be for the military outside Moscow. Is near where I grew up. I have uncle who has farm there. There is a big hangar, very big, built for the xxx transport. But I don't know how good the . . .” He gestured with his hand, showing an airplane coming in to land. “I don't know how the road for the airplane to land is any good.”

“You mean the runway?”

“Yes. I have to check.”

“When will you know?”

“Today. Is that all?” Igor sounded almost disappointed, as though his ability was not being taxed to its fullest.

“Not quite.”

“What else then?”

“I need some trucks and weapons.”

Alexi looked up from his magazine. A big smile spread across his face. “Now you talkin' baby. What kinda shooter you looking for, cowboy?”

“I'll need light weapons for about twenty men.”

“Light like in Kalashnikovs, or M-16?” Igor asked. “You tell me.”

“I'll take the AK-47s, with about two thousand rounds per unit. I'll need about six antitank rockets and launchers. Grenades, both attack and defense. Some bungalores, a couple of heavy machine guns . . . What do you have?”

“Anything you want, I get you. This all have to be cash before delivery.”

“You get me a price, a list, and then I give you ten percent. When I see the goods, you get the rest.”

The man who liked to be called Al Caponesky lowered his head. He said sarcastically, “Why, boy, you not trust mama?”

“No.” Edward smiled back. “By the way, what are the chances of this airstrip being secured by the army in the buildup to the president's visit?”

Alexi grinned. “None. The Russian military does as it's told. If the airfield isn't on the list, it doesn't get secured. And since we use it from time to time to bring things we have borrowed in other places, we made sure it wasn't on any list.”

“Okay,” said Edward. “Let's go for it.”

“Okay. I make telephone call.” Igor picked up the phone and dialed. From where he sat across the table, Edward could not see the exact number he was dialing, but as far as he could tell, it was the same number he had called the other night.

Igor spoke in Russian. Edward caught the name Sergei, then got lost in the heavy vowels and rasping consonants. But to judge from the cheerful expressions that danced across Igor's mobile features, and the avaricious gleam in his eye, the negotiations were proceeding smoothly.

And so it was. Igor gave Edward the coordinates of the airfield and then left him to get on with the next phase of the operation.

Now that Edward had clear evidence that the president's life was in danger, he knew he at least had to get the Secret Service in on it. Larry's concerns that the entire security system of the United States had been compromised by the infiltration of the Patriots would have to go unanswered. If they had gotten as far as the Secret Service, whose agents were willing if need be to take the bullet, sacrificing their own lives to save the president's, then there was nothing Edward or anyone could do to stop the Black Ghosts.

Gambling that such was not the case, and that there were still a few good men at the disposition of the president, was Edward's only option.

He looked at his watch: 4 p.m. That would make it 8 a.m. in New York. He called the safe house. Joe Falco told him Larry had gone downtown to the office building. It was there that Edward managed to reach him.

“Larry, do you have access to anyone in the Secret Service?”

“Natalie called,” Larry said, ignoring Edward's question. “I was about to call you. She said she's waiting at the apartment.”