Unto the Breach pos-4, page 15
part #4 of Paladin of Shadows Series
“What about Katya?”
“Katya will be on the mission,” Mike replied. “I’d bring you in on it but it’s a snap-kick. I don’t see an insert point for you.”
“Understood,” Jay said. “Well, I’ll just pick Vanner’s brain for a bit until Anastasia’s up to speed and then start with my self-tasking. I’d like to talk to Katya about her mission, if you’re okay on the need to know.”
“Works,” Mike replied. “Just ensure she’s got her mission face on when she’s out the door. Vanner, as far as I’m concerned, Jay has choice on his need-to-know. If you have issues, bring them up with me.”
“You’re very trusting,” Jay said, frowning slightly.
“You were vetted by good people,” Mike replied. “I can’t, won’t unless something comes up, second-guess that. In for a penny and all that. So… if you are afraid something will be compromised, don’t ask.”
“Yes, Kildar,” Jay said. That smile again.
* * *
“Who’s the visitor,” Nielson asked as Mike was headed to his office. “The Mother Savina came in asking me who he was.”
“That was Jay,” Mike repiled. “You found him. I almost want to say ‘You keep him.’ The guy gives me the creeps. I’m pretty sure I still don’t know what he actually looks like. If he burns us, there’s nobody really there.”
“He’s as good as they come,” Nielson pointed out. “And very much a patriot. As long as we don’t screw the US… ”
“Let’s hope we never have to,” Mike said. “I’d prefer not to myself. You were just asking about him?”
“No,” the colonel said. “I just got word. A Colonel Erkin Chechnik, Russian Army, is on his way to see us. I was informed you know him.”
“I do,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Russian spook. Pretty good. Pretty much Pierson’s equivalent; briefs the President on Russian black-ops. He’s probably going to brief us on the Russian side.”
“More or less what I guessed,” Nielson said. “So… You wanna talk?”
“About what?” Mike asked.
“Gretchen,” Nielson said, raising an eyebrow. “And you. And Kiril.”
“How about just saying I didn’t like this entire Cardane thing from the beginning,” Mike said, shrugging. “I’ve got it handled. I’m not going to do a King David on Kiril, I’m not going to lay another hand on Gretchen.”
“And you are… where in there?” Nielson asked.
“How about ‘I’m not going to lay another hand on Gretchen, damnit to hell’?” Mike said, grimacing.
“Been there,” Nielson said. “Prior to my wife dying I had some… encounters with other ladies. All by agreement with my wife. The agreement was I could screw around as much as I liked, as long as I didn’t fall in love. And then… ”
“You fell in love,” Mike said, sitting down and listening.
“I did indeed, laddy,” Nielson said, leaning back in his chair. “Lady named Sharon. Very much a lady. I was her first. Very strange circumstances. I actually passed on the honor. She later found other men, none of them particularly good for her. We eventually lost touch, half by purpose. But… She’s still there in my heart. And Gretchen?”
“It fucking sucks,” Mike said. “I’ve been married but I never felt this way about a girl, ever. I never believed in love at first sight and it wasn’t even that. It… I don’t know. It just snuck up on me.”
“And clobbered you over the head,” Nielson said, nodding. “That is the reality far more than ‘love at first sight.’ A friend, a companion, someone you knew casually and then one day… Wham! All of a sudden, they’re something different. Any idea how Gretchen feels about the situation?”
“Not sure,” Mike admitted. “The Cardane girls… generally have a pretty good time. But it was an unusual enounter in both directions. I haven’t really spoken to her since and… ”
“And you’re the Kildar,” the colonel said. “Big attraction right there. It would be hard to be sure what she actually thinks. I’m not sure that even if she was as honest as she could be that it would be clear what she really thinks. For general Kildar’s Ears Only, I think that Cardane is a damned bad idea. I haven’t said anything but… you don’t screw the wives or girlfriends of your subordinates. Period. The Keldara take a different tack on that but… It’s just been a damned bad idea. This is only one of a dozen reasons why.”
“Thought of all that,” Mike said with a sigh. “But right now we have other things to think about. The whole thing with Gretchen, and the Cardane, needs to be tabled for the time being. Bigger fish to fry.”
“Such as the Russian,” Nielson said. “I’m surprised that he’s coming in person. No read at all on why?”
“Only that it can’t be good. I’ve never seen Chechnik turn up when things are going well.”
* * *
“Erkin, what a pleasant surprise.”
Mike hadn’t seen Colonel Chechnik in about a year, not since the Paris mission. But he hadn’t changed much. The Russian intel officer was short and broad as a house. He looked more like a member of the Olympic wrestling team than a highly qualified intel officer. Mike was sure that he’d used that to his advantage more than once.
“Mikhail,” the colonel boomed, clasping Mike close and kissing him on both cheeks. “Or should I call you Kildar, now?”
“Mike will do,” Mike replied, grinning. He’d arranged a formal reception line for the visiting Russian and now waved him further into the foyer of the serai. “May I introduce Colonel Nielson, my operations officer?”
“Colonel Nielson,” Chechnik said, shaking his hand. “I read your paper on IED patterning as they related to street crime incidences in Iraq. A very interesting premise.”
“I had to think of something,” Nielson said, nodding. “And my original paper was rejected.”
“And what was that on?” Chechnik asked, smiling quizzically.
“The utility of crucifiction as a means of control,” Nielson replied, smiling thinly.
“I think we need you in the Russian Army, colonel,” Chechnik said, smiling in much the same way. “We could use you in Chechnya.”
“My field operations number two, Master Chief Adams,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“Master Chief,” the Russian replied, shaking hands again. “I’ve only been able to see a portion of your confidential files, but I must ask a question: What in the world does your first team nickname, ‘Ass-boy One’, relate to?”
Both Adams and Mike flinched at that and Adams shook his head.
“Colonel, I doubt that you have the stomach for the full horror of that story,” Adams said. “But if you have to know, you’ll have to ask… ” He suddenly stopped and shook his head. “Ask someone else.”
“Sergeant Vanner, my intel specialist,” Mike said, moving on rapidly. What Adams had nearly said was “Ask Ass-Boy Two” referring to Mike. He and Adams had been through Basic Underwater Demolitions and SCUBA training together in Class 203 where they, and others, had picked up the moniker “ass-boy” due to an unfortunate test the then commander of BUD/S had insisted upon. However, if Chechnik knew that team name, then he also had access to Mike’s other team name, Ghost. And since “Ghost” was known as the man who had broken up the Syrian operation, and thus drawn the ire of virtually every terrorist on the face of the planet, Adams had nearly handed Chechnik a piece of information worth both money and power.
“I sincerely apologize for the lapse in our own security,” Chechnik said, shaking Vanner’s hand. “The leak to the Chechens has been closed.”
“That one,” Vanner said. “But you ought to know that at least one of your people has been having regular sat-phone contact with Kamil Resama. All we’re picking up are the externals, some side-band waves and scattering, but whenever that one phone, coming from your Stalin Base in Subya, starts sending, Kamil’s phone’s duration is dead on for receiving quite a few of the calls.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chechnik replied, stone faced.
“Last but not least, my manager of internal matters, Anastasia Rakovich,” Mike said. He’d promised Anastasia that, unlike her former employer, she’d get introduced and not treated like a piece of furniture.
“The picture in your file does not do you justice, Ms. Rakovich,” Chechnik said, bowing over and kissing her hand.
“I have a file?” Anastasia asked, raising one eyebrow.
“You’ve had a file since you became the harem manager for Sheik Otryad,” the colonel replied. “It has simply been moved up in precedence since you’ve become the Kildar’s.”
“Oh,” Anastasia said, her face blank.
“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Chechnik said, nodding to the group. “I hope that we can talk at length sometime soon.”
“Meaning that right now you’d like to talk at length with me,” Mike said.
“Alas, yes,” the colonel replied. “If you don’t mind, I would like to have the talk in private.”
“Not at all,” Mike said. “Guys, I’ll see you later.”
Chapter Twelve
“Sit,” Mike said, collapsing behind his desk. His office was in one of the older parts of the serai, with thick stone walls and no windows. Vanner had checked it for emissions and it was damned near as good as a professional secure room. That was probably because of the high olivine content of the local granite, dolomite actually. Mike still had it swept once a week and Vanner had insisted on “touching up” with some impossibly expensive paint. The stuff was a nice light blue but apparently it was opaque to transmissions.
“What’s on your mind? And are you an emissary from Vladimir?” he asked, meaning the president of Russia. Chechnik’s position was much like that of Colonel Pierson, he was a briefer to senior non-military members of the Russian government. One of the people he regularly briefed was the Russian president who occasionally used him as a very covert conduit.
“Among others,” Chechnik replied, sighing. “In fact, it was I who convinced the president, and others, that I should come. I have some information that you need about your mission.”
“So give,” Mike said, frowning.
“Yes, that is the problem,” the colonel replied, sighing again. “Kildar, Mikhail, I believe that you are an honorable man, a man of your word.”
“He said, just before ripping the honorable man off,” Mike said.
“Nonetheless,” Chechnik said. “I must ask you this. I cannot give you the information unless you agree that you will not, in turn, give it to your government or the government of Georgia.”
“Oh,” Mike replied. “I could go for that, but it depends. Does this information have serious strategic or tactical bearing on the United States?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Chechnik said. “But my masters have determined that they are unwilling to share the information with the Ami.” The Russian paused and grimaced. “It has to do with an area that the Americans have chided us on. In my opinion with good reason. But it… this situation is extremely embarassing for our government. And we can only take so much embarassment. That thing with Paris last year, My God, the ripples are still refusing to settle. Then the Albanian thing that you turned up!”
“Every government had problems with that,” Mike pointed out. “That’s why it’s stayed so damned quiet.”
The Albanian op had turned up a load of files on a sex ring that had “honey trapped” dozens of officials in nearly as many countries. The worst part about the honey-trapping was that the officials, ranging from minor military officers all the way to one Assistant Home Secretary, had abused, raped and even killed the prostitutes involved. The files were still sending very quiet shudders through more than a dozen governments, including every major world power. And in the end, Mike had ended up holding all the originals. The thought on that went something like this: None of the governments trusted the others with the information. But somebody had to hold it. Mike was the easiest to wipe off the face of the earth if it came down to cases.
The DVDs, paper files and hard drives were buried in the basement of the caravanserai. The information in those documents was power in a very real sense; one person privvy to it had referred to it as “the blackmail equivalent of a nuclear weapon” with good reason. But it was a dangerous power that Mike intended to invoke as cautiously as possible and only in an extreme situation. It was a power that could topple governments. If he used it, he was going to be immediately targeted by some very pissed off, and hugely powerful, people.
Mike was far less worried about the Russians, for example, than the Japanese yakuza. Some of the files referred to actions of senior Japanese businessmen. They’d all, at this point, comitted suicide, even if some of them had to be helped with the knife. But the Japanese would not care for the loss of face if the information surfaced. Nor the French, Chinese… The list was very long.
“Yes, but most governments are not still recovering from the embarassment of one of their nuclear weapons almost vaporizing Paris,” Chechnik snapped. “If this got out on top of everything else… Please, Mikhail, I must have your word. If your mission is successful, let us hope to God, even then I hope I can persuade you to keep the exact nature of this secret.”
“That’s a hell of a lot to ask, Erkin,” Mike replied. “What’s so damned important? I mean, yeah, nukes are a big deal. But we already know about those.”
“Dr. Arensky is not carrying nukes,” the Russian replied, softly.
“Then what the hell is he carrying?” Mike asked, just as softly.
“Your word.”
Mike sat back and looked at the Russian for a long time. The colonel was a professional intelligence officer with a long track record. He’d been in a lot of hairy situations from what Mike had gleaned; he hadn’t always been a desk officer. But as Mike watched, a bead of sweat formed on his forehead and started to trickle down.
“You’ve got it.”
“Dr. Arensky is not a nuclear scientist,” Chechnik said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “He is our premier expert at biological and chemical weapons.”
“Biological,” Mike said, softly.
“Dr. Arensky walked out of the Novy Birsk Biological Weapons Research Facility with four viles of weapons grade smallpox.”
“WHAT?!” Mike shouted, then clutched his head. “How in the FUCK!?”
“The security on our facilities has… much to be desired, yes?” Chechnik replied, shrugging. “This material was kept in Category Five quarantine, the very highest level. It was surrounded by guards. Everything in and out was carefully controlled. As far as we can determine, he moved it out slowly. First from Cat Five then to Cat Four and so on. The missing material was not discovered until after he left. Left does not cover it. The offices of the facility were destroyed by a special operations team that took down the entire guard force. Then we did a very thorough survey of the materials and, lo, the smallpox was missing. Only that. And it was the only sample of that particular, particularly vile, weapon.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mike said. “Smallpox. That shit is nasty. And you go and let him waltz out with… ”
“Yes, it is nasty,” the Russian said. “Also eliminated from the face of the earth. But this is not just any smallpox. This was developed very late in the Soviet era, when genetic technology was fairly advanced, far enough advanced that our scientists could really begin to tinker, yes? They made a breakthrough, then. May I lecture?”
“Go ahead,” Mike said, sighing.
“There are three strains of smallpox,” Chechnik said. “Standard, hemmorhagic and macular, you understand this? Standard has about a thirty percent death rate, but it has a slow onset. So if you are innoculated against it, only those with very weak immune systems die. Often innoculation will stop onset even in those showing symptoms. Hemmorhagic and macular are quite different. They strike very very fast and kill even faster. And almost everyone who gets them dies. The one clinical study showed ninety-four percent for hemmorhagic and one hundred percent for macular, each with over a hundred cases.”
“So this is, what? Hemmorhagic or macular?” Mike asked.
“Wait,” the Russian replied. “It is worse. The problem with hemmorhagic or macular as a weapon is that they are infectious for a very short period of time. Then the carrier dies and is no longer spreading them. From a bio-weapons standpoint, that is termed a ‘sub-optimal carrier.’ Standard, in many ways, is better because the onset is slow.”
“You figured out a way to spread it out,” Mike said, tonelessly. “Or you upped the fatality level of standard.”
“This is a modified form of macular, the very most deadly,” Chechnik said, nodding. “The infected person lives for up to five days while being infectious and then dies, nearly one hundred percent of the time. And that is even if they have been given the vaccine. There is no vaccine, no antidote, that will save anyone who is infected. If this gets out, it will kill the whole world. Your writer Stephen King wrote a book, yes, ‘The Stand.’ This is Captain Trips. At most a few thousand people left in the whole world. That cannot even restart the human race. And it was modified to be very… latent. That is it will survive for a long time even if there is not a host. It will wait for years if necessary to find a host.”
“You evil motherfuckers,” Mike whispered. “You couldn’t just destroy it, could you? We turn our nukes away, you turn your nukes away, but you keep this… this fucking doomsday device? Why?”
“We see as one on this,” Chechnik said, shrugging. “Vladimir swears that he was unaware of this weapon, but I don’t believe him. However, if you recover it… ”
“If I recover it it’s going straight to the US,” Mike said, savagely. “I don’t know if they’ll destroy it or not… ”
“No,” Chechnik said. “Please. This is exactly what we cannot allow.”
“What? You think I’m just going to give it back?”
