Then Burt looked around the long room. It was illuminated by windows at either end, with strip lights tracked along the length of the ceiling. A coffee machine bubbled in a corner, there was a wine rack and cooler, and one of the staff below had laid out plates of sandwiches and biscuits, and fruit bowls overflowing with every kind of fruit that would never be touched, and at the far end of the table near where Burt sat there was a modest humidor with a full selection of his favourite cigars. Burt placed his chubby hands on the table, the palms down, and commanded the attention of all of them.
“On the twenty-second of January, three months ago,” he began, using no notes, “Anna retrieved a set of naval department blueprints secreted from the Russian Defence Ministry that show Moscow’s plans for a modest enlargement of the port facilities at Novorossiysk, on the Russian side of the Kerch Straits from Crimea. Some days earlier, a severed head was delivered to a U.S. embassy staff member in Kiev. The head belonged to a man who was a recent, and unidentified, Russian informant of the CIA station in Kiev. This informant reported what the CIA calls—using the informant’s words—a ‘terror ship’ that had recently left the port of Novorossiysk. It left the Black Sea, changed its name twice, and returned with what was apparently a secret cargo. It now lies fifty miles off the port of Sevastopol.” He reached for a cigar, but used it merely as some kind of prop, stabbing the air with it, waving it as if he were drawing a picture in the air. Then he continued. “A week after the ship appears on our mental screens, Anna captured a reinforced steel canister on the Russian-Ukrainian northern border. It was one of several batches being smuggled into Ukraine by Russian special forces troops. From our sources in Russia, we believed it to contain toxic substances.” Burt paused. “And then, to cap things off perfectly, we received, from usually reliable sources in Moscow, stories of a Moscow-backed plan to implicate an Islamic Tatar group, by the name of Qubaq, in the Crimea. The idea—apparently—was to create a set of circumstances that would destabilise the Crimean region and then blame this group.” He looked around the room. What he then said surprised his audience. “What—if any of this—do we believe?” Burt stated with the majesty of a judge in the summing-up of a long case.
But without waiting for an answer—as everyone around the table was accustomed to after one of Burt’s rhetorical flourishes—he continued again. “The general background to all this is that Russia has been agitating in Ukraine since the country’s independence. This has been the case mainly since 2000, when Putin came to power. In more recent years, agitation has developed into what might be called a concerted subversion of Ukraine’s political, military, and intelligence structures. That began in earnest in 2004 when Moscow tried to fix the elections there and was only defeated by the Orange Revolution. Today, Moscow’s candidate is in power, the revolution has failed, and Ukraine’s future is undecided; whether it is to be part of Western democratic culture or fall back under the influence—perhaps more than that—of Russia.” He waved the cigar then pointed it like a weapon. “So far this has been largely a propaganda war instigated by Russia against Ukraine. But is it just propaganda? In this case—as in most others—we should always listen to what the world’s leaders actually say. In the twentieth century that would, perhaps, have avoided several catastrophes. And what did Putin say about Ukraine? In April 2008, he said to President Bush, ‘Ukraine is not even a state.’ He described how large parts of it were a ‘gift’ from Russia. My belief is that we should listen to what our leaders say, particularly those who don’t have to appeal to a fully democratic electorate. What I believe is that Putin wishes to take back this so-called gift of Russia’s. The question is, how will he do so?”
Burt leaned back in his chair, finally placed the cigar into his mouth, and, with his head tilted slightly back, lit a long match that ignited the end of the cigar until he eventually sat blowing clouds of blue-grey smoke towards the ceiling. Then he looked down again at the table.
“So let me begin by assessing what we can be expected to believe of the recent events I’ve just described,” he said. “And, of course, what we should not believe. First of all, the plans for the enlargement of Novorossiysk’s port are negligible in terms of the facilities that the Russian Black Sea fleet needs to operate. In other words, despite Moscow’s assertions at international conferences and private meetings that it is planning to relocate its fleet to the Russian port and away from Ukrainian territory, no such intention exists. It plans to remain in Sevastopol, come what may. I call this Russia’s strategic aim one. From the plans themselves, I think we can believe this aim.
“Second, the canisters, which arrive on Ukrainian soil backed by rumours and some evidence of Russia distributing its passports to Ukrainian citizens in the north of the country, and by stories of weapons caches there.” He looked up at the watchful faces of the group at the table to indicate something momentous. “For weeks now our labs have been conducting tests on the canister you brought back from Ukraine, Anna,” he announced. “Now, at last, we have the results. It’s taken so long because they couldn’t quite believe it. What the canister contains is a mixture of Georgian mineral water, iodine, camphor, and a small amount of sulphuric acid. The mineral water was the hardest ingredient to identify.” He paused again to let this sink in. “In other words, there is no poison, no secret weapon, no threat to Ukraine—at least from these canisters,” he added darkly.
This revelation seemed to throw all of the party into confusion except, mysteriously, Burt.
“Then why did the Russians spend so much time and subterfuge smuggling them into the country in the first place?” Bob Dupont asked reasonably.
“Exactly,” Burt said. “Why?”
Mikhail looked up from his usual position of staring at the table, as if in some form of deep meditation, and said in a level voice: “So they wanted us to think it was important. They hadn’t anticipated that Anna or anyone else would actually capture any of the canisters. What they were expecting—requiring, in fact—was that our satellites and any other observation would pick up their movements, the military vehicles, even the special forces personnel involved. They wanted us to see the smuggling operation without knowing that what they were smuggling was harmless.”
All around the table pondered this for a moment before Burt spoke.
“When all this began,” he said, “it was against a background of Russia ramping up its hostilities towards Ukraine in the northern sector of the country. Handing out Russian passports, the so-called weapons caches, and planned strike action and revolution. Then came the canisters in a highly organised, obviously subversive smuggling operation across the border. All these things were taking place in the northeastern sector of the country along the borders with Russia. But if the canisters can be shown to be a charade—a lie, effectively—then may we assume that all these actions in the northeast of the country are so much chaff the Russians are throwing up in order to divert our attention?”
Nobody replied.
“I think we can assume that,” Burt said. “Which is what makes Sevastopol and the Crimea all the more relevant. The Crimea is where any action the Russians are planning will take place. That’s where the tipping point is.”
“What about the terror ship?” Dupont said. “That’s off the Crimean coast. They’d know we could see it from satellites, too.”
Burt looked up and studied him for a long time. “The so-called terror ship,” he said, emphasising his distrust of identifying the
“We need to know what’s onboard,” Larry interjected. “We can’t assume anything until we know.”
“I agree,” Burt said. “And I’m arranging a little trip to view it. Logan, as it happens, will be in charge.”
He looked at Anna.
“Tell us about the CIA’s source, Anna,” he said. “The severed head.”
“He’s an occasional the KGB sometimes uses,” she replied. “An ex-convict, drug addict, and sometime assassin.”
“Whom the KGB used to plant this terror ship information,” Burt completed for her. “And then they got rid of him. A criminal. An occasional. One job only—but one vital job. After that he’s surplus to requirements. They kill him and they make his death look like a Chechen killing. Yes?”
“Maybe, Burt,” Anna answered.
“The ship may be a double bluff,” Mikhail said. “They may actually intend for us to find out the identity of the source. That he was KGB. When we know who the dead man is, we see the CIA’s source is likely to be a fraud. And then we don’t take the ship seriously. But perhaps the ship is a real threat.”
“That is true,” Burt said. “The ship could be a double bluff. It might indeed contain dangerous substances,
