anything we’re flying today, although it’s still the world’s fastest interceptor. But sheer speed doesn’t count for a lot. Success in air combat is determined by agility, avionics, radar performance, missile technology and all the rest, and the Foxbat scores pretty damn poorly on most counts. But there must be a reason. They must want the aircraft for
‘How?’ Hicks asked.
‘Right now, I don’t exactly know,’ Muldoon admitted. ‘We’ve got no sources we can tap inside the DPRK itself, and I doubt if Bae Chang-Su would be willing to risk infiltrating another of his agents north of the Demilitarized Zone. The NSA already monitors what signal and voice traffic there is in North Korea, and obviously they’ve not picked up anything of interest, or they’d have told us. So I guess the only avenue we have left is technical intelligence. I’ll mark T’ae’tan and that entire area of North Korea a Priority One target for N-PIC, and suggest they modify the orbits of the Keyhole birds so that the NKs won’t anticipate when they’re overhead. That way we might actually get to see whatever the hell they’re doing with those aircraft.’
Pavel Bardin was about six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes and a stocky build. He looked uncomfortable as he walked into Oustenka’s office, and even more uncomfortable when the colonel introduced his visitors.
‘Lieutenant Bardin,’ Bykov began, ‘let me assure you we have no interest in your reasons for engaging in conversation with these three men we’ve heard about. But we believe they were directly responsible for Georgi Lenkov’s death, and we want to trace them as soon as possible. Now, I have a question for you. Colonel Oustenka told us they gave you a telephone number to contact them if you changed your mind about their offer. Do you still have that number?’
Bardin nodded, still unwilling to speak, and reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket. He pulled out a piece of folded paper and passed it to Bykov.
‘It’s a mobile number,’ the GRU officer said, studying the first few digits. ‘That means we can trace it and find out who the phone is registered to.’
Richter broke in. ‘That’ll give you a name and an address, probably both false, but it won’t actually help us to find these men. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we just ask Lieutenant Bardin here to call them and set up a meeting for tonight?’
The three of them stared at the young lieutenant, who was already shaking his head.
‘Excellent idea,’ Oustenka boomed, ‘and I’m sure Lieutenant Bardin will be only too pleased to help avenge the death of his comrade.’
Reluctantly, Bardin turned the head shake into a nod and looked even more unhappy than before.
‘Don’t worry,’ Richter assured him. ‘You won’t be meeting them just by yourself. We’ll organize a full police presence and I’ll be there too.’
‘You?’ Bykov and Oustenka blurted simultaneously, their surprise obvious.
‘Damn right,’ Richter said, turning to Bykov and switching back to English. ‘Ever since I arrived in Moscow I’ve done nothing but tag along behind you, Viktor, like a spare prick at a wedding.’
‘A what?’ Bykov demanded.
‘I’ll explain it later. No offence, but I’m bored rigid. It’s time I did something to justify my presence over here.’
He looked across at Bardin, whose unhappiness seemed to have deepened still further at Richter’s lapse into a language he didn’t understand.
‘Don’t worry, Pavel,’ Richter said, once again speaking Russian. ‘This kind of thing – it’s what I do best.’
Chapter Nine
Wednesday
Pak Je-San sat stiffly upright on a hard wooden chair at the end of the long table, a notebook lying open in front of him. He was nervous and trying not to show it: the hierarchy of the North Korean government thrived on fear, using it to keep the population in line, and Pak sincerely believed they could actually smell any trace of it. For sure they – or more specifically Kim Yong-Su, sitting in an armchair at the head of the table – would pounce on any sign of weakness from him.
‘And when do you expect the last of the interceptors to arrive?’
‘Quite soon, I hope,’ Pak replied. ‘Ryu Chang-Ho reported that his first approach was turned down, but he has another possibility. If his offer is accepted this time, and the other officers can be bribed, the aircraft could be ready to leave the base within forty-eight hours. So the last two fighters could arrive in Pyongyang within four or five days.’
There was a grunt from one of the other four men. ‘When you say his offer was “turned down”, I assume Ryu ensured his target was not left in a position to reveal what had been discussed?’
Four pairs of eyes bored into Pak as he replied. ‘Yes, Ryu eliminated the target, as was done with every other unsuccessful approach.’
‘Good,’ Kim murmured, looking down at his notes.
Pak had been reporting to him at first on a monthly, then on a weekly, basis ever since this operation had started. And during every meeting he had hated looking into the man’s dead, black eyes, which seemed capable of stripping the very flesh from his bones. And at every such meeting he had dreaded having to admit even the most trifling error or delay.
Now Kim Yong-Su was eyeing him directly again, his face expressionless. ‘Exactly how many interceptors do you have now, Pak?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘If Ryu fails to obtain another two aircraft, will your twenty-four be enough to complete the operation?’
Pak appeared to give the question serious consideration before answering, but there was no way he was going to say anything other than ‘Yes’. Given a choice, he would have preferred a hundred MiG-25s, simply because there’s safety – and reliability – in numbers.
At present, the aircraft maintainers at T’ae’tan were achieving about seventy-five per cent serviceability, which meant three out of every four Foxbats being able to get airborne at any one time. That proportion, he’d been assured by a couple of the Russian mercenary pilots, was pretty good for an aircraft as old as the MiG-25, especially as they didn’t possess a full inventory of spare parts. But it also meant that one out of every four of the aircraft could
‘And the missiles, what of them?’
‘We have one hundred and fifteen at present, and another forty-eight currently en route from Bulgaria to Iran. When they arrive here in a few days’ time, that will give us an arsenal of one hundred and sixty-three. A full warload for each MiG-25 is technically four missiles, but some of the pilots have suggested that two might be preferable, simply to allow the aircraft higher speed, better agility at altitude and greater endurance. My inclination is to arm each aircraft fully, but our decision will ultimately depend upon the tactical situation when we need to launch.’
Kim nodded slowly, but he wasn’t yet satisfied. ‘Pak, let us consider the worst-case scenario,’ he said. ‘Assume that Ryu Chang-Ho fails in his mission, or that the arrival of the last two interceptors is so delayed that the aircraft will not reach us in time to be deployed. Assume also that our enemies by some means discover that the ship travelling between Varna and Bandar Abbas is carrying the missiles and that they then intercept the vessel and seize the cargo.’
Pak didn’t respond, just stared up the long table, waiting.
‘Now, with that scenario, with two of your interceptors unavailable, and with almost thirty per cent of your arsenal of missiles seized, could your squadron of mercenaries still achieve the task we will be setting them?’
There was a long silence in the room, and Pak Je-San wasn’t the only man present who had noted Kim
