Operation Barracuda

his reflection.

At fifty-eight years old, Andrei Zdrok was still a handsome man. He enjoyed grooming himself and dressing as if he were the richest man in the world. At one time he was one of the ten wealthiest men in Russia. He had no idea if that was still true. Probably not.

The back of the store was a storeroom full of boxes, supplies, and a trick bookcase that rotated when one pulled out The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, replaced it, and then removed a book entitled Bogus Bard: The Life of Christopher Marlowe. This revealed the inner offices of the Shop, where Andrei Zdrok spent most of his daylight hours.

He closed the bookcase behind him, descended the spiral staircase to the basement, went into his personal office, shut the door, and booted up his computer. As he waited the sixty seconds, Zdrok longed for some of the Swiss coffee he had become addicted to when he lived in Zurich. There was nothing like that in Hong Kong, of course. The Chinese, and the British before them, didn’t know how to make good coffee. Tea was another matter, but he despised tea.

Once the computer was up and running, Zdrok opened his e-mail and found an encrypted message from Jon Ming. Zdrok spent a moment decoding the e-mail and found that it was an order — a big one. Eight hundred thousand U.S. dollars’ worth. Unfortunately, Zdrok had to hand over the arms to the Lucky Dragons at no charge. It was part of the deal he had made with Ming over two years earlier. They would provide the Shop with valuable information concerning the branch of the National Security Agency known as Third Echelon, as well as material for Operation Barracuda. In return, the Shop would supply the Lucky Dragons with all the weapons and arms they asked for. In Zdrok’s opinion, he had gotten the better end of the deal. The Operation Barracuda intelligence alone was worth millions.

Zdrok had been waiting for this final order from the Lucky Dragons. It meant that the Shop’s business with them was complete. The final “installment” of Operation Barracuda materials had been delivered. Of course, it would be prudent to keep relations between the Shop and the Triad pleasant. After all, Jon Ming had shown considerable “face” in helping Zdrok relocate. Zdrok owed Ming a great deal. He just didn’t want to pay it.

Zdrok picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. A man on the other end answered, “Da.”

“It’s me,” Zdrok said.

“Hello, Andrei.”

“Good morning, Anton. How are things up in the New Territories?”

Anton Antipov, one of the Shop’s directors and essentially Zdrok’s right-hand man, replied, “Most likely the same as it is down on the island. Warm. Muggy. They say it might rain.” Antipov was in charge of the Shop’s remote warehouse, located near the residential and industrial New Town of Tai Po.

“At least we’re missing the Russian winter, eh?”

“If you say so.” Antipov didn’t care much for the Far East either. He wasn’t fond of Chinese food, and in a place such as Hong Kong that was a great disadvantage.

“I’ve received the final order from the Lucky Dragons,” Zdrok said. He listed the desired items and quantities. “It must be shipped as soon as possible, of course.”

“Of course,” Antipov said.

“Do I detect sarcasm in your voice, Anton?”

“Not at all.”

“Come on, talk to me.”

“You know I was never happy about allowing this Triad to put our affairs in order. It’s humiliating.”

Zdrok sighed. “We’ve been over this a dozen times, Anton. What else could we do? If we had stayed in Eastern Europe or Russia we would have been found and arrested. At least here we can hide and still do business.”

“How long can we hide, Andrei? How long before the United States finds us?”

“Anton. You worry too much.”

“And you’re unceasingly unhappy.”

“Ah, well. These are our natures, yes? Let us concentrate on the matters we can control. Our customer in China will give us five million dollars U.S. as soon as we deliver the final installment of Operation Barracuda material to him.”

“You have it?”

“We have it. It will go to the general tomorrow.”

“Very good. We can close up that particular avenue.”

“Yes,” Zdrok said. “I have already asked Ming to do so. He will take care of it.”

“And what happens if Ming finds out where all this Barracuda stuff is going?”

Zdrok felt himself shudder. “That would be very unfortunate. Under no circumstances are the Lucky Dragons to know our plans.”

“I know that. You’ve said it a hundred times.”

“Then that makes it a hundred and one.”

“But if General Tun flaunts—”

“Quiet. By then it will be too late.”

Antipov sighed. “Is that all, Andrei? I have an order to put together. In fact, most of it will have to be shipped from Russia. Tell Ming he’ll have it in a week.”

“That’s actually good for us. Oskar can ride over with the shipment. Arrange it, please.”

“Right.”

Zdrok could sense that Antipov had more to say. “Is there something else, Anton?”

“Andrei, what does the Benefactor think of Operation Barracuda? He is aware of General Tun, is he not?”

“Of course he is. Don’t be a fool. The Benefactor is on our side and always will be. It was he who initially put us in contact with the Lucky Dragons and it was he who introduced us to the general. Fifteen percent is what most authors and actors pay their agents. I think he’s well worth the commission, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Andrei. You were always much wiser in these matters than me.”

“Cheer up, Anton. Go have some Russian vodka for breakfast. But only after you send word to Oskar and get Ming’s shipment ready.”

“Have a good day, Andrei.”

Zdrok hung up the phone and continued to check his e-mail. There was one from General Prokofiev. The Russian general had remained in his home country because of his position with the army. Of all the Shop directors, Prokofiev was the most protected. His cover was unshakable.

Zdrok opened the e-mail and read:

AZ—

Obukhov facility closed. General managers retired. All went smoothly except presence of Western competition. Still attempting confirmation of competition’s going-out-of-business sale.

— SP

Zdrok rubbed his eyes. Good news and bad news. The good news was that the last remnants of the Shop’s stealth plane activities had been destroyed. So far, the Russian government and military forces had not traced the theft of the aircraft to Prokofiev. The bad news was that an American intelligence operative witnessed the destruction of the Obukhov hangar. Prokofiev’s last sentence indicated that he thought the man was dead but a body had not yet been recovered.

Damn, Zdrok thought. It sounded as if the operative may have been one of the men on the classified list of agents’ names and descriptions that Zdrok had obtained last year. Was this man one of Third Echelon’s Splinter Cells? Could he have been the nemesis that brought the Shop all of its troubles?

Could he have been the man known as Sam Fisher?

Zdrok slammed his fist on the desk and swore that the Shop would have its revenge on the man. Zdrok picked up the phone and made another call.

It would be easy to find out whether or not the Splinter Cell was still alive.