Orlov fell silent as he failed to find the log of his own conversation with Dogin. He looked back at 8:11, which is when he remembered making the entry. The space was blank.
'Is something wrong, sir?' Rossky asked.
Orlov did a word-search of the entire file, just to make sure he hadn't mislogged the entry. Outwardly calm, inwardly he was agitated when Gulfstream did not turn up anywhere.
The General regarded Rossky. The Colonel's expression was relaxed now, which in itself told him something: Rossky had removed the order.
'No,' Orlov said, 'nothing is wrong. I misplaced a log order. I'll reenter it when we're finished.' He sat back, saw a satisfied twist tug on the sides of Rossky's mouth. 'I've spent enough time on this matter, and I trust my wishes are clear.'
'Quite, sir.'
'I want you to inform Minister Dogin of my intentions, and to take over the operation personally. My son respects you, and I'm sure you'll work as well together now as you did in the past.'
'Yes, sir,' Rossky said. 'He's a good officer.'
The telephone beeped, and Orlov dismissed the Colonel as he picked up the receiver. Rossky shut the door without a backward glance.
'Yes?' Orlov said.
'Sir, it's Zilash. Would you please come to the radio room?'
'What's wrong?'
'The dish is picking up densely coded communications,' Zilash said. 'We've sent them over to cryptography, but we've started to wonder if something might be happening before we're able to translate the messages.'
'I'm on my way,' Orlov said.
He left without bothering to relog the Gulfstream entry, certain that it would only be erased again? and angry that a meeting designed to put Rossky in his place merely underscored his growing concern that Dogin and the spetsnaz planned to run the Center with him as a figurehead.
Rossky's words echoed in his mind. 'Not if the information is the business of this Center, sir.' In the space of just a few hours, the death of an enemy agent and information about the Gulfstream had been kept from him. The Center was one of the most powerful reconnaissance bases in the world: Orlov would not permit Rossky and Dogin to turn it into their own private resource, though he would not do anything just yet. He had learned from his days in space that it was most important to keep his head cool when his seat was heating up to five thousand degrees Fahrenheit— and the pair had not yet come close to raising the temperature that high.
In any case, he still had a facility to run, and neither the Colonel nor a megalomaniac was going to keep him from doing his job.
Orlov sidled into the cramped radio room, which was even thicker with smoke than before. Zilash's narrow face was angled upward, his eyes staring at nothing in particular as he listened on his headset. He removed them after a moment and looked at Orlov.
'Sir,' he said around his cigarette, 'we've been following two series of coded communications, and we assume they're connected. The first is from Washington to an aircraft over the Atlantic, and the second is to Helsinki.' He took two quick puffs, then stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray. 'We had the satellite team take a look at the aircraft: it's unmarked, though they make it out to be a C-141B StarLifter.'
'Big troop carrier,' Orlov said thoughtfully, 'a modified version of the C-141A. I know the plane well.'
'I thought you might.' Zilash smiled, then lit a fresh cigarette. 'The StarLifter is on a course toward Helsinki. We listened to communications between the pilot and the tower: he'll be arriving around eleven P.M., local time.'
Orlov looked at his watch. 'That's less than an hour from now. Any idea who's on board?'
Zilash shook his head. 'We tried to listen in on the cockpit with the Svetlana in the North Atlantic, but the captain says there's an electronic field in the plane.'
'So it's definitely intelligence,' Orlov said, though he wasn't surprised. He thought back to the British operative who had been spying on the Hermitage, and quietly damned Rossky for his handling of the matter. The man should have been watched, not driven to suicide— if indeed he took his own life. 'Brief the Ministry of Security in Moscow,' Orlov said. 'Tell them I need someone in Helsinki to meet the plane and watch to see if the Americans are planning to cross over.'
'Yes, sir,' said Zilash.
Orlov thanked him, then went to his office and summoned Rossky and Security Director Glinka to talk about which plan to implement in case they had visitors.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lenin once said of Vladivostok, 'It's a long way away. But it's ours.'
Through two World Wars, the port city located on the Muravyev Peninsula on the Sea of Japan was a major entry point for supplies and materiel from the United States and elsewhere. During the Cold War years, the military shut the city off from the world, yet Vladivostok prospered as the port and the Pacific Fleet grew, and both military and commercial shipbuilding brought workers and money into the city. Then, in 1986, Mikhail Gorbachev inaugurated the 'Vladivostok Initiative,' which reopened the city and made it what he called 'a wide-open window on the East.'
Successive Russian leaders have worked hard to make the city an integral part of trade in the Pacific Rim, but with the new openness have come gangsters from Russia and from around the globe, attracted by hard currency and goods that come into the port both legally and illegally.
The airport in Vladivostok is located nearly nineteen miles to the north of the city. It's an hour ride from the field to the train terminal, which is situated in the heart of Vladivostok, just east of the heavily traveled Ulitsa Oktyabra.
Upon arriving at the airport with his team, Lieutenant Orlov was met by a courier from the Rear Admiral's office. The young messenger handed the officer sealed instructions to call Colonel Rossky for his orders. As snow began to flutter from pale gray skies, Nikita ran to his unit, which was lined up by the bullet nose in front of the Mi- 6, the largest helicopter in the world, capable of carrying seventy people up to 652 miles. The troops were dressed in camouflage whites, their hoods down, compact backpacks at their feet. Each man was armed with standard spetsnaz issue: submachine gun and four hundred rounds of ammunition, a knife, six hand grenades, and a P-6 silent pistol. Nikita himself carried an AKR with just 160 rounds of ammunition, the short-barreled submachine gun being standard among officers.
Nikita ordered his radio operator to unpack the parabolic dish. Less than a minute later, he was on a secure uplink to Colonel Rossky.
'Sir,' Nikita said, 'Lieutenant Orlov calling as ordered.'
'Lieutenant,' said Rossky, 'it's good to hear from you after so many years. I'm looking forward to working with you.'
'Thank you, sir. I feel the same way.'
'Excellent,' Rossky said. 'What do you know about your mission Orlov?'
'Nothing, sir.'
'Very well. Do you see the Gulfstream on the landing strip?'
Nikita turned to the west, into the flurries, and saw the jet sitting on the tarmac. 'Yes, sir.'
'Markings?'
'N2692A,' Nikita said.
'Correct,' said Rossky. 'I've asked Rear Admiral Pasenko to send a convoy. Is it there?'
'I see four trucks waiting behind the jet.'
'Excellent,' said Rossky. 'You are to unload the cargo from the jet, put it on the trucks, and meet the train which is waiting at the station in the city. Only the engineer will remain on board: once the cargo has been loaded, you will move the train north. Your tentative destination is Bira, though confirmation will come once you are under
