The Russian Deception (10 page)

"Well, it worked."

"We're not in the air yet," Selena said.

"I'll feel a lot better when we are."

Fourteen rows behind the curtain separating first class from the rest of the plane, Valentina thought about what she was going to do when they reached Vienna.

Two hours later they were on the ground in Austria. They rented a car with a GPS and drove into the city.

CHAPTER 20

Elizabeth came into her office and turned on the coffee. She went over to her desk and found a dead mouse on her chair.

Another little gift,
Elizabeth thought.
Sometimes I wish that cat didn't like me so much.

She plucked a tissue from her purse and picked up the mangled corpse by the tail. She dropped it into the wastebasket and sat down. While she waited for the coffee to be ready Elizabeth thought about what the day was likely to bring. It didn't look good.

It hadn't taken long for Mitreski to send troops into Albania. He'd crossed the border at the only two places where his motorized infantry and tanks could roll down improved highways toward the capital of Tirana. On paper, it looked like a classic pincer movement. One thrust had launched from Debar, the second further south near Lake Ohrid. In theory a quick, blitzkrieg-like attack would succeed in threatening the capital and forcing some sort of capitulation. Theory and reality were two different things. The attack was poorly planned and premature. The Macedonian forces were already in trouble, only hours into the war.

Mitreski's troops had succeeded in blowing through the border checkpoints and starting into the country but had met fierce resistance only a few miles inside Albanian territory. Now the advance was completely bogged down. Winter was not cooperating and heavy snow was making things that much more difficult.

Another bloody ground war had begun in the Balkans. Unless stopped soon there was a real risk it would spread to the neighboring countries, Kosovo and Montenegro. Even Greece could get involved. Nobody wanted another Serbian war but Elizabeth feared it was a real possibility. The wounds from twenty years before were still raw. There was a lot of bad blood in the region, waiting to be spilled.

The coffee was ready. Elizabeth got up, fixed a cup and sat back down at her desk. She entered a few strokes on her keyboard and looked at the morning's intelligence assessment on her monitor.

Stephanie came into the room and went over to the sideboard for coffee.

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "There was an accident on the beltway. Traffic was backed up for miles. What's the latest?"

She blew on the hot liquid in her cup and looked at the monitor.

"Macedonia has invaded Albania. There's an emergency meeting of NATO scheduled in Brussels in about an hour."

"Mitreski knows Albania is part of NATO. Does he think they're just going to stand aside?"

"He's probably gambling on a lot of talk before action," Elizabeth said. "If he succeeds in breaking through to the capital it gives him a lot of leverage. It will take days for NATO to do anything and when they do it will probably be ineffective. If I were Mitreski, I'd count on political and bureaucratic infighting to stop any significant forces from being sent against him until it was too late."

"What do you think his chances are?"

"Right now, not so good. He didn't get far into Albania before he was stopped cold. The Albanians are no pushover and fighting is heavy. On top of that the weather is terrible with heavy snow and almost zero visibility. By the time the storm passes the Albanians will have had time to get organized and send reinforcements."

"Does Mitreski have air cover?"

"Neither country has much of an Air Force. They used to have older Russian Migs and some Chinese copies but everything started falling apart back in the 90s. Their planes don't work anymore and both countries have grounded all their fixed wing aircraft. Macedonia has a slight edge in helicopters but that's about it. Airpower isn't going to be a factor. This will be one of those wars where the combatants grind each other into the dirt."

"Did Nick and the others get out okay?" Steph asked.

"They're in Vienna, waiting for instructions. Probably munching on strudel and sipping cappuccino."

"What do you have in mind for them?"

"I'm not sure yet. It depends on how the situation develops. Remember, this is the Balkans we're talking about. Nothing is ever what it appears to be in that region."

"Something is bothering you, Elizabeth. What are you thinking?"

"That Mitreski was awfully quick to move against Albania, too quick. You don't suddenly invade another country without some serious preparation. The logistics alone take a lot of time to get in place."

"It sounds as though you think he's been getting ready for this for a while."

"I do."

"He would need support."

"He would. And I think I know where he's getting it from."

"Russia?"

"Go to the head of the class, Steph. It's the only logical possibility. He is their client, after all. It's Russian support that's kept him in power up to now."

"Didn't the leader of the group that kidnapped Nick tell him the Russians wanted to provoke war with Albania?"

Elizabeth nodded. "That's right. War is a good way to shift attention away from all the problems with Mitreski's corrupt rule. Just get people busy fighting the Albanians and they won't have time to worry about what he's doing. Moscow doesn't want a government in Macedonia that isn't friendly to them."

"So what is it that's bothering you?"

"At first glance starting the war as a distraction makes sense. But something feels off to me about this. Why would Moscow get involved in another adventure in the area? It will backfire if it comes out that the Russians are behind Mitreski's decision to invade. It would be a public relations disaster and Orlov doesn't need that right now. Not with what's happening in the Ukraine."

"Could it be something to do with Greece? The government there is leaning pretty hard toward the Kremlin."

"I don't see that at the moment. Unless the war spreads into Greece, I don't think it's an important factor in Moscow's thinking. Their motive could be as simple as wanting to keep Mitreski in power, but my intuition tells me that isn't it. I can't see what else Moscow gains from a war in the region. That's what's bothering me."

"Your intuition is usually right on," Steph said.

"Except when it isn't. Let's hope this is one of those times."

Stephanie went over to the coffee machine and refilled her cup.

"I'm heading downstairs. I'm almost done with that program I'm working on."

"The one to break into the Chinese satellites?"

"That's the one."

"Come back upstairs when you're ready for lunch," Elizabeth said.

Stephanie left for her computer room and Elizabeth leaned back in her chair with her coffee.

She looks better, or at least a little less stressed out. It must help to have Lucas.

Elizabeth sipped her coffee.

I wish I had someone like Lucas to share things with.

The thought slipped in from nowhere, like a thief in the night.

Once, years ago, Elizabeth had been in love with a man who had turned out to be a perfect example of the kind of narcissistic, ego-centered jerk found in every second rate movie she'd ever seen. It had taken more than a year to get over his betrayal. Any thoughts she'd had of love and affection for him had long ago disappeared.

Elizabeth had become resigned to a future of living by herself. Her job was enough to discourage any possible suitor. At least it would have been if she had found time away from it to look for a possible mate. She knew that she intimidated men. She supposed it was because of her refusal to put up with the nonsense many men expected women to accept. She had nothing against a strong male personality or a healthy testosterone driven ego, only the distortion that often seemed to accompany that combination.

From time to time she found herself thinking about Clarence Hood. She wasn't particularly attracted to him but he wasn't unattractive either. She felt comfortable in his presence and she knew he felt the same. In many ways he'd be the ideal male companion. But she didn't love him.

There was still hope of a genuine romance glowing faintly somewhere inside her. She was attractive and not really too old. But it would be difficult to give up her cherished privacy and the control of her life that went with being single if a real lover came along.

Her coffee was cold. Elizabeth got up to make herself another cup, the way she liked it.

CHAPTER 21

The Hotel Sacher was a legend in Vienna and in much of Europe, the most famous hotel in a city dotted with famous hotels. The Sacher was noted for luxury and old world charm. It had been founded in 1876 during the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire by Prince Metternich's chef, inventor of the famous Sacher-Torte, considered by many the ultimate chocolate confection.

A half dozen flags hung out over the entrance of the hotel. A bellboy dressed in an immaculate red uniform with a round red cap on his head took their luggage and placed it on a gleaming brass cart. He looked as though he'd stepped out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Once in the lobby, the overwhelming impression was one of elegance, luxury and wealth. It was the kind of hotel that made old world aristocracy feel comfortable. Over the years the rulers of every European country had stayed there.

"You sure they're going to let us in?" Lamont asked.

Selena laughed. "It's all arranged, Lamont. I stayed here once with my uncle years ago. It's a wonderful hotel. The same family still manages it and they remembered me. Trust me, you'll like it here."

"How's the restaurant?"

"I don't think you'll have any problem finding something you like."

"You ever stop thinking about food?" Ronnie said.

"Hey, a man has to eat. I always wanted to try a real Vienna pastry, not that stuff they sell in the supermarket."

"Well, you're in the right place," Selena said. "Why don't we meet in an hour in the Blaue Bar after we get settled in. We could have a drink and then go to dinner."

"Blaue bar?"

"Blaue means blue. You'll see why when you go into the bar."

A few minutes later they were in their room.

Nick waited until the bellboy was gone and said, "I have to hand it to you, this is a hell of a hotel. I don't think I've ever seen a room as nice as this."

"The hotel is famous for a reason. The rooms are part of it."

Two large floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Danube River and the city. There was a deck outside the room for warm summer days. At the moment it was covered with snow. The wallpaper was a floral design in a soft rose color that matched the thick carpet underfoot. A large mirrored closet was at one end of the room, an elaborate marble bath at the other. The bed was huge, with throw pillows that matched the wallpaper. Two comfortable armchairs and a coffee table filled out the room.

Nick looked at the bed.

"That bed looks pretty inviting."

"There'll be time to check it out later," she said.

"Check it out?"

"You know. Check out things that matter. Comfort. Bounce factor."

"Bounce factor? It's not a trampoline."

"A trampoline would be interesting."

"If you mean what I think you mean I don't believe you said that."

She smiled at him. "Sure you do."

Nick laughed.

"I'm going to take a shower before we go down to the bar," Selena said.

"Want some company?"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea."

Later, as he watched her getting ready to go downstairs, Nick thought to himself how lucky he was to have her in his life. With the thought came a touch of unease. If something happened to her he didn't know how he would handle it or if he could.

"Ready?" she said.

He brushed away the shadow.

"Ready."

Hand in hand they walked to the elevator.

CHAPTER 22

The meeting took place in the Security Council Meeting Hall in the Kremlin Senate building. A special guard detail of hardened Spetsnaz veterans stood guard outside the doors.

The room was a relic from an empire that once stretched from the far Pacific to Europe, an 18th century room where decisions made within its walls had 21st-century consequences. In the center was a table with chairs lined up neatly along its length. Linear half columns of gray marble capped with gilded finials were placed at studied intervals around the room, stylistic accents against the polished wood of the walls. A graceful railing of wood circled a balcony and library on the second level.

The walls were hung with tapestries depicting symbols of the Russian state. The Czars would have recognized the modern Russian eagle, not so very different from the eagle of Imperial Russia. They would have had no trouble understanding the motivations of the current President of the Russian Federation, Vladimir Orlov. He sat in a chair that was just slightly larger than the others at the head of the table. He looked fashionable, like a model from a gentleman's magazine. He wore a dark blue suit that had been tailored in London, accented by a perfect cream-colored shirt and a red silk tie. 

Orlov had called the meeting to discuss the next steps in his plan to regain Russian control of Eastern Europe. Sitting on his right was General of the Army Evgeni Kuznetsov. After the coup, Orlov had promoted Kuznetsov to the position of the Federation's top ground forces officer. To his left was Lieutenant General Kiril Golovkin, head of the GRU, military intelligence.

Golovkin was a tall, narrow man with thinning black hair. His face was all sharp angles and planes, the skin drawn tight over high cheekbones underneath beady black eyes. He looked like a predatory bird and had a shrewd mind that seldom forgot anything. His position made him one of the most powerful men in the Federation. No leader of Russia would survive long without the backing of the
Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniy.
The GRU was Russia's largest intelligence agency, more than six times as large as SVR. Larger did not always mean better but Golovkin's web was spun far and wide. There was little that escaped his notice.

Next to Golovkin was Colonel General Pyotr Krupin, Commander of the Western Military District, headquartered in St. Petersburg. Krupin had only recently been promoted to his high rank, reward for his participation in the coup that had brought Orlov to power. For some time Krupin had been occupied with events in Eastern Ukraine. He was one of the major thinkers behind the successful annexation of Crimea.

Sitting next to Krupin was Admiral of the Fleet Nikolai Akulov. Akulov commanded the Baltic Fleet, headquartered in the
Kaliningrad Oblast and
stationed out of
Baltiysk
 and 
Kronshtadt
.

On Krupin's left was Colonel General Viktor Brezhnev, commander of the Russian Air Force. He looked something like a black haired toad. Brezhnev was a distant cousin of the former chairman of the Communist Party.

The last and most junior man present was Major General Alexei Vysotsky, First Deputy Director of SVR, the civilian counterpart to Golovkin's organization and the sharp spear point of Russian foreign intelligence. Vysotsky had become a key player in the events now taking place in central Europe. Notably absent was his boss, Boris Vishinski, who had not been invited to the meeting.

A carafe of water, a glass and a bowl of mints rested on the table in front of each man's chair. No paper or pen had been provided for taking notes. This was not the kind of meeting where notes were welcome. A gleaming brass samovar hissed quietly on a sideboard nearby, next to a tray of crystal cups.

Orlov began.

"General Vysotsky. Please brief us on events in Macedonia."

Vysotsky cleared his throat and wished there was vodka in the glass in front of him instead of water.

"The operation against Todorovski was delayed because of Mitreski's bumbling attempt against him. The outcome is satisfactory nonetheless. As you know, our operative was successful in carrying out the assignment and was able to leave the country without difficulty."

"Is there any way the assassination can be tied to us?" Orlov asked.

"None, Mister President," Vysotsky said.

"Go on."

"His death has created confusion. Many people blame Mitreski. There have been continuing demonstrations and calls for revolution but as you predicted, Mister President, the focus of anger is now shifting. Following our advice, Mitreski has been successful in convincing the populace that Islamic Albanian nationalists are responsible for Todorovski's death. Macedonian ground forces have crossed the border. The country is mobilizing for war. The airport has been closed except to military traffic and Mitreski has declared martial law. He's called up the reserves and instituted a curfew on the civilian population."

Orlov smiled.

"Mitreski is nothing if not predictable. How is his invasion going?"

"Not well," Vysotsky said. "Even with the equipment we provided he has been unable to penetrate more than twenty to thirty kilometers from his starting points. Resistance by the Albanians is obstinate. Winter weather has hampered the advance. The Albanians are rushing reinforcements to the front. I predict a campaign that will go nowhere. Neither the Albanians or the Macedonians have an advantage."

"A static front?"

"Exactly, Mister President."

Orlov's smile grew wider. "What is the Western reaction?"

"An emergency meeting has been called by NATO in Brussels. Albania is seeking immediate assistance according to the terms of the alliance. NATO is obliged to intervene."

"Of course," Orlov said. "But will they? And if they do, when?"

"There is no stomach for another Balkan adventure but they have little choice," Vysotsky said. "First there will be calls for mediation, diplomatic overtures, the sort of ineffective nonsense that the West seems to enjoy. That will allow time for increasing the flow of war matériel to Mitreski."

"How prepared is NATO to respond?"

"I can answer that." Golovkin interrupted. His voice was dry, without warmth.

"The short answer is not very. Their forces are scattered among the members of the alliance. Releasing men into a NATO peacekeeping effort depends on the ability of the political leadership of each country to convince their legislative bodies to cooperate. It is like that old proverb about herding cats."

"What about their rapid deployment force?"

"It is currently stationed in Poland, what there is of it. They'll be forced to divert equipment and men to Albania if they want to respond to the crisis there. It's a logistical nightmare. My intelligence indicates that arguments have already begun between the member states. No one wants to risk their citizens to save the Albanians. No one gives a shit about the Albanians."

"Have they begun to withdraw from Poland?"

"It's too early to say," Golovkin said, "but transports have been arriving at the J
oint Force Training Centre in Bydgoszcz where they've been stockpiling equipment. Assuming NATO's high command decides to intervene, I predict they will move as much as they can to Tirana as quickly as possible. As General Vysotsky pointed out, they really don't have much choice. They may not like it, but if they don't come to Albania's assistance it will undermine the entire alliance."

"As we predicted," Orlov said. "Good. Colonel General Krupin? What is the current situation on the border with Ukraine?"

"Everything is on schedule, Mister President. The talks with Kiev are purposefully cordial. Withdrawals of some of our forces are underway. Western intelligence will decide that it is a ploy and that we are contemplating a full invasion. Of course we continue to deny our presence in the area. The general impression being given is one of cooperation in an effort to persuade the West to remove the sanctions while we continue to assert that we are merely conducting military exercises. It explains the extensive movements of our forces."

"What is the status of morale among the ground forces?"

"Morale is high. The troops have been paid and rations have been increased."

"The new tanks?"

"Thirty-two of the T-14 Armatas are in position for Bright Sword. They were moved at night and heavily camouflaged with our new stealth technology. I do not believe they have been detected."

"Your commanders?"

"Ready, Mister President."

Orlov turned to Admiral Akulov.

"The fleet?"

"Ready to sail on your order, Mister President."

Orlov nodded. He'd expected no other answer.

"Colonel General Brezhnev?"

"The Air Force stands ready to serve the Rodina," Brezhnev said.

"Very good. Gentlemen, we are at the dawn of a new era. As soon as NATO has committed forces to Albania we will begin the next phase of Operation Bright Sword. Are there any comments?" He looked around the table.

"No? Then we will adjourn. General Vysotsky, please remain."

As the others filed out Alexei remained seated. Orlov waited until they were gone.

"What have you discovered about Vishinski?"

"It is possible that he has been taking bribes. I regret to say that Director Vishinski is having an affair with his aide," Vysotsky said, "a Major Andrei Kirov."

Orlov pursed his lips in distaste. "You are certain."

"Yes, Mister President. There are pictures."

"Arrest him. Arrest them both."

"Sir."

"Well done, Vysotsky. You are promoted to Director, effective now. Your first duty is to make sure Vishinski and his aide disappear with no fuss."

"Understood, Mister President."

"These are new times, General. I have chosen you to play an important part. Do not fail me."

And if I did it would be like old times,
Vysotsky thought,
a bullet in the back of the head.

"I will not fail, Mister President."

Orlov gave him a calculated look. "Make sure that you don't."