Given the forces immediately available, Wilson analyzed the scenario, reluctantly coming to a disappointing conclusion, which he explained to Thomas.
“The last datum we have for Kazan’s location is three days old. Even if we assume a speed no greater than ten knots, we’re dealing with a transit radius of over seven hundred miles. Any containment we establish at this point will be too porous; the arc is simply too long. We can’t get enough P-8As, submarines, and surface ships in place fast enough.”
Wilson added, “We’ll put together the best perimeter possible, but at this point, detecting Kazan is going to take some luck. In the meantime, let’s mobilize everything available. Send orders to surge all Atlantic Fleet ASW assets to sea. As soon as you can pull it together, I need a list of all deployable units, when they’ll get underway, and what port they’re deploying from.”
Wilson studied the operations center display as he planned ahead.
“Find out if we can get the Truman strike group back from PAC. If so, route her into the Med via the Suez Canal to deal with Kazan if that’s where she’s headed. If not, we’ll pull the strike group into the Atlantic to assist.
“Also ask PAC Fleet for as many P-8 squadrons as possible. Based on the Russian captain’s letter to his wife, we’re looking at a scenario where we’ll need the extra squadrons for only a week or two, so pry as many away from PAC as possible.
“Let’s get going. We need assets, and we need them at sea.”
42
SOCHI, RUSSIA
Sochi, located on the eastern shore of the Black Sea, is a palm-tree-speckled sliver of land in the southwestern corner of the Russian Federation. Part of the Caucasian Riviera, Sochi is one of the few places in Russia with a subtropical climate, with the scenic Caucasus Mountains rising to the east and pebble-sand beaches to the west surrounding a vibrant city with a bustling nightlife. With more villas, palm trees, and yachts than any other location in Russia, Sochi is Russia’s largest and most popular resort city.
Anatoly Bogdanov strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the warm weather, a wonderful change from the frigid temperatures in his former home of Gadzhiyevo. He had spent his entire life in a town inside the Arctic Circle, and looked forward to living where he could venture outside wearing slacks and an open-collared shirt for most of the year. With ten million U.S. dollars in the bank and another ten million due after Kazan’s missile launch — over one billion rubles — Bogdanov also looked forward to a life of luxury.
His co-conspirator in the effort, Mikhail Korenev, who had provided the nuclear warhead arming code, hadn’t revealed where he planned to move, but Bogdanov had gleaned enough to determine it was somewhere in South America. Although spending the rest of his life in a tropical foreign country had its appeal, the language barrier was a challenge he’d rather not deal with. Plus, he figured he’d blend in more easily in Sochi than in a foreign country. Anyone looking for him in South America would just have to ask, “Are there any rich Russians living nearby?” In Sochi, rich Russians were half of the population.
Bogdanov was traveling under a second alias the American had provided, with the funding deposited into an account using the first alias, so there was no direct connection between him and the account, in case the owner was discovered by authorities. He was also keeping a low profile, paying only in cash and venturing from his hotel only when required: to a nearby restaurant, or to accompany a real estate agent who was showing him the available properties worthy of a man with Bogdanov’s resources.
He was running low on money tonight, so he stopped by an ATM to withdraw a few thousand rubles. Armed with enough cash for the next few days, and looking forward to a superb dinner, Bogdanov checked in with the maître d’ of a nearby five-star restaurant.
43
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
Jake Harrison took a sip of lukewarm coffee, taking a break from assisting Kendall with Issad Futtaim’s files. The work was tedious, searching for clues to what Mixell had purchased from the Syrian arms dealer and where it had been shipped. Harrison had provided one helpful hint — you didn’t put fourteen million dollars’ worth of weapons in a backpack. Whatever Mixell purchased was either large, or a lot of them, and there had to be some sort of shipping involved. If they could figure out the shipping, they could track down what Mixell bought, which would hopefully lead them to Mixell.
The dendrite chart of Mixell’s money trail had been moved to a side display and updated with additional information as it was discovered, and the main display suddenly updated with a man’s picture, which created a buzz in the NCTC. The picture matched the photograph of Anatoly Bogdanov, one of the two Russian government workers who had abruptly quit their jobs, and whom Mixell had presumably paid twenty million dollars.
Bogdanov had withdrawn money from an ATM in Sochi, Russia, three hours ago, apparently unaware that most ATMs took a picture of each person making a withdrawal. Facial recognition programs had identified him as Bogdanov, although the account was in a different name.
Jessica Del Rio descended from the second floor again, stopping before the main display.
“We’ve identified one of the two Russian government workers Mixell paid. Let’s get this guy before the Russians do. I want whatever this guy knows firsthand, not just what Russia decides to share. It’s not that we don’t trust the Russians, it’s just that… we don’t trust the Russians.”
Del Rio’s comment elicited a few chuckles from the analysts on the floor before she continued. “I want all agency officers and agents who speak Russian in Sochi by sunrise. I want someone on every corner of the city. If this guy steps onto the street for so much as a cup of coffee, I want him.”
Harrison turned to find Khalila, who had entered the NCTC during the brief. He wondered if Khalila’s visit for an update happened at an opportune time, or if she’d somehow obtained advance notice they had located Bogdanov.
She pulled him aside, away from Kendall. “You speak Russian, correct?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You heard Del Rio. She wants every officer and agent who speaks Russian in Sochi by tomorrow morning. That includes you.” Then she smiled. “And me.”
That wasn’t the arrangement Harrison had understood from his conversation with the DDO. Khalila would accompany him whenever he needed her linguistic skills, not the other way around. However, he was new to the agency and still had a lot to learn; he didn’t even know how to make the necessary travel arrangements.
“Okay. I’ll let the DDO know we’re heading to Sochi.”
“It’s best if we not mention anything to the DDO until we land in Sochi. He doesn’t let me out in the field very often. But it’s what I do best.” She placed her hand on his arm. “When it comes to the DDO, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”
Harrison had to admit that having Khalila accompany him would be convenient. Besides, if he said no, he’d probably be assigned another officer, since he still didn’t know his way around. He was getting a feel for Khalila, and liked most of what he saw. The most important factor was — she was pretty good in the field.