“What did you do with the boy?” Colonel Markey asked.
Swanson took a sip of brandy and coffee, then returned the glass down precisely on the wet circle on the napkin. “We got him back in uniform, put him to sleep with drugs again, drove back to Narva and dumped him in a park, stinking of vodka. He was gone less than twenty-four hours, was last seen leaving a bar with a woman, and was found drunk on his ass the next day. Even if he talks, nobody would believe his wild tale of being kidnapped and returning unharmed. Instead of going through the interrogation grinder, the corporal will likely tell a big lie, then accept some punishment for being too drunk to return to his unit on time. He will keep his mouth shut.”
“I wanted him dead,” Anneli said in a flat voice. “He gave us nothing about the Black Train, or Brokk. Kyle would not let me shoot him.”
“You had no authority to do anything,” snapped Calico. “I should turn you over to the police. I try to help you and you go off without warning and do this kidnapping with Swanson.”
Anneli did not flinch from the sharp comments. “You will not do that, Jan. As you Americans say, we have a bigger tuna fish to fry.”
Swanson did not want the two women fighting. “The corporal gave us some good information, Calico. Not a lot of detail, because he was of such low rank, but he was able to confirm that huge amounts of ammunition, supplies, men and matériel have been flowing into the Narva area for months, and hidden in secret. He saw Armata tanks, which confirms what Ivan told us. I wanted a second opinion, and I got it. Don’t particularly like it, but that’s what we have.”
Colonel Markey, in civilian clothes, stood beside the small fire. “The Armatas were already confirmed, Kyle. They came out to play in that Russian military exercise all along the northern border, and it’s apparently over now. Just a drill. They seem to be returning to their original positions already.”
“So that’s a third source. What we didn’t know was the Russians have apparently stockpiled enough supplies to support a quick thrust across the border at Narva in another Ukranian-style land grab.”
Markey said there had been a blast of cyber-war activity during the Russian exercise, but that NATO had been tipped off when a surveillance plane was temporarily electronically blinded, and had been expecting the bigger hack attempt. “I want to wring Ivan Strakov dry of everything he knows, Kyle. Any land war is going to be supported by their hackers jamming our comm systems. Without computers, we will be in big trouble.”
“Do you believe what Strakov says, Tom?” Calico asked her husband.
“No. I know the guy. He’s gaming us. That is what he does. I think that he has fed us just enough to keep us interested.”
Swanson added, “I feel the same way, Colonel. But I can no longer ignore the bastard. I’m ready to get back in the room with him tomorrow and get him to talk some more. Maybe he is shucking us, but I’ll do my best.”
“What about me?” asked Anneli.
“You go directly back to the safe house apartment and stay there,” instructed Calico. “From what my sources have picked up on the Narva grapevine, Anneli, the police are already looking for you in connection with the murders of two Russian nationals in Narva. You and an unknown male accomplice — that would be you, Swanson — are both on thin ice.”
The blond spy then turned her full attention on Kyle. “And the folks at Langley are tired of you cowboying around on your own, Swanson. You have one more chance, and if you screw it up, the CIA will dump you and screw Excalibur Enterprises for years to come. Got it?”
“Hummph,” grunted Swanson. He heard her words, which was not the same as agreeing to obey.
16
Swanson and Anneli left together and hailed a cab. They were being pushed along by a tide of momentum, had become the focal point of an international incident, and the unexpected murder investigation changed the entire equation. Now they even had to be wary of ordinary cops on the street. Best to get the hell out of town, and Kyle waved down a Pink Taxi minivan that swung neatly to a stop beside them. Yellow cabs ruled New York, black was the London taxi color, and pink ruled in Tallinn’s swarm of taxis.
“Calico said I must go to the safe house,” Anneli commented, looking at Kyle with a wry smile. Her eyes had been downcast during the lecture by Calico, but were showing a fresh sparkle. She was getting used to Swanson doing the unexpected.
“The goal is to keep you safe. I know a better place than that little apartment. Tell the driver to take us to the Old City Marina.” He slid the side door open and she climbed into the backseat and gave the directions. The taxi driver gave a grunt of understanding, figuring that he would demand five euros for the short trip of about two kilometers. It was a high price, but taxis set their own rates in super free-market Estonia, and these passengers had not bargained in advance.
The harbor was just opening for the season. A number of small yachts and sailboats belonging to more stalwart sailors were already in the water, crowded together at night like a herd of resting swans. People moved about servicing them. The terminal office was closed. Two men in heavy parkas were standing near it when the taxi stopped in front. “Kyle! Over here!” called one.
“Trevor?” He could not make them out fully in the darkness. The inner harbor was protected from big waves, but a stiff wind cut the night, making the men huddle in their heavy-weather coats. Swanson and Anneli felt the cold grip them.
“The very same, mate.” The men drew closer.
“Trevor,” said Swanson. “Good to see you. And Paul, glad you came along to keep this bugger in line.” He introduced Anneli to the captain and the senior mate of the Vagabond, the magnificent private yacht of Excalibur Enterprises. “Where’s our barge?”
Trevor Dash whipped off his greatcoat and threw it casually around Anneli, almost losing her in its folds, then the four of them walked down a wide, paved pier. He explained, “We moored her on the far side of a cruise ship where there was plenty of space. Lucky for us they are not in full season yet.”
The deep voice of Paul Lancaster spoke. “We’re ready to pull out as soon as you give the word. The boss sent along a few presents for you.”
Anneli was disoriented. This was clearly a pair of British sailors, and they treated Kyle both as a friend and a superior. “What is happening?” she asked. They were moving along the big pier, leaving behind the private boats and sailing craft. Before her loomed the huge bow of a cruise monster that was tied firmly with ropes as large as her arms, and was as empty as a ghost ship. A dome of light bloomed on the far side.
“This is going to be your new home for a while, Anneli,” Kyle said gently as a large seagoing yacht with a nose as sharp as a needle came into view. The blinding white Vagabond wore its disguise as a pleasure vessel perfectly well, but it was not pirate bait. It was the third yacht to bear the name as Sir Jeff kept upgrading. Vagabond was almost three hundred feet in length, had three raked decks with tinted glass all around, plus luxurious spaces below, and was tooled with state-of-the-art electronics and antiair and antiship missiles and other weaponry. It was a pretty thing that could take care of itself in a firefight. Every member of its crew was a veteran of the British armed forces and the Vagabond occasionally conducted quiet missions for the intelligence agencies of Great Britain and the United States, snooping deep into harbors where warships could not go. Sir Geoffrey Cornwell had dispatched it to Estonia after talking with Kyle.