“This new city council of Narva is seceding from the rest of Estonia. At nine, that crazy mayor will go to the bridge and invite Russian troops to come over and occupy the city.”
He couldn’t believe that. It was insanity. Such a move would mean war. “That was probably booze talking. He was almost drunk when I first found him at his house. He told you that and you believed him?”
“The man was drinking and bragging, yes. But, Kyle, we cannot afford not to believe him.”
Swanson pushed the button and lowered his window to allow some night air to wash through the car. She was right. “Well, we can’t use a regular cell phone for this kind of stuff anyway. If we tried a pay phone, it would take fifteen minutes, when instead we could be fifteen miles closer to Tallinn. The CIA is all set up at your house, so we can get direct links to Langley. So let’s see how fast we can drive a hundred and twenty miles,” he said as they plunged onto the E-20. Traffic cops be damned.
Twenty minutes went by before they spoke again.
“Thanks for coming so quickly. You are very good at your job, but despite the rescue, you and I still have an unsettled debt.”
“You’re welcome, and whatever,” Kyle responded. “We will straighten up sometime in the future. There’s something more important at hand right now, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What bomb did the old man want to stop?”
“Nothing. He believes I put a necklace of C-four around his wife’s neck, but it was just a roll of Play-Doh with a dud detonator. It will not go off. Even so, it will be several hours before they wiggle out of the tape, and then the mayor is going to have to explain how he lost two cops and his prized CIA spook.”
“You have a cold, dead heart,” she said.
“Warm and fuzzy doesn’t get the job done in this line of work.”
They lapsed back into silence for another ten miles, letting the cool night air rush through the open windows. “Do you know anything about the status of my network?” she finally asked.
“No. I doubt if it exists any longer. The Agency probably pulled the plug and warned them all to take off as soon as you went missing. You can ask the people at Langley.” He leaned his head back, adjusted the seat down and to the rear. The Volvo went on cruise control at eighty.
Ten more minutes of quiet, and few cars passed in the night. No headlights loomed in the mirrors. “Tell me about Anneli.” This time her voice was softer. “What happened?”
“You sure we need to do this right now?”
“I know you did not personally kill her,” said Hollings. “We still have an hour on the road. Help me understand. I really, really liked that girl.”
Without emotion, Kyle told her the story and when he was done, Calico said, “She wanted to go?”
“Yes, it was her choice. I am glad she went because she proved to be a valuable asset. Just like when we snatched that prisoner during the war games. I really liked her, too.”
“And she was not just another tool for you to use? I know how you are, how you put mission before everything. And your rep with women stinks.”
“Anneli saved my life by giving her own, Calico. Do you think that I can ever forget that? When she died, something inside me went away, too. So whatever you want to do to me, go ahead and take your best shot. I don’t give a shit. Enough of that for now.”
It was almost one o’clock, the beginning of Tuesday morning. In eight hours, Russian tanks would be on the Narva Bridge.
A lone figure stalked the ancient battlements of the Ivangorod Fortress, looking to the west and planning the future. Valery Levchenko had arrived about midnight, and after reviewing plans with the local staff, he gave in to temptation. Like generations of generals before him, he climbed up to the highest point and peered with lust at the rich panorama right across the Narva River. The night chill invigorated the man from St. Petersburg, and his obvious confidence inspired his soldiers. It was an impure dark, with a fog hanging on the river like a gray beast, and clouds cut off the moonlight. If he couldn’t see over there, the enemy couldn’t see over here, even if they had been looking.
The colonel general could not make out the Narva end of the big, wide bridge in such decimated visibility. Turning around, he also saw thick darkness coating his side of the river, where strict light and noise discipline had been imposed. What could not be totally suppressed was the grumble of dozens of vehicles being guided into position: Armata tanks and armored personnel carriers and missile batteries and trucks of every sort clattered and ground their gears and squeaked. The stirring of troops rose as a hushed shuffle.
He took a final look at the bulk of the Hermann Castle on the Narva side and thought briefly about how useless such things had become. Instead of months of bombardment by cannonballs and a starvation siege, the big castle would fall to him tomorrow morning with a simple handshake with the mayor, whose name Levchenko could not recall at the moment.
Months had been spent planning this thrust, now everything was being shifted into final positions through these vital last hours of darkness. When nine o’clock came, his force would uncoil like a powerful snake. As they moved over the 530-foot-long major bridge, they would also seize the pedestrian bridge near Kreenholm Island and the important railroad span that connected the two countries. Trains loaded with gear and supplies waited on sidings deeper in Russia.
By the end of the day, he would have about two hundred vehicles and five thousand men across the river. They would be guarded by artillery tubes set deep behind Ivanogrod, thickets of antiaircraft missiles, squadrons of helicopter gunships and stacks of fighter-bombers.
Once it began, Levchenko had no intention of stopping at the Narva city limits. The Estonians probably would be in action by then, and the general could order a full assault all along the border. The battle for the Baltics could begin in earnest. He took a final sniff of the wet air, and it had the smell of glory. He then left the rugged stone wall and walked back to his headquarters. The staff was hard at work, and a big clock was just striking two o’clock in the morning.
32
Swanson and Calico made the trip in about two hours, each minute clanging like a church bell marking a funeral. The closer they got to Tallinn, the more she demanded that he hurry. He refused. Slow is smooth; smooth is fast. No room for error this close to home. He pulled to the curb in front of the house at two fifteen a.m., and slumped over the wheel that he had been gripping so hard that his fingers hurt. Jan Hollings flung open her door and dashed for the stairs, where an astonished CIA agent recognized her and yelled inside, “She’s here!”
She hurried past the entranceway and hurled herself at her husband, Tom Markey, who grabbed her like she was the essence of life itself, and they rocked together in the unison of a slow dance while hugging and murmuring and weeping.
Swanson came in more slowly, moved around the embracing couple, and barked, “Clear this house of all unauthorized essential personnel. Get a full guard detail outside, call some local cops for backup, and fuck if the neighbors complain. We have a full emergency on our hands, people.”
Everything stopped for a confused moment. “Who the hell are you?” asked a startled army captain, one of Markey’s staff members.
“Kyle Swanson with the CIA.” He brushed past the officer and into the dining room, where a table and sideboard were laden with radio and satellite communication gear. “Whoever works this rig get me a direct link to Langley right now. I want Marty Atkins, the deputy director of clandestine operations, on the other end. The operator, I and Colonel and Mrs. Markey will be the only ones in the room. Close it off.”