The area was, however, being monitored by satellite. An ultra-sensitive real-time system, it was part of a global US defence system that was unrivalled by any other nation. The DamarSat KH-90 was indeed an awesome technological weapon, with the capability to penetrate dense cloud and, even at night, read the time on a lady’s wristwatch.
The forty-foot Onassis yacht floated steadily on the waters of the Lilla Värtan, seven kilometres from the Riksdagshuset and thirty kilometres below the DamarSat’s near-earth orbit as it passed over the area as scheduled. But the yacht was just one of a large number of vessels which routinely travelled from island to island. The very nature of the Swedish capital, with its numerous small islands, means that the boat is as common there as is the car in most other cities. From fishing trawlers to pleasure boats, and from passenger ferries to the huge luxury yachts of Stockholm’s rich and famous, the city’s busy waterways were its lifeblood.
And so the satellite’s operators, watching real-time footage from their operations room at the headquarters of the National Reconnaissance Office in Chantilly, near Washington Dulles International Airport, saw no need to examine the Onassis yacht more closely. Had they decided to utilize its incredible zoom capability to take a closer look at the apparently innocent vessel, however, their suspicions would have been instantly aroused. Onboard the yacht, there was a flurry of activity as the Oriental crew heaved two large containers out from below decks, whilst lookouts scanned the surrounding canals and islands with high-power military binoculars.
And had the satellite zoomed in further, its technicians might have then alerted the NRO’s onsite specialist intelligence analysts, who would in turn have identified the men onboard as being of Han Chinese origin; the major ethnic group on mainland China, these moved with a certain focus that indicated some degree of military training.
And alarm bells would certainly have started sounding had the satellite stayed over the area long enough to pick up images of just what exactly these Chinese peasant-soldiers had started unloading out of the crates.
5
‘I’m not paranoid,’ Alexei Severin said defensively, and not for the first time.
In the rear of the car, the President of the Russian Federation, Vasilev Danko, and his experienced Foreign Minister Pyotr Vorstetin, just laughed.
‘Of course you are, Alexei,’ Danko teased. ‘But that is of course exactly why you do this job, neh?’
Severin just grunted in response, as he scanned the road ahead with a scrutiny that certainly could be regarded as paranoia. As he constantly told people, however, it wasn’t paranoia; it was his job. And his close attention to detail was a professional necessity, utilizing a natural survival instinct which had been further honed and refined on the battlefields of Dagestan, Chechnya and Abkhazia, as well as on his home streets of Moscow.
A former member of the elite Russian Spetsnaz Alpha team, he had been recruited by the FSB for ‘special’ assignments before becoming Danko’s personal bodyguard. It was a job he was proud to have, but along with the pride he also took on the huge weight of responsibility that came with it.
Looking in the rear-view mirror, Severin saw Danko return to chatting animatedly to Vorstetin. They were both excited about the upcoming treaty signing, apparently nonchalant towards the dangers they could face on their way to the Parliament House.
But, Severin reflected, it was easy to be complacent; President Abrams had already arrived at their destination, the highway on which they were travelling was guarded and secure, and they had well-armed Lynx scout helicopters shadowing their every move.
But the Mutual Defence Treaty was not universally welcomed. Severin was aware of strong opposition to the defensive pact from a wide range of nations. The European Union, although congratulatory on the surface, was in actual fact more than a little fearful of the implications of a more powerful Russian neighbour. Countries throughout the Middle East were more than a little concerned about two such major players coming together, fearing it would lead to increased pressures on their own nations. But it was China that disturbed Severin the most.
Whereas President Sebastian Vermeer, Belgian head of state and current holder of the EU’s rotating presidency, had at least pretended to be happy about ‘increased global security’, the President of the Chinese People’s Republic, Tsang Feng, made no such effort. Just as China was beginning to come into her own as an economic giant, the spectre of a Russian-American alliance made Feng genuinely fear for China’s future. As he saw the world’s previous bastion of socialism embrace the capitalist entreaties of the West finally and irrevocably, the Chinese President was scathing in his denouncements, and had severed all of the country’s ties to the Russian Federation.
Severin truly believed that Feng might actually be feeling threatened enough to make some sort of move, possibly to the extent of trying to disrupt the treaty signing that afternoon. There were even rumours circulating in the intelligence underworld about increased activity in Section Nine, the foreign action arm of China’s secret intelligence service.
Paranoid? Severin asked himself as he continued to stare out of the windows, the dim daylight aided by the 1000 watt bulbs of the helicopters above as they illuminated the road ahead. No, he wasn’t paranoid, he decided. He was just good at his job.
6
Gathered around the front of the Riksdagshuset, and all along Bankkajen, members of the world’s press had gathered to report on the day’s events.
Film crews and photographers were hard at work, trying to record images of the arriving leaders that would perhaps become iconic in later years, or perhaps only memorable; but which would at the very least justify their pay checks.
But with the simple beauty of the hazy sunlight shooting down in magical white shafts, made even more perfect by the glimmer of crystalline snow that still fell lazily over Gamla Stan, combined with the overwhelming importance of today’s treaty signing, the feeling amongst the gathered experts was that there would probably be no better chance for them to make their professional mark.
As news broadcasters read their reports live to audiences around the world, and journalists scribbled down notes in their little books, other groups trained their cameras towards Riksbron, the road connecting Helgeands Holmen to the mainland, awaiting the imminent arrival of President Danko’s limousine. If they were concerned with getting some memorable images, this would be their last chance; once Danko was inside, their colleagues would take over from the main chamber where the actual signing ceremony would take place. And by the time the leaders left, the vagaries of the Swedish winter meant that it would be in darkness.
7
On the main Bankkajen road, just fifty feet from where Danko’s presidential limousine would stop, a CNN camera team was making last-minute preparations.
‘Come on, Paul, get it focused properly,’ cajoled Jess Ireland, the team leader. Paul Churchill sighed, but nodded anyway. The camera was in focus, and had been all day. But Jess was what could be termed ‘highly-strung’, although her team had other words with which they described it, and she was determined to get the best shots possible. After all, they had been granted the prime position out of all the news teams present, and with the sun at its zenith, a single shaft illuminating the pavement at the exact point where Danko was to alight, the young and ambitious team leader could see an award or two coming her — or, she sometimes wondered, should it her team’s? — way.