The mission was laid out later. According to my contact information, I was to go down to the Saint Petersburg Harbor Patrol office and tell them who I was. The problem was that neither John nor I knew where it was. We had a rough map, but nothing in the area appeared to have a sign out front.
“I suppose we could ask someone,” he said. “How’s your Russian?”
I think he was surprised when I answered, “I’m not too bad at reading it. I haven’t had a chance to practice speaking it since I took the class in college.”
Through simple conversation and reference to the map we managed to find the place. We even got there on time.
I thought the meeting went pretty well. The Russians seemed impressed that the company president would come to meet them. John carried the briefcase with charts, pictures and other information about the patrol boats. I also included some paperwork for our other boats in case they decided to go with something a little bigger.
In the bottom of the briefcase, untouched, was the package. It was a large manila envelope that had been sealed in Langley. It felt like it had maybe a dozen sheets of paper in it.
I told the harbor security people that I wasn’t planning to spend much time in the city and if they wanted to pursue some kind of a deal with Norfolk Shipworks, then they should contact the home office. I gave them George Coates’ contact information.
The meeting had run longer than I expected. We arrived at the place where we would meet the FSB agents on time, but I would have preferred to be early.
It was a small landscaped park not far from the security office. There were a few benches to sit on at the western end. John and I had just barely taken a seat when we were approached by a man and a woman. She was brunette and probably attractive under her business suit. He was shaved bald and was about the size of a T-72 tank. Despite the summer weather, both wore jackets. Probably to cover concealed weapons, I thought. The man also carried a briefcase.
“It’s good to see you,” said the man. He spoke pretty good English. It was much better than my Russian. “Did you read the Tolstoy I recommended?”
“Yes. I found it to be dry, but insightful,” said John.
The man accepted the exchange of code phrases and extended a hand to each of us in turn. “Sir, stallion, welcome to Russia. I am Veniamin Demidov. This is Nika Ivanova.” He gestured to the woman.
“I think we have something for you,” I said, and took out the envelope. Demidov looked at it and checked the seal before transferring it to his briefcase.
“We know about your current operation in the area,” said Ivanova. “We will do everything we can to assist you. Accomplishing the mission will not be easy, though.”
“Why’s that?”
Ivanova and Demidov exchanged glances. Demidov said, “Certain people cannot be trusted. That is the reason we are meeting here instead of receiving the files by e-mail.”
“It is possible that your operation has been compromised,” said Ivanova.
And that meant Gene and Scorpion might be walking into something they weren’t prepared for. I stepped away, dialing my sat phone while John attempted to get more information from the two agents.
Scorpion answered on the second ring. “What is it?”
Remembering the unsecured phone line, I chose my words carefully. “The business meeting went well. After that, we met up with some friends and gave them the present we wrapped for them. They gave us one, too.”
He paused for a moment. “Really? What was it?”
“They said it was a gag gift for Grigori. When you open it, you should be careful.” I put extra stress on the last two words.
“I understand. Thank you for letting me know.”
I disconnected the call and went back to talk to Ivanova and Demidov.
Ivanova handed me a card with a phone number on it. “Call this if we can help you further.”
John and I thanked the two of them and parted company. We debated stopping for lunch, but I had no taste for Russian food, so we went back to the boat.
The other two came back a few hours later.
“Damn glad you decided to call and warn us,” said Scorpion. “Someone must have been following Nikitin, because we were shot at while talking to him. It’s a good thing he was prepared and brought along an armored limo. We hopped in and got away from there.”
“So where is he?”
“Nikitin said he had to go collect his things and he would meet us. He dropped us off on the way back to his place.”
“Screw his things,” I said. “If they’re on to him, he needs to come with us.”
“That’s what I said, but he claims he’s been working on something big and needed to make sure we knew about it. Gene and I offered to go with him for extra protection, but he said it would most likely result in all four of us being killed.”
“Four?”
“His driver was with us. He’s nice young fellow named Eduard.”
“What time are they supposed to get here?”
“Later today, although he seemed pretty doom and gloom about it. He said he had to collect quite a few things and that he had quite a few enemies after him.”
“The FSB agents John and I talked to gave me a number to call if we needed help with this.”
“How do we know we can trust them? Someone obviously knew we were meeting with Nikitin.”
“Well, they were the ones who told us there might be a leak. I think that at least the two of them are on the level.”
“All right. Call them. Let’s see what we can put together.”
I made the call. Ivanova answered in Russian. I was tempted to try replying in the same, but I didn’t think we had that kind of time.
“They found out about our friend. He needs help.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He said he was going to collect some things and bring them to us.”
“Did he go home?”
“Maybe.”
“I will do what I can,” she told me. “If necessary, we will take him under escort. Does he know where to find you?”
I held the phone away from my mouth and asked Scorpion that question. He said Nikitin knew about the boat.
I returned to the phone. “He’ll tell you where he needs to go.”
“Very well.” She hung up.
We sat around for a while. I tried to get more details out of Scorpion, but all he would tell me was that whoever had shot at them had probably been using a 9 mm submachine gun based on the sound. I wondered how many he’d had fired at him before.
It was nearly two hours later when Ivanova called me.
“We are on our way to you.” I heard someone say something in Russian in the background. It sounded like Demidov’s voice. “We should be there in a few minutes.”
“How many people do you have with you?”
“We have Nikitin and his driver in Nikitin’s automobile. Myself and Demidov are with them. Two others are following in a FSB car.”
“Have there been any problems?”
“There have been none so far, but none of us like this situation. It’s very important to the criminals that Nikitin does not reveal what he knows.”
“Call me back when you get here, and I’ll tell you exactly where to find us."
I ended the call and relayed what Ivanova had said.
“Can’t hurt to be prepared, then,” said Gene. He began putting loaded magazines into rifles.
In a few minutes, Ivanova called and I told her where in the marina to look for us. Scorpion said, “The FSB agents know what you look like, and Nikitin knows what I look like. You want to go with me to the end of the pier and meet them?”
“Sure.” I was a little more excited than I should have been. It actually felt like I was getting into the real world of secret black ops now. If I’d had any sense, I should have been scared, but with four trained Russian law enforcement agents coming to meet us and Gene and John backing us up from the boat, I felt fairly confident.
Scorpion and I walked to the end of the pier and waited. I thought I heard the far-off sound of tires squealing. Scorpion heard it too, and looked concerned.
Next, there was the sound of gunfire and a big black Mercedes limousine appeared from around a building, moving fast. Scorpion drew his pistol and held it at the low ready position.
Behind the limo was a nondescript white car. It looked like there were two people in it. The limo’s windows were tinted and I couldn’t see in. Behind them, there were two more cars that had armed men hanging out the open windows.
The limo slid to a stop and four people got out. I recognized Demidov and Ivanova, as well as Nikitin from the picture that was in the briefing file. He was carrying what looked like a computer case. There was another man with them who must have been Eduard, the driver. He was young and thin with dark hair and he looked terrified.
“That way!” shouted Scorpion, pointing down the pier towards the boat.
I saw a puff of smoke from somewhere in the vicinity of the bad guys’ cars. One of the men leaning out the window had fired a rocket propelled grenade. Scorpion grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down. The RPG slammed into the FSB car and the whole thing exploded. The burning hulk skidded into the back of the limo. Scorpion and I got up from the ground to run.
The limo passengers had sprinted past us down the dock, but hadn’t been far enough away to avoid the shock of the explosion. We helped them up and pushed them towards the boat. I didn’t see Eduard at first, until I spotted him in the water. He had either been blown—or jumped—off the pier.
At this point, the fear I should have been feeling earlier had come on in full force. The two bad-guy cars were rolling up and I had to make a decision fast. Did I run or grab Eduard? Was he worth anything to the CIA? If I joined him in the water instead of pulling him up, would that make us less of a target? If I wasn’t on the boat, would they leave me?
I went down on my knees to pull Eduard out. Thankfully, I heard Gene and John open up with automatic fire from the boat to cover me. I yanked Eduard’s arm pretty hard but considering the situation, I don’t think he minded too much.
I got him out of the water and he set off on a dead run towards the boat. I spared a glance over my shoulder at the men who wanted Nikitin dead. The cover fire from the boat was pretty effective at keeping their heads down. I got up and ran.
When I got to the boat, Scorpion had already got the lines cast off. I heard the engine RPMs rev up and the boat began to move away from the pier. Gene and John kept firing sporadically, keeping the hostiles on shore from shooting back until we were well out of range.
There was blood on the deck. I traced it to Nikitin, who was down with a bullet wound that had gone in his back and come out through his upper chest. He had been wearing a FSB-provided flak jacket that had been intended for protection from pistol bullets. Evidently, someone had fired something a little more powerful than that at him.
Nikitin had blood running down his chin. He spit up some more while I watched. There’s no “good” place to get shot, but if you’re coughing up blood, you picked an especially bad place. Gene and Scorpion were trying to stop the bleeding. Scorpion kept talking to him while they worked.
I went over to Demidov and saw that he had been wounded, too. There was a shallow groove cutting across the muscle on the outside of his lower leg. It probably wasn’t too serious, but after the adrenalin wore off, it would probably hurt like a bitch.
John brought hemostatic powder for Gene and Scorpion to use and tossed a package our way. I helped Ivanova put it on Demidov’s leg.
Hemostatic powder is a nifty thing to keep in your first aid kit. The kind that I had on board used a substance called chitosan which is found in the shells of crustaceans like shrimp. I went to school for engineering instead of medicine, so I don’t exactly know how it worked, but it sure stopped blood flow.
I decided that Demidov would get along okay without me. There were already enough people working on Nikitin, so I went inside to wash my hooves and get the mop. Diesel fuel, blood, they should clean off the deck about the same, right?
About half an hour after our hasty exit from Saint Petersburg harbor, Nikitin died. I was on the bridge when Andy came up to tell me the news. He looked a little shaken. I couldn’t blame him. It had been a rough day.
I put our FSB friends on a sat phone and they called for a transport. A FSB helicopter came out and settled down on the helipad. Demidov walked with a limp, but he made it to the helo under his own power. We wrapped Nikitin’s body in a spare blanket and loaded it. It would have been a little easier to bury him at sea, but since we’d thrown out the broken radar, we didn’t have anything heavy to weigh the body down. Eduard went with them.
After the helicopter left, I checked the entire boat for places that bullets had hit, even hanging over the side to check the water line. To my surprise, I only found three. We didn’t even get to test our bulletproof glass.
There was a hole on the aft part of the superstructure that I patched with repair epoxy that I’d found in the maintenance locker. The other two had just left small dents in metal. No big deal.
Scorpion had gotten Nikitin to tell him his computer password. He made a call over the secure radio and then sat down with Nikitin’s computer and spent a few hours digging through it until the next helicopter arrived.
It was a big United States Air Force bird that was so large that it couldn’t actually land on our deck. It was loaded heavily with auxiliary fuel tanks.
The pilot flew it sideways at our stern, almost but not quite touching the deck. Scorpion walked out and handed up the computer case and all the other information to the airman in the back. The helo took off to the southwest, I figured probably for a United States base in Germany.
“Was there anything interesting on Nikitin’s computer?” I asked.
“Well, for a guy who would only pass paper intelligence, he sure kept a lot of electronic records. Most of it just seemed to be records about miscellaneous black market dealings. Guns, contraband, and the like. What I found most interesting was a gentleman with a middle eastern name who was buying various radiological items.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“I think we shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but no, it doesn’t.”
As we rounded Denmark and made for England, a call came in over the secure radio. Scorpion spoke on it for quite a while before ending the communication. He addressed the rest of us.
“There’s been a change of plans. Langley's read the intel, and they want us to go find out some more. We’re going to go up and around Scandinavia to Murmansk.”
Gene groaned. “What in the world could possibly be up there?”
“Rusting hulks of old Russian nuclear submarines is the first thing that comes to my mind,” I said.
“Besides that.”
Personally, I didn’t mind too much. Murmansk was located near the home of the Russian Northern Fleet. Assuming they didn’t still shoot outsiders, it would be interesting to take a look at. Andy looked a little uncomfortable. I knew why.
That night on the bridge, we quietly talked through what he would say to get out of going with us. He’d told Hawker he would only be gone two weeks.
We knew that at some point, the boat would have to dock in Norway to get fuel and food. Andy would announce that the agency only hired him on for two weeks and would get off the boat. He would then catch a plane back to the United States.
We did indeed stop the next day at some no-name little place on the Norwegian coast. We picked it because it was on a fairly straight bit of coastline, so we didn’t have to waste time sailing all the way up a fjord. The coast of Norway is absolutely jagged with fjords. It must be frustrating to try to drive the coastal Norwegian roads, having to constantly divert inland to swerve around all of them. I don’t have a high opinion of fjords.
Andy did as planned and announced that the home office had called and told him to come back. Over the course of the trip, I had gotten the feeling that Scorpion didn’t really like the man called Jim Ross. He didn’t plead with Andy to stay.
We fueled up and got some groceries. Norwegians seemed to eat a lot of fish, and, strangely, meatballs. There also seemed to be a large coffee selection. I once read somewhere that Norway is the world’s leading consumer of coffee.
Once we got underway again, it was a nice leisurely cruise all the way up the coast and around to Murmansk. At least, it would have been leisurely if we didn’t have a job ahead of us. New information that came in over the secure radio suggested that we might have to go ashore and do unpleasant things. Who exactly it was going to be unpleasant for I didn’t know.
Murmansk and Saint Petersburg didn’t have much in common. Saint Petersburg had two hundred museums. Murmansk had just two. Saint Petersburg was a cultural hub with many public works. Murmansk was a nuclear waste dumping site. They both suffered extensive destruction at the hands of the Germans in World War Two, though.
The rich peoples’ marina was smaller than in Saint Petersburg. Fewer rich people, I guess. We tied up and Scorpion went to go find some fuel. I wasn’t surprised to learn that he spoke perfect Russian.
I was more surprised to see Agents Ivanova and Demidov there to meet us. I invited them aboard. I figured meeting with Russians was as good excuse as any to drink to vodka. As it turned out, so did they.
I asked Demidov about his leg. He said it was nothing. I asked what they were doing in Murmansk.
Ivanova explained, “Our intelligence agency is working with your intelligence agency. If there are people buying nuclear material illegally, we also want to know about it.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The two of them were staying at some ex-KGB resident facility that had been converted into quarters for traveling FSB agents. I found a map of Murmansk and marked the location so we could find it if we needed to. Of course, they already knew where to find our boat.
When Scorpion came back, the two Russians held a brief for everyone. Despite the cultural differences, it was remarkably similar to the briefs I had experienced in Scorpion’s presence.
Demidov took out a photo and let us look at it. “This man is known as Ali Al-Azhem.” Triple A, I thought. “He has been seen in both Saint Petersburg and Murmansk. It is strongly suspected that he has connections to one or more terrorist organizations operating in Libya.”
John rolled his eyes. “Are there any terrorists these days who aren’t Arabs? I’d really like to see some, just for variety.”
Demidov ignored the comment. “Al-Azhem has also been linked to black market sales of low level radioactive material. It cannot be used to make nuclear weapons, but it may be part of manufacturing dirty bombs.”
He didn’t define “dirty bomb” but I had a pretty good idea. Say you don’t have enough refined radioactive material to produce an atomic weapon. You can take your nuclear junk and add it to a regular bomb in order to spread radiation over a large area when the explosive goes off. Put one of them in the center of a busy city, and the nationwide panic it would cause would probably be worse than the actual bomb damage and subsequent fallout.
“What kind of radioactive materials are we talking about?” I asked.
“Many pieces of scientific and medical equipment use radiological material of some kind. Our primary focus, though, are on radioisotope thermoelectric generators. They are small power sources that contain radioactive elements. The radioactive decay of elements like plutonium, strontium, polonium and curium produce heat that thermocouples convert the into electricity. There are perhaps one thousand RTGs in Russia.”
“What are they used for?”
“Many outer space satellites utilize them for power. The primary use in Russia, however, is for powering navigational beacons or unmanned lighthouses.”
“Isn’t someone guarding them?” asked Gene.
“Most RTGs are spread out along the coasts. Many have simply been forgotten about, or maps to find them have been lost.”
Yeah, a thousand or so radioactive electrical generators just lying around waiting to be stolen sure sounded bad to me. I thought I had read something similar in a Tom Clancy book.
Ivanova and Demidov finished their brief and left. Before we had a chance to scatter, Scorpion stepped up.
“We’ve got some orders to carry out. Headquarters specifically said to do it tonight.” I understood. There are some things that just work better at night. What small amount of night we were going to get. Sitting above the arctic circle, Murmansk was even worse than Saint Petersburg.
“Canvas, you get to watch the boat tonight.” I surprised myself by being fairly comfortable with that assignment. Being shot at will do that to you.
When the other three had left, I kicked back on a reclining chair on the bridge. I left the lights off and sat there in the dark. I didn’t even leave the night lights on. Being shot at not only turned off your appetite for action, it made you paranoid.
I kept one leg twisted behind my back to keep me awake. When it started to go to sleep, I switched legs. As far as I could see, no one even gave the boat a second look.
Along about one in the morning, my sat phone rang. It was Hawker, asking for Andy. I had given her my number and had been discretely slipping the phone to him when she called. As far as the rest of the crew knew, “Jim” was unmarried.
“He isn’t here, Hawker.”
“Where is he?”
“The last time I saw him was in Norway.”
“What?!”
“Calm down. We’re still over here in Europe. He wanted to come home before we did, so we let him off.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A few days ago.”
“I haven’t heard from him! It shouldn’t take that long to get on a plane and come home!”
“I’ll do what I can,” I promised. After disconnecting, I called David Goldstein.
“Hey Sail, it’s been a while. What can I do for you?”
“A friend of mine is trapped in Norway.” It looked like Andy's famous luck might have run out.
He whistled. “I’m tempted to ask how that happened, but go on.”
“As you know, I’m on a boat trip right now, and he decided to go home early. We dropped him off at a little hamlet on the coast a few days back. His girlfriend called me just a little while ago and said she hasn’t heard from him.”
“What kinds of things did he have with him? Identification? Money?”
“He had a passport. I don’t think he had any local money. A small place like where he got off probably wouldn’t have any kind of money exchange. To get to a larger place that would have something like that would probably require money, but he doesn’t have any. It’s a Catch 22.” I couldn’t believe that no one, including me, hadn’t thought about this before Andy had left.
“Tell me what you know, and I’ll see what I can do with it.”
I gave him Andy’s name and physical description, as well as the name of the place we’d dropped him off. David said he’d find somebody to take care of it.
I put down the phone and told myself that there was nothing else I could do. It was probably true, too.
Maybe an hour later, Gene, John and Scorpion came back. They were all dressed in dark, ordinary clothes and didn’t have anything flashy about them. Perfect for blending in while in a city at night. I also knew they were all armed, but the general public didn’t.
“We went and had a look down by the docks," said Gene. "Can’t prove anything yet, but there’s some kind of shipping operation going on.”
“What now?” I asked.
“We send the data back and see what Langley makes of it,” answered Scorpion. “If they or the FSB come up with something, maybe we’ll get permission to move. Otherwise, we’ll just sit tight.”
At around noon the next day, the Russians came out again. John and I had just returned from a trip to McDonald’s. Fast food was about the last thing I thought I would find in Murmansk, Russia, but when I found out that there was a Mickey D’s in the area, I wanted to go.
I was surprised how much the restaurant resembled a McDonald’s in the United States. There were some differences, sure, but it was sort of surreal how I could come halfway around the world and get the same salad I could find in Norfolk. John looked disdainfully at my lettuce, but said nothing.
Ivanova and Demidov knew about McDonalds. I heard that in Russia, McDonald’s actually gets about twice the traffic per location than in the United States. The two of them turned down our offers of burgers, though.
While we ate, the two FSB agents laid out what they had learned since we’d talked last. They’d fingered a Libyan-flagged freighter ship as a possible transport for getting the RTGs out of the country.
“The name of the ship is Kursk Star.”
I knew Kursk was a place in Russia. “What kind of name is that for a Libyan ship?”
“The ship is Russian owned and crewed, but has a Libyan flag of convenience.”
That was a common practice among merchant vessels. Companies would find a country whose shipping regulations worked to their advantage and register their ships under that flag. Mongolia, an entirely landlocked country, was popular one.
“We also believe that in the next few days, they will be collecting more RTGs,” said Ivanova. “The cargo ship will be leaving to return to Libya soon. At some point, it is likely that the RTGs will be brought on board. The ship will probably pass near a peninsula to the north and west of here. That is where the transfer will likely occur.”
“I think it would be a good idea to get there first and see what the place looks like,” said Scorpion. “Can you two watch the ship and let us know if anything changes?”
Ivanova and Demidov nodded.
“All right, we’d best be getting underway, then.” He escorted the Russians back to shore and then came back to prepare for departure.
Author note: The outline for this story was actually written as part of NaNoWriMo a while back. Less than a month after I finished it, Tom Clancy published Dead or Alive, so maybe he stole the RTG idea from me. No way am I going to put my lawyers up against his lawyers, though.