Arctic Gold by Stephen Coonts Page B

Black 7 - Arctic Gold
4
Operation Magpie
Waterfront, St. Petersburg
0059 hours
A BRIGHT, SILENT, SMALL FLASH briefly flared in the western sky, somewhere above the fog, but no one on the ground saw it.
The guard was deep into his perusal of Akulinin papers. Akulinin had the feeling that these guys weren’t exactly the MVD finest. More like armed postal clerks, trying to decide if he needed more stamps.
You need pay special tax, the guard said, waving Akulinin Russian visa.
As if that were news! Okay, okay, Akulinin said. Skol’ka?
How much?
The two guards exchanged a glance; Akulinin could see the avaricious smiles shielded behind their eyes. Eight hundred rubles, the first said.
Akulinin nodded. I can take care of that. He reached for his billfold.
No, one of the guards said, gesturing with his AKM. You come with us. Pay atwhat is word? At office.
Listen, Ivan, Akulinin said, throwing some swagger into his voice and manner. Our papers are fine. You’re just trying to shake us down for a little vzyatka,
am I right? He deliberately mispronounced the word, which was Russian for bribe.
The guards’ faces hardened. You come. There was no mistaking the threat behind the words. Now!
The Art Room
NSA Headquarters
Fort Meade, Maryland
1659 hours EDT
I’m hit! Ghost Blue voice called. I’m hit!
Dean stared at the flashing icon marking a point just north of Kotlin Island in the Gulf of Finland, the coffee in his mug forgotten. He could hear the ragged edge of stress in the pilot voice.
The controllers in the Art Room, all of them, remained silent. Dean could almost feel the oppressive sense of helplessness as the drama played itself out on the other side of the world.
Damn it, Sarah Cassidy said from a nearby console. I told
them they should use F-47s!
Dean said nothing. Like every other branch of the American intelligence community, the National Security Agency had for years been working toward what Dean considered to be an impossible goalthe ability to conduct operations with a complete lack of risk for human operators. Spy satellites, remote sensors, unmanned aerial and submarine dronesbillions of dollars had been spent over the past few decades to reduce the possibility of human casualties to zero.
The same mentality had haunted the Pentagon for decades now as well. Was it possible to fight a war relying solely on robotic weaponry, smart bombs, and invisible aircraft, to win a war without the images of body bags on
the nightly news to remind the people at home that victory always came at a price?
Within the intelligence community, the list of serious intelligence failures over the past few years only emphasized the fact that all the spysats in orbit couldn’t provide the same depth and detail of data as a single well- placed human agent, HUMINT as opposed to SIGINT.
That, in fact, had been a large part of the philosophy behind the creation of Desk Three. The NSA was the principal agency responsible for America SIGINT capabilities, but there were times when you needed people
on the ground, down and dirty.
Or, in this case, in an F-22 Raptor above the icy waters of the Gulf of Finland.
Okay okay, I’ve got it , the voice said over the speaker. Dean could hear the whoop and buzz of alarms in the background. Starboard engine out, but I’ve still got control. Heading for Waypoint Tango Bravo.
Ghost Blue, Haunted House, Rockman said, touching a microphone transmit switch. Be advised that there are two, repeat, two targets closing on you. Probable Foxhounds. Over.
Yeah, I got ‘em on the gadget. I’ll be over international waters before they catch me.
Copy that. Good luck, Ghost Blue.
The answer was unintelligible.
Sir! Cassidy called out. We’ve lost Magpie signal!
Ghost Blue had been relaying radio communications from the Magpie team but must have now moved out of range.
That okay, Rubens replied from another console down the line. We’re getting their signal through Mercutio and the safe house.
Who Mercutio? Dean asked,