Ghost - Into The Breach Part 17

"How serious is it?" Nielson asked. "I won't askwhat it is, but how serious?"

"Not sure I can say even that," Mike replied. "But there's a reason that I'm taking the mission to recover the WMD and Arensky. I know the Keldara will keep their mouths shut."

"Well..." Vanner said, uneasily. "I hate to say this, but at this point, American and all that, my primary loyalty is here. If you think we should keep this from the US government..."

"I'm pretty sure I should be on the phone to Was.h.i.+ngton right now," Mike said. "And I'm going to call them and ask them for a special tasking in case we fail. Put it that way."

"Special tasking?" Adams said. "You mean you want them to bomb the area if you can't get the materials?"

"Sort of."

"This is rather unusual, Mike," the president said over the video connection.

The secure room in the US Emba.s.sy, Tbilisi was a windowless s.h.i.+eld-room. But it had a video connection on the securest possible system connected to the American military communications system.

Mike simply didn't have time to go to Was.h.i.+ngton for the conversation; this was the best compromise under the circ.u.mstances.

"I agree Mr. President," Mike said, looking at the other connections. The Secretary of State, the former NSA, was on one of the screens, the Secretary of Defense on another. "And thank you for your time.

But this was something that only you could decide upon."

"Go ahead," the president said.

"Yes, sir," Mike said, trying not to swallow nervously. "I have been given some additional information by the Russians. However, I was given the information on the agreement that I wouldnot pa.s.s it to the American government."

"So why are we here?" the Secretary of Defense asked, angrily. "And how the h.e.l.l could you agree to that?"

"Because Colonel Chechnik said I needed it," Mike said. "And because I hope that I can convince you of something very serious without, in fact, divulging the information."

"Dowe need the information?" the Secretary of State asked.

"Probably," Mike replied. "I'm playing a very hard game here, balancing a wire that's d.a.m.ned thin. I will say that if my mission succeeds you probably don't need it anymore. It will be history. And if I fail, well, that's why I'm here."

"Mike..." the president said then paused. "Mike you've done a lot of good things for your country, for the world. I'm not about to sit here and question your patriotism. But I have to wonder about judgment."

"So do I, sir," Mike admitted. "But if my judgment was incredibly hot, I never would have made it to Syria."

"Point," the president said, grinning. "What do you want?"

"I think it's what we all need, instead," Mike replied. "I'm going to insert the Keldara, and an agent, into the area then attempt to intercept the transfer. One of the items I don't feel bad about pa.s.sing is that the Russians now think that Arensky is being forced by the terrorists. His daughter was probably kidnapped to get him to go along. That means we're now trying to intercept the s.h.i.+pment, rescue Arenskyand his daughter. With a very small force. The only thing that matters, though, is the s.h.i.+pment. In the event that we are unable to secure the s.h.i.+pment, I'm asking that you task a nuclear weapon to take it out."

"You want us to drop a nuke on Georgian territory?" the Secretary of State said, evenly.

"Yes, ma'am," Mike replied. "Here is my thinking on this. The Georgians are aware that there may be a pa.s.sage of a weapon through their territory; that's why I have the mission. If there is a nuclear event, we can say that it was a detonation of the package due to the terrorists. Just like the Bahamas. Put up a B-2 on station with a steerable special munition. If the package goes into play, if we fail, the B-2 takes out the package. It looks as if the terrorists set off the nuke rather than have it fall into our hands. I'd also like to request Predator tasking in support."

"Mike..." the president said then paused again. "How far do we let it run?"

"No where," Mike replied. "Hit it the moment it goes into play. Right then, right there. If I am still in play and on site, I will specifically request it."

"That's your own position," the Secretary of defense pointed out. "Closecounts with nuclear weapons, Mike. I'd hate like h.e.l.l to have a nuke in play, but I'm not sure it's worth takingyou out. We've got strategic room to stop it."

"Sir, as I said, I have information that you do not," Mike replied. "My...judgment is that if we cannot absolutely secure this weapon at the point at which we know it is going to be, that a special munition be used to ensure that it doesnot go into play. And it has to be a special munition. Itcannot be a standard munition. That would be worse than not hitting it at all."

"You said 'weapon', not nuclear weapon. It's not a nuke," the Secretary of Defense said, definitely. She had cut her teeth on Soviet disarmament negotiations and knew WMD backwards and forwards.

"Neither confirm nor deny," Mike replied with a death's head grin.

"I'll get back to you on this," the president said, looking at his own monitors. "With either a yes or no. If it's a no, it's a definite no. Who's going to coordinate for the Predators and such? That we can guarantee."

"I'll work that through our CIA liaison," the Secretary of Defense said. "Based upon Mr. Jenkins'

recommendation, though, you have my a.s.sent and recommendation. His argument about the cover story is a valid point. We can blame it on the terrorists. And if he is willing to nuke his own position, and his own people, to stop this 'weapon' then he has thought this through carefully."

"I'm not worried about blame," the president said. "I'm worried about killing a friend."

"Don't, Mr. President," Mike said. "Make that the last thing on your mind. Because no decision you've ever made is as important as this one."

"Minuet?" the president said, as soon as Mike cut his connection. "You have a clue what he is talking about I'd guess."

"I think the Russians let a biological out of their labs," Minuet said, thoughtfully. "An infectious one and deadly. That is his point about not using a standard weapon. As standard weapon would have the possibility of breaking containment and spreading the biological. A nuke will sterilize the area."

"That's what the Russians don't want us to know," the Secretary of Defense said, angrily. "I can see why.

Thosestupid b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"And if Mike wants to keep his relations with the Russians we can't let them know that we even guess,"

Minuet pointed out. "However, we don't know that that is actually what is going on."

"Explain," the president said.

"It is probably accurate," Minuet pointed out. "But it is what Colonel Chechnik knows or has been told and then what he has chosen to tell Mike. Probably he was told we're looking at some sort of infectious biological. Mike, from his SEAL training, is well versed in biologicals. If it were, say, anthrax, he would not react this way. However, he is also a well known personality within a small group. The Russians may have antic.i.p.ated his reaction and told him it is a nasty bio weapon so that he would, in turn, scream to us for help. They may be simply interested in ensuring that Dr. Arensky is taken out of play. A nuke would certainly do that."

"For now, I am giving provisional authority," the president said, tightly. "But when this mission goes down, I want all three of us up and alert. I am going to have to make moment to moment decisions on release. Ensure that all the communications are in place for that."

"Shota, I want you to listen to mecarefully this time," Adams said, trying not to sigh.

Shota was probably the biggest Keldara there was and just about the most ma.s.sive guy Adams had ever known. He was even bigger than Russell, the former Ranger who had been a trainer up until he went back to the World. Shota was over two meters in his stocking feet, broad as a f.u.c.king house and most of it slabs of heavy muscle. The guy had shoulders that, literally, filled a door. Unfortunately, while not all big guys were dumb, Shota typified the stereotype. At least Russell had had two brain cells to rub together.

Not more than two, mind you, he was a Ranger, after all. But two. Shota would be a perfect point guy for entry if Adams could ever teach him to count as high asfive .

"It's really really easy," Adams said, slowly. "You go through the door and takefive steps. Not four, not six. Definitely notone . Understand? Five. Count them with me. One...Two..."

"One...two...three...f..." Shota said, his brow creasing.

"Okay, try it this way," Adams said, turning him parallel to the wall of the shoot house. "Walk with me.

One...two...three...four...five steps."

Shota nodded and looked around. "I stop here? Room's over there."

"NO, you'll bein the room," Adams said. "Just do the steps again. One...two...three...four...five! Got it, do it again... One...two..."

Adams had him take five steps, his weapon forward, over and over again. Then he had him trot it.

Finally, he was pretty sure the big ox had got it.

"Okay, now we're going into doctorate territory," Adams said. "You point your shotgun at the lock of the door. When I give you the word, you blow the lock off. Then youkick the door open. When it's open,then you take your five steps, got it?"

"No," Shota admitted.

"Follow my actions," Adams said, pointing his M4 down as if at a doork.n.o.b. "Follow me." He ran through the sequence seven times with the ma.s.sive Keldara following his moves. He'd ensured Shota's weapon was unloaded before they started so he even had him dry fire.

"When you get to the end of your five steps,then you look for valid targets. What's a valid target?"

They'd drilled this one mercilessly in training, so Shota got it right off.

"He got a weapon in his hand," Shota said. "You shoot the guys with the weapon."

"In your sector," Adams added.

"In my sector," Shota said. "I do my sector. Oleg, him do his sector."

"Whatdon't we shoot?" Adams asked.

"We don't shoot no girls," Shota said, carefully but fast enough it was clear he understood. "Less them got weapons. We don't shoot no kids, even if them got weapons. We don't shoot no men not got weapons."

"By George, I think you've got it," Adams said. "Okay, troops, let's load 'em up and try this! Through that door at a run!"

"The Keldara are a fascinating people," Jay said.

He and Katya were parked on a wall watching the small Keldara village. Both were dressed in local clothes and to a casual observer blended in. Jay was not a casual observer. As Katya reached a hand up to fiddle with her top he held up his hands with index fingers crossed.

"You're dead," Jay said. "Youare a Keldara woman. You have worn those clothes your whole life.

There is no reason to fiddle with them. Very few women will adjust anything in public unless they are very uncomfortable with the clothing. Street wh.o.r.es will, I'll give you that. And if you're at a formal dress dinner with a large number of women unaccustomed to formal dress, youmust fiddle from time to time.

And walk badly in heels. Very important. Walking badly in heels, if you normally don't, is a very difficult skill to learn. But you are not playing the part of a street wh.o.r.e or a female more accustomed to jeans than gowns. So you're dead."

"Yes, but Ican play the part of a street wh.o.r.e," Katya said, bitterly. "I have that down to anart ."

"As the Kildar has the bluff warrior down to an art," Jay sighed. "Because he lives it. But you cannot play a Keldara woman, yet, nor the slightly different version you'll find in Chechnya. And youmust . This is the first part you must learn if you want to survive this mission."

"Why?" Katya asked. "I go in, find the target, do what I can to prevent her being taken out and then we extract with the strike team."

"And if anything goes wrong?" Jay asked. "The strike team gets intercepted? The mission is blown?

Your cover is blown? What then? You're out in the cold, honey. And they're looking for a blonde wh.o.r.e."

"Lots of blonde wh.o.r.es," Katya pointed out.

"Then you know it all?" Jay asked, carefully.

"No, I do not, o master," Katya replied. "Enlighten me o font of wisdom."

"Sarcasm I can take," Jay said. "Mulishness I can't. You are out in the cold. The enemy is looking for a street wh.o.r.e. You cannot, yet, become a man in an instant. Who do you become?"

"One of the local women," Katya replied. "They speak Georgian and Russian."

"Can you mimic the accent?" Jay asked.

"Oh, yeah, sir, that I can," Katya said in a provincial southern Russian.

"But you are notthem ," Jay said. "You are not a teenage girl, frightened of these problem men all around. Probably raised Eastern Orthodox but surrounded by Muslims who consider her not much more than a wh.o.r.e because she doesn't wear a burkha. At least her head will be covered. Flinching and skulking to get to market and back to the farm without being beaten or robbed or raped. Born on a farm, hardly seeing a town her whole life. Not even knowing what s.e.x or rape really is most likely unless her father or uncle has broached her on a long winter night. Just that she can't have either one happen or she'll end up as...a street wh.o.r.e. You were born in a city, weren't you?"

"Yes," Katya said. "How did you know?"

"Ask me again in two or three years," Jay replied watching with interest as several of the Elders of the tribe gathered outside one of the houses. "But you won't have to. Orphanage. First s.e.xual experience there when you were...ten? The guy who ran the orphanage, the 'orphan master.' Somewhere in Siberia.

Not Novy Birsk but close. Killed someone in the orphanage. Made it look like an accident. Probably not even someone who had hurt you, just someone you knew you could kill and get away with it. Tossed out at thirteen or possibly just sold straight to your first pimp. Shuffled south and east towards the Balkans.

Left here because the wh.o.r.emaster in town couldn't find anyone stupid enough to buy you, no matter how pretty. Picked up by the Kildar as a necessity and he made a virtue out of it by using you as a spy.

But he's just another user to you, isn't he?"

"How?" Katya said, softly.

"Again, ask me in about ten years," Jay said as the Elders filed into the house. "But if you've been my pupil for that long, and you won't be, you won't need to ask. I doubt you'll stay for more than a year more. If, when, you go out on your own, if you keep studying in about twenty years you will know. If I can get you to even mimic a Keldara in six months, really mimic, so I can find no flaw, cut six years off that time. Either one. But I'm not sure you'll ever be good enough. You're missing one very vital component for being a really good spy."

"What?" Katya asked, confused.

"Empathy." Jay said, looking at the house then up at the caravanserai. "Very important to a spy.

Empathy gives you the ability to read below the surface. So see not only what is there but what is hidden."

"There is no way to hide it," Mother Mahona said. "She is smitten."

"As is the Kildar," Father Ferani said. Ferani was the oldest of the Fathers, somewhere in his seventies, shriveled by age but very hard. "Which is a pity."