Tom Clancy - Command Authority

The rumor Clark and Chavez were picking up on the street, however, was that the current clashes were stoked on both sides by the FSB. It was said the Russians were organizing bus caravans from the pro-Russian east, filling the buses full of paid union workers, and dumping them in Kiev just upstream from the marches. At the same time, they secretly funded media outlets that pushed the pro-nationalist agenda.

If this was all true, it would show the Russians were interested less in winning hearts and minds in Ukraine, and more with causing chaos and civil strife.

By eight p.m. Clark called a halt to the day’s recon, and the men returned to the flat. After sitting together in the living room to discuss the day’s events, they decided they would go out for a quick dinner on nearby Khreshchatyk Street. They took a few minutes to sanitize and secure the flat, and then they headed out.

It was a breezy thirty-eight degrees outside, but the residents of Kiev considered this a spring evening; there were many pedestrians out in European Square as the six men walked along toward a restaurant recommended by Igor Kryvov.

As they walked through the square to the restaurant, they were spread out several yards wide, making their way through the crowd. Clark, Kryvov, and Chavez chatted in Russian, and the three non–Russian speakers mostly walked along with their hands in their pockets to keep warm. Gavin Biery was on the far right-hand side of the entourage, and when a group of young men got in front of him on the sidewalk, he moved to get out of the way. As he passed them, however, one of the men stepped into his path and shouldered straight into Biery’s side, spinning him around and knocking him to the ground.

The man kept walking with the rest of his small group, barely breaking stride.

Caruso didn’t see the impact, but he saw the result. As the obvious culprit walked away, Dom turned and started after the young man.

Sam Driscoll grabbed him by the arm, restraining him. “Let it go.”

Chavez helped Gavin back to his feet. “You okay, Gav?”

“Yeah.” He brushed himself off, more embarrassed than hurt.

Caruso looked at Kryvov. “What the hell was that about?”

Kryvov had no idea. “I didn’t see what happened.”

Chavez finished brushing the Campus director of information technology off and patted him on the back. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

Once inside the restaurant, the men moved to a long table with benches in the back of a dark bar area. Beer was brought to Gavin, Dom, and Sam; Igor Kryvov ordered a bottle of vodka on ice. Ding and Clark had been drinking in the bars where they met with the locals since ten-thirty that morning, so they ordered mineral water, although Igor had the waiter bring shots of vodka for everyone so they could toast.

They kept their conversation centered on topics that fit with their legends as journalists. They talked about the news in other parts of the world, hotels and computers and other technology. There were enough similarities with their actual lives and the lives of their covers that the conversation was in no way stilted or forced.

Just after their food came, three men in dark coats entered the restaurant. The operators of The Campus all noticed them; they were conditioned to keep an eye open for any threats, even while eating dinner. As the hostess greeted the men, they walked past her without responding and went into the bar area.

Gavin Biery was talking about photography now, the differences between the quality of film prints and digital images, but the other five men at the table were silent, and all focused on the three new arrivals. The sullen, darkly dressed individuals walked straight over to the long table where the Campus men sat, and they sat down on opposite sides of the table just feet away. They turned their chairs toward the group and just stared quietly.

Biery stopped talking.

There were a few uncomfortable moments while the Americans waited for Kryvov to introduce the friends he’d obviously neglected to mention he’d invited along for dinner, but very quickly it became obvious Igor didn’t know the men, either.

“Who are you?” Kryvov asked in Ukrainian.

The three men just looked back at Kryvov without responding.

The waiter came by to offer menus to the new visitors, but one of the men reached up and pushed him back, sending him on his way.

After another minute of awkward silence, Chavez looked at Driscoll. “Can you pass the bread?”

Sam picked up the bread bowl and sent it on its way down to Ding.

Within seconds everyone was eating again, and although Dom kept his angry staring contest going with one of the men, he still dug into his lamb and potatoes.

When the check came, delivered by a waiter who went out of his way to approach the middle of the table, staying away from the evil-looking men at both ends, Clark paid it, finished the last of his water, and stood up. “Gentlemen. Shall we?”

The rest of the group followed him out the door, but the three men who’d latched on to them during dinner did not follow.

As soon as they were halfway across European Square, Igor Kryvov said, “My friends, I’m sorry about that.”

Clark said, “FSB?”

“Yes. I think so.”

Dom nodded, “Those guys are the Keystone Kops. The worst surveillance I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Clark shook his head. “Dom, they are demonstrativnaya slezhka , demonstrative shadowing. They want us to know we are being followed. They will harass us, annoy us, generally make things tough so we can’t do whatever it is they think we came here to do.”

Driscoll said, “I could understand that in Russia, but this isn’t Russia. How can those guys get away with that here in Ukraine?”

“It’s certainly brazen,” Clark had to admit. “They must be pretty confident we aren’t going to go to the local police.”

Kryvov said, “Or else they’ve got connections in the local police. Maybe both.”

Clark added, “It’s nothing to worry about. It doesn’t mean we are in any way compromised. Our cover is solid.” He chuckled. “They just don’t particularly like our cover.”

Sam said, “These knuckleheads would really blow a gasket if they knew what we were really doing.”

Caruso said, “I don’t like this shit. Mr. C, how about you let Igor find us some guns?”

Clark shook his head. “As long as we’re in cover we can’t be carrying weapons, not even covertly. Remember, we can get challenged by the local cops at any time. They pull a piece out of one of our jackets, and our story about who we are and what we are doing will go tits up in a hurry. That happens, and we’re off to the local jail, and there I can guaran-damn-tee we will be up to our eyeballs with mob goons we don’t want to deal with.”

“Roger that,” said Dom. He wasn’t happy rolling unarmed with Russian thugs literally bumping up against them, but Clark had been doing this sort of thing since before Dom was born, so he knew better than to argue.

They made it back to their building around eleven, and climbed the stairs to the third-floor flat. As they arrived at the door to the apartment, Ding slid his key into the lock, started to turn the latch, but he stopped himself before he opened the door.

“Down!” he shouted.

The other five men had no idea what was wrong, but they hit the deck quickly. Biery did not do so on his own power—rather, Driscoll took the IT director down like a linebacker making a tackle in the open field.

There was no explosion. After a few seconds, Clark looked up to find Chavez still standing at the door, his hand on the key in the lock. He said, “The lock has been tampered with… It feels gritty. Maybe it was just picked, but it might have a pressure switch attached. If it does, and I let go, then we go boom.”