James Barrington - Overkill

‘Go forward to the border,’ Modin instructed. ‘Show the border guards your diplomatic passport and advise – no, tell – them that this is a diplomatic convoy which must not be delayed. Tell them,’ he added, ‘that if we are still not cleared through the border within thirty minutes, I will personally file a report individually naming every single border guard and accusing them of gross dereliction of duty and wilfully obstructing a diplomatic mission.’

The Spetsnaz officer nodded and hurried off. Modin wondered if the threat would be taken seriously. Russia no longer had the sway over her satellites that she had once enjoyed.

Fifteen minutes later, with all eastbound traffic halted and the road cleared, the convoy was waved through the Polish border and, almost without a pause, across the Czechoslovakian frontier as well.

American Embassy, 2 avenue Gabriel, Paris

There was a problem with the secure satellite link between Langley and CIA London, and it was almost zero seven fifteen Eastern Standard Time, thirteen fifteen Central European Time, before the conference call circuit was completed.

‘Basically, John,’ Walter Hicks began, ‘this is an update briefing on RAVEN and his last message. We think we may know a bit more about him now. OK, Cliff, this is your ball.’

‘Right,’ Masters replied. ‘First, we looked again at RAVEN. We still don’t know who he is, but now we think we know what he is. We believe he’s a Russian with a conscience and a bad case of guilt.’

‘Come again?’ Abrahams asked.

‘We ran the entire sequence of events, and sanitized copies of the messages, past three of our tame shrinks. The most significant single factor, they agreed, was the last message. The initial stuff we received was high-grade intelligence, no question, and obviously RAVEN had had plenty of time to prepare it and to make the deliveries to Rigby. The message placed in Rigby’s car,’ he continued, ‘was different. That showed definite signs of haste. A man in a hurry, or a man who thought he might be observed. A frightened man, perhaps, or one who had just learned what was going on. The last message, though, was more like the earlier stuff. It was a note again, not a film, but obviously RAVEN had been able to prepare it at his leisure.’

‘So?’ Westwood asked.

‘So if that is an accurate assessment, why is the message so cryptic? He could have said “bomb” or “nerve gas” instead of “component”, and told us exactly what the threat really is. He could have been specific about the “implementation”. Are we talking about an actual invasion, or a first-strike or some other kind of threat?’

‘I follow you,’ Westwood said. ‘You mean that RAVEN could have told us precisely what the operation comprises, but something – his loyalty to Mother Russia or whatever – held him back.’

‘Exactly,’ Masters said. ‘What we have here, the shrinks believe, is a Russian who doesn’t like what is happening, but who is still not prepared to go the whole hog and completely betray his homeland. He’s salving his conscience by providing us with data, but not enough for him to feel like a traitor. He probably thinks that if we work out what’s going on and stop it, he will have helped us in the name of humanity, or something like that. On the other hand, if we don’t solve the problem and the implementation or whatever goes ahead, then he can step back and say, “Well, I tried, but they just weren’t smart enough.”’

‘OK,’ said Westwood. ‘I guess we’d better make sure that we are smart enough. That helps a little with RAVEN. What about the message – or rather what it says?’

‘It’s still puzzling,’ Masters said, ‘and it looks as if we are dealing with a most unconventional assault – if that really is the right word. The fact that a “component” is being delivered to the West does not suggest a first-strike, or anything involving a normal weapon delivery system – missile, aircraft, submarine or whatever. It seems more likely to us that we’re talking about a slow and conventional form of transport.’

‘What, a ship or train or something?’ Abrahams asked.

‘Exactly. It looks like whatever this weapon is, it’s being mailed to us.’

Abrahams laughed, briefly, then stopped.

‘I’m still listening,’ Westwood said. ‘What you say makes sense. Presumably the delay between the component entering the West, as RAVEN puts it, and the plan to be implemented, is to allow time for the weapon to be placed in position and primed or whatever.’

‘Yes,’ Hicks interrupted, ‘and for an ultimatum to be delivered.’

After a brief silence, Westwood spoke again. ‘I agree with your conclusions. What I’m not sure about is where we go from here. We have no idea – I presume – about exactly what this “component” is, what it looks like, where it’s coming from or where it’s going to, so where do we start looking? And how the hell do we find it by tomorrow?’

‘There’s another problem,’ Hicks growled. ‘RAVEN’s message refers to the “last component”, which implies that there are others already in place. Finding and stopping delivery of the final component may not stop the implementation of whatever the hell this operation is.’

‘Exactly,’ Cliff Masters said. ‘If what we’re looking at is a number of bombs that are already strategically placed in American cities, whether the last one actually gets delivered to Washington or wherever is irrelevant. There could already be a high enough tonnage of weapons in place to ensure that the President would have no option but to accede to whatever demands are made.’

‘You believe that?’ Westwood asked. ‘You believe the President would just roll over and play dead?’

‘He might have no option,’ Hicks replied. ‘Put yourself in his position. If the Russians announce that they’ve positioned one strategic-yield nuclear weapon in the centre of every major city in the States, and that they’re going to detonate them unless he agrees to whatever they want, what else can he do?’

‘It would be a first-strike without any warning,’ Masters added. ‘There could be no warning, because the weapons are already here. The first we would know about it would be the detonation of the first bomb.’

‘I’m having a job coping with this,’ Westwood said. ‘If you’re right, then this completely negates all of our defences.’

‘Well, not exactly,’ Hicks replied. ‘I’ve had two meetings with the President already, and he’s quite prepared to go to the edge on this. We’ve already discussed the military preparations he’s approved. The threat of us implementing those measures might be enough to defuse this situation.’

‘It might,’ Westwood said, ‘but I wouldn’t put any money on it. Any progress with that Russian word – Pripisha or whatever it was?’

‘ Pripiska ,’ Hicks said. ‘No. We’re still looking into it, but so far nobody here has had any bright ideas.’

‘So what the hell are we going to do?’ John Westwood asked, leaning back in the padded chair in the Paris Embassy Communications Room. The room was air-conditioned and cool, but he was sweating.

‘OK,’ Walter Hicks said. ‘What we need is data – any data. At the moment, we have no idea what we’re up against. What I don’t believe is that nobody’s noticed anything. Christ, we’ve got spy satellites peering into everyone’s backyard, we’ve got the NSA reading just about every diplomatic signal that passes through the States, and the British GCHQ listening-in every time somebody takes a crap. Somebody, somewhere, must know something.

‘John, you have to lean on the French. Forget about diplomacy, protocol, Gallic sensitivity and all the rest. Kick ass if you have to, but get some answers. Roger, the same applies to you in London. Get back on to that Taylor guy and get SIS moving. You’ve both got top weight on this – I’ve already talked to SIS and the DGSE, and the President will be calling the British Prime Minister and the French President today.’ There was silence for a moment or two. ‘Questions?’ Hicks asked.