Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“At best, they think America had another ace up her sleeve that they never caught and the board is rebalanced.”

“And at worst?” asked Harvath.

“They don’t buy it and you sure as hell better pull off your part of the assignment.”

“Which is?”

“Taking down their air defense system.”

“Well at least I get the easy job,” said Harvath. “Russia’s about how big a country, do you think?”

“Six million, five hundred fifty-two thousand, seven hundred square miles,” offered Avigliano. “Please make sure you let Agent Kate Palmer know that in addition to being tall, blond, andgood -looking, I also have quite a head for geography.”

“As I was starting to say,” replied Harvath. “Finding the command and control structure for that air defense system has got to be like looking for a needle in a six million, five hundred fifty-two thousand, seven hundred square mile haystack. Do we have any leads? Do I get any help on this at all?”

Morrell opened his briefcase and handed Harvath a folder. “When this whole thing broke, we conducted a search of our intelligence databases. The search came up with one hit. In the mid-eighties, a Russian KGB officer named Viktor Ivanov was engaged in trading information with the United States from time to time. He was deemed a somewhat reliable source, as far as double agents go, until he presented the CIA with a conspiracy theory so outlandish, they chose to write him off as no longer reliable.”

“What was his theory?”

“Ivanov said that he had uncovered a plot by five of the Soviet Union’s top generals to win the Cold War by convincing the USSR to roll over and play dead while they invested in a covert weapons program that would allow them to return stronger than the U.S. At this point, you’ve pretty much seen how the rest of their plan pans out.”

Harvath was shocked. “No one checked into this guy’s story?”

“Of course we did. The CIA took it seriously at first. Ivanov had never given them bad information before, but they worried that he might have been setting them up.”

“Setting them up for what?”

“Who knows?” answered Morrell. “Back then, everyone was suspicious. They were always on the lookout for not only the double, but the triple cross. The long and the short of it is that the Agency dug real deep, pulled a lot of their Soviet contacts in and tried to corroborate Ivanov’s story, but they couldn’t. So, in the end, they cut him loose and refused to use him any more. They thought he had gone around the bend and didn’t want to waste any more of their time or resources on him.”

“So where do I find him?” asked Harvath.

“You can’t. He’s dead.”

“Then what’s in that file?”

“Notwhat, but whom. Ivanov’s daughter, Alexandra Ivanova.”

Morrell opened the folder and handed it to him. Harvath’s eyes were immediately drawn to the picture stapled to the inside. Alexandra Ivanova was gorgeous.

“Former Russian military, Ivanova was recruited about eight years ago over to Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, known as the-”

“SVR,” added Harvath absentmindedly as he focused on the dossier in front of him. “Following in the family footsteps.”

“Indeed. She has been posted in several international cities, including Hong Kong, London, and Istanbul. She speaks English, Arabic, and Mandarin in addition to her mother tongue and when her back is against the wall, has shown herself to be an extremely deadly assassin. Don’t let her looks fool you, this lady should be treated with the utmost caution.”

“She doesn’t look that bad to me,” replied Harvath.

“Be that as it may, you’re to be extra careful with her. Do not underestimate her at any time. Now, her father used her from time to time for some of his more delicate assignments and she was known to be a confidant of sorts to him. He was obsessed with this plot by the generals, and it eventually cost him his job, though the Soviets could never prove that he was trying to tip us off. Apparently, Ivanov was very Hoover-esque in the files he kept on people and that fact alone was probably the only reason he was never bumped off. He probably scared too many people with what he had buttoned down. We believe he most likely passed along some, if not all, of his files to his daughter before he died. At least that’s what our analysts think from the short amount of time they had to look at his dossier.”

“And what makes you believe that if this woman does know something, that she’ll share it with me?”

“The father was no Communist. He was more of a nationalist who put the good of his country, often to the detriment of his career, ahead of the self-serving desires of his government. From what we’ve seen, the daughter embodies a lot of that same ideology. If she has any information, the president has the utmost confidence that you will do whatever it takes to get it out of her.”

“What does that mean?” asked Harvath, who after taking one last look at Alexandra Ivanova’s photo, set the file down on the coffee table.

“Those are the president’s words, not mine, so you take them to mean whatever you want.”

“I bet I know what it means,” said Carlson, who had picked up the folder and was looking at the photo. “God, this chick is hot. You know, when this is all over, Harvath, maybe you could-”

“Put that folder down,” snapped Morrell. “You’re not cleared to see what’s in there.”

“If that’s what a ‘hard’ assignment looks like,” said Carlson, setting down the folder, “I’ll trade jobs with you right now, Harvath.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” replied Harvath. “I think I can suffer through this one.”

“What’s that girlfriend of yours going to think about you cozying up to a nice Russian hottie like that?” asked Avigliano, who had picked up the folder and was now looking at the picture.

“As far as I’m concerned,” answered Scot, “she’s not going to know.”

“Good for you,” said Carlson peeking over Avigliano’s shoulder to get another look at the photo. “What happens behind the Iron Curtain, stays behind the Iron Curtain.”

“Goddamn it! Nobody touches this file again, am I understood? In fact,” said Morrell, as he snatched the folder away from Avigliano and turned to Harvath, “have you seen everything you need to see in here?”

Harvath nodded his head.

“Good,” replied Morrell. “DeWolfe, toss me a burn bag.”

“Do I get to see the photo first?” asked the communications expert.

“What the fuck is this,Let’s Make a Deal? No you don’t get to see the photo first. You get to hand me a burn bag and you get to keep your fucking job. How about that for a deal?”

“Hey, everybody else got to see what this Russian chick looks like. I don’t know why I-”

“All right, goddamn it. If it’ll get you to shut the hell up, give me the burn bag and I’ll let you see the fucking picture. Jesus, you guys are a pain in the ass.”

DeWolfe winked at Harvath as he brought one of the special, heavy, lead-lined bags over to Morrell. True to his word, Morrell allowed DeWolfe a quick glimpse of the photo before dropping the entire file into the bag. Unlike diplomatic burn bags, into which shredded classified documents were placed and then taken to an incinerator room to be burned later, the modified field burn bag Morrell and his team were carrying provided one-stop shopping for destruction of sensitive materials. After sealing the top of the bag, Morrell set it on the floor and brought his foot down on top of it, breaking the vials of corrosive chemicals inside which quickly ate away at the file and left nothing behind in the bag but a soggy pulp.

“So how do I meet this Russian SVR agent?” asked Harvath, getting the conversation back on track.