Fires of Kiev Page 12

  “I’m glad you asked for me,” Meredith said softly.

  “Hmm?” Kostya looked up, putting the carafe back in the kitchen.

  “At the airport, I’m glad you asked for me.” She took a sip from her mug as he leaned across the counter. “If you have to be here, I mean.”

  Kostya watched her. Her headache had melted away it seemed, and her golden eyes began shining like they did on that summer’s day in the field in Cherkasy. “I’m glad, too.”

  They had finished breakfast but were lingering over coffee when Scott opened the front door. He put his briefcase down and appraised Kostya and Meredith leaning in to each other over coffee.

  “Well, doesn’t this look cozy?” he sneered. “Looks like you had a good night without me.”

  Ignoring his insinuation, Kostya jumped in. “Would you like some breakfast, Scott? There’s plenty left. I can put toast in for you.”

  Scott threw him an unwelcoming glance but managed to say politely, “No, I need to shower and get into the office.” Then looking at Meredith he said, “Why don’t you come up and get ready, too, Mer. I’m sure Kostya is used to cleaning up after other people.”

  Kostya flinched at the slam, but chose not to react to it. “Yes, I will do the dishes. You two go ahead.”

  Meredith started toward Scott, who was halfway to the stairs, but stopped and faced Kostya. “Thank you for breakfast—and everything, Kostya.” She gave him a smile before she went to join Scott upstairs.

  He waited for her to go before he picked up the dishes on the breakfast bar.

  ****

  Kostya stared out the window of Will’s car as they drove toward his work through downtown Washington D.C. Although surrounded by impressive architecture and important buildings, Kostya concentrated on memorizing the layout of the streets and the important landmarks. Old habits from the Spetnaz were hard to break. Will was a perfect tour guide for him, pointing out D.C. Metro stations and indicating major intersections and directions through town.

  Before long, they pulled up in front of a building on Massachusetts Avenue identified as part of the Department of Homeland Security. Will showed his ID at the gate to the underground parking garage, and even though he was greeted by name, the uniformed guard scanned his ID and a car tag glued into the front window, into the system before allowing him access. Kostya followed Will into the garage elevator and Will pushed the button for the fifth floor.

  The elevator car stood still until Will stood for a retinal scan in front of the panel above the numbered buttons. “The fifth floor is restricted to just our group,” Will explained. Once authenticated, the doors closed, and the car rose quickly.

  Opening to a generic foyer with a desk and a phone, no receptionist, they faced a steel door with a combination touch screen and a ten-key passcode lock. Will placed his hand on the screen where it was scanned, and then he keyed in the code numbers. As Will punched in the numbers, Kostya glanced down as a courtesy. “If you start working with TRUST, you’ll be instructed in all the security protocols,” Will explained.

  “I won’t always have to have you with me?” The corners of Kostya’s mouth turned up slightly. “I thought the State Department ordered you to be attached at my hip.”

  “God, I hope not.” Will chuckled.

  Will ushered Kostya into the conference room on the far side of the floor against the windows. The table was large enough for about eight people, and had tall, leather, wheeled chairs set around it. Kostya, immediately drawn to the large windows, surveyed the building’s surroundings from this higher vantage point. “A pretty non-descript neighborhood for being downtown D.C.,” Kostya said.

  “We like it that way,” Will answered. “Visible enough to be found when we need to be found, but blends in enough that we’re not noticed.”

  “What’s the plan for today?” Kostya turned from the windows and stood behind one of the tall chairs around the table.

  “First, I think the team needs to be briefed on why you’re here—the computer chips, the silo, the murder of your boss and your parents, and especially the missile.”

  “Why is this team any different than the people I talked to at Immigration?” Kostya asked.

  “Because we can actually do something about it,” a voice behind them answered. “We’re an official part of Homeland Security, but we’re not beholden to them or any other government agency, although they know of our existence and appreciate our work. Being untethered, so to speak, gives us a lot of freedom when we are working on certain problems that come up.” Kostya recognized Dr. Nichols, the man who had brought information to the hearing at Immigration. He greeted Will with a firm handshake and a slap on the back. “How are you doing, Will?”

  “Can’t complain, Josiah. How is Katie?” Will asked.

  “She’s busy as always. Getting ready to graduate with a Master’s in Physics from Georgetown in May. She’s going to give her old man a run for his money in Physics research at the lab, I’m afraid.” He directed his gaze at Kostya. “So, the famous Kostyantin Dychenko is with us.”

  “I’m not sure famous is the word I’d use, but I am Kostya.” He stepped forward and offered a handshake.

  Will officially introduced the two men. “Kostya, do you remember Dr. Josiah Nichols from the hearing? He is the reason that TRUST exists.” Wearing wire rimmed glasses and carrying a notebook and pen, he looked a little like a college professor rather than the leader of a government intelligence organization. He was wearing navy slacks and a navy blazer over a light blue shirt with no tie. He was easily in his sixties, but still held himself as a younger man.

  “I take it you’ve explained some of what we do,” Dr. Nichols said to Will.

  “Yes, I’ve started,” Will said. He turned to Kostya. “Like Dr. Nichols said, TRUST can take action on threats when other agencies would be bogged down in red tape.”

  “Threats like the imminent launch of nuclear missiles in the Ukraine?” Kostya studied the two men. He liked what they said, but he was naturally wary of government agency solutions that seemed too easy.

  “Yes, TRUST was made for exactly this type of situation.” Will pointed toward the city. “You know how the agencies, departments, and bureaucracy of Washington D.C. will deal with the threat of a missile being pointed at them? They’ll negotiate, they’ll send diplomats, they’ll sign treaties and make promises. But in the end, the missile will still be pointed at us.”

  “So TRUST is a group of vigilantes? You make your own justice?” Kostya’s jaw tightened as he envisioned the many things that could go wrong.

  “Yes and no. We make it so it is impossible for our target to act. We take away their bargaining abilities. We strip them of the source of their power.”

  “So, you might strip a rebel group’s ability to launch a missile using intelligence smuggled out of the country.” Kostya started to nod, starting to see possibilities.

  “I think you see why we thought you’d be a good fit for our group.” Will smiled.

  The three men sat down at the table while two other men came through the doors.

  “I tell you, there was no way the Redskins could compete against the Packers with their low rushing totals this year. Statistically, they win yardage only forty-one percent of the time against a man-to-man defense.” The first man was young, almost too young to be here, but tall with brown hair and glasses. He wore a white shirt and gray tie with blue jeans.

  “Geez, Ben. Give the math a rest for once. Don’t you ever have a feeling about a team? Or just want the home team to win? You know, home field advantage?” The other man was a little shorter than the first, and was definitely former military. He still carried the build and haircut of someone out of a recruitment video.

  “Well, my math will get a rest tonight since I won’t be paying for drinks,” the tall man taunted. “Go Packers!” Kostya couldn’t help but laugh good-naturedly with the rest of the group.

  Will leaned over and whispered, “Clark Kent over ther
e is Ben Jameson. He’s our boy genius. Dr. Nichols recruited him when he was only nineteen years old. He’s now twenty-one. The other guy, G.I. Joe, is Ethan Shaw, retired from the U.S. Navy, Special Forces. He can’t say, but I suspect he was on Seal Team Six.” They took their places and Dr. Nichols, the man obviously in charge, made official introductions.

  Dr. Nichols spoke, ending the playful competition between Ethan and Ben that had continued quietly across the table. “Do you have the information I asked you to prepare?”

  “Yes,” Ben replied, and using a silver remote, he lowered the window shades and brought up slides on a screen on a side wall. “Dr. Nichols asked me to take a look at Fire of Dawn, the Novorossiyan splinter group that Kostya believes is behind the rebuilding of at least one nuclear silo in Cherkasy. Fire of Dawn is one of many rebel groups who support the Russian Spring movement: the desire for a new country, Novorossiya, built from the eastern provinces of the Ukraine. The Eastern Ukraine still has a large population with ties to Russia, many who speak Russian and trace their families to Russia. They want to rejoin Russia either as part of the Motherland or as Novorossiya, New Russia. Russia’s government openly supports these rebel groups with weapons and money.”

  “Russia is helping them?” Ethan asked. “Any confrontation between the United States and them could get complicated.”

  “Especially when you throw in nuclear weapons that were supposed to have been destroyed in the early 1990s,” Dr. Nichols added. “Bringing a huge missile back from the dead is not expected by anyone, especially the Russians.”

  “The idea of reverse engineering a nuclear silo is a new, but interesting, way to gain access to Cold War nuclear power,” Ben explained. “We know not all of the silos were destroyed at the end of the Cold War, so, unless they were looted, the buildings and infrastructures could be more or less intact. Power lines, sewer lines, gas lines have been unused for decades, but they are there. Rooms are already built to blast specifications. Logistically, the hardest part would be salvaging the components for the Control Center—well, and getting the missile, of course.”

  “That’s a good point, Ben,” Dr. Nichols said. “Where are the missiles coming from?”

  “There are two theories on that,” Ben answered. “Either the Russians are sending them across the border, or they never left the Ukraine.”

  “What do you mean they never left?” Ethan asked.

  “At the end of the Cold War, the Ukraine agreed to give up all of the Soviet missiles in their borders, which apparently were a lot of weapons. The Ukraine has all of those rural plains that were ideal for building the underground silos.”

  “Not to mention, we bordered the West,” Kostya added, finding it difficult to observe a third-party discussion of problems in his homeland. “Strategically, the Ukraine was the logical place to set up the long-range missiles to get the widest range of targets on the enemy.”

  “The enemy being the United States, of course,” Ethan said suspiciously.

  “Yes, and Western Europe. We didn’t much like the Brits or French either.” Kostya nodded at Ethan.

  “Anyway,” Ben continued, “the missiles were all officially accounted for and turned over to the Russians. But unofficially, the turn-over was chaotic. Governments were changing, military objectives were unsure, opportunists sought ways to benefit themselves, while patriots questioned the values on which they had based their lives.”

  “So it may be that a missile or two was overlooked,” Dr. Nichols said.

  “It is very likely that there are still nuclear missiles in the Ukraine,” Ben said. “But it’s one thing to have the missile, it’s another thing to have the ability to launch it. Either way, the existence of these weapons violates treaties made at the end of the Cold War.”

  “As for launching, when the missiles were removed from the Ukraine, the launch control systems were torn out of the missile silos. Most components were considered harmless and were sold for salvage. Even parts that were considered top secret were understood to be harmless without the missile itself, so they were just thrown away,” Dr. Nichols explained.

  “Someone who worked in or designed the silos would recognize these components’ value, especially if they had knowledge of missiles still in the Ukraine,” Ben said.

  “I don’t understand why Fire of Dawn wanted to reverse engineer the old systems to launch. Why didn’t they just use today’s technology?” Ethan asked.

  “Because the missiles are programmed to communicate with the Control Center a certain way, and it wouldn’t understand the new methods,” Kostya answered. “It’s like restoring an old car. If you use original parts, it all fits together. If you try to retrofit systems that weren’t in the original, you’ve got a whole lot of problems.”

  “But this only works if you’ve got the talent to reverse engineer the components,” Will added. “Not very many people today can make components from the 1960s work like new again.”

  “Enter Kostya,” Ethan commented.

  “Yes,” Ben said. “From what we have gathered from Kostya’s visit to the silo and our own intelligence, the components that were reverse engineered are working flawlessly. But there is a problem—the fail-safe for the missile.” He flipped the slides to show the diagram of a fuel valve. “This is a butterfly valve. When the disc in the center rotates, it opens the fuel valve and fuel is delivered to the engine. On missiles like the SS-18, the valve stays locked unless someone enters the appropriate alpha sequence on one of the components in the control center.”

  “Let me guess.” Will focused on Kostya. “The computer chip you brought here is the brains to this fail-safe component.”

  Kostya leaned back in his chair and nodded. “It’s the last one from the group of components I worked on. I destroyed four other chips like this one before I left.”

  “Talk about rattling the enemy’s cage,” Ethan muttered.

  “Kostya,” Dr. Nichols said. “Perhaps you can explain what exactly is on the chip.”

  Kostya cleared his throat and leaned forward. “It’s actually not anything too complicated. I mean, a chip this size in its time could hold three, maybe four thousand bits of data at most. I believe the chip is a code generator and authenticator.”

  “It makes and checks the codes?” Ethan asked.

  “I think the chip generates a six-character code using the algorithm programmed on this chip. If someone enters the right alpha combination on the encoder in the control center, the missile releases the lock on the butterfly valve allowing fuel to get to the engine of the missile.”

  “So without the algorithm, the codes won’t match, and the missiles cannot launch,” Will said.

  Kostya shrugged and looked at the men. “At least until they figure out a work-around. The algorithms of the Cold War era are relatively solvable, considering what even a modern laptop computer can do.”

  “Nonetheless, Kostya certainly bought a lot of time by stealing this chip,” Dr. Nichols said. “Fire of Dawn will have to resurrect one of the destroyed chips or find another chip to reverse engineer and work with. Beyond that, their only alternative is to hack the missile’s programming which takes valuable time and talent.”

  “Not to mention the self-destruct features that were built onto top secret components,” Will said. “The chip Kostya acquired was accessed in an inert gas chamber with careful handiwork.”

  Dr. Nichols stood, and Ben immediately sat, deferring to his superior. “Gentlemen, I think we need to determine what our goals are. Obviously, these missiles constitute a legitimate threat to the U.S. and to her allies. How do we want to address this? How do we proceed?”

  The men leaned back in their chairs in silence. Any action, or non-action, they took would have consequences. Finally, Ethan braved forward. “If we know who Fire of Dawn is and where to find them, we might be able to disrupt their plans by disabling their leader.” He directed himself to Ben. “What do we know about Fire of Dawn? Do we know who leads them?”
>
  Ben clicked to another slide. “We don’t know a lot. We know that the group is primarily made up of young people, sixteen to twenty-four years old. We know that almost all were born and raised in the Eastern Oblasts to families with Russian ties. Fire of Dawn emerged out of frustration. Followers believed the other Russian Spring groups moved too slowly and asked too little on the road to creating Novorossiya.”

  “So they’re quite liberal as these groups go?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes, they are. As for Fire of Dawn’s current leader, there may be hands behind the scenes, but the face of the group has been a man named Petro Vlasenko.” Ben clicked to a slide showing Vlasenko’s dossier. “He’s a successful businessman from the Donbas region of the Ukraine, and he holds a lot of influence. His money is primarily in the mines of the region—mines that the Russians would love to control. Like many others, he wants the Ukraine to follow Russia, and the incentives he’s getting from the Kremlin may be encouraging him to continue the fight.”

  Kostya stood and went closer to the screen, his jaw set. Ethan observed him, and glanced at Ben who looked just as puzzled at Kostya’s cold stare at the dossier.

  “How certain are you about Petro Vlasenko being involved?” Ethan asked carefully, gauging Kostya’s reaction.

  Ben shrugged. “I’m about as sure as I am about anything—about ninety-three point five percent sure, I guess.”

  “Let me translate genius for the mortals in the room,” Ethan quipped. “He’s pretty damn sure.”

  “Is there a problem, Kostya?” Dr. Nichols asked, addressing Kostya’s obvious connection. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes, I know him.” Kostya turned and faced the group with a determined look. “We served in Spetnaz-Alfa together.” Ethan shook his head. “He was a brother in arms.”

  “We trained together, we fought together, and we were assigned peace-keeping duty during the Kiev uprising at Independence Square.” He spat the words with clear contempt.