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“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.
“We’re working on that right now, but first we need to focus on getting you into Russia,” responded Morrell.
“And how do we plan on doing that? More bull?”
“Kind of. You’re coming with us to pick up Frank Leighton.”
“Where is he?”
“His op was a bit different than the others. We know his was Maritime. He was to sail his nuke right into St. Petersburg harbor, so unless he’s moved from where his nuke was hidden, which there’s no reason to believe he has, right now he’s on a small, uninhabited island off the coast of Finland. With the Russians knowing as much as they do about him, he’s no good to us anymore. The plan is for us to get him and his device to safety on the mainland, while you sail his boat out into the Baltic toward St. Petersburg.”
“Right into the arms of the Russian Navy. This doesn’t feel so good.”
“Don’t worry,” said Morrell, “You’ll have help.”
“Help from whom?”
“You’ll be working with a SEAL Team stationed aboard theUSS Co
“Maybe, but how are you pla
“We’ll be using the Navy’s new Advanced SEAL Delivery System.”
Having been part of the Navy’s Special Warfare Development Group-a SEAL think tank in Little Creek, Virginia, where new weapons, equipment, communication systems, and tactics are developed, Harvath was very familiar with the 65-foot long mini-submarine known as the ASDS, which could covertly deposit operatives practically within spitting distance of any shoreline anywhere in the world.
“That might get you in under the Russians’ radar,” said Harvath, “but what about Frank Leighton’s? This guy is former Army Intelligence. You can’t just walk right up to him and say, ‘Surprise! We’re the good guys and there’s been a change of plans.’ If he doesn’t know you’re coming, who knows what he’ll do.”
“We know,” said Morrell. “He’s on a do-or-die mission, and if taken by surprise, his options would be very limited. None of the potential scenarios are ones we’re willing to accept. That’s why you need to reestablish communication and prep him on our arrival.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ve already spoken with him once. If we throw anyone else in the mix at this point, it could blow everything out of the water.”
In light of the fact that they were discussing a waterborne operation, Harvath didn’t very much care for Morrell’s choice of words.
“We’ve got one very serious problem,” replied Harvath. “Leighton expects our next contact to be via the emergency contact plan established by Gary Lawlor, and I have no idea what that is.”
There was less than four hours left and Harvath wondered what the hell his next move was going to be. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Herman Toffle at the hospital for an update on Gary.
“He’s still in surgery,” said Herman, “but it looks like the doctors are getting ready to close. I was going to wait until they had finished and wheeled him into recovery before calling you.”
“How long?” asked Harvath.
“From what the nurse said, about forty-five minutes to an hour, but that’s just for completion of surgery. He’s under general anesthesia. There’s no telling how long it will take until he comes around and when he’ll be able to communicate.”
“I’m on my way,” said Harvath, hanging up the phone. Turning to Morrell he said, “I need your car keys and DeWolfe.”
“What’s up?” asked Morrell, as he tossed Harvath the keys to his rental.
“I’ve got an idea of how we might be able to put some lipstick on this pig. If I’m right, maybe we can stop things from getting too ugly, too early.”
Chapter 30
As Harvath engaged the rental car’s onboard navigation system and selected his destination-the Virchow-Klinikum campus of Berlin’s Charité Hospital, located along the banks of Berlin’s Spandau Canal, DeWolfe toyed with Gary’s burst transmitter, trying to find a way into the encryption program.
“You talked about numeric codes,” said Harvath, speeding through an intersection to avoid a changing light. “In the SEALs we’d normally have a four-digit code with a backup in case the first one was ever compromised. For our system to work, we would take whatever the current code was and subtract that day’s date. That was it.”
“That’s essentially how this works. Your missions were probably like the ones we’ve been deployed on. We’d only need to do burst transmissions back to the command and control structure, not to other operatives in the field, so you didn’t need lots of additional codes.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s when it’s easy. As the commo guy, I got to set our encryption codes myself. I wanted something significant that I could always remember, so whenever I could, I liked to use important dates from the Revolutionary War. My favorite was 418.”
“April 18th?” asked Harvath.
“Yup. April 18th, 1775. We’d subtract the 418 from 1775 and then add the date of whatever day we were transmitting on. That was our code. As far as communications are concerned, April 18th, 1775 was one of the most historic.”