Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 42





6:23 PM

FSB Headquarters, Lubyanka Square

Moscow, Russian Federation





Alexei Kaparov closed the small window on his desktop monitor and tapped another cigarette out of the pack he now kept in plain view on his desk. If the Internal Affairs Division monitored his smoking habit, they would have noticed that he had started smoking three packs a day since the beginning of the weekend. That alone should have alerted them to the fact that he was up to no good.

Agent Prerovsky's friend in Special Operations had turned out to be more than Kaparov had expected. Lucya was a senior analyst in the division, with a computer software engineering degree from Moscow University. Far from the desk clerk that Kaparov's prejudiced mind had imagined. She had access to the Special Operations Division's (SOD) inner sanctum, often serving as lead data technician for live operations. She was in the perfect position to feed them information, and after several expensive, romantic dinners, she had agreed to help them.

Fortunately, the two had started dating well before the Reznikov fiasco had surfaced, or he would likely be sharing a cell with Prerovsky on charges of treason. She had responded well to his request, especially when he told her the truth about Monchegorsk. Even within the Special Operations Divisions, the situation had been described as a violent political revolt, sustained by an armed insurgency. Everyone with the Operations Center knew this sounded like nonsense, but early details about Monchegorsk had been suppressed.

The window he had just closed was fed by a direct link engineered by Lucya. The Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) was deploying Spetznaz assets to Stockholm, Sweden, where they would wait for further instructions. She felt confident that they didn't have a specific address or location for Reznikov, but she sensed they were getting close to a breakthrough.

The deployment of SVR Spetznaz on foreign soil was a risky venture under any circumstances; a decision never taken lightly by the Special Operations Division. Given the serious, yet sensitive nature of the mission, Kaparov had little doubt which assets they would use. SVR leadership would activate "Zaslon" operatives from Directorate S, the Foreign Intelligence Service's "Illegals" division. Comprised of deep cover operatives living abroad, Zaslon Spetznaz were considered to be the most elite and specialized covert operations group ever produced by the Russian Federation. The group was all that truly remained of the original Cold War era Vympel Spetznaz and its existence had never been acknowledged by Russian authorities.

He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a text message that would reach halfway around the world in less than a minute.



**



Karl Berg felt his cell phone vibrate against his chest. He reached into his sport coat and pulled the phone out of the inner breast pocket. He stopped halfway up the stairwell that emptied onto Audra Bauer's floor. He had been summoned to meet with her quite suddenly, and she had asked him to "dress it up" a little. She also informed him that he would probably be out of the office for most of the day, which left him a little concerned. He just hoped that he'd be allowed to return with a job. She hadn't said a word about her earlier meeting with Thomas Manning.

He read the text.



"Recommend a visit to Stockholm. Very pleasant to visit this time of year, but can be a little crowded. Make sure to properly outfit. Be ready to jump at some of the early attractions."



He dialed a number kept on speed dial.

"How can I help you, Mr. Langley?"

"Very funny. Move your team to Stockholm immediately. They'll need to be ready to roll at a moment's notice. We don't have a specific location, but I'm getting real time information. You should assume they'll be up against Vympel Spetznaz. Our team has to move fast. We need Reznikov alive," Berg said.

"Our team? There might be hope for you after all, Karl."

"Call it sucking up. I might be on a flight to Argentina later today if my next meeting doesn't go well. I hope you can use a former CIA agent with a considerable worldwide network of contacts," Berg said.

"I can't guarantee the pay to be better," Sanderson said.

"Somehow I doubt that. I'm on the way to meet with my boss and I suspect we'll be taking a trip across the Potomac a little later today. This will go straight to the top, very quickly."

"You should keep our names out of this for now," Sanderson said.

"You think? I didn't plan to unveil our relationship in front of the national security advisor…on account of the fact that every name I might mention is on the FBI's most wanted list. Let me know when the teams are in place, and if you need any help with equipment."

"I'll handle the equipment this time."

"What, your team didn't like having to rummage around a trunk full of Cold War era Spetznaz goodies?"

"Not really. I recommend that you contact the team directly with Reznikov's location when you get it. Success in Stockholm might come down to seconds. Calling me will waste precious time that they won't have. You have their satellite phone number. I'll make sure the team is ready to roll," Sanderson said.

"Sounds good. I'll touch base with Petrovich," Berg said.

The call went dead.



**



General Sanderson clutched the phone in his hand and jogged from the armory to the headquarters building, one hundred meters away at the edge of the woods. The dirt path led up a gentle incline that didn't give him the slightest pause. By the time he had reached the log and beam structure's covered porch, his heart rate had just started to rise, ever so slightly. Sanderson could be considered a physical machine at any age, but for a man in his early fifties, he was an anomaly. He stayed in top physical shape out of pure habit forged by over twenty plus years in the U.S. Special Forces.

He started out as an infantry officer in 1973 after graduating from the United States Military Academy at West Point and was quickly identified a few years later as a candidate for the recently formed 1st Ranger Battalion. His superior performance and reputation within the battalion earned him a spot on the ill-fated rescue attempt of the American embassy hostages in Iran. Captain Sanderson watched in horror as Operation Eagle Claw unraveled.

From his distant position at the westernmost roadblock, he felt the heat from the fireball that engulfed a C-130 transport plane and crashed one of the RH-53D Sea Stallion helicopters at the "Desert One" landing site. Unaware at this point that the mission had been aborted, Sanderson scrambled back to the site for information. His radios had been rendered useless by the sand.

He nearly knocked over Colonel Charles Beckwith, who suddenly appeared out of a sand cloud kicked up by the nearest surviving helicopter. Beckwith had created Delta Force, America's brand-new counter-terrorism group, less than a year before Operation Eagle Claw. Sanderson had never heard of the unit before he had been assigned to the rescue mission. Colonel Beckwith informed him that the mission had been aborted and that his Rangers would board the last C-130 along with his Delta Force operators.

Sanderson stared with disbelief at the remaining helicopters. To him, it looked like they still had what they needed for the rescue operation. Beckwith put his hand on the captain's shoulder and said, "Son, it's not our call to make." By the time the C-130 had landed at their staging base at Masirah Island, near Oman, Captain Terrence Sanderson had been personally invited by Beckwith to attend the next 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta "selection course."

Sanderson spent the next eleven years with Delta Force, eventually emerging as the unit's commanding officer. His plans for the Black Flag program had been born while in the Delta ranks, and by the time he had finished his tour as Delta's commanding officer, the first round of selectees had been assembled at the primary training site in Colorado. Colonel Sanderson was assigned to a "ghost" billet at Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) and promoted to brigadier general. He promptly disappeared from the radar, along with millions of dollars funneled to his "non-existent" program.

Black Flag had been his vision to address the greatest shortfall he encountered while serving with Special Forces: a costly reliance upon the CIA for nearly all human intelligence. Costly in terms of lives and wasted resources. In his experience, CIA operatives lacked a specific military focus in their deep cover intelligence gathering, which limited the value of information flowing to the real operators. Rivalry between the Pentagon and Langley often resulted in situations where no intelligence was shared and devolved to the point where the Pentagon rarely trusted what the CIA finally produced. In Sanderson’s view, the system for acquiring the useful, mission critical information necessary to conduct special operations had ceased to exist. The Black Flag program was his solution to the problem, and it was embraced by the top Pentagon brass…behind closed doors.

He opened the door to the lodge and stepped inside. Parker looked up from his workstation at the large conference table.

"Things are shaping up on all fronts," Parker said.

"Indeed they are. I just spoke with Berg. Move Petrovich's team to Stockholm. Set them up in a central location just outside of the downtown area. Good access to major roads. Berg's contact in Moscow said the Russians are sending assets to Stockholm. They'll be in a race with the Russians to get to Reznikov, and we'll likely be a few minutes behind. Let Petrovich know that Berg will contact them directly with Reznikov's location. Send some additional operatives up from mainland Europe."

"We have two more readily accessible to Scandinavia. Hubner and Klinkman."

"I don't want Klinkman in on this. We still haven't figured out what happened to Navarre, so we need to be careful with Klinkman. People like Navarre don't disappear without making deals with federal prosecutors."

"I'll send Hubner to meet them in Stockholm. He can arrange the transfer of weapons from our cache in Poland. I don't think he'll have any problem getting the weapons into Sweden via fast boat, with the right crew and a ton of cash, of course."

"Get everyone and everything to Stockholm as soon as possible. No rules of engagement on this one. We need Reznikov, period."

"I'll make sure they understand," Parker said.

"All right, let's get this moving. The Russians could come up with an address at any time."

As he opened the door to step back outside, he could barely contain his excitement about the future. His plans were shaping up nicely. They just needed to grab Reznikov before the Russians. He'd call Berg and see if the CIA had anyone that could be trusted to make a move against Reznikov in the event that the address was uncovered prior to Petrovich's arrival in Stockholm. If the location was disclosed soon, the Russian team wouldn't be in place either. A quick CIA grab might be an option, though he loathed the thought of relinquishing control of Reznikov. In the grand scheme of things, it probably wouldn't matter, as long as Reznikov didn't fall into Russian hands.

Before calling Berg, he needed to reach out to señor Galenden and assure him that the situation was under control in Buenos Aires. The massacre at the apartment dominated headlines and pictures of the Russos had been leaked everywhere. So far as Galenden's police contacts could tell, their passports had not been flagged, which was a temporary blessing.

Dario Russo had been identified in the media as being out of the country on business and, according to Galenden's source, was not being treated as a suspect. Natalia Russo was wanted for questioning in the case, but no warrants for her arrest had been issued either. The Argentine Federal Police were still trying to make sense of the killings. Either way, these identities were compromised. Sanderson felt comfortable letting Daniel use Dario's passport to enter Sweden, but beyond that, Sanderson would arrange new temporary papers for both of them. It wouldn't be long before the FBI stumbled across the striking resemblance between the Petroviches and the Russos.