Page 65 of Denied Access
He’d put a great deal of time into planning this operation. Far more time than with the average target, but there was nothing average about the man he was hunting. The traitor had done incalculable damage to the Soviet Union by passing secrets to the Americans. The range of the former intelligence officer’s treachery ran the gamut from a list of Soviet assets that had penetrated American intelligence and military targets, to Afghanistan battle plans, to deliberations between the KGB’s senior leadership. Even so, Fyodor couldn’t allow his thirst for vengeance to cloud his operational judgment. Yes, Dmitri Volkov was an old man and much past his prime, but it would be a mistake to underestimate the spy’s wiles. Volkov hadn’t just outwitted his compatriots for the years he’d been an active CIA asset. He’d also managed to stay hidden after defecting.
Fyodor assumed the traitor still had a trick or two up his sleeve.
With this in mind, he and his assistant team leader had chosen to take the western edge of the harbor inlet. This side was more congested, but Fyodor intended to use this to his advantage. Throngs of pedestrians meant that the traitor would have a harder time picking up the Russian surveillance team, and the warren of streets and maze of alleys provided multiple opportunities to interdict the traitor away from prying eyes. Volkov might have been a master spy, but he was no match for a team of Alfa Group commandos.
The traitorous KGB officer wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Five, this is One, we have a problem.”
CHAPTER 36
FYODOR’Sstomach clenched.
Every operation experienced problems. This was to be expected. But problems came in a range of severities. The next transmission would determine if this kind of problem was the natural by-product of operational friction or the mission-ending variety. Fyodor hoped for the former. He’d already spent enough time in this African shithole.
A second passed.
Then two.
During a kinetic operation, a handful of seconds could be an eternity, but Sasha should have returned to the airwaves by now.
“Five, this is One,” Fyodor said, turning his back to the gaggle of women passing by on the opposite side of the street, “please elaborate.”
“Five, this is One, sorry. I’m on the move.”
The heavy breathing that accompanied the transmission suggested that this wasn’t just a simple reposition.
Sasha was running.
“Five, this is One, the target just hopped into the back of athree-wheeled passenger bike. They’re moving southwest toward Rue Bourguiba, over.”
Fyodor tried to make sense of what he was hearing. They’d been conducting surveillance on the target for the past two days, and he’d never ridden a bike anywhere. For trips beyond the city’s limits, he drove a shabby Yugo.
Otherwise, he walked.
Why the change in routine now?
Pushing this concern aside, Fyodor pulled a city map from his back pocket and unfolded it as he thought through how to best position his team. His plan to interdict the target on the western side of the Old Harbor wasn’t without risk. The narrow streets and dim alleys worked to the commandos’ advantage, but the entrance to a popular mosque sat just over two hundred yards west as the crow flew from the waterfront. The next call to prayer was still several hours away, but the structure served as a focal point for the community. Congregants came and went all day long, and Fyodor wanted to avoid potential witnesses if possible.
Viewed from this angle, the new development might be helpful. If the target turned left on Rue Bourguiba, he would be moving east, away from the mosque and toward the ocean. Fyodor traced the route on his map with his index finger and found what he was looking for.
“One, this is Five,” Fyodor said. “Did he turn right or left onto Bourguiba? East or west? Over.”
“Five, this is One, west. He’s—”
A burst of static interrupted the transmission. Fyodor waited for his sniper to resume speaking, but the radio remained silent. “One, this is Five, you broke up. Say again, over.”
Nothing.
“One, this is Five, do you read me?”
Silence.
Fyodor frowned.
The team’s low-profile radios’ transmission range was limited toline of sight. As such, the commandos had weathered several communications blackouts while moving through denser areas of the city over the last several days. While he would have preferred to confirm the target’s current location with Sasha, he had the information he needed.
“Four, this is Five, have you been monitoring One’s transmissions?”
