Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [100]
"So, if I can get authorization from the Politburo, and then we make the request for assistance from our Bulgarian brothers, and then you can get this Colonel Strokov moving, how long before it actually happens?"
"A month, I should think, perhaps two months, but not more than that. We would need some support from Station Rome, for issues of timing and such, but that's all. Our own hands would be entirely clean—especially if Strokov assists in eliminating the assassin immediately upon completion of his mission."
"You'd want this Strokov fellow to act personally?"
"Da." Bubovoy nodded. "Boris Andreyevich is not averse to getting his hands wet. He's done this sort of thing before."
"Very well." Andropov looked down at his desk. "There will be no written records of this operation. Once I have proper authorization, you will receive notice to proceed from my office, but only by operational code, and that is 15-8-82-666. Any complex information will be relayed by messenger or by face-to-face contact only. Is that clear?"
"It is clear, Comrade Chairman. Nothing gets written down except the operation number. I expect I will be flying a good deal between Sofia and Moscow, but that is not a problem."
"The Bulgarians are trustworthy?" Andropov asked, suddenly worried.
"Yes, they are, Comrade Chairman. We have a long-standing operational relationship with them, and they are expert at this sort of thing—more than we are, in fact. They have had more practice. When someone must die, it's often the Bulgars who take care of matters for us."
"Yes, Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy has told me that. I just have no direct knowledge of it."
"You could, of course, meet with Colonel Strokov any time you wish," Bubovoy suggested.
Andropov shook his head. "Better that I should not, I think."
"As you wish, Comrade Chairman." That figures, Bubovoy thought. Andropov was a party man, not used to getting his hands dirty. Politicians were all the same—bloodthirsty, but personally tidy, depending on others to carry out their nasty wishes. Well, that was his job, the colonel decided, and since politicians controlled the good things in his society, he needed to please them to get the honey from the hive. And he had as big a sweet tooth as anyone else in the Soviet Union. At the end of this mission might be general's stars, a nice flat in Moscow—even a modest dacha in the Lenin Hills. He'd be glad to return to Moscow, and so would his wife. If the price of it was the death of some foreigner who was a political inconvenience to his country, well, that was just too bad. He should have been more careful about who he was offending.
"Thank you for coming and for giving me your expertise, Comrade Colonel. You will be hearing from me."
Bubovoy stood. "I serve the Soviet Union," he said, and made his way through the hidden door.
Rozhdestvenskiy was in the secretaries' room, waiting for him.
"How did it go, Ilya?"
"I am not sure I am allowed to say," was the guarded reply.
"If this is about Operation -666, then you are allowed, Ilya Fedorovich," Rozhdestvenskiy assured him, leading him out the door into the corridor.
"Then the meeting went well, Aleksey Nikolay'ch. More than that, I can only say with the Chairman's approval." This might be a security test, after all, however much a friend Rozhdestvenskiy might be.
"I told him you could be relied upon, Ilya. This could be good for both of us."
"We serve, Aleksey, just like everybody else in this building."
"Let me get you to your car. You can make the noon flight easily." A few minutes later, he was back in Andropov's office.
"Well?" the Chairman asked.
"He says the meeting went well, but he will not say another word without your permission. Ilya Fedorovich is a serious professional, Comrade Chairman. Am I to be your contact for the mission? "
"Yes, you are, Aleksey," Andropov