Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [106]
"Need you ask, Misha?" the Chairman of the Committee for State Security responded. "Of course I will support you."
"Very well. So, what are the chances for success in this operation you propose?"
"About fifty-fifty, my people tell me. We will use a Bulgarian officer to set it up, but for security reasons the assassin will have to be a Turk…"
"A black-ass Muslim?" Alexandrov asked sharply.
"Misha, whoever it is will almost certainly be apprehended—dead, according to our plan. It is impossible to expect a clean getaway in such a mission. Thus, we cannot use one of our own. The nature of the mission places constraints upon us. Ideally, we would use a trained sniper—from Spetsnaz, for example—from three hundred meters, but that would mark the assassination as a killing done by a nation-state. No, this must appear to be the act of a single madman, as the Americans have them. You know, even with all the evidence the Americans had, some fools over there still blamed Kennedy on us or Castro. No, the evidence we leave must be a clear sign that we were not involved. That limits our operational methods. I think this is the best plan we can come up with."
"How closely have you studied it?" Alexandrov asked, taking a swallow.
"It has been closely held. Operations like this must be. Security must be airtight, Mikhail Yevgeniyevich."
The Party man conceded the point: "I suppose that is so, Yuriy—but the risk of failure…"
"Misha, in every aspect of life, there is risk. The important thing is that the operation not be tied to us. That we can assure with certainty. If nothing else, a serious wound will at least lessen Karol's ardor for making trouble for us, will it not?"
"It should—"
"And half a chance of failure means half a chance of total success," Andropov reminded his guest.
"Then I will support you. Leonid Ilyich will go along as well. That will carry the day. How long after that to get things moving?"
"A month or so, perhaps six weeks."
"That quickly?" Party matters rarely sped along that well.
"What is the point of taking such, such—'executive action,' isn't that what the Americans call it?—if it is to take so long? If it is to be done, better that it should be done quickly, so as to forestall further political intrigue by this man."
"Who will replace him?"
"Some Italian, I suppose. His selection was a major aberration. Perhaps his death will encourage the Romans to go back to their old habits," Andropov suggested. It generated a laugh from his guest.
"Yes, they are so predictable, these religious fanatics."
"So tomorrow I will float the mission, and you will support me?" Andropov wanted that one very clear.
"Yes, Yuriy Vladimirovich. You will have my support. And you will support me for Suslov's full voting seat at the table."
"Tomorrow, comrade," Andropov promised.
CHAPTER 12
HANDOFF
THIS TIME, the alarm clock worked, and woke them both. Ed Foley rose and headed for the bathroom, quickly made way for his wife, then headed to Eddie's room to shake him loose while Mary Pat started breakfast. Their son immediately switched on the TV and got the morning exercise show that every city in the world seemed to have, starring, as everywhere in the world, a woman of impressive physique—she looked capable of waltzing through the Army's Ranger School at Fort Benning, Georgia. Because he had seen the Lynda Carter series at home on cable, Eddie called her Worker-Womannnnnn! Mary Pat was of the opinion that the Russian's blond hair came out of a bottle, while Ed thought it hurt just to watch the things she did. With no decent paper or sports page to read, however, he had little choice in the matter, and semi-vegetated in front of the TV while his son giggled through the end of the wake-up-and-sweat program. It was done live, the Chief of Station saw. So, whoever this broad was, she had to wake up at four in the morning, and so this was probably her morning workout as well. Well, then, at least it was honest. Her husband must have been a Red Army paratrooper,