Black Ice Page 8

  The CCTV streams then switched to a figure identified as Yevgeny Sarov, the Russian Consul General to Kirkenes, walking in the same area. Sølvi had been kind enough to intersperse both streams of footage with map overlays indicating where the videos had been taken.

  As he had done with the previous imagery, Harvath slowly moved backward and forward, looking for any sort of clue to tell him what was going on.

  Sarov was out of shape and a good fifty pounds overweight. He probably wasn’t a fan of walking. The measures he took to check for a tail were perfunctory and appeared to be more out of habit than anything else. He suffered from laziness, an affliction that struck many Russian operatives late in their careers.

  Two spies, from two different countries, both within blocks of each other and both running surveillance detection routes. It absolutely wasn’t a coincidence. These guys were on their way to a meet. But the questions still remained: Where? And for what? For the life of him, Harvath couldn’t figure it out.

  He continued to review the footage, hoping to find something that would answer his questions. But after years of doing this, he knew that it was futile.

  Even if he could find the location where they had met, it would be a dry hole.

  These two were good. Harvath would have to be better.

  CHAPTER 14

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  The very private 116 Club was where the capital’s elite came for lunch. Located in a nondescript red town house two blocks from the Hart Senate Office Building, it was referred to as the “political power broker paradise”; a place where neither God nor the media could see you. Its membership roster was one of the most closely guarded secrets in D.C.

  The club’s specialty was something called “Crab & Crab”—crab served two ways—and it was Spencer Baldwin’s favorite.

  Despite having gorged himself on seafood on his flight out to California, as well as his midnight flight home, he was hungry for more. “I’ll have my usual,” he said to the waiter. “And bring us a bottle of the Sancerre. Extra-cold. Lots of ice in the bucket.”

  As the waiter disappeared to place their orders and fetch the wine, Baldwin turned to his thirty-five-year-old guest, Ethan Russ. Russ was chief of staff to Alaska’s senior senator. “How is Senator Dwyer?”

  “Doing well,” he replied. “We appreciated your help with the last election.”

  “You ran a good race. And she has done an excellent job for Alaska. I don’t think there was ever any doubt.”

  Russ smiled. “All I can say is that I’m glad we only have to go through it every six years. That primary challenger came out of nowhere and cost us time and money we didn’t think we were going to have to spend.”

  “Nevertheless, you brought it home. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. So, of all the people you could be eating lunch with today, how did I draw the golden ticket?”

  “I enjoyed working with you and I think you have a bright future ahead. You’re smart, aggressive, experienced. Chief of staff for Senator Katie Dwyer isn’t your ultimate destination. It’s a stop along the way, a springboard to get you to something else. I’m just wondering what that something else might be. A political career of your own? Maybe run for the state legislature back in Juneau?”

  Again Russ smiled. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe, my ass,” Baldwin replied with a chuckle. “House or Senate?”

  “There’s a House member retiring in my district. I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Have you talked with the senator?”

  He nodded. “She thinks I should go for it.”

  “What’s the competition look like?”

  “A local businessman with some pretty serious name ID.”

  “Sounds like it could shape up to be an expensive race.”

  “That’s the problem,” admitted Russ.

  Baldwin paused their conversation as the waiter returned with the Sancerre. Once the bottle had been opened, the wine tasted and poured, he said, “What if financing for your campaign wasn’t a problem?”

  “For a first-time candidate?”

  “Humor me.”

  The younger man thought for a moment. “If I knew the financing was going to be there, it would definitely move me closer to running. What are you suggesting?”

  “There’s something I need. If you can make it happen, I can get you all the campaign cash you need.”

  With thoughts of Lindsey Chang playing seductively across his mind, along with visions of how much his bank account was going to swell, he leaned back in his chair and took a self-satisfied sip of wine. God damn, I’m good at this game. A master, in fact.

  But had his arrogance not been so incandescent, he might have noticed the subtle shift in the chief of staff’s expression.

  And had he noticed that shift, he might have grasped the dangerous door that had just been opened and through which he had already stepped.

  CHAPTER 15

  OSLO

  While Nicholas worked on locating Han, Harvath did a deep dive, trying to figure out what the Chinese and Russians might be up to together—beyond their nearly identical voting record on the UN Security Council.

  Russia was the world’s largest supplier of oil and natural gas. The majority of its reserves were in the Arctic. And while Russia had been blessed with amazing resources, it had simultaneously been cursed with scarce means to deliver those resources.

  Instead of flowing south into Central Asia, the rivers of Siberia flowed north into the Arctic Ocean. Everything, up to and including using nuclear weapons to reverse their flow, had been considered and subsequently abandoned.

  Enter the Chinese. They had not only funded 20 percent of a massive liquified natural gas plant above the Arctic Circle on Russia’s Yamal Peninsula while insisting that 80 percent of the equipment be manufactured in China; they had helped build an 1,100-kilometer pipeline across Siberia, terminating in Shanghai.

  The Chinese were said to especially love this pipeline because it provided fuel that could never be interdicted by the U.S. Navy or frozen by the U.S. Treasury.

  Writing the high points down on a yellow Post-it Note, Harvath stuck it to the wall of Sølvi’s dining room and went back to his research.

  In addition to its two diesel-powered polar icebreakers—Snow Dragon 1 and Snow Dragon 2, China had recently drawn up plans to build its first nuclear icebreaker. The only other country to have fielded nuclear icebreakers was Russia, which had the largest fleet of icebreakers in the world—forty in total, eight of them nuclear-powered, with three new breakers currently under construction and a dozen more planned over the next ten years.

  The United States, though, had zero nuclear icebreakers. In fact, the United States only owned one heavy icebreaker—the USCGC Polar Star—notorious for breaking down in the middle of assignments, and one medium icebreaker—the USCGC Healy, which had recently caught fire and been taken out of service, creating a severe dilemma.

  The Polar Star’s area of operations had been in the southern hemisphere and included resupplying the McMurdo research station in Antarctica. The Healy’s area of operations had been patrolling the Arctic. The U.S. was way behind the power curve. America needed to scale up—fast.

  On top of commissioning the construction of six new icebreakers, the National Security Advisor had helped move money from the United States Navy to the Coast Guard in order to lease two privately owned icebreakers. After a coat of Coast Guard orange paint and .50 caliber machine guns, rigid inflatable boats, and a SCIF were installed on each, the vessels were to be immediately placed in service.

  While China waited for its nuclear icebreaker to come online, it kept Snow Dragon 1 and Snow Dragon 2 in heavy, visible rotation throughout the Arctic.

  The fact that the Chinese were pursuing a nuclear icebreaker spooked a lot of people. It would be their first nuclear-powered surface ship and was seen as a bridge to nuclear aircraft carriers. In its territorial waters, China had no need for nuclear aircraft ca
rriers. Those were what you outfitted a navy with that wanted to project force abroad. It was perfectly in keeping with China’s desire to position itself as a global power.

  Once China had those carriers, it could position them wherever they wanted, including in the Arctic. And if anyone tried to complain, they could say they were just protecting their interests while simultaneously ensuring that sea-lanes remained open and secure. As this was something the United States did, America would have a hard time arguing against China. The polar bear would then be fully in the tent. Harvath added another Post-it Note to the wall.

  Ninety percent of all global trade sailed over the world’s oceans, and its volume was expected to double over the next fifteen years. With less and less ice, along with the ability to connect almost 75 percent of the world’s population, it made sense that much of that trade was going to go through the Arctic.

  The fact that Russia had opened up over fifty previously shuttered Soviet military facilities was cause enough for concern. That they were pouring troops and arms into the Arctic only raised the concern higher. Add in the Chinese, and Harvath could see no upside for America and her allies.

  In addition to oil and natural gas reserves, there were said to be one trillion dollars’ worth of extremely scarce, extremely valuable rare earth minerals in the Arctic. At present, China controlled 80 percent of the global output of these seventeen elements found near the bottom of the periodic table.

  Used in everything high-tech from smart phones to F-35 fighter jets, they were considered crucial for modern society and absolutely critical for U.S. national security. Allowing an increasingly belligerent China access to any more of the world’s supply was out of the question. America was already too dependent on Chinese manufacturing chains as it was. It needed to wean itself off them as quickly and as fully as possible.

  Despite what China might claim its Arctic intentions to be, the next piece Harvath read, detailing its behavior in Antarctica, reinforced that it categorically couldn’t be trusted.

  In an article in Forbes, the United States National Security Advisor—the same man who had arranged for the leasing of icebreakers until new ones could be built—was quoted at length about China’s aggressive expansionism on the southernmost continent.

  They had been “stress-testing” the Antarctic Treaty for years, their violations growing more and more egregious. Most concerning was that they had been conducting stealth military activities, were assembling a case for a territorial claim, and were engaging in exploration for minerals—all three of which were expressly forbidden in the Antarctic Treaty.

  While all treaty members were required to submit to a thorough and often lengthy approval process before beginning any form of construction, the Chinese had just started construction on a fifth “research” station without bothering to notify anyone.

  Just as galling as smuggling in soldiers disguised as scientists, the Chinese now wanted a special 20,000-square-kilometer air defense–style identification zone imposed around its tiny seasonal research camp known as Kunlun Station. Kunlun was located on one of the most scientifically and militarily useful sites on the Antarctic ice sheet. The request was outrageous.

  Unfortunately, the U.S. was the only treaty member pushing back. The other nations were either too soft or too myopic to recognize and counter the threat.

  China wanted Antarctica for itself and was taking the necessary steps to get there. The Chinese were quite savvy when it came to taking advantage of underregulated geopolitical environments. There was no reason not to believe that what they had done in Antarctica they would do all over again up north in the Arctic.

  In fact, it had already started. Not only did the Chinese have a research station on the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard, but they had also managed to finagle “observer” status on the Arctic Council—the intergovernmental forum of the eight Arctic states. There didn’t seem to be a tent anywhere without a polar bear.

  Harvath looked at his watch. It was just after six p.m. The team was still an hour away from touching down. Picking up his notepad, he went over the list of tasks he needed to complete.

  His cottage out on the fjord was too small to accommodate everyone, so Hayes had helped to arrange a different property. It was outside of the city center, with a walled courtyard and a gate. She had given him the alarm code and let him know where a set of keys were hidden. There were towels and linens at the house, but groceries would be his responsibility.

  To sneak all of their gear into the country, not to mention Nicholas’s dogs, the team would be landing at Værnes Air Station in Stjørdal.

  Værnes was the primary airport for the United States Marine Corps Prepositioning Program–Norway, whereby American military equipment rotated in and out of a jointly operated series of secret cave complexes throughout the Trondheim region. Because of the sensitive nature of some of the weapon systems, as well as some of the personnel who transited through Værnes, occasionally customs and passport control formalities could be waived. This evening was one such occasion.

  From Værnes, which was in central Norway, it was a short hop to Oslo Airport. There, on the private aviation side, three full-size SUVs would be waiting. As soon as the team had loaded the vehicles, they would drive to the safe house and link up with Harvath.

  After shutting down his computer and packing his bag, he left the apartment and headed downstairs to retrieve his car.

  He had already told Sølvi what he was up to. She was no fan of the Chinese government and even less enamored of its intelligence services. Her job was to be skeptical of everyone. Loosely translated as “Strategy Section,” her division at NIS was all about thinking outside the box. Way outside the box.

  The Strategy Section was not just mandated to disappear and create a shadow intelligence agency in case of invasion; it was also charged with envisioning attacks and developing defenses before they could take place. Her program reminded him of the Red Cell units back in the United States.

  He trusted her as much as he trusted Holidae Hayes. More so, in fact. He and Sølvi had been in the field together and he had seen how she operated under pressure. He’d had no reservations about filling her in on his plans.

  No one knew what Han was doing in Norway and why he had linked up with Sarov. The Norwegians should have been very interested in getting to the bottom of it, but—absent some explosive revelation—they weren’t going to risk getting on Beijing’s bad side again.

  That was one of the reasons Sølvi had been slipping him the intelligence he had asked for. No matter how much normalized relations with China meant to Norway, she couldn’t let it risk national security.

  She also trusted him and knew that he was exceptional at handling something this sensitive. If his involvement became known, he’d take the proverbial bullet. He would never burn her or implicate her government. Having him on the job provided plausible deniability. He was as tenacious as a pit bull. Once he started, there was no stopping him until he had clamped his jaws down on what he was after and wrestled it to the ground.

  Just as valuable as Harvath’s tenacity was his intelligence and operational experience. He wasn’t merely a blunt instrument. He was highly adept at seeing what might be coming next and improvising on the fly—at adapting and overcoming. It was one of his best attributes.

  Arriving at his car, an Audi convertible he had leased for the summer, he tossed his bag and the backpack with his laptop in the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Plugging in his phone, he hit the ignition button and dropped the top. There was nothing that said he couldn’t enjoy the trip for groceries and then the drive to the safe house. After all, these could very well be the last moments of peace the Fates had in store for him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Han Guang wasn’t feeling well—and it was more than just his unsettling suspicion that he had been followed yesterday.

  He had brought medication to help him deal with the increasing pain in his right hip ar
ea. The doctor, whom he had paid cash to see, had wanted to send him for more tests, specifically an X-ray, but Han wasn’t interested. He didn’t have the time. Things were moving too fast and he had needed to be on his way to Norway.

  The doctor wrote him a prescription and then, as agreed, turned over all of the notes from his visit. There would be no record.

  While it was unpleasant to be in pain, Han had chalked it up to several possibilities: a particularly bad parachute jump he’d had fifteen years ago, a physically demanding career in the Chinese Special Forces, or the rigorous jogging routine he followed. Any one of those things could have been the culprit.

  Then there was the inescapable truth that he was growing older. With age, he had been told, comes wisdom and pain. They never tell you, though, what form the pain takes.

  He had always assumed that it would manifest itself as regret—a feeling of loss over bad decisions and roads not taken. His life had certainly been full of both.

  But as he had been leaving the clinic, the doctor put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. Yes, he explained, his pain could have been the result of a bad parachute jump, a physically demanding career, or overdoing it on his runs. It also could be something much more serious. Cancer.

  Despite being a hardened person, someone who had seen humanity at its worst and who was unafraid of taking human life, Han had recoiled at the word.

  Both of his parents had died from cancer. His older brother and sister too. They had all been smokers. So was he.

  He knew he shouldn’t be—not with his family’s history—but he hadn’t been able to stop. He had grown up in a family of smokers. There wasn’t a single photograph from his youth where at least one person wasn’t smoking. They were Chinese. It was what they did. Not to do so would have been odd, unusual. And once you started, it was incredibly difficult to stop.

  Nevertheless, he had tried to trim things back and was only smoking four or five cigarettes a day. He had also increased the intensity of his runs and, as an added precaution, had even begun wearing a mask to protect himself from the polluted Beijing air.