Strum was doing most of the talking, but it was obvious that her tablemates were not happy. In fact, the Baltic Ambassadors looked deeply concerned. One was so angry that after jabbing his finger at her, he stood and stormed out of the lounge.
Something was afoot and he took careful mental notes. Any strife between NATO members was always of interest to Moscow. NATO was the only enemy Russia worked as hard to undermine as it did the United States.
He waited for the meeting to end and once it did, returned to his office and began typing up his notes. His superiors were going to have a very interesting report to send to Moscow.
CHAPTER 11
* * *
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY EVENING
The five-star Ristorante La Perla in Georgetown was known for some of the best Italian cuisine in the city. In addition to being walking distance from Embassy Row, it was also open until almost midnight. It was the perfect spot for a clandestine dinner that wasn’t supposed to appear clandestine.
As Lydia Ryan walked in, carrying a Brooks Brothers shopping bag, her guest was already waiting for her. He sat at a table in the back, facing the front. Knowing his commitment to tradecraft, she figured he had arrived at least twenty minutes early, checked everything out, and then, given his proclivity for alcohol, had begun drinking.
Artur Kopec worked under official cover at the Polish Embassy for the Agencja Wywiadu, Poland’s foreign intelligence service. He had been at the spy game for decades, and he looked it.
His fair hair had gone white long ago. He carried a spare tire around his middle—the product of spending too much time behind a desk running spies, rather than just getting out and running. His red-rimmed eyes were milky with the onset of cataracts, likely sped up by a two-pack-a-day smoking habit. The end of his large nose was a sea of broken capillaries, brought on by his alcoholism.
He had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and symptoms indicative of the onset of diabetes. He also had a doctor whom he paid handsomely to keep all his medical issues out of his file and off the radar screen of his superiors. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He had plenty of years of service left in him.
The Pole watched as Ryan entered the restaurant. How such a tall, gorgeous woman had evaded marriage for so long, especially in a town like D.C., was a mystery to him. If he had been twenty years younger, he might have considered making a play for her. As it was, he was not only old enough to be her father, but he was dangerously close to grandfather territory. He stood to greet her.
“Hello, Artur,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Of course,” he replied, kissing her on both cheeks and then pulling out her chair. “It’s been too long.”
“I know. I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”
He returned a gentle smile as he sat down. “Completely understandable. How is he?”
Ryan sighed as she placed her napkin in her lap. “Not well.”
“I was afraid of that. I tried to call him not too long ago. They told me he had been moved?”
“He’s in hospice. According to the doctors, he has less than six months.”
Kopec shook his head. “My God. Such a shame.”
Ryan nodded solemnly.
“Did he ever tell you the story of how we first met?” he asked, a smile coming to his face as he tried to buoy her mood.
“He did,” she replied. Leaning down, she removed a wrapped parcel from the shopping bag and handed it to him. “This is for you.”
The Pole, who had just picked up his glass, looked at it for a moment and asked, “What is this?”
“Open it,” Ryan encouraged.
Setting his glass down, he accepted the package and peeled away the brown paper.
It was a framed set of handwritten notes from one of the most dangerous operations Reed Carlton and Artur Kopec had ever undertaken together.
In the run-up to the first Gulf War, six American intelligence operatives sent to spy on Iraqi troop movements became trapped in Kuwait and Baghdad, and the U.S. had put out the call for help.
The United States asked for assistance from multiple countries, including Great Britain, France, and even the Soviet Union. Only Poland had stepped up and agreed to help get the Americans out.
The operation was dubbed Operation Simoom. And Carlton and Kopec were sent in to coordinate everything that would take place on the ground.
Because of Poland’s extensive construction and engineering contracts in the region, it was uniquely positioned to help smuggle the Americans out.
All six were issued Polish passports and then integrated into various construction camps and work groups. Somehow, though, Iraq Intelligence had caught wind that something was going on with the Poles and the Americans.
There were many dramatic twists and turns. The operation almost collapsed multiple times. Even as they attempted to sneak the Americans over the border, they encountered an Iraqi checkpoint where one of the officers, who had spent time in Poland and spoke Polish, wanted to interrogate the Americans.
It seemed that no matter what the Old Man and Kopec did, the deck was stacked against them. Yet they never gave up.
Not only did they get the six intelligence operatives out safely, but the Americans brought with them secret maps and detailed notes critical to the planning of Operation Desert Storm.
One of those critical pieces of intelligence was what Kopec now held, framed, in his hands. A small, engraved plaque centered in the bottom of the frame gave the date and location of that final border crossing.
It was representative of the kinds of gifts that often passed between teammates and allies.
As soon as Kopec realized what he was looking at, he smiled.
“I thought you would appreciate it,” said Ryan. “And I know he would have wanted you to have it.”
“Thank you. Where did you find it?”
“Since he was moved to hospice, I’ve been going through all his personal papers.”
“It was lovely of you to frame this for me,” said Kopec, as he waved the waitress over. “But something tells me this isn’t why you wanted to see me.”
Ryan hesitated for a moment, visibly struggling to find the right words. Finally, she said, “I don’t know how else to put this. We have a problem. I need your help.”
CHAPTER 12
* * *
“By we, do you mean you and Reed?” asked Kopec after the waitress had left their table with their order.
Ryan shook her head. “I’m talking about the United States.”
“Whatever you need, consider it done.”
“It’s not a small problem.”
Once more, the Pole smiled. “In our line of work, it never is.”
“Artur, on behalf of the United States, we need your help, but we can’t involve the Polish government.”
“Now things are getting interesting. Why don’t you tell me what it is we’re talking about.”
“As part of our NATO partnership, the United States has been prepositioning certain military equipment in Central Europe.”
“Tanks, Humvees, and other items. We know this. What’s the problem?”
Ryan took a deep breath. “There are some things we’ve been storing that you don’t know about.”