Men like Kirkorov were not, in Vronsky’s experience, easy to deal with. An old-school Soviet type, he had first come to the attention of his superiors in Afghanistan in the 1980s for the scorched-earth approach he had taken to root out the Mujahidin in the Panjshir valley, regardless of the casualties to the civilian population. Subsequently, his promotion had been guaranteed as a result of the equally brutal tactics he employed as a Motor Rifle regiment commander in the Chechen wars; what he described with pride as “bringing discipline to the territory of the Chechen Republic,” but which left thousands of men, women and children dead, the capital city Grozny looking like Stalingrad, and a lasting legacy of hatred of Russia among the Muslim population of the Caucasus. A hatred that made it very much harder for the new generation of Russian Spetsnaz, like Vronsky, to establish networks of informers among the locals in order to root out and crush the insurgents.

The general was now doing much the same in the Baltics, but Vronsky’s current concern was not with them. His sole mission was to capture this British officer. Succeed and he would have the gratitude of the President. Fail and . . . he did not even want to think about it. His plan called for a sophisticated ambush by his Spetsnaz team, waiting downstairs for the “go” order right now. However, he had little doubt that the general would prefer to simply blitz the area and the British with it. And that was not what the President had ordered.

“Explain your thinking, Major,” the general finally said.

Vronsky caught the general’s piggy eyes looking up at him. He did not make the mistake of looking down. “Colonel General. Ever since the failed ambush, SIGINT has been trying to monitor the terrorists’ movements. They got a break when they realized that their patrol signaler has a distinctive way of signing off after a transmission. They then replayed all recorded intercepts and were able to track him as he moved south. First down through Latvia, then into Lithuania, and finally into Kaliningrad.”

“Kaliningrad!” the general exploded. “That’s Russian territory—and our Iskander batteries are there. They’d never dare . . .”

Vronsky waited and when the general said nothing more, he continued. “That’s our conclusion as well, Sir. They’d never dare. Also, we now know for a fact that this is a team of five ordinary infantry soldiers.”

The general began to growl in anger and his hands clenched on the desk. “Exactly what are you implying, Major?” the general demanded.

“Military Intelligence is categoric, and the FSB has confirmed that this is the case: the British always use their Special Forces as the tip of their military spear. Find the location of their Special Forces and you will find where they are going to attack. This is not only common sense, but it has been demonstrated time and again. Just as Spetsnaz always lead our attacks.”