Black Flagged Redux Read Online Free PDF Page B

paperwork, and driven it to Nizhny Novgorod himself earlier today. He looked down at the man again and shook his head. He'd hoped to kill the traitor himself, but maybe this would work out for the better. By the time the police straightened out this mess, if they ever did, the world would be different place.
     

Chapter 4
     
     
    8:22 AM
    FSB (Federal Security Services of the Russian Federation) Headquarters
    Lubyanka Square, Moscow
     
     
    Alexei Kaparov slammed his right fist down onto a stack of papers that littered his desk and extinguished his cigarette into a crowded ashtray with his other hand. He lifted the report, which had been unceremoniously tossed into his daily slush pile, and squinted at its contents. Not even a simple folder, or anything. The single most important piece of information he'd seen in months had been unceremoniously added to the never-ending shit pile of papers on his desk. It might as well have been thrown in the trash. What about a priority flagged email? How long have they had email? Important shit like this still ended up travelling ungodly distances, only to be buried under a rubble pile. It really wasn't his team's fault, but he was pissed at the entire system.
    If any of Kaparov's subordinates could have heard his frustrated internal dialogue, they would have agreed with him on several of his points, especially the part about the rubble. The deputy counter-terrorism director's office was a disaster, with loose stacks of paperwork scattered everywhere, sitting on top of boxes of paperwork that needed to be filed. Despite the appearance of chaos, Kaparov could find anything he needed and reviewed every single document that found its way into the room…as long as the paperwork was placed on top of his desk. He made a point of clearing through the desk every day, and then refilling it with new documents, or old ones he had decided to resurrect.
    Daily, he scoured field reports from hundreds of FSB and Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) agents, looking for any clues, signs or trigger words that might indicate a potential chemical or biological act of terrorism on Russian soil. When he came across the four-page Southern District FSB intelligence summary of a recent counter-insurgency raid in Dagestan, he settled in for some interesting reading. Raids into Dagestan were rare, and the report piqued his interest. He could have just as easily dismissed the report. Threats limited to the volatile Caucasus Region were analyzed by another deputy director, leaving Kaparov's crew of analysts with the rest of Russia.
    On page three of the report, he nearly had a heart attack. He felt a tightening in his chest and glanced down at the top drawer of his desk, which ironically held both a package of Troika cigarettes and a small plastic bottle of nitroglycerine pills. Right there, buried nonchalantly in the report, was a dangerous name. The fact that the name had been discovered among documents recovered from an Al Qaeda stronghold in Dagestan was even more disturbing. He chuckled at the thought of dying from a heart attack in his office. Maybe someone had slipped the name in the report just to trigger his death. They would probably take a look around at the mess, eyeball the ashtray, and shrug their shoulders.
    At 57, Alexei Kaparov wasn't exactly a picture of good health. Slightly rotund and stuffed into a dark brown suit, his skin was devoid of color and almost matched his similarly dull gray, yellow-tinged hair. Only a hawkish, blood-vessel-riddled nose gave his face any contrast and also served as a beacon for his unhealthy habits, cigarettes being only one of many bad choices Kaparov made on a daily basis. Seeing the contents of the report not only turned his nose a few shades darker, but also ignited a craving for one of his other bad choices. Fortunately, he no longer kept a bottle of cheap vodka in his lower desk drawer. Those days in the Lubyanka were long gone for all of them. He was lucky to