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drove past the base administration buildings. The Russian didn’t bother asking him what was going on. He knew the other man would only ignore him.
    Serov knew little about Reichardt’s background, but he could make several educated guesses. From his appearance, Reichardt was probably in his late forties. Since he spoke fluent Russian with a German accent, Serov also guessed he had grown up in the DDR , East Germany.
    Reichardt’s behavior, his mannerisms, also marked him as a former member of the Stasi, the DDR’s feared secret police agency. Members of the Stasi were cut from the same arrogant, thuggish cloth as the old Soviet KGB . The Russian general hid his distaste. The Stasi had been a necessary evil under the old system. Now they were shadows—dangerous shadows, but shadows nonetheless. Most had gone underground—assuming new identities to avoid arrest after German reunification.
    Serov knew more about Reichardt’s methods. The German was a meticulous organizer. He paid almost obsessive attention to every detail. He was also utterly ruthless. One of Serov’s junior officers, officially listed as a deserter from Kandalaksha’s engine maintenance facility, actually lay buried in a swamp a hundred kilometers outside the base.
    Reichardt had “removed” the young man simply because he was a potential threat to the Operation’s cover story.
    They’d driven for almost five minutes before Reichardt broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence. He nodded toward the driver.
    “This is Sergeant Kurgin, Feodor Mikhailovich. He’s just been assigned to Kandalaksha. He will be your driver and orderly until you retire and leave Russia. Do you understand?”
    Irked, Serov nodded. So this Kurgin was one of Reichardt’s spies.
    Given the German’s predilection for holding all the reins of power, it wasn’t surprising that he would keep Serov under close surveillance for as long as possible. Not surprising, perhaps, but insulting. And worrying, too. Exactly how far did Reichardt’s arm reach?
    “And where are we going now?” Serov asked quietly.
    “For a private discussion,” the German replied flatly. “A very private discussion.”
    They drove in silence for several more minutes before coming to a large, two-story building. Serov recognized it immediately.
    Big enough to be a factory, it had housed a jet engine rework facility before being abandoned a few years ago. Other deserted buildings and equipment yards surrounded the building—making it the perfect spot for a covert enterprise. He and a few carefully selected subordinates had used the site for just such a purpose in recent weeks before stripping it again.
    The car paused only long enough for Kurgin to hop out and open a heavy metal sliding door before getting back in and pulling the car inside.
    Serov and Reichardt stepped out of the car into the abandoned building’s chilly, damp interior. Rusted metal fittings jutted up from the stained and spotted concrete floor, marking where machinery had once been mounted. Dirty windows lined the galvanized metal and bare concrete walls. They admitted just enough light to let them pick their way across the debrislittered floor.
    Sergeant Kurgin left the car, walked outside, and pulled the door shut behind him. The sound of the door closing echoed through the building’s cavernous interior.
    Serov and Reichardt were left alone inside.
    Reichardt dropped any pretense of civility, his face suddenly clouded with cold fury. “Very well, Serov. I have a number of questions for you. And you will give me the right answers to those questions. if you want to leave this place alive.”
    Shaken by the explicit threat, the Russian general fought hard not to show his fear. He knew the German well enough to know that he never made idle threats. “You cannot afford to have me disappear, Herr Reichardt. That would only draw more unwanted attention to this base.”
    Reichardt laughed derisively. “More attention? How could we