Objekt 825 (Tracie Tanner Thrillers Book 9) by Allan Leverone (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

“Uhhhh…thanks?”

“Objekt 825.”

“Excuse me?”

“Objekt 825 is the name of a secret Soviet submarine base.”

“If it’s such a secret, how are we talking about it?”

“For a long time we didn’t know about it, and what we’ve learned is minimal. We’ve never been inside it, never been able to develop any intel regarding its specifics, so in that sense it is still secret.”

“What do we know?”

“We know the Soviets began construction in the mid-1950s. We know it took more than half a decade to build. We believe it was constructed under a mountain and is capable of withstanding a direct nuclear attack. We believe it’s massive, capable of docking up to a dozen nuclear subs at any given time.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So we don’t really know much of anything about this Objekt 825.”

“Correct,” agreed Stallings.

“Where is it located? We know that much, I assume.”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s located on the northeast shore of the Black Sea, due north of Turkey, in a remote section of Sevastopol that used to be called Balaklava.”

“Used to be?”

“That’s right. Balaklava was erased from all maps in the 1950s, when construction of Objekt 825 began. It officially no longer exists, and hasn’t for decades.”

“Okay. But this place that no longer officially exists is where you think they’ll send Lukashenko with the device once the KGB geeks at Lubyanka are finished poking and prodding it.”

“It would make sense. It’s also where you think they’ll send it. You just told me so.”

“And if you’re correct about the timeline, there’s at least the theoretical possibility I could catch up to Lukashenko and recover the device at Objekt 825.”

Stallings leaned back in his chair, the frame’s agonized screech accompanying his action. “I really don’t want to send you over there. You’re just too damned recognizable right now with that injury, and all the wrong people are sparing no expense looking for you after what you did to General Gregorovich.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tracie insisted. “I’ll wear hooded sweatshirts. I’ll wear hats. I’ll only work at night. I’ll be extremely careful, I promise.”

“Oh, don’t give me that line of bullshit. You know as well as I do, you can’t always control when you work or what you wear when you’re in the field. And don’t forget I know you as well as anyone and better than most. The minute you get over there, you’ll be the same ‘damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead’ operative you’ve always been.”

“Okay, fine,” Tracie said sarcastically. “Well, I know a little bit about you, too. And I know you wouldn’t have called me at my apartment first thing this morning if you weren’t thinking about the long game. You wouldn’t have spent all this time in your office discussing a secret Soviet sub base I have no need to know about unless I’ll be expected to breach it.

“Let’s face it,” she concluded. “You called me not just to send me to Norfolk to talk to Limington, but to send me to Russia if the situation turned out to be what you feared it was. So I’ll ask you again. When do I leave for Sevastopol?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Tanner. Have I ever mentioned that?”

“Once or twice. During this very conversation, as I recall.”

“Well, now you can consider it three times. And, yes, I’ll let you work this assignment. But I want to tell you something else.”

“I’m listening.”

“Your assignment is primarily, but not solely, to recover the communications device. But if the timeline works the way I’ve just laid out, and you have the opportunity to cross paths with Laska, I expect you to take him out. He’s stolen too many American secrets, and murdered too many American citizens, to play games. If you find him, you end him, is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

“Again, when do I leave?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Stallings said, pushing his glasses up his nose and staring at her sternly. “I have something else I want to say to you.”

“A third prong of the assignment?” she asked with a sardonic smile.

“No. This is personal.”

“I don’t understand.”

Stallings lifted his hand and pointed a stubby finger at her. “What I want to tell you is this: do not make me regret this decision. If you’re captured or killed because I allowed you to go back into the lion’s den against my better judgment, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Don’t worry about me, boss.”

“I always worry about you, Tanner, more than you know.”

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Good. Now, before we discuss your travel arrangements, there’s a piece of trivia regarding Lukashenko’s ear you may find interesting.”

“Well there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear. What is it?”

“The injury to his ear came courtesy of another of our operatives, someone you’ve had occasion to work with once or twice.”

“Is that right? Who?”

“The operative you knew as Ryan Smith. He tracked Lukashenko to an industrial park outside Leningrad and came within inches of taking the man down. But The Weasel has an almost supernatural ability to sniff out danger. He dove to the ground just as Smith squeezed the trigger and the slug that should have penetrated the man’s brain ripped instead through his ear.”

Tracie subconsciously fingered the gold cross hanging around her neck at the mention of Ryan Smith’s name. The cross had belonged to him, and represented the only thing she’d managed to save during her aborted rescue attempt of the doomed CIA operative in Bashkir last year.

“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.

“Two reasons,” he said. “First, because you need to understand just how cunning and wily Laska is.”

“Fine,” she said. “Mission accomplished. I understand.”

“And second,” he continued, “because I know how much it hurt you that you couldn’t escape