Termination

by J C Ryan

  CHAPTER 2

  The Admiralty Building, Saint Petersburg, Russia

  FIRE CRACKLED IN the stone fireplace spreading the warmth through the room. A comforting haven away from the cold, pouring rain outside. Water dripped from the windows of the multi-story Empire Style building. Firelight played on the polished wood walls of the richly decorated room.

  Shelves lined with old books, crystal chandeliers, turn of the century style furniture, and an ornately decorated wool rug covering nearly the entire wooden floor, were just a few of the many treasures to be found in this room, inside the Admiralty building of Saint Petersburg. Above the mantel hung an allegorical painting, artwork related to what was known as ‘The Great Patriotic War’.

  A tall trim man with sprinkles of gray in his dark brown hair stood looking at the oil painting, the four stars on the epaulettes of his uniform jacket flashed in the firelight.

  “Do you know this painting, comrade?” he asked the man sitting comfortably in the chair before the old, ornate desk.

  “Yes, comrade, I do – it is called ‘The Triumph of the People’.”

  “Not quite. ‘The Conquering People’, comrade. The Triumph of the Conquering People. It was painted by Mikhail Khmelko in 1949 after the war, as a tribute to the leadership of Stalin,” he said, raising his cup of tea in tribute to the scene.

  “Did you know that we almost lost that war?” As the other man shook his head, he continued. “Yes, indeed we did. As is so often done, history has been written in the most favorable context and our near-defeat quietly forgotten.

  “The impact of the disastrous decisions made early in the invasion were borne by the people, and it is they who turned the tide and ultimately brought us to victory.”

  “I was not aware of that,” his guest replied.

  Turning, the man scrutinized his comrade. The man had worked for many years to earn the two stars displayed on the shoulders of his uniform jacket –just as he did to earn the four on his. The two had been comrades for many years, and he trusted the short, stocky man whose bald head gleamed in the firelight. “There are not many who are aware of that piece of history, and those of us who are, share it very selectively.” As he strode to his desk and sat down, he continued, “The Russian people were almost defeated then, but as this painting shows, they rose up and conquered Germany, burning the captured flags at the feet, so to speak, of Stalin.

  “The recent debacle with Brideaux almost defeated the world. But we, the people of Russia, are rising again and will conquer the devastation that the mongrel brought, and we will conquer the nation that spawned him.”

  “You are in a reflective mood this morning, comrade. What is it that has you so pensive?”

  Glancing first at the many rows of ribbon bars on his left chest and the four stripes on the cuff of his uniform jacket, he looked about the room. “Time, comrade. Time.”

  The only items in the room that gave a hint of the current time period were electric lights, a telephone on the desk, and a television on the wall. The television was the focus of attention for the two men drinking a traditional cup of morning tea.

  They watched and listened intently to the man on the screen. The man, although young, projected an aura of power and decision, his words were articulate and thoughtful.

  “My fellow Americans, I’m here tonight to tell you that the illegal Presidency of General Thomas Hayden has come to an end.

  “He, his advisors, and his militia leaders are all in custody where they will remain until they appear before courts of justice.”

  Admiral of the fleet, Yegor Fedorin, of the Russian Navy leaned back in the high-backed leather chair and stretched his legs, resting his feet on his desk.

  “On behalf of myself and my fellow officers that served in …”

  He sipped his tea and spoke over the words of the other man whose voice now came through the television, “… want to apologize to …”

  “So, the Americans have settled their Presidential squabble.”

  “So, it would seem,” agreed Vice-Admiral Gavriil Semenov.

  “He is inexperienced; I think it unlikely that he will last, but let’s hear what he has to say,” Yegor said, returning their focus to the television.

  “Civil unrest is running rampant in our country; violence and crime levels are reaching new record levels daily. People are starving and disillusioned, and in their despair, are being driven to rebellion and crime. I have the deepest sympathy for the people’s suffering.

  “This is not what I want for the people of America – this is not what the people of America want for themselves.

  “Many millions of our fellow countrymen are without food, water, electricity, and other basic needs. They have had no choice but to return to the way they survived during John Brideaux’s reign—stealing, looting, and killing—literally being forced to do whatever it takes to survive.

  “As this country’s situation became increasingly desperate, law enforcement agencies, left understaffed by Brideaux’s new world order, are unable to maintain law and order, and have become the target of the very people they have sworn to protect. Many of them have been killed.

  “These are not the actions of a true American. My fellow Americans, please, let us lay down our weapons and stop the fighting immediately.”

  “The late President Laurie Campbell promised you …”

  Yegor took another slow sip of his tea. “This man, this Daniel Rossler is no fool. He is a skillful orator.”

  “He is, but can he back his words with action?”

  “We will watch and see. If he can’t, the Americans will eat him alive. They may not be as calculating and cunning as we are, but they can be vicious.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Over the course of the next few days, my team will release all the evidence of General Hayden’s meetings, plans, and actions, which we were able to collect. And you will be able to judge for yourself. Nothing will be withheld.

  “America is a country founded on democracy. America is a country that has thrived because of democracy. America will continue as a democracy!”

  “American democracy – bah! They think too much of themselves,” Yegor exclaimed.

  “In spite of the desperate circumstances this country finds itself in right now, let the record show, for all of history, that I am proud; very proud to serve the noble citizens of this honorable and great country.

  “We will all come through this difficult time together by supporting and helping one another because this is who we are as Americans! Let’s start now; this very moment. Let every one of us reach out to our neighbor, share what you have with those that don’t. Share your food, your shelter, your kindness.

  “If we do this, we will turn the tide of violence and hopelessness. Start now, and tomorrow will be better than today. Remember this, my fellow Americans, this is the low point, from here-on we are building a bright new future.”

  “A bright new future – the man is delusional. The world has no bright new future. John Brideaux took care of that. Damned Americans, they blow the world up, shoot themselves in the foot, and think they will have a ‘bright new future.’ Worthless, worse than worthless, those imbeciles will be the end of us all someday.”

  “… there is no reason why general meetings should preclude American citizens. The website you see displayed at the bottom of your screen has been set up for the public to see and hear what is happening in the Oval Office and in the Cabinet meeting room. This real-time, live feed will be accessible 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. My staff and I will be making arrangements so that in the future, several journalists will be allowed to be present at all meetings …”

  “Ah, good for you, Mister President Daniel Rossler, and while you’re disclosing your meetings to your people, see if you can find and deliver our wretched, traitorous countryman to us, eh! Let us put him to death along with all of Brideaux’s other dastardly council leaders!” Yegor steamed.

 
“… God bless you and may God bless America.”

  “God bless America,” Yegor sneered. “Turn that thing off. I’ve heard enough!”

  Gavriil complied with the Admirals request and sat down across from him, waiting for him to speak.

  Yegor swirled the remaining tea in his cup. “So, Gavriil, my old friend, what brings you to my office so early in the morning?”

  “Our sub, Knyaz Pozharskiy, under the command of Captain Ruslan Petrov, has been following an American sub through the Arctic Ocean. She attempted to surface through the ice near the pole and was damaged but sent no distress signal.” Gavriil pulled a map from his briefcase, opened it on the desk, and indicated a position. “Captain Petrov has continued to follow her. She’s here, over the continental shelf in the Chukchi Sea, making repairs.”

  “Crazy Americans! They know the ice is too thick at the pole to surface! What are they doing?”

  “We don’t know yet. Captain Petrov is holding position just outside their detection range, keeping an eye on them.”

  “Hmm.” Yegor got up and began to pace. “I don’t like it. The Knyaz Vladimir is due to put into port at Vilyuchinsk later today, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, at last report she is on schedule.”

  “Divert her. Send her to back up the Pozharskiy.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  * * *

  Onboard the Itinerant

  “IT’S DEFINITELY OUR damaged sub, Captain, “Sonya Takahashi reported from the Sonar station aboard the Itinerant. “She responded to our maneuvering pattern with the ping sequence, and she’s getting underway.”

  “That’s good news, Taka,” Marcus said, calling the young Asian Sonar Technician by her nickname. The small, black-haired, young woman had naturally tan-looking skin, a brilliant smile, and exotic eyes that a man could get lost in. She also graduated top of her class at Massachusetts Institute of Technology – MIT.

  The sonar equipment on the Itinerant was Sonya’s graduate project. Marcus still didn’t understand how she did it, but her equipment could gather information at nearly twice the range of standard sonar. It was seventy-five percent more accurate, and with the algorithms she programmed into it, the sonar would be able to identify and differentiate between various types of targets: fish, rocks, ships, etcetera.

  “Do we have an update on the damage she sustained?” Marcus asked with concern.

  A voice spoke from the communications station. “It seems someone took temporary control of the sub and tried to surface near the pole by breaking through the ice.”

  Marcus swore. Mutiny? On a US Navy boat?

  “Internal circuits and systems were damaged but have mostly been restored. She’s lost both bow planes, the number one sonar array, most of the sail masts, and took on water in the upper bow compartment. They managed to repair the mast antenna and were able to temporarily seal the leak in the bow and remove most of the water.”

  Marcus whistled. “That’s quite a bit of damage.”

  “Yes, sir. It is.”

  “Any sign of other ships or boats?” Marcus asked.

  “Like the Russians?” Taka grinned at him. “Yes, there is a Russian sub staying just out of the Trepang’s sonar range, starboard side and taking position astern.”

  “Are you certain it’s Russian?”

  “Absolutely. Borei II Class probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “Well, the Borei II Class subs are fairly new, and we don’t have a lot of information about them, but the sound isn’t quite right for the old Borei Class, so I’m betting it’s a Borei II.”

  “Do they know we’re here?”

  “Since we’re staying far to Trepang’s port side, we’re still too far out of range for their sonars—the sonar technology we know about anyway. I’d say they haven’t detected us yet.”

  “Good. Bill,” he said, speaking to his electronics technician and helmsman, “follow the Trepang, work with Taka, and make sure we stay out of sight of the Russians.”

  “You got it, Capt’n!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Washington DC

  DANIEL WAS DEEP in brown study at his desk in the Oval Office—replaying the activities of the previous night in his mind. To his relief, they had re-taken the White House without loss of life. His biggest concern had been that General Hayden’s troops would open fire on the throng of protesters. Thanks to Roy’s heat ray drones repelling the crowd with a burning sensation to their skin, none of them came into firing range.

  There had been many injuries in the initial stampede toward the White House, several of them serious, and many were being treated for minor burns caused by the heat rays, but Daniel could live with that. No one was killed. The wounds would heal in time, as would the nation; that was his deepest hope.

  With a sigh and a brief, tight smile, he reached for his cup and picked up the documents before him, reviewing each one as he sipped the hot coffee.

  He had decided to retain those cabinet members Laurie had appointed. Among them were Secretary of State Bill Simms and Secretary of Defense Cliff Willis. Both men had proved their loyalty to his predecessor, Laurie Campbell, and to him during their escape from the White House, the crash of Air Force One, the time in exile, and in retaking the White House last night.

  After careful consideration and much discussion with Nigel Harper, a personal friend, and former president, the most popular ever, Daniel was ready to nominate the people to fill the remaining eight positions of his cabinet.

  For Secretary of Homeland Security, there was only ever going to be one person who Daniel wanted for that job—Salome James, former FBI profiler, a brilliant mind and one of the main players in the Rossler Foundation leadership team. She was married to Roy James, the Rossler Foundation’s nanotechnology genius who played a big part in the foundation’s successes of the past.

  As part of his plan to get bipartisan buy-in, he included in his nominations, four people of the minority party. He knew this gesture might, once the dust settled and politics were back in play, bite him in the back, but for the sake of bringing the people together, it was a risk he was willing to take. If it worked, and he hoped it would, it was going to pay off big time.

  Everything in the nomination documents appeared to be in order, ready for submission to the Senate. He signed them, placed them in an envelope with his personal letter requesting a quick approval, for the sake of the nation, and had them delivered immediately.

  * * *

  DANIEL STRETCHED AS he stepped off the monorail car onto the platform in the dimly lit alcove. It had already been a long day, and he still had this one meeting to attend. He looked around at the solid rock walls, still marveling at the structure.

  Raven Rock, who would have thought.

  The abandoned Cold War military installation, a hidden cave chiseled into a mountain of solid granite, had been the perfect hiding place for the Rossler Foundation team while they plotted and orchestrated Operation Winnow – the unceremonious ousting of the dictator, General Hayden, from the White House.

  Two secret service agents accompanied him through the dark passageway once used by military vehicles to reach the main cave. The eerie glow of hand-held pocket flashlights illuminated their way, and echoes of their quick footsteps attended them on their short trek to the Control Center.

  Although he and Sarah had handed over their duties as joint CEOs of The Rossler Foundation to the team known as ‘The Musketeers,’ Daniel had called a meeting of the Foundation members to discuss what to do about the top-secret files on world leaders, government officials, and terrorist groups that had been stolen by Brideaux. JR and his team recovered them when they captured Brideaux. He also needed to table former President Nigel Harper’s thoughts on the future of sharing the information in the Tenth Cycle Libraries.

  The libraries. Daniel shook his head. Are they more trouble than they’re worth? We were so excited to translate the code etched into the walls of The Great Pyramid at Giza and discover the exist
ence of an advanced civilization before our own! And then to discover there were nine other civilization cycles before that—each lasting approximately twenty-six-thousand years—was astounding!

  The advanced technology and medical treatments, all the good we hoped to share with the world, and then the discovery of the eighth-cycle library in the Grand Canyon and the fiasco with John Brideaux with his megalomaniac ideas.

  It’s true the nanotechnology of the eighth cycle and its possibilities are phenomenal, but so many people have died. There is so much knowledge that could be abused! Dare we share it outside the Foundation as we originally agreed we would not? If we share it, how long before people with nefarious intentions get their hands on it and destroy our way of life? Maybe forever this time.

  Before the overthrow of Hayden, Nigel and others of the Rossler Foundation leadership had come to the conclusion that, due to its democracy, brainpower, infrastructure, technological advances, and industrious nature, the United States would most likely be the first of the world’s nations to overcome the chaos and turmoil emerging as world leader again.

  Under John Brideaux’s One World Government, every country’s military and security forces had been all but demolished- military arsenals were destroyed along with all nuclear weapons. Nuclear power stations were ordered to shut down. The ‘playing fields’ of the world were once again level—no one country had the where-with-all to dominate or control another. And therein lurked the danger—it was the ideal setting for a new arms race. It could give rise to a new Cold War if not an all-out World War as the former world powers tried to become the top dog. In the past, it was the doctrine of MAD, mutual assured destruction, that kept the super powers from the full-scale use of nuclear weapons which would’ve caused the complete annihilation of both the attacker and the defender. Now there were no nuclear weapons, and therein lay the risk.

  Greeting his fellow Rosslerites captured his attention when he arrived, and it took him several minutes to work his way to the conference room. Taking his seat at the large table, he greeted his younger brother Aaron, Aaron’s wife, Cyndi, his long-time friend from his working days at the New York Times, Raj Sankaran, and Raj’s wife, Sushma.