by Unknown
But there was something more. She had grown more confident and more assertive. Somewhere along the way, Patricia had found an inner strength that took her far beyond anything she had done in the past. He had seen that in the courtroom when she tripped one of the assailants. The image of her sitting on his back with her fingers in his nose was one he would never forget. In all, it had made him love her even more.
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing on the night stand. He picked up the receiver. “Hammond.”
“Roger, this is Perry. I heard you played hero again yesterday.”
“I can’t seem to get away from trouble,” Hammond chuckled.
“Patricia and Little Steve okay?”
“Of course,” Hammond said while glancing at his bedside clock. “Now, if I got my times right, you should be halfway across the Atlantic right now.”
There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “I am.”
“Okay, it must be serious if you are making this call. What do you need me for?”
Roger, Richard Styles just passed away from a stroke. I know you were expecting to go to Sixth Fleet, but the President and I need you here with us. You’ll receive orders tomorrow to be here by Monday. You’re being assigned as the Vice Chief of Naval Operations.”
Hammond sat up in his bed. “It must be serious if you need me there by Monday.”
“Yea, Roger, it is. Steve and I need you badly. I can’t go over it all over the phone, so pack your bags and head this way. I’ll arrange for a place in senior officer housing in the Navy Yard. If you could be in my office by six a.m., we’ll do the briefs and I’ll fill you in. You onboard?” the CNO asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ll try and get a flight tomorrow.”
“No, make it Sunday. Give you time to say goodbye to your family. If you get in early enough, come by the residence and we’ll have a beer. Sorry about the short notice.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get as early a flight as I can.”
“Good. And by the way, you need to find an extra star. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Good night, Perry. See you then,” Hammond said as he hung up the phone.
Patricia was now leaning on her elbow in the bed. “I take it that was Perry Johnson. Is there a problem?” she asked.
Roger looked back at her. “Must be. I have to report to Washington Monday morning. Seems I won’t be going so far away after all,” he said. “I am to be the Vice Chief of Naval Operations in Washington.”
Patricia nodded. “There goes my trips to the Mediterranean,” she said as she rolled over in the bed.
Railway car, Lida, Belarus
The compartment was no more than four feet wide, seven feet long and five feet tall. Inside was one aircraft style seat bolted to the wooden floor, a small cooler with food for the journey and a portable chemical toilet. A small ten watt light provided the only illumination. It was powered by two auto batteries mounted in one corner. Anton Bugayev had been sealed into the compartment twelve hours before and the compartment placed into a shipping container. The container was one of several hundred on a train heading into Poland as a part of a trade package.
Already Bugayev was dead tired. The train was constantly lurching back and forth and what little fresh air he got from the ventilation system was woefully inadequate. At first, he had tried to sleep, but between the movement and the noise of all the additional crates within the container, sleep was impossible.
Bugayev tried to stretch. He couldn’t stand up fully in the compartment, so he dropped the leg support on the aircraft seat. This allowed him to extend to his fully five feet and eleven inch length. The stretch didn’t satisfy him much. Surely, this part of his mission would be over soon.
Beginning on his eighteenth birthday, Bugayev had been spirited away from his family and sent to several special schools. His intelligence and ability to influence his friends had been noticed early in school and had come to the attention of Vladimir Putin, the head of the Foreign Intelligence Service, or SVR. Now he was almost thirty, could speak five languages fluently, and had the documents he could use to freely move around any country in Europe as one of its citizens. He had been assigned to Directorate “S,” which was responsible for preparing and planting "illegal agents" abroad, conducting terror operations and sabotage in foreign countries, "biological espionage," recruitment of foreign citizens on the Russian territory and a few other duties. In just the last four years, he had been part of three strategic operations, most recently in Latvia. In each case, he had been able to achieve the SVR’s objectives which ultimately allowed his country to make political and military moves into these countries with little loss of Russian lives. He was proud of his work, although he already knew he would never be recognized for it.
After another hour, the train slowed. Sitting quietly, Bugayev listened to try to see what was going on. There were a couple brief shouts, then the train began moving again. If it was the border, he would have just one more hour in this wood lined hell hole. At least he hoped his fellow agents would be able to get him out.
Just a little over an hour later, as expected, the train came to a halt. Within a few minutes, he heard the cranes coming down the line, lifting the containers from their cars and placing them on the back of trucks. Very quickly, he heard the sound of men hooking up the cables and felt the container lift off its car and be swung through the air. After another jolt as the container was positioned on a set of wheels, he heard a big truck diesel come to life as the truck, with its container, began moving down the road.
Although the train ride had been rough, the truck ride was agony. It seemed every rut, pothole and bump was hit along the way. Mercifully, after a thirty minute ride, he could hear a change in the sounds around him. In this case, it sounded as if they had entered a large building. The truck stopped and the engine was shut down. In a minute, Bugayev hear the door open on the end of the container. Men began taking out all the rest of the boxes and crates inside. A few minutes more and there was a knock on the side of Bugayev’s wooden crate. The latches were pulled back inside and the crate wall lowered from the top to lay flat in the container. Bugayev blinked as the lights from several flashlights were pointed at him.
“Come, quickly. Your scooter is just outside that door. You have all your papers and instructions?” a man asked in Polish.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Then off with you, and good luck,” said the man.
Bugayev didn’t even stop to shake his hand. He quickly grabbed his satchel and walked to the door on the side of the building. Looking back, Bugayev saw the men close the crate and stack it near several others along the far wall. Obviously they planned on using it again.
Exiting the building, as promised, Bugayev found the scooter propped against the wall. He placed his satchel on the back holder and then mounted his new steed. Turning the key, it started right up. He then twisted the throttle and sped around the building and down the darkened road.
Chapter 1
New Responsibilities
United 455
Lieutenant Rod Jeffers sat back in his seat and tried to relax. He had been called just the day before and told to pack his bags. Now he was on an early morning flight to Washington, DC, sitting beside his boss, Vice Admiral Roger Hammond. Both had just gotten aboard the plane and had gotten into their assigned seats. It promised to be a smooth flight.
Jeffers sat back a moment and thought of the whirlwind he had been through over the past month. He was surprised when he had gotten the call to the Commander, Naval Surface Force, Pacific. He was even more surprised when he was ushered into Admiral Hammond’s office. He had originally met the Admiral aboard the USS Kings Mountain the day after Hammond’s wife had been kidnapped in Venezuela. He had been one of the officers Hammond had met with to get ideas on where to start looking. Jeffers had been the first to figure it out. He found out later that Hammond had told his commanding officer that Jeffers was a man to watch.
> Now, three years later, Jeffers found himself sitting in in front of him again. After some probing questions, Hammond got to the point. “Now to the reason I asked you here today. I need a new Flag Lieutenant, and I think you might be just the man for the job. You impressed me a couple of years ago when you came to the same conclusion I did on who was responsible for that kidnapping mess. Since then, Captain Davis tells me you not only could handle a ship, but displayed the same smarts when it came to getting things done. That’s what I need around me, someone who can hold his own and get the job done, no matter what. I really don’t want one of those guys who just says ‘yes, sir’ and runs errands. I want someone who can add to the equation. You have shown that you’re not afraid of these stars on my collars and will speak your mind when needed. So now’s your chance. What do you think?” Hammond asked as he sat back in his chair.
Jeffers remembered sitting forward in his chair and looking Hammond straight in the eye. “First off, sir, if you think I’m not intimidated by those stars, you’re wrong. I’ve heard of flag officers eating guys like me for lunch. At the same time, I know a little bit about you too. Captain Davis thinks you are the next saint, and he’s told me a little about how you work, so that helps. Second, I am worried about my career. I need to get to Department Head School and keep everything on track. I really don’t want anything to interfere with that. Third, if I take the job, you need to know that I always get my two cents worth in. If I need to be, I can be pretty insistent. So just don’t get steamed if I say something that you don’t agree with. On the other hand, if I take the job I will work night and day to make sure your job is a little easier. The question is, can you be happy with that,” he asked.
Hammond had grinned. “Rod, that’s exactly what I want. Don’t worry about getting your career derailed. You have to go to a shore billet anyway. I’ll make sure your career stays on track. I think I’d really like working with you, so if you’re agreeable, I’ll talk to your detailer,” he said. Hammond stood and offered his hand. Jeffers stood and took it.
That had been just four weeks before. He understood then, that they would be going to the Mediterranean, but things had suddenly changed. Now he would now be the Flag Lieutenant to the Vice Chief of Naval Operations. Jeffers was having a hard time realizing what a big change that might mean.
“You all set?” Hammond asked from the window seat as Jeffers shoved his tablet device into the seat in front of him.
“Yes, sir. Now we just have to change planes in Dallas,” Jeffers said. “Once we get to DC, there will be a car waiting to take us to the Navy Yard. You are all set up for a room in senior officers’ quarters and I got one at the bachelor officers’ quarters down the street. I also got everything arranged for you to get a ride every morning for the first week or so into the Pentagon. Tomorrow morning it will pick you up at 5 am. That should get you there in time for the morning brief. After that, we’ll just have to see how the schedule shakes out,” Jeffers said.
Hammond chuckled. “You really are trying to think ahead. You going to be riding in with me each morning,” he asked.
Jeffers shook his head. “No, sir, I plan on being in the office at least a half an hour ahead just to make sure your chair has been dusted. I wouldn’t want you to soil your whites before the big meeting,” he said with a grin.
Hammond almost let out a howl of laughter, but caught himself and sat back with a smile. In just a week of working together, the two men had become very accustomed to working with each other and had become a well-oiled team. He liked Jeffers dry sense of humor, but even better, he liked how he worked. Jeffers used his brain to get things done. He never pushed the weight of his office around, but always was able to get the job done. Even the rest of the staff had liked working with him. Brian Davis was right about the young man. He would eventually become a flag officer as long as the Navy didn’t screw things up.
Hammond looked back at Jeffers. “What are you going to do about transportation? I’m planning on buying some sort of car once I get there.”
Jeffers shrugged. “I put my car on the train yesterday. According to the schedule, it should get there sometime next weekend. I can pick it up in a place called Lorton. Then, at least, I won’t have to be stuck in the Navy Yard all the time,” he said.
“Good idea. What kind of car is it?”
Jeffers chuckled. “Just an old beater I picked up a few years ago from a friend of the family. It’s a 2001, but I kind of got myself attached to it. As long as it gets me back and forth, I’m happy. As a bachelor, I like getting out and traveling around some on the weekends when I don’t have to work. I just jump in the car and take off. I get to see a lot of stuff doing that,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“I sometimes do the same thing. You’ve seen the Olds. I used to go on some day trips. Not so much now though. A family will do that to you,” he grinned.
They were interrupted as the pilot welcomed the passengers aboard and the cabin attendant began his usual routine. Within a few minutes the plane had lifted from the bumpy runway and was clawing into the morning skies.
After the seat belt light blinked off, Hammond turned to Jeffers again. “What do you think about the assignment I mentioned?”
“I actually talked for a few minutes to Admiral Styles’ aide, a Lieutenant Grant, yesterday. He said they had selected four flag officers to make up the team to look at what’s going on,” Jeffers said as he reached for his tablet and switched it on. “Admiral Lockwood is an aviator, Admiral Grimes is surface, Admiral Best is intelligence and General Westin is a Marine. So far, they have met to discuss the mission but that’s about all. There is another meeting scheduled for Wednesday at 0900 in your office. I told Grant to keep the meeting on the schedule. I figure if we need to change it, we can do that almost anytime.”
Hammond nodded in agreement. “Seems a little strange that it’s such a small group,” he said.
“I agree. But listening to Grant, he called it Styles’ ‘usual group.’ Grant also insinuated that Styles liked things a certain way and for things to come out as he expects. From what he was telling me, it sounded like Grant was used to working long hours and couldn’t wait to get away from that office. I kind of felt sorry for him,” said Jeffers with a slight sigh.
Hammond shook his head. Too often senior flag officers might look for the easy way out of a situation. Having friends he could count on to back up his ideas was one of the signs. Long hours for the staff was another indicator. Hammond had heard of Styles’ climb to the top. Granted, he was a dedicated and hardworking officer, but it appeared his ego had risen with his rank. He had run into that in the last war. “What do you think about this group?”
Jeffers shifted in his seat slightly. “I think it needs more. I noticed there are no submariners in the group, no supply types, and all of them have been in flag positions for the last eight years at least. That means no current operators. I would recommend a few captains and commanders just to round it out some. But there’s something else that’s bothering me,” Jeffers said leaning in a little closer. “If this is supposed to be a group looking at how we might respond to a Russian outbreak, why are there no Army or Air Force types in the group? Even if we are just looking at a Navy response, we will have to take their needs and efforts into account. If it was left to me, I would drop some of the flag officers and widen the scope. Let’s give the powers that be a real detailed scenario instead of just another study,” Jeffers said. He wasn’t too sure that he hadn’t overstepped his bounds with what he had said.
Hammond saw just a glint of concern in Jeffer’s eyes. He smiled at the man. “I think you’re right. You can’t be in somebody’s yard and not play with them. How about we get the Chief of Staff to get a few people lined up to join us at that Wednesday meeting. Ask if the Marine might be changed to Richardson. I’d like her opinions. Tell him to add those captains and commanders. I like the idea,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “D
id they say it was okay to use these?”
Jeffers nodded.
Hammond pulled up a number from his contact list and placed the call.
Perry Johnson was sitting in his recliner watching a ball game when his cell phone rang. He was surprised it was from Hammond. “Roger, I thought you weren’t getting in till tonight.”
“I’m not. We are currently over Nevada, I think. I needed to ask a question. Should this team not include all the services?” he asked.
Johnson thought a moment. “You know, it should. I’m not sure how far it’s gone, but now that I think about it, maybe it should be more of a defense level effort. I’ll talk to the Secretary in the morning and get it straight. I still want you to do it; just make sure the skids are greased. Got some people in mind?”
“No, but my aide and I are discussing some things and I wanted to make sure we were on the right track,” Hammond said.
“No problem. Glad to see you’re already on it. We’ll talk more tonight at dinner.”
“Thanks Perry. I’ll see you tonight at seven,” said Hammond as he turned off the phone. “It seems you and the CNO think alike,” said Hammond with a grin as he turned toward Jeffers.
“I like being in good company,” Jeffers grinned.
“Now, what say we talk a little about what you think about how and what will happen,” Hammond said as he sat back in his seat. The two men talked quietly for the remaining two hours of the flight.
Krakow, Poland
Bugayev eased his scooter into a space just in front of an apothecary just outside the city center. It was an older building from the early nineteenth century. There was the shop downstairs and three stories of flats above it. The front of the building had once been decorated in the older European style, but most of the ornate trappings had long since faded. It was dusk, and the lights had been turned on inside the shop. He could see a few people inside at the counter.