“Do come in, Comrade Kuzmin. To what do I owe this rare visit? Do you seek Party guidance, perhaps?”
Kuzmin took a step inside, and replied uncomfortably, “No sir. I only desire to have a word with the Captain.”
With this, the door hissed shut behind him. The zampolit put down his pencil, “Why is that. Comrade Michmanr’ Noting the undertone of suspicion in the political officer’s query, Kuzmin’s nerve temporarily faltered.
“It was really nothing, sir — just a personal matter that I wished to discuss with him.”
A forced smile painted Novikov’s narrow lips.
“Can’t I be of some service to you. Comrade? I’m certain that you’ll find me a most worthy substitute.”
“Thank you for your offer, but I’d rather see the Captain. Is there something wrong with him?”
“I’m surprised that you didn’t notice before,” the zampolit said smoothly.
“The poor man has got an extremely bad fever. The corpsman fears that he’s showing the primary symptoms of hepatitis. It was just like our esteemed Captain to want to ignore these danger signs, but I would not hear of it. Senior Lieutenant Leonov was consulted and both of us agreed that Comrade Valenko must get some badly needed rest. I placed the guard outside his room personally, so that he wouldn’t be unnecessarily disturbed.”
Kuzmin had certainly not noticed any signs of sickness in the captain, and responded carefully.
“That was most thoughtful of you, sir. My small problem surely doesn’t warrant waking the Captain from his sickbed. I’ll handle it on my own.”
Novikov looked down at the sheet of paper he had been working on and cooly said, “Isn’t this your appointed rest period. Comrade Kuzmin?”
As the which man nodded, the zampolit continued.
“Well, then, get back to your bunk where you belong.
We are going to need you rested and alert for the next work shift.”
“I was just going back there, sir. I’m sorry if I interrupted you.”
“Not at all, Comrade, I only wish you’d have been relaxed enough to share your worries with me. Don’t be such a stranger. Your record is good and a visit to one of our komsomol meetings will reflect well on you.
Remember, the Party is here only to make your toils that much easier.”
The political officer hit the door switch as Kuzmin saluted and pivoted to exit. Gratefully, he stepped out into the hallway.
The air seemed fresh and several degrees cooler than the stuffy confines he had just left. As he proceeded down the corridor, he struggled to put his thoughts in order. The zampolit was lying — of that he was certain. If Petyr Valenko had hepatitis, he had come down with it within the last couple of hours.
Patting his pants pocket, Kuzmin felt the outline of the cassette that had sent him on his journey. Could its mysterious contents possibly have something to do with the confusing encounter he had just experienced?
Again, he knew that he could only trust one person’s advice.
Picking up an intercom handset, he dialed the captain’s room. When there was no answer, he tried reaching Valenko with a general page. Two soft electronic tones sounded throughout the ship. Thirty seconds later, his page was answered by a familiar voice that definitely did not belong to his friend.
Breathlessly, Kuzmin disconnected the zampolit before he gave himself away.
He was now convinced that he would find something out of the ordinary behind the captain’s locked door. Fearful for Valenko’s safety, Kuzmin decided that an inspection of his cabin was most necessary.
Yet, how could he get past that heavy-handed sentry?
An idea popped into his head as he continued down the corridor separating the officers’ sleeping quarters.
Just last month he had supervised an inspection of the Vulkan’s ventilation system. One of those shafts, which he personally checked, led directly into the captain’s room. Accessible from a nearby storage compartment, Kuzmin saw no reason why he couldn’t use it to see just what was going on in there. Since the chances of detection were sum, he decided that he had nothing to lose by trying.
The which man soon found himself inside a large walk-in closet used to store janitorial supplies. Because of the volatile nature of the cleaning solvents, the room was well ventilated. The air conditioning shaft was set into the upper edge of the wall. It was covered by a flimsy wire-mesh screen. To reach it, Kuzmin had to use a bank of shelves for a ladder.
Using his pocket knife, he loosened the two bottom fastenings that held the grill up. By prying it outward, he was able to squeeze himself into the shaft without completely removing the screen. This was important, as anyone entering the closet would notice a missing cover at once.
Sweating from the effort, he lifted his body into the shaft. He slithered forward to fit his legs in, then crawled backward and refastened the grill cover.
The round metallic shaft in which he now found himself was just wide enough to allow his shoulders room to pass. Forward progress would only be possible by crawling on his hands and knees. He didn’t have the benefit of a flashlight and a wall of darkness soon descended. It was impossible for him to gauge his forward progress.
As he pushed himself on, he wondered what he would find at the shaft’s end. Perhaps his entire effort would prove to be a waste of time. In a way, he hoped this would be the case, but he seriously doubted it.
Petyr Valenko had been fit as a fiddle the last time he had seen him.
There was no way the captain could have succumbed to a natural illness so quickly. He had only needed to look into the zampolit’s shifty eyes to know that Novikov was lying. Yet, what in the world could he be covering up?
Kuzmin feared the answer to this question. Since sharing the last leave together, the which man felt closer to his captain than ever before. Now that Valenko and Ivana had hit it off so well, he was practically a member of the family. Galina had told Kuzmin during the party that the two were attracted to each other, and the next day he had learned just how serious this attraction was. He certainly didn’t blame Valenko. Ivana was quite a woman. Not only did she emit a raw sexuality, she was also extremely bright.
Her sister had always hinted that it was this above-average intelligence that scared off her suitors, but Kuzmin thought he, knew better! She hadn’t settled down because she hadn’t found a man whom she could call her equal. Surely the captain more than adequately fit this profile. Sorry that their leave had been cut so abruptly, Kuzmin looked forward to their return, when he would once more invite the captain for dinner. With this added motivation, the which man scooted forward as quickly as he could.
A blast of frigid air hit his feet, and soon his whole body was enveloped in a chilly breeze, the transfer of which was the purpose of this shaft. When the cold caused painful cramps to develop in his thighs, his progress was all but stopped. Writhing in agony, he reached in vain to massage his muscles. He could only attempt to rub the cramp out against the cold steel of the shaft. Eventually his muscles relaxed and he continued on.
Just when it seemed that he would never reach his goal, a sliver of light beckoned from up ahead. The intensity of the light gradually increased in relation to his forward progress. He had to give his eyes several seconds to adjust to the brightness before he was in a position to see the source of the light.
The ventilation grill was set in the wall immediately above the captain’s desk. From this vantage point Kuzmin had an adequate view of the room’s interior.
It was to the cabin’s single bunk that his eyes were drawn. There, laying bound and unconscious on the narrow mattress, was Petyr Valenko.
Angered to the point of desperation, the which man snapped out the wire screen’s bottom fasteners with the heel of his hand. Oblivious to injury, he tumbled out of the shaft head-first, using the desk to break his fall. Though he was racked with pain, he focused his entire attention on his captive friend.
The warrant officer sighed with relief when his
fingers found the captain’s pulse; it was weak, but steady. While removing the adhesive tape from Valenko’s mouth, Kuzmin spotted a nasty looking red bruise over Valenko’s right temple. To halt the spotty flow of blood still oozing from the wound, he used a damp wash cloth as a gentle compress.
Then he wet another towel and laid it over Valenko’s forehead.
As he unraveled the tape binding the captain’s wrists, Kuzmin realized that his friend was stirring.
Ever so slowly, the captain’s eyes opened. As he struggled to focus, he caught sight of Kuzmin and groggily mumbled, “Stefan? Stefan, what has happened here?”
“Easy now, Comrade,” the which man gently pleaded.
“Give yourself a moment to allow your head to clear. You’ve got one nasty gash on your forehead.”
Kuzmin unraveled the tape that bound the captain’s ankles. By the time he was done, Valenko was doing his best to scan the room.
There was a sudden light in his eyes as memory returned, and Valenko gasped, “The Vulkan … my ship … the Zampolit!”
Kuzmin put a finger to his lips and signaled the captain to be quiet.
Then he whispered, “I’m afraid you have a sentry outside your door.
Captain. We’re going to have to be very careful not to draw his attention.”
Valenko nodded that he understood and strained to sit up. The which man helped him by placing a pair of pillows under his neck.
With frantic urgency, Valenko said, “You’ve got to help me, Stefan. The zampolit and Senior Lieutenant Leonov have taken control of the ship!”
“I figured as much,” the which man said.
“I’ll bet this mutiny is related to the sensor tape I just completed analyzing. The hydrophone recording device was not malfunctioning, as we had earlier assumed. It looks to me like someone deliberately slit the cassette tape. I can prove not only that the shock-wave was caused by an exploding Kresta-class cruiser, but that the weapon that caused the blast was … a Soviet torpedo.”
Stunned by the disclosure, Valenko’s eyes widened.
“No wonder Novikov didn’t want the Vulkan to ascend for reconfirm orders!”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” the confused which man asked.
Valenko took a few seconds before answering.
“The first thing that you have to know, Stefan, is that the Vulkan is under a Red Flag alert. To my knowledge, this is not a planned exercise. As you well know, when such an alert is received we need only concern ourselves with communication attempts on the ELF bands.
When Zinyakin picked up that transmission, just before the blast, my gut told me that it was one of our own ships desperately trying to contact us. If it was indeed a Soviet torpedo that took it to the bottom, someone sure went to extremes to make certain that message wasn’t successfully transmitted.”
Suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn’t know the time, Valenko looked at his watch — and issued a long sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness there’s still time.
Our war orders have instructed us to empty our missile magazine at 2130 hours. When I voiced my decision to order an ascent to communication depth at 2100 hours, to receive a final confirmation, the zampolit made his move. No war has been declared, they only want us to believe that one has!” “But why?” asked the stunned which man “You’ll find the answer to your question locked inside the warhead guidance system. If my suspicions are correct, I think you’ll find that the set of targets that were originally programmed have been drastically changed.”
“In what way?”
“Our previous targets were primarily soft ones-various military and civilian centers on America’s West Coast. If hard targets have since been substituted, the Vulkan could be the lead element in a surprise, decapitating first strike. To find out for certain, I’m going to need your assistance, Stefan.”
“Just name it, Captain. I’m behind you one hundred percent.” “First off,” said the captain, “I’m going to want you to tie me up once again. There’s no use letting these maniacs know that we’re on to them. Then, you’re going to sneak back out of here and access that guidance system. Today’s code word is Lake Khasan. If our targets have been changed, we can be certain of the mutineers’ motives. It will be up to you to make sure that our SS-N-18s can’t be launched.”
“I believe I can get into the missile room without attracting too much attention,” the warrant officer said.
“Yuri Chuchkin and I are on excellent terms. If I can be there alone for a few minutes, I know of a most accessible circuit panel. A quick slash and the launch-control system will be completely inoperable.”
“Excellent! How thankful I am for the bond that brings us together, Stefan. For the sake of little Nikolai and the rest of the children of the world, we mustn’t fail. Now quickly, retie these bonds and be off!
The seconds to the apocalypse continue to tick away.”
Chapter Ten
For President Robert Palmer, the day had already been a most trying one. During the preceding weeks he had looked forward to this afternoon with great anticipation. At last the United States and the Soviet Union could be on their way to a new beginning. The way it was turning out, the present world outlook appeared anything but hopeful.
Palmer reflected on the morning’s confusing events as he watched the plane carrying Premier Viktor Rodin touch down on the nearby runway.
His vantage point was a private gate, set into one end of Los Angeles airport’s international terminal. Standing before a huge picture window, he watched the massive Soviet aircraft hit the pavement with a noticeable jolt. A puff of smoke rose from the landing gear as the brakes were applied, and the lumbering jet coasted to an eventual halt. While it turned to begin the journey back to the terminal, the President mentally prepared himself for the encounter that would soon follow.
At forty-eight, Palmer was one of the youngest Chief Executive’s in history. In office for a little over seven months, he had already taken it upon himself to tackle a problem that had been facing the country for almost a century. Soviet-American relations were the paramount concern of the times. This was especially true in the U.S.” where citizen involvement had reached an all-time high. Palmer’s landslide victory in the recent election proved this.
Running on a platform that emphasized cooperation over confrontation, the young politician had attained the nation’s highest office with a clear victory in all but two states. Quite an accomplishment, considering Palmer’s previous political experience was limited to a single Senate term.
Graced with the gift of spontaneous rhetoric and movie star good looks, the tall, lanky Midwesterner had a firm understanding of his constituents. Faced with the problems of a spiraling national debt, double-digit inflation and growing unemployment, the public had demanded a change. They were tired of the old-guard politicians who talked at great lengths about the problems but did little to solve them.
Palmer proposed to focus the country’s attention on the one issue responsible for the nation’s shortcomings.
His speeches concentrated on a single fact-because of the needless arms race with the Soviets, the country was experiencing its worst economic difficulties.
He promised to cut the massive spending on missiles and other war toys and divert them to other sectors, such as medical research, agriculture and even space exploration. Relieved of its huge military expenditures, he pledged that America would flourish as never before.
Of course, the success of his strategy depended fully upon the cooperation of the Soviet Union. Only with a bilateral disarmament could such a dream come to pass. Fortunately, the Russian economy was in even worse shape than America’s. In a mad rush to obtain military parity with the U.S.” the Soviets had promoted military growth as their number one priority.
As a result, their consumer hardships had increased.
Tired of breadlines, poor quality household goods and other shoddy personal merchandise, the Russian people cr
ied out for change. For the first time since the revolution, angry mobs of dissatisfied Russians roamed the streets of the large cities and demanded a change for the better.
Though the Soviet bureaucracy moved at a ponderous pace, the sudden rise of Viktor Rodin soon brought the changes that the people demanded.
Like Palmer, the relatively young General Secretary realized that military spending was draining his country dry. He called for a series of daring, unprecedented economic programs. Robert Palmer’s predecessor in the White House had reacted to Rodin’s ascension cautiously. Fearful to take the initiative and open a dialogue with the new Soviet leader, Washington sat back and watched the new Premier consolidate his position with a wary eye.
By supporting increased military spending, the previous Administration had made Rodin’s job even more difficult. How could he propose cuts in Russia’s military establishment when America continued to pump billions of dollars into new weapon systems of their own?
The young contender for the White House realized this dilemma and molded his campaign around it.
“Dare for Greatness” was the slogan with which he challenged the American people. Early in the primaries, Palmer announced his desire to meet with Viktor Rodin immediately after he won the presidency.
Face to face, the two leaders of the most powerful nations the world had ever known would rationally address the dangerous plight in which they found themselves.
It wasn’t long after Palmer had taken the oath of office that his invitation was presented to the General Secretary. Much to the new President’s delight, Rodin accepted at once. In response to this Palmer introduced an immediate freeze on all new weapons development. A day later, the Premier did likewise.
Confident that his colleague’s goals and aspirations were like his own.
Palmer had spent the past two months preparing for their historic meeting. During that period, a feeling of general euphoria was shared by a majority of the world’s population. Encouraged by daily newscasts hinting at drastic results from the upcoming summit, the peoples of the earth had hope that the age of imminent nuclear warfare was finally over.
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