"But why?" I said, shoving the bowl away from me. Faced with the prospect of escalating nuclear conflict, I found the stew no longer appealing. "For hard currency?"
"That and more. As I said, China is a major force in this area. However, she is also paranoid about her border to a degree Westerners would find it difficult to imagine. Remember, the Chinese take a rather broader view of what is Chinese territory than we do. Every time some ancient Chinese prince or princess married a member of a foreign royal house, China claimed that land as theirs. They track these things oh, so carefully. And while you and I may acknowledge that their claims are ridiculous, the Chinese believe fervently in them. Thus, in their minds, their own soil has been invaded and taken from them repeatedly. Vietnam, the Philippines, the Spratly Islands, and more. The Chinese all truly believe that those are Chinese possessions, and they are ready to defend their rights."
He laughed harshly, an expression of bitterness on his face. "Who knows what they would be like today had they had our experiences. One out of ten Ukrainians were killed during World War II, at least. Even today, the echoes of that invasion influence almost everything we do politically. To us, China might seem like a mere spoiled child, arguing about possessions that were never really hers. But she is a very large, very powerful spoiled child, and one that does not listen to reason."
"So why me? Why my father?" I asked.
Yuri leaned back in his chair and sighed. "This problem must be dealt with. And dealt with immediately. Already the first shipments are being readied for export. Whether they will be deployed on China's border and aimed at Russia and Ukraine, or sold to nations in the Middle East, I do not know. But it would seem to be in both of our interests to keep them from going anywhere."
"Your interest in world stability is very laudable," I answered, an ugly suspicion finally dawning. "But why is Ukraine involved? Why not Russia?"
"Be assured that we consult our cousins often on this matter," Yuri said. "However, as we work our way to a good relationship with our northern neighbor, there are certain trade-offs that must be made. Russia seems to feel that much of this problem is our responsibility ― and that we should solve it. They are a proud people, you know, proud to the point of blindness and arrogance. They would not approach you for help ― not in this way. We see it as an opportunity to build closer ties with the United States as well as strengthen our own position with Russia by apparently acceding to their request."
"But why is Ukraine responsible?" I asked, suspecting that I already knew the answer.
"You know why." Yuri's eyes were hard and cold. "Must you make me say it?"
I nodded slowly. "You dragged me halfway around the world to participate in this charade. I think you owe me that much."
"Very well. It seems very probable that the nuclear material contained in those weapons came from Ukraine. You know what the conditions were like immediately following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The furor over who was to control nuclear weapons, the seizing of the Crimean Peninsula, and the division of the Black Heet ― all was in disarray. Unfortunately, security of the nuclear weapons located on our soil was compromised. We hold the Russians responsible for this, and they us. As I said, matters are not so clear-cut as our cousins would like."
"So somehow, China obtained weapons-grade nuclear material from Ukraine, and is ferrying that into Vietnam into this production facility. And you want our help in putting a stop to it."
"Exactly."
"Why not do it yourselves?"
Yuri sighed. "As much as I would like to say otherwise, we simply do not have the military force at this time, Our economy is still in shambles, and many of our officers have not even been paid for several months. We have the basis to rebuild a strong, potent military, but it will take time. And time is what we do not have. The only solution, since China's growing strength is something that concerns us both, is to bring the Americans in. Quietly, through roundabout channels, through one or two trusted agents."
"Then why did the Vietnamese attack us?" I asked. So far everything he was saying made sense except that.
"Are you so certain that they are Vietnamese?" he asked, watching me closely.
"They were MiGs, of course they ― they were your MiGs?"
Yuri nodded. "Most of them, repainted to resemble those that belong to Vietnam. We have our friends here as well. Senior men who understand the danger that China poses now. And who are willing to work with us to stop it. The government, of course, knows nothing about this. Or if they do, they refuse to admit it." Yuri sighed, a deep sound breaking loose from somewhere inside him. "So you see the dilemma? This action must be carried out outside normal political channels, with all the conflicting loyalties and problems carefully balanced. And it must be done quickly ― another reason to avoid normal political protocol."
"You killed some of my people doing this," I said, cold rage flooding my body. "They died for nothing ― for your charade."
"If we destroy that nuclear weapons facility, their deaths will be more important than you can possibly imagine," Yuri shot back. "I sympathize with the loss of your men, but do you have any conception of how much life will be lost if those weapons are made available to Iraq and Iran? Or, for that matter, Turkey?"
"Now wait a minute. Turkey isn't-"
"We had our reasons for wanting to sever your ties with Turkey and the Mediterranean," Yuri continued as though I had not spoken. "Turkey is a growing regional power, one that threatens our very stability. They are the gateway for the Muslim hordes that would rip Ukraine in two."
"And now who's being paranoid about borders?" I asked.
Yuri looked outraged. Finally, his expression relaxed and he gave me a small smile. "I had known that you were very blunt, Admiral Magruder. I should have remembered that."
"What if I do agree to help you?" I asked. "I don't even know if it's possible, but supposing it is?"
Yuri held up two fingers. "First, you will do what you find most honorable in the world ― stopping wars before they start. While I cannot promise you that your role will ever be publicly known, you will have the eternal gratitude of Ukraine ― and Russia as well. From that new relationship, I think you will find a number of benefits flow."
"You want me to spy for you?" I asked incredulously. Surely Yuri wasn't offering me money to be a paid informant? If he knew anything about me, he knew just how utterly ludicrous that would be.
"No, of course not. Well, actually, we would ― but I would not insult you by making that offer. No, what I had in mind was something far more personal. The truth about your father?"
I sat back, stunned. Was this the deal? My assistance in arranging for the destruction of a nuclear facility in exchange for the truth about my father? The utterly bizarre nature of this exchange was beginning to wear on me.
"Tell me everything. Then I will decide."
Yuri shook his head. "I cannot. First, I do not have all the answers. No one person does. It will be a journey, a matter of piecing together small bits of evidence to obtain a complete picture. However, I think you will find our assistance quite helpful in this regard."
His dark eyes studied me for a moment, as though deciding how much I already knew. "There have been rumors," he continued carefully, "about Russian participation in the debriefing of American prisoners of war in Vietnam. Most of them are false. Some of them are true."
"And my father?"
Yuri spread his hands out before him. "I cannot say for certain," he said bluntly, and there was a ring of truth I recognized in his voice. "I suspect he might have been interrogated here ― in this very camp. In fact, I am almost certain that he was brought here from the first place you visited and held for quite some time. After that, the trail is not entirely clear."
"There were other rumors as well," I said. "That American POWs were taken to Russia for further interrogation. What do you know about that?"
"it is possible. Again, I cannot offer you complete answers. Only our as
surances that we will do everything we can, including opening archives so secret that their existence is barely acknowledged." A small, satisfied expression came over his face. "We have intelligence agencies that are quite capable of tracking down information, even when the trail is very, very cold. The GRU, the KGB ― they still exist, although they carry other names now. Their full resources would be placed at your disposal."
"First off," I began, "I have no proof that any of this is true. None at all. Now, I'm not accusing you of lying," I continued, holding up one hand to forestall comment, "but you must admit that this entire scenario is inherently improbable. The story you tell, the promises you make ― on the face of it, there's some degree of plausibility, but you haven't shown me any hard proof."
"Second, you would have to understand that I cannot promise to keep any secrets for your country. My superiors will have to be told the true story ― not all of them, of course, but the ones that matter. Like my uncle. He deserves to know what happened to his brother. I will leave it up to him to decide who else to tell."
Yuri nodded slowly. "I understand the need for proof," he said. "I can supply that ― at least in part measure. The truck they are preparing will take us within surveillance range of this facility I spoke of. You will be able to verify it for yourself, at least to the extent that you can do so while there. I believe if you query your U.S. intelligence assets, you may find that they have other confirmation as well."
He paused for a moment, then continued. "And as to the need for secrecy, while your position is regrettable, I understand it completely. We know we cannot expect any promises on your part. However, when information you have may endanger private citizens or other sources, we will ask you to use your own discretion in disclosing that information to your people. Fair enough?"
I nodded slowly, still overwhelmed by the strategic problem that Yuri had dumped squarely in my lap.
"What's in it for you?" I asked.
Yuri's face was grim. "My country. These weapons must be eliminated. I have a number of reasons for suspecting that Ukraine may be the first target."
"Such as?"
"You know our country somewhat," Yuri said. "The east and the west sectors of Ukraine are radically different. The eastern has more in common with the Middle East, the western with Europe. Until now, we have had more in common with each other than with the outside world, but that might not always be true. Ukraine would form a perfect staging point for Middle Eastern forces to threaten both Russia and Europe. If there is anything in my power to do so, I will not see foreign troops standing on Ukrainian soil again. Not in my generation, and not in my son's. Can you understand how very important that is to us? I doubt it. America is a bastion, protected from land invasion by the oceans that surround her. You have never felt the pounding of enemy bombs on your cities, seen hordes of enemy soldiers flooding into your country. But for us, the prospect is very real ― and not so remote." He eyed me coldly for a moment, then said, "You consider yourself a patriot, Admiral Magruder. I know this about you. Do you find it so unbelievable that a Ukrainian officer would regard himself likewise?"
The question hung in the air, demanding an answer. I knew that there were other men in the world that felt as passionately about their nations as I did about the United States, and often our interests culminated in war. And from my studies in history, I knew what Yuri said was true. Ukraine had every reason to fear tactical nuclear weapons, in a way that America would find hard to understand.
But could I do this? Cooperate with the Ukrainians in order to prevent a war? Or was I trying to rationalize it, a motive born out of the deep-seated need to find out what had happened to my father?
"I'll need to get back to my ship," I said finally. "No promises yet, but I will try to verify what you've told me. And yes, I understand why you've approached me in this way. And you must know how desperately interested I am in the fate of my father. But I can make no promises yet ― not until I know what you say is true."
Yuri stood, scraping the chair back across the concrete floor. "That is all I can ask for. Come, let us see if the truck is ready. I will take you as close as we can get to the Chinese facility, and you can see that part for yourself. Then we will arrange transportation so that you may return to your carrier. After that, I will rely on your word as a military officer. And on your sense of honor. Fair enough?"
I nodded and stood as well. "Let's go."
The two rickety old deuce-and-a-half diesel trucks made enough noise to warn everyone for one hundred miles that we were approaching. Or at least I thought so ― evidently Yuri and his officers had a different opinion. They explained that the jungle muffled sounds, and that we could actually approach to within five miles of the camp without being detected. I doubted it, but kept my reservations to myself.
Too many unbelievable things had happened in the last week for me to start questioning Providence now.
The road was a one-lane rutted path through the jungle, occasionally blocked by fallen trees or other debris. We moved by starts and fits, stopping to clear the path and drag away dead carcasses when we couldn't go around them. After four hours, every bone in my body ached from the continual jolting. Evidently maintaining shock absorbers was not a priority in Ukrainian maintenance practices.
At the indicated point, the driver pulled to a stop, then maneuvered the truck into deep cover. The silence, after so many hours of angry, sputtering diesel noise, was almost overwhelming.
We each took a pack, a small one this time. I noted that the Ukrainians had no compunctions about having their officers carry their own gear, so I shouldered mine myself without comment. It contained a few days' field rations, some water, and a poncho and blanket.
"You know about the jungle now," Yuri said. He gazed thoughtfully at the expanse of trees and undergrowth around us. "It can be your friend ― or your enemy. Stay in the middle, and follow the man in front of you. I have assigned him responsibility for your safekeeping."
I looked at the man he indicated, and saw a broad, Slavic face, high cheekbones topping a surprisingly full mouth, and thin-lidded Asiatic eyes. His hair was coarse, dark, and straight, the same shade as his eyes. A scar disfigured his right cheek.
"He is a Cossack," Yuri continued. "If anybody can keep you alive in rough terrain, it is he."
The Cossacks ― I knew how much influence they'd gained inside the Ukrainian military establishment, and how instrumental they'd been in Russia's rise to power over the Soviet Union. Ukrainians, and in particular Cossacks, had always made up a large portion of the higher echelons of Soviet command, disproportionately so. If they had all returned to Ukraine following the dissolution, I suspected that Russia had another motive in tasking Ukraine with dissolving this problem. Simply put, the Cossacks were one of the most warlike and capable military forces anywhere around.
I could feel the Cossack studying me as well, and wondered what he was thinking. What did he see? A sunburned American, already looking ungainly and out of place in the jungle? Or a new ally, one that he would protect at all costs?
It made no difference, I finally decided. In the long run, we would either make it or we wouldn't. A new fatalism had settled over me since my visit to my father's prison camp.
"We go," Yuri said. He motioned to one grizzled veteran, who took point. We moved off in single file through the brush, making entirely too much noise at first, but then settled into quiet, almost silent progress through the trees.
I watched the man in front of me, marveling at how quietly and quickly he moved. He seemed to anticipate the feel of the ground under his feet, sensing hidden noise-making traps and rough spots before they even were visible. After a while, I began following in his footsteps ― quite literally, having already observed that his choice of path was invariably the best one.
We made good time over the relatively low-rolling hills, and soon Yuri stopped us for a quick, whispered conference. "There are guards from this point on," he explained quietly. He point
ed at two of his men. "They will go on ahead ― clear the path." He gazed over at me with a concerned expression on his face. "You realize, if we have to use force to get close enough to observe, it will simply make time all the more critical for your decision. Once alerted, they will begin moving the site, perhaps to some location inside China. That would pose an entirely different set of political problems for both of us."
I nodded, acknowledging his concern. "You've gone to an awful lot of trouble, Commander Kursk," I said. "I'm not sure I agree completely with your reasoning, but I'll try to see that it doesn't go to waste. If what you've said is true, then it's in both of our best interests to put an end to this quickly."
Yuri nodded, apparently satisfied. I had promised him nothing, just a hard, honest look at the facts. He seemed convinced that once I understood what was truly at stake, I would do as he wished. The possibility of learning about my father was just an added bonus in the package.
We moved out low to the ground now, crouched and sometimes crawling, seeking the deepest cover the jungle had to offer. We snaked our way up another hill, now moving at virtually a crawl.
Suddenly, I heard noise off to my left. Two men, moving heavily through the brush, not taking any particular precautions against being observed.
A Chinese patrol? I realized that by asking that question to myself I had already acknowledged the probable truth of what Yuri had explained. Chinese had been the first word that flashed in my mind ― not Vietnamese.
I saw Yuri motion, and two men peeled away from the column toward the noise. Their guns were still slung across their backs, and each carried a large killing knife in his right hand. They disappeared from view quickly as the jungle absorbed them.
I could hear voices now, faintly discernible. I felt as though someone had slammed me in the gut, knocking all the air out of me.
I stood up, oblivious to the protest of the Cossack in front of me. "Stop ― they're American."
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