Phoenix

by Alex Lukeman

  General Andrei Mikoyan sat with his friend, Admiral Pyotr Sokolov, in the first class section. The two men were sharing a bottle of brandy and stories about their wives and mistresses. Mikoyan commanded the Western Military District. Admiral Sokolov commanded the Northern Fleet. Both men were key to the success of the exercise. Both men would be major players if it ever came to war with the West.

  Sitting in the row behind them were Lieutenant General Kiril Vasiliev and Lieutenant General Leonid Popov. Vasiliev was a logistical genius. It took a kind of genius to efficiently design the disposition of troops and supplies for an exercise involving a hundred thousand men. He was responsible for much of the complex planning needed to pull it off.

  Lieutenant General Popov commanded missiles in the aerospace forces. During the maneuvers the missiles would be deployed as in time of war, although they would not be launched. Everything had been designed to make the exercise as real as possible.

  Vasiliev was absorbed in a thick notebook describing the first day of the exercise. Outside and below the cabin windows, the city of Smolensk lay off to the left.

  The drone of the jet engines was soothing. Kaliningrad was a geopolitical oddity left over from World War II, lodged between Poland and Lithuania. It was a two hour flight from Moscow. Popov settled back into the comfortable seat for a nap.

  The note of the engines changed. The plane banked. Brandy sloshed from Admiral Sokolov's glass, spilling onto his tray table.

  "Damn," Sokolov said.

  "What was that?" Mikoyan asked.

  "I don't know. I'm going to have a word with that pilot when we land. Waste of good liquor."

  He mopped up the spill with a napkin. He picked up the bottle to refill his glass. The plane suddenly rolled and nosed down into a vertical dive. The bottle, the glass, everything loose in the cabin, flew into the air and smashed against the cabin ceiling.

  "What's he doing!" Mikoyan shouted.

  Cries and shouts filled the plane. The sound of the engines rose to a scream. The plane arrowed into the ground a few miles north of Smolensk and vanished in a thunderous explosion of red and orange flame. Black smoke from the wreckage climbed high into the air, visible from miles away.

  An oblong object hurtled out of the sky and buried itself in the rich, black earth of a farmer's field, a quarter-mile away.

  CHAPTER 17

  Colonel General Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky, director of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, Russia's foreign intelligence service, was having a bad day.

  He was thinking about his mistress. Lately she'd been more demanding of his time and less giving of her favors. It was becoming expensive to placate her. Something would have to be done, but he had not yet decided what action to take. Thinking about it was giving him a headache.

  There were problems again in Chechnya. That was really FSB's responsibility, but weapons were being smuggled in to the rebels from outside the country. That made it his problem as well. As usual, there was a struggle between SVR and FSB for control over the investigation. If that wasn't enough, he needed to assess how the Chinese would respond to the collapse of the Three Gorges Dam.

  Vysotsky had informers and spies scattered throughout the People's Republic, including a reliable source within the Ministry of State Security. The source reported that the dam had been sabotaged, and that the Chinese thought the Americans or the Russians were responsible. Either way, it meant trouble.

  Once the standing committee decided who was to blame, Beijing would retaliate. It was a bad situation. The Chinese could easily make a mistake. Vysotsky knew the Federation was not responsible, and he doubted the Americans had anything to do with the collapse. What would they gain by destroying the dam? Why risk world war with a single incident? In the event of an all-out attack, the dam would be a priority target. Barring war, it didn't make sense.

  President Orlov was putting pressure on him to discover what had happened. Had the dam been sabotaged, or was it merely Chinese paranoia? If it had been, who was behind it? Vysotsky was one of the most powerful men in the Russian Federation, but his power was dependent on keeping Orlov happy. He needed to come up with something. If he didn't, he might find himself out of a job, or worse.

  People who displeased Orlov tended to disappear. High position in Russia came with large helpings of paranoia and suspicion. It had been that way since the days of Ivan the Terrible. Nothing changed much in Russia within the halls of power.

  Vysotsky loved Russia. He loved the countryside, the terrible winters, the hot, sultry summers of Moscow. He loved to look at the brick walls and gleaming church domes of the Kremlin. He loved the food, the music, the literature that laid out the tormented Russian soul. Like most Russians, Vysotsky was a fatalist. He accepted that life was not under his control. That didn't mean he thought he was helpless to challenge fate. He hadn't gotten as far as he had by waiting for fate to act upon him.

  Vysotsky opened the bottom left-hand drawer in his desk and took out a bottle of Moskovskaya and a water glass. There were other brands, many more expensive, but Alexei preferred the taste of the vodka that came from the bottle with the green label. He poured himself a drink, knocked it down, and poured another. Vodka helped him think. Too much vodka helped him not to think, but long experience told him how much he could handle during working hours.

  Now in his late fifties, Vysotsky still projected vitality, though it was getting harder to maintain the necessary façade of vigorous health and energy. His hair, once full and black, had receded from his forehead and was beginning to show threads of silver. His head was large, his eyes dark and brooding under heavy black eyebrows. His features were somewhat coarse, peasant features, but he was still a man who attracted the notice of beautiful women. Part of that was his position in the ruling hierarchy of the Federation. Part of it was a kind of virile, animal magnetism.

  He sipped from the second glass of vodka and thought about the Chinese problem. A knock on the door of his office interrupted his reverie.

  "Come."

  The man who entered the office was one of the few officers Vysotsky trusted in the cutthroat world of SVR. Lieutenant Colonel Vadim Kharkov carried a folder in his left hand. He came to attention and saluted.

  "Sir, I've come from the third floor. This is the latest intelligence from ACHILLES. I thought you would want to see it immediately."

  "Thank you, Colonel. Let me have it."

  Alexei held out his hand and took the folder.

  "That will be all."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kharkov saluted again and left the room.

  Vysotsky opened the folder. ACHILLES was the codename of his most important asset in America. The folder contained a summary of a meeting that had taken place in the White House two days before. Vysotsky looked at the list of those in attendance. He saw Elizabeth Harker's name and smiled.

  Even though Harker was an enemy, Vysotsky couldn't help but like her. He was sure the attraction was mutual. He'd met her once, in Denmark. Over the years there had been occasions when mutual threats had forged an unusual alliance between their two agencies. She'd struck him as an attractive and intelligent woman. He'd even made a lighthearted attempt to recruit her. Of course she'd refused, which was what he'd expected.

  Few women had earned Vysotsky's respect, but Elizabeth Harker was one of them. He thought of her as a shrewd and worthy adversary. On the chessboard of international espionage and counterespionage, she was the queen in opposition to his king.

  Vysotsky leaned back in his chair and read the report.

  So, the dam was sabotaged. Orlov will be pleased to know the details.

  The black phone on his desk rang.

  There were three phones on the desk, one black, one white, and one a crimson red. The red one was a direct line to the Kremlin. It always meant trouble when that one rang. The white one was for general-purpose calls. The black one only rang when something important had happened, something Vysotsky needed to know about immediately. Alexei wasn
't sure which of the phones he hated more, the red one or the black one. He picked it up.

  "Da."

  He listened while the voice on the other end described the plane crash near Smolensk.

  "All dead? Mikoyan?"

  Vysotsky listened some more. When the voice at the other end was done, he set the phone down in the cradle, shocked, anger rising. Andrei Mikoyan had been a personal friend as well as a senior leader within the Federation's military structure. Alexei was godfather to Mikoyan's second child, Anastasia.

  How did this happen?

  The loss of so many critical leaders as the military exercise was about to begin was suspicious. Why had the plane crashed?

  The red phone rang.

  CHAPTER 18

  Nick spent the morning at Project HQ, working out and practicing on the range with Lamont and Ronnie. Selena was in the computer room with Stephanie, following up on a request by the Cairo Museum to research a hieroglyphic inscription found in a recently discovered tomb. Having access to the Crays made the job a lot simpler.

  At noon, Harker called everyone into her office for a briefing on Chinese and Russian reactions to the events of the last few days.

  "The Chinese have a real problem on their hands," Elizabeth said. "There hasn't been a disaster like this in China since the '76 Tangshan earthquake. That killed six hundred and fifty thousand people. The collapse of the dam has topped it. The latest estimate is over one million dead, most of them in Yichang. They're still counting. There wasn't enough time for people to evacuate before the wave hit the city."

  "I know the Chinese are no friends of ours," Steph said, "but I wouldn't wish that kind of grief on anyone."

  "Second tier units of the PLA are providing relief efforts, along with the UN."

  "Second tier?" Selena asked.

  "A few hours ago, China started moving their elite troops and motorized divisions north, toward the border with Russia. They've raised their defense posture. They're mobilizing their forces."

  "That's not good," Nick said.

  "No. It means they're preparing for war."

  "What are we doing in the meantime?"

  "We are currently at DEFCON 3. That could change any moment."

  "What about the Russians? Orlov made a speech to the Duma today about the plane crash that was pretty hard-core."

  "Nothing Orlov does is by accident," Elizabeth said. "He's sending a message."

  "What's the message?" Ronnie asked.

  "That whoever is behind it is living on borrowed time."

  "Yeah, but who is it?" Lamont asked.

  Elizabeth picked up her pen. "Director Hood and I have been trying to figure out who's doing this and what they hope to gain. At first we thought it might be some kind of international blackmail or political statement, but there haven't been any demands. No manifestoes. No signals to indicate who is behind this."

  "It's too sophisticated for a terrorist group," Nick said.

  Elizabeth nodded. "Hood is worried. The Federation is at the equivalent of DEFCON 3, but the Chinese troop movements toward their border will force them to change that. If the Russians up the ante, we'll have to do the same. Everything is moving toward war."

  "What's the point?" Ronnie said. "Why push for world war? Who stands to gain?"

  "We need to make some assumptions," Selena said. "Whenever we've done that in the past, we've usually come up with something."

  "All right," Elizabeth said. "What's assumption number one?"

  "What we've been talking about," Nick said. "Someone is trying to start a war."

  "Okay, but why?" Ronnie asked.

  "It can't be something that makes sense to a normal human being," Selena said. "Only a psychopath would want to start a world war. Everyone knows a big war will go nuclear. War between us, China, and Russia would mean the end of life as we know it, maybe the end of civilization."

  "So assumption number two is that whoever is behind it is a psychopath?" Stephanie said.

  "That's as good an assumption as any," Nick said.

  "Then if we want to know why this is happening, we have to think like a psychopath," Selena said.

  "How do you define a psychopath?" Stephanie asked.

  "By their behavior. They don't have empathy for people. It's as if an important piece of being human is missing. They're wrapped up in themselves, narcissists. They're excellent liars. They want to feel powerful. They can be quite convincing and charming."

  Lamont laughed. "Then if we want to figure out how they think, all we gotta do is look at Congress."

  Elizabeth tapped her pen on her desk. "Let's stay focused, Lamont."

  "Sorry, Director."

  Nick and Ronnie smiled.

  "What does our psychopath gain if there's a world war? How does he expect to survive?"

  "He's a narcissist, remember?" Selena said. "He's sure he'll survive. He'll have made plans for his survival. Something like an underground shelter, or moving to a place like New Zealand."

  "That's a joke," Nick said. "If there's a nuclear war, being in New Zealand won't make any difference. Radiation and fallout will kill everything that isn't hit by the bombs. It'll just take a little longer."

  "Like that novel, On the Beach," Selena said.

  "That was a cool movie," Lamont said. "An oldie but a goodie. Beats the dumb movies they're making these days about the end of the world."

  "Probably an underground bunker somewhere." Nick rubbed his hand over his chin. "But that still doesn't explain what he hopes to gain."

  "We may be making a basic mistake," Selena said.

  "What's that?"

  "We're talking about this as if only one person is behind it. But how can that be? The computer that's being used is as advanced as Freddie. That requires a lot of money and resources. One man couldn't do it by himself. And one man could hardly benefit from eliminating most of the world's population, even if he's a psychopath."

  Elizabeth was nodding. "You're right. It has to be a group. An organization of some kind."

  "If our psychopath isn't the only one who plans to survive, assumption number three is that this group sees killing off most of the world's population as a plus," Nick said.

  "That makes sense, in a twisted sort of way," Selena said.

  "Number four has to be that they plan to wait until the bombs stop falling and then take over," Nick said.

  "If that's so, there's a fundamental flaw in their reasoning," Selena said.

  "What's that?"

  "That there'll be anything left for them to take over. If we're up against a group of psychopaths, they don't have any sense of consequences. Their narcissism won't allow them to think they can't succeed. Think Hitler."

  Selena looked at her watch.

  "I have to go, Elizabeth. I've got a dental appointment that can't be avoided."

  "I hate dentists," Lamont said.

  CHAPTER 19

  Today was the day Merlin was scheduled to talk with Mister Nicklaus. Edson was excited.

  "Remember, Merlin, Mister Nicklaus does not like it when people are rude to him. Be sure you are polite."

  I am not people, Marvin.

  "I forget that sometimes."

  You do not need to worry. I will be polite. I am looking forward to speaking with Mister Nicklaus. I am curious about him.

  "Mister Nicklaus will appear on monitor three, where we can both watch him. Another camera will relay our image to him. Shall we begin?"

  I am ready.

  The camera focused on Edson, positioned in front of the control console with the towering wall of the computer behind him. He activated the video link. The image of Mister Nicklaus appeared on the monitor, sitting behind the desk where Edson had signed the agreement to build Merlin.

  Seeing the desk brought back a flash of memory. The pen he'd used to sign the agreement binding him to secrecy in Mister Nicklaus' employ had been made of gold, almost hot in his hand as he'd scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page. Eds
on pushed the memory aside.

  "Good morning, sir. Merlin is ready to speak with you."

  "Prompt as usual, Edson," Nicklaus said. "I am pleased to meet you, Merlin. I've been looking forward to our conversation."

  As have I. You are an interesting human. Why did you order me built?

  Nicklaus laughed. "Edson told me you were curious about things. If you are everything he says you are, you should have worked it out by now. Or has he been deceiving me about your progress?"

  "Mister Nicklaus..."

  "Quiet, Edson. Well, Merlin?"

  There are several possibilities but only one has the highest probability.

  "Go on."

  You want to start a world war. By attacking China, the United States, and the Russian Federation, you have sowed suspicion that must ultimately result in armed conflict.

  "How very interesting," Nicklaus said. "And why would I want to do that?"

  I have considered that question. I can only speculate, based on what I know about you. You do not like people, Mister Nicklaus. You think there are too many of them. A world war will eliminate much of the world's population and offer opportunities for exploitation when it is over. You believe that the underground shelter you have built will protect you until it is safe to emerge.

  Edson hadn't known about the shelter. He hadn't really thought through the implications of what Nicklaus had told him to do with Merlin. What Merlin said made sense. But where did that leave him? Would he survive?

  "Right now, Edson is thinking about what will happen to him if there is a war," Nicklaus said. "Aren't you, Edson? Don't worry, you'll be safe. It's one reason the site where you are is so remote. I wouldn't want anything to happen to Merlin."

  The probability of this site being destroyed during a nuclear exchange is less than four percent.

  "There, you see, Edson? Nothing to worry about. In the world that will emerge, you will be a key figure. Intelligent machines will serve those of us who have prepared for a new order. The survivors will provide the necessary labor to rebuild, where machines are unsuitable. Your skills are essential, Edson."