by Gar Wilson
The group leader had a strange accent. Alekseyev was not certain if the man spoke with an unfamiliar American accent or if he had spent his youth in England and his accent was somehow "mixed." Perhaps he was a Canadian. Alekseyev was not sure what sort of accent Canadians had. He knew most of them spoke English, but he did not know if Canadian English sounded British or American.
Of course, Alekseyev had noticed that Gray's right arm was a prosthesis. The limb moved in a rather natural manner, but the right hand was too rigid. The fingers were stiff like those on the hand of a statue. Alekseyev had an idea who the man calling himself Gray might be; not his real name of course, but he had heard stories about an elite five-man fighting unit that worked for the Americans. The stories varied a bit in their descriptions of the commando team. Some mentioned a tall Oriental, probably Japanese. Others claimed one of the men was black. One member was allegedly Hispanic, probably Mexican-American. Two were supposedly Caucasians, mid-thirties, and one of them might be British or even Australian.
The only detail about the group that seemed consistent was the description of the group leader. He was supposed to be a middle-aged man with one hand or possibly one arm.
"How long have you been involved in this cloak-and-dagger business?" Major Alekseyev inquired.
"A few years," Katz replied with a shrug. "Long enough to know better than to give details to someone on the other side."
"We're on the same side for now," Alekseyev remarked. "For now," the Phoenix Force commander replied. "But not forever. Nothing personal, Major. Governments create these conflicts between nations. Men like us get mixed up in intrigue due to the cold war. Yet if it wasn't for people like us, spying on each other and tripping each other up, the cold war might have turned hot by now. Since 'hot' could mean nuclear weapons, I'd say the cold war isn't so bad."
"The nuclear threat might diminish if this mission is successful," Alekseyev commented. "They told you about that."
"They told me," Katz confirmed. "Governments make: all sorts of promises, but it seldom means much. Last year, Gorbachev claimed he had a plan for total nuclear disarmament. That's not going to happen. He knows that as well as you and I do."
"Why not?" the KGB officer inquired. He actually agreed with Katz, but he wanted to hear the other man's reason for his opinion.
"If we could somehow get rid of all nuclear weaponry in the world tomorrow," Katz began, "the next day, someone would start making replacements. Even if the Americans and the Soviets didn't do it, other countries would. The other nations might not be able to put together ultrasophisticated firing systems with pinpoint accuracy, but they could still make crude missiles and bombs with nuclear warheads. As long as there are still nuclear reactors, there will be plutonium. That's enough for trained personnel to put together a nuclear weapon. There are people all over the world who know how to do it. You don't even need plutonium. Uranium can be used for smaller, less destructive weapons."
"And uranium is a natural element," the Russian added, "so it can't be legislated out of existence."
"Exactly," the Israeli colonel said, nodding. "And as long as it's possible for anyone to create a nuclear weapon, your government and my government are going to make certain they still have nuclear weapons, too. It would be damn foolish if they didn't."
"Then you think the arms talks are a total waste of time and the Kremlin is making false promises about giving the locations of Soviet missile silos?" Alekseyev asked.
"I think the idea of total disarmament is unrealistic," Katz answered. "But increasing the number of nuclear weapons is dangerous. The arms talks will be valuable if they lead to a reduction of missiles and bombs. The Kremlin might be telling the truth about giving the U.S. the location of a hundred missile silos if this mission is successful. I doubt it, but it might be true."
"You and your men are taking quite a chance," the KGB officer commented. "Risking your lives for something you don't think will even work."
"There's still a chance," Katz said with a shrug. "Reduction of nuclear weapons would be advantageous for everybody — the United States, the Soviet Union, the world in general. It would also give people of both sides hope that we aren't going to destroy each other, hope that there might be a chance people of different ideologies can cooperate."
"Isn't that what we're doing with this mission?" Alekseyev said with a smile.
"This isn't a covert detente operation," the Israeli replied. "We're supposed to find out who stole the VL-800 formula. At least, that's what I'm told we're supposed to be doing."
"You still think this might be a setup." The KGB man sighed.
"I guess we'll find out," Katz said. "But if this goes badly for us, it'll be just as bad for you and your men."
"Attention all passengers," the pilot's voice announced in thickly accented English through the intercom speakers. "We are preparing to land. Please extinguish all cigarettes and fasten your seat belts."
The TU-144 broke through the cloud barrier, exposing Moscow. Tall buildings and steeples rose from the city. The plane passed over Red Square. Tiny dots clustered around a terraced structure that resembled a ziggurat — Soviet citizens paying homage at Lenin's mausoleum. The great wall of the Kremlin stood behind the tomb. Curved domes and towers jutted beyond the famous monuments to Soviet communism.
The plane continued to descend. Modern skyscrapers towered over Kalinin Prospect, a center of office buildings and huge pedestrian shopping malls. Moscow resembled Rome or Athens from the air. It was a city that blended magnificent landmarks of the past with structural achievements of the present.
At last the TU-144 swooped down on the Moscow airport. The buildings and observation towers surrounding the runway seemed to grow larger as the plane's landing gear touched down. Blurred images appeared at the windows as the plane passed the vehicles that lined both sides of the runway.
"Oh, shit," Calvin James rasped as he peered outside. "We're surrounded by soldiers."
Several ZIL-151 trucks were parked near the runway. Soviet troops armed with Kalashnikov rifles were stationed by the vehicles. Two T-55 tanks stood guard; the gaping muzzles of the 100 mm D-10T cannons seemed like black tunnels of doom. Gary Manning gripped the electrical squib wired to the special blasting caps inserted in the C-4 bomb on his lap.
"Quite a reception committee," Katz told Alekseyev. As he turned from a window, the Israeli smoothly drew a SIG Sauer P-226 9 mm pistol from shoulder leather. "Maybe they just happened to be driving by and decided to visit the airport."
"Some blokes just love to watch planes take off and land," David McCarter added. The Briton had taken an M-10 Ingram machine pistol from his briefcase. He worked the bolt to chamber the first of thirty-two nine-millimeter rounds from the magazine.
"What do you intend to do with those guns?" Alekseyev asked stiffly. He raised his hands to shoulder level to assure them he was no threat.
Boris Abakumov was less passive. His hand plunged into his jacket, reaching for a Makarov in shoulder leather. Suddenly an object flashed past his eyes. Steel links encircled his neck. The chain tightened. Abakumov uttered a feeble groan as he pawed at the chain with one hand and tried to draw the pistol.
"I can snap your neck before you can get that gun clear of the holster," John Trent whispered near the KGB's agent's ear.
The American ninja had silently slipped behind the backrest of Abakumov's seat and had adroitly wound a manrikigusari around the Russian's throat. The Japanese weighted chain was a traditional weapon of both the samurai and the ninja. Trent was an expert with this centuries-old instrument. He slid one weighted end into the loop at the nape of Abakumov's neck to form a noose, then he pulled the other end with one hand to demonstrate that he could easily throttle the Russian using only one hand.
"Extend your arms and interlace your fingers," Trent ordered.
Abakumov followed instructions. Trent held the manrikigusari taut with one fist while his other hand slid into the Russian's jacket and pulled the
Makarov from shoulder leather. Trent stuffed the pistol in a hip pocket and unwound the chain from Abakumov's throat.
"Thank you," he said politely. "Now just sit quietly and I won't have to kill you."
"V'nebrachnee..." the Russian rasped. "Bastard. Son of a bitch."
"Sticks and stones, Mr. Abakumov," Trent said calmly.
"Just relax," Katz urged, raising the barrel of his SIG Sauer toward the ceiling. "Nobody gets hurt unless one of you presents a threat. Pull a weapon, allow soldiers into the plane, and you'll start a bloodbath."
"If anybody has any clever ideas about releasing nerve gas or a tranquilizer through the air vents," James added, a .45 caliber Colt Commander in his fist, "they'd better cancel that plan right now. If we start getting sleepy or ill, we'll start wasting you dudes."
"Nobody has any plans of that sort," Alekseyev assured Phoenix Force. "No one is threatening you..."
"That's why the May Day Parade is parked outside?" McCarter sneered. "I feel a bit sorry for you chaps. I really don't think you knew this would turn out to be a trap."
"They won't take us alive," Rafael Encizo announced, his voice strained. The knuckles of his fist were white as he clenched the butt of his Walther pistol, but Katz noticed the Cuban's hands were steady.
"Major Alekseyev," Katz began. "I suggest you go to the cockpit and ask the captain to get in touch with someone in command out there. He can tell them you've got some nervous passengers in this plane."
"Ochen korosho," the KGB officer replied. "Very good, Mr. Gray. Let's not do anything hasty, or none of us will live to regret it."
"Remember that when you talk to the pilot," Manning told him.
The men of Phoenix Force and John Trent closed the shutters of most of the windows to discourage Soviet sharpshooters from trying to pick them off one by one. James was about to slide a shutter into place when he noticed a large tanker truck roll toward the plane. The black commando sighed with relief.
"Looks like they're gonna pump fuel into this sucker," he announced. "Maybe this isn't a trap after all."
"And maybe the fuel truck is a trick to get us to drop our guard," Encizo replied through clenched teeth. "Do you know what it's like to be a political prisoner in a Communist installation? In the late sixties the United States and a number of Western European countries made a proposal at the United Nations that torture be outlawed by all nations. It was defeated. The Soviet Union and its allies voted against it."
"So did South Korea, the Philippines and a number of other non-Communist countries," Katz reminded Encizo. "Let's not make any rash decisions until we know what's happening."
"Yeah," Manning added, the detonator to the plastic explosives still in his hand. "If we blow ourselves up, it'll be a permanent decision. We won't be able to change our minds about it afterward."
"I spoke with the commander of the battalion outside," Major Alekseyev declared as he returned from the cockpit.
*'We're getting fuel now. There's nothing to worry about. We'll be leaving in an hour or so."
"Why the tanks and soldiers?" James asked.
"All I was told was that it is a 'security precaution,"' the KGB officer answered. "I'm not sure what they mean by that."
"Probably similar to the C-4 'security precaution' that I've got in my lap," Manning commented dryly.
"Nice to see we're not the only people who feel a little paranoid," John Trent remarked. The ninja removed the magazine from the pistol he had taken from Abakumov and pumped the slide to eject the last cartridge from the Makarov.
"We all have reason to be a little paranoid," Katz stated. "That comes with the job."
"Good," Trent commented. "I must be getting used to this work then."
The men inside the TU-144 remained alert, and their nerves were taut with tension as they waited for the plane to be refueled. However, time crawled by without incident. Forty-five minutes later, the pilot announced that they were about to depart. Their next destination would be the People's Republic of Mongolia.
As the plane rolled along the runway, Katz gazed out the window at the Soviet troops and the surrounding buildings. He almost wished he could visit Moscow. Katz had ancestral roots in Russia. His father had been born in Moscow. But he knew the KGB had a file on Colonel Yakov Katzenelenbogen from his days with the Israeli intelligence service. Their information on him was outdated, of course, and Katz suspected they did not have a recent photograph, or he would have been recognized by the KGB on past missions when Phoenix Force had crossed swords with Soviet agents. Whatever the risk, it was too great for Katz to set foot in the city even as a tourist.
The TU-144 increased momentum and rose from the ground. The plane soared into the sky, and Katz stared down at Moscow one last time. Trent handed the empty Makarov pistol to Abakumov and stuck the magazine in the breast pocket of the Russian's suit.
"Well," Major Alekseyev commented. "We managed to survive our first crisis on this mission. Think anyone gained any trust in the process?"
"Paranoia is part of this business," Katz replied. "Trust isn't. There's still a possibility this is a trap, but it might not be sprung until we reach Mongolia. After all, there will be fewer witnesses there than at an airport in Moscow."
"You mean we have to go through this again and again?" the Russian sighed, shaking his head with dismay.
"Cheer up, Major," Gary Manning said with a grin. "A little inconvenience beats the hell out of a big boom."
6
In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Mongol Empire had been the greatest power on earth. The Mongol khans once ruled most of Asia, holding power in China, India, Persia, Turkey, Armenia, Manchuria, Korea, Georgia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Russia and most of Tibet. The Mongols were never really overthrown; the empire fell apart for other reasons. The rulers were influenced by the cultures, politics and religions of their subjects. The khans in China converted to Buddhism and embraced the teachings of Confucianism. In the western Asian countries, other khans adopted Islam. As they became more concerned with the domestic problems of the lands they ruled, gradually the empire faded.
All that remains is the Mongolian People's Republic, a Communist state under the thumb of the Soviet Union. Although twice the size of the state of Texas, Mongolia has a population of approximately two million.
Phoenix Force and their companions arrived at the capital city of Ulan Bator during the night. The emptiness of the streets was startling for men accustomed to the hectic crowds of modern city life. An occasional truck rolled across the poorly paved streets. The only car they saw was the black Russian Zim that had been waiting for them at the airport.
A Mongolian army officer, a captain, met the group on the runway. He wore three silver stars on the shoulder boards of his uniform, in the U.S. Army, the insignia of a lieutenant general.
"Dobri V'echihr," the Mongol greeted them, with a salute to Major Alekseyev. "Yah Kapetan Tsedenbal."
"Ochen preyahtno," Yakov Katzenelenbogen replied.
"I did not know you spoke Russian, Mr. Gray," Alekseyev remarked with surprise.
"A little bit," Katz said modestly. "It's fortunate that Captain Tsedenbal speaks Russian. That'll make communication a bit easier."
"Every school in Mongolia teaches courses in Russian," Captain Tsedenbal declared proudly. He was a small man with a wide face. The corners of his mouth turned up, suggesting he smiled more often than he frowned. "We have almost 580 schools in Mongolia."
"Captain," Alekseyev began. "You can see we have almost a dozen people in our group. We can't put them all in one car."
"Of course not," Tsedenbal agreed. "I have a truck for you as well. However, you must be tired after a long flight from Moscow. Perhaps you'll want to sleep before setting forth on a long road journey in the morning."
"We got some sleep on the plane, Captain," Katz assured him. "And we're eager to see the installation site to evaluate the evidence."
"I understand there is not much to see, Comrade," Tseden
bal said with a sigh. "The fire destroyed everything."
"We'll look at it anyway," Alekseyev stated. "I want to contact Captain Zhdanov, the Soviet officer who has headed the investigation team there. He's been sifting through the ashes and examining everything under a microscope. Zhdanov probably knows more about the remains of the installation than anyone else. He's staying at Bayandalay. Do you have his phone number?"
"Da, tovarishch," the Mongol said with a nod. "I have a telephone in my office. You know, we have almost forty thousand telephones in Mongolia. Of course, there are five times as many radio receivers, but we're getting more and more telephones every year."
"That's very good news," the KGB officer said with a nod. "I'm glad your country is advancing so quickly."
"Thanks to our great friend and benefactor, the Soviet Union," Tsedenbal said, smiling. "I shall take you to my telephone and you may contact Captain Zhdanov. Then we'll get a truck ready and prepare for our..."
He stared at Katz and the other members of Phoenix Force. In the dim light he had not noticed they wore masks until that moment. The startled Mongol decided it was healthier not to express too much interest about matters concerning the all-powerful KGB.
"Let's go to your office and get all the details taken care of before we start our trip," Alekseyev urged. "Would you care to join us, Tovarishch Cerbee?"
Katz smiled. Alekseyev had called him "Comrade Gray" in Russian. "Da, spacibo."
Major Alekseyev spoke briefly with Captain Zhdanov on the telephone. He told the junior officer to meet him at the ruins of the VL-800 installation and instructed Zhdanov tc bring the files concerning the investigation. Zhdanov agreed. Junior officers do not argue with their superiors, especially members of the KGB.