Iron Wolf
Page 47
“Then we have won,” Nadia said softly.
Martindale nodded. “To a degree. The Russians have offered a cease-fire and we’ve accepted it. Their armies are pulling back.” He smiled thinly. “Leaving an embarrassing trail of broken-down and out-of-gas tanks and other vehicles in their wake, I might add.”
“Gryzlov is backing down?” Brad asked, surprised. Based on painful personal experience, he wouldn’t have expected Russian’s egomaniacal leader to accept defeat so easily.
“Not quite. Friend Gennadiy is proclaiming victory,” Martindale said drily. “Moscow has started signaling that its so-called Zone of Protection over eastern Ukraine is likely to become permanent.”
Wilk nodded. “Eastern Ukraine is the bone Grzylov will throw his people, hoping to distract them from their other military defeats.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not the only success he can claim,” Martindale went on relentlessly. “There’s also the win that Stacy Anne Barbeau just handed him on a silver platter.” He shook his head in disbelief. “In just a few weeks, she’s managed to do what the Russians have been trying and failing to do for more than sixty years: she’s destroyed the NATO alliance.”
“Oh, crap,” Brad murmured. “She has, hasn’t she?”
“I am afraid so,” Piotr Wilk said. “President Barbeau’s cowardly refusal to help us in the face of Russian aggression was damning enough. Deciding to actually side with Moscow—by attacking our base at Powidz and then ordering her F-35s to shoot down your surviving aircraft?” he frowned. “That is treachery beyond my ability to forgive.”
“No other nation in Central or Eastern Europe will be able to trust the United States now,” Martindale agreed. “Not with Barbeau in the White House. And without the United States as its linchpin, NATO is effectively dead.”
“Then how will we defend ourselves in the future?” Nadia asked. Her voice was troubled. “We stopped the Russians this time. But like all barbarians, they will be back.”
Wilk nodded. “It may be time to try reviving the old dream of Międzymorze, the Intermarium.” He saw the puzzled looks on their faces and explained. “From the end of World War One to his death, Józef Piłsudski, the founder of modern Poland, tried to form an alliance of all the newly free nations from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea. He failed then. But perhaps the time is riper now. Together with forces like your Iron Wolves and Scion’s technological wizardry, such a coalition might give us all a fighting chance to survive Russia’s continued menace—at least until the United States awakens from its torpor and folly.”
Martindale, Brad, and Nadia all nodded.
“It’s worth trying,” Martindale said. A wry grin crossed his face. “If nothing else, it’ll give Brad and me and the others meaningful work during our exile.”
“Our what, sir?” Brad asked carefully.
“We seem to have seriously pissed off Madam President Barbeau,” Martindale said cheerfully. “She’s labeled you and me . . . and everyone who works for Scion or who joined the Iron Wolf Squadron . . . as fugitives from justice. Last I heard, she was on the warpath up on Capitol Hill pushing legislation to strip us of our American citizenship. And failing that, she’s demanding that President Wilk extradite us immediately for criminal trial back in the States.”
Brad took that in silence. Then he asked. “What about my father?”
“Barbeau thinks Patrick McLanahan is dead, for real this time,” Martindale said. “She’s sure he was flying one of the XF-111s she ordered shot down.” He shrugged. “For obvious reasons, we’re allowing her, and Gennadiy Gryzlov, of course, to go on believing that.”
Brad nodded. In a sad way, his father was safer and freer “dead” than he was alive.
“Naturally, I have refused President Barbeau’s ridiculous demands,” Wilk assured him. “In fact, I am offering all of those who fought so valiantly Polish citizenship. If they wish it.”
Feeling suddenly dazed by all of this, Brad leaned back in bed. Barbeau wanted to put them all in prison? And strip them of their citizenship? He shook his head in dismay. He’d been proud to be an American all of his life. If he lost the right to call himself that, what would he do then? Could he really become a citizen of Poland and be happy?
Nadia must have seen his confusion and concern because she leaned forward and took his hand. “Don’t worry, Brad,” she told him gravely, but with the hint of a smile in her eyes. “A mere scrap of paper does not determine who is a real American. That is a question of courage and determination and optimism. Those are what truly matter. And those qualities you have in abundance. You will always be a true American.” She kissed his hand gently and then looked deep into his wondering eyes. “My American.”
EPILOGUE
KIEV, UKRAINE
A FEW DAYS LATER
This late at night, the sidewalk outside Fedir Kravchenko’s dingy, run-down apartment building was empty—dimly lit only in places by the murky glow of a few unbroken streetlamps. Rusting, broken-down cars and stinking piles of uncollected garbage lined the street. Rats scurried back into the pitch-black alleys, momentarily alarmed by the sound of his reeling, drunken footsteps.
“Major?”
Scowling, Kravchenko turned around. “What?” he slurred through vodka-numbed lips. He peered uncertainly at the shadowy figure who’d just stepped out onto the pavement a few meters behind him. “Who the fuck are you?”
The tall, square-jawed man came forward a bit into the dim glow cast by a streetlamp. Light shone dully on close-cropped gray hair, dark jeans, and a black leather jacket.
Suddenly Kravchenko recognized him. He was the nameless go-between used by the similarly anonymous patron who had funded his failed campaign against the Russians. “You were better dressed the last time we met,” he growled. “Come down in the world, have you? Like me?”
The man smiled gently. “No, Major. I simply choose my clothes to suit the job at hand.”
“Which is what exactly?” Kravchenko asked, feeling himself starting to sober up just a bit.
“Garbage removal,” the other man said. In one quick, smooth motion, his hand came up holding a silenced 9mm Makarov pistol. The muzzle centered on the former partisan leader’s forehead.
Phut.
Kravchenko crumpled. Blood, black in the dim light, trickled away into the gutter.
With a nod of satisfaction, the gray-haired man slid the pistol back into his shoulder holster. No fuss and very little mess, he thought. His employer would be pleased. He turned to go—
And large, articulated metal fingers abruptly tightened around his neck, hoisting him high into the air. Another metal hand reached under his jacket and plucked out his Makarov. Casually, it tossed the weapon aside.
Struggling and choking, the gray-haired man found himself staring up at a six-sided head studded with lenses and other sensors. One of the lenses whirred softly. The metal fingers relaxed slightly, allowing him to breathe.
“My name is Patrick McLanahan,” a cold synthetic voice said. “And, according to the scan I’ve just run, you are Dmytro Marchuk—formerly a colonel in the Ukrainian special police, the Berkut.” The machine shook its head slightly. “Not a very pleasant bunch, Mr. Marchuk. You and your former comrades once did all the dirty work for the crooked Kiev politicians backed by Moscow. Not to mention the brutal tasks assigned by any number of crime syndicates.”
“What do you want with me?” Marchuk gasped, still futilely straining against the robot’s implacable grip.
“We’re going to have a little talk, Mr. Marchuk,” the machine said coolly. “A talk about all the people who died. Plus all the damage done by Major Kravchenko and the other fanatics you’ve now silenced. And when that’s done, we’ll talk about who you really work for.”
“And then you will kill me?” the onetime Ukrainian secret policeman stammered, unable to conceal the abject terror crawling through every part of his body.
“Kill you?” the machine echoed. It shook its head agai
n. “Only if you are very, very lucky.” And then it turned, striding away into the darkness with Marchuk still desperately kicking and struggling in its grasp.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DALE BROWN is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous books, from Flight of the Old Dog (1987) to, most recently, Starfire (2014). A former U.S. Air Force captain, he can be found flying his own plane in the skies of the United States.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
ALSO BY DALE BROWN
STARFIRE
TIGER’S CLAW
A TIME FOR PATRIOTS
EXECUTIVE INTENT
ROGUE FORCES
SHADOW COMMAND
STRIKE FORCE
EDGE OF BATTLE
ACT OF WAR
PLAN OF ATTACK
AIR BATTLE FORCE
WINGS OF FIRE
WARRIOR CLASS
BATTLE BORN
THE TIN MAN
FATAL TERRAIN
SHADOW OF STEEL
STORMING HEAVEN
CHAINS OF COMMAND
NIGHT OF THE HAWK
SKY MASTERS
HAMMERHEADS
DAY OF THE CHEETAH
SILVER TOWER
FLIGHT OF THE OLD DOG
CREDITS
COVER DESIGN BY RICHARD AQUAN
PHOTOGRAPH MONTAGE: SKY © BY ZED ANDRES/GETTY IMAGES;
FLAG © BY CAMILO MORALES/CORBIS
F-III JETS © BY GEORGE HALL/CORBIS
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
IRON WOLF. Copyright © 2015 by Air Battle Force, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-226237-0
EPub Edition AUGUST 2015 ISBN 9780062262387
15 16 17 18 19 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com