by Dave Edlund
“Not paint thinner, something more volatile.” As Peter was talking he was moving cans of cleaning fluids. “This might work,” he said and set a metal can on the floor, followed by a second one, identical in appearance. He removed the screw cap and carefully sniffed the vapors.
“What is it?” Gary asked.
“I don’t know. The label’s not in English. But it has the skull and crossbones, so it’s poisonous, and it smells like solvent or hydrocarbons.”
Peter poured a small amount of the clear fluid on the floor, then retrieved a book of matches he found next to some candles. He struck a match and extended the flame toward the liquid. As the flame approached the spreading puddle the liquid caught fire and burned with a blue-yellow flame.
“Excellent,” Peter said. “Whatever this is, it’s pretty volatile.”
Gary dumped the previous contents of the sprayer down the sink and flushed the pungent smelling liquid with lots of cold water. Peter filled the canister with both cans of solvent.
“We need some means to light it,” Gary said.
“I’ll wire a piece of oily cloth around the nozzle. There’s a can of machine oil next to the compressor.”
It only took a few minutes for Peter to complete the ignition mechanism of their makeshift flamethrower.
“Under different circumstances, we’d test this contraption before betting our lives on it,” Peter said.
“Come on, that’d take all the excitement out of it. Of course it’s gonna work.” Gary forced a grin, but it was fleeting.
“Now we wait.”
“And when the guards come back?” Gary asked.
“We have to constantly man that air valve. When the door opens, we have to pop open that valve before the guard realizes he’s looking at a home-made harpoon cannon. We’ll only have a fraction of a second.”
“Wish we had a real cannon and grapeshot.”
“Me too. But this spear will do the job. Better get some rest buddy. I’ll take the first watch.”
Chapter 9
Sacramento, California
MONA STEPHENS GLANCED at the nameplate on the door; ‘Lt. Ellen Lacey’. She knocked and was promptly answered.
“Come in.”
Omitting the usual pleasantries and small talk, Stephens got right to business, advancing smartly to stop in front of Lacey’s desk. She handed a folder to her boss. “This came in overnight from NSA. They’re reporting multiple simultaneous attacks in Minsk by pro-Russian militia. The entire operation happened extraordinarily fast, obviously well planned and executed. A large number of civilian hostages are being held at several public buildings now under the control of the militia. They call themselves the Nationalist Proletarian Army, or NPA.”
Lacey opened the folder and began to scan the contents. “Great. Before they were just kooks. Now they’re organized kooks. What are the Russians saying?”
“The usual. President Pushkin is urging the Belarusian government to exhibit restraint, adding that Russia reserves the right to defend ethnic Russians should they be threatened or harmed.”
“And NATO? How are the Europeans responding? And President Taylor?” Lacey stopped reading and shifted her gaze to Stephens.
“No official response from NATO yet, but the Joint Chiefs are conferring with Brussels in the event Belarus requests military assistance and President Taylor honors the request. The NSA and CIA are scrambling; seems they were caught totally by surprise. So far, the conflict is localized to a few government buildings and the main campus of the Belarusian State University. However, the situation is very fluid and, based on recent patterns in Ukraine and Latvia, it’s likely to escalate to the principle transportation hubs—airport, train stations. I’d imagine the leaders of France, Germany, and the U.K. will request a meeting with President Taylor to align their positions before anyone issues a public statement.”
“Reach out to Mossad and MI6. See what they are willing to share.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stephens replied. “Should I also check with the German and French foreign intelligence?”
Lacey thought for a moment before answering. “Not yet, maybe later. The Germans are still bent out of shape that we spied on them, and the French seldom have anything of value they are willing to share.”
“Yes, ma’am. There is something else.”
“Go on.”
“It’s in the folder, a report from the U.S. Embassy in Minsk. Ethan and Joanna Savage, two American citizens, escaped from the university when the NPA stormed the campus. Their father is Peter Savage.”
Lacey’s eyes widened. “Has the Embassy contacted Peter?”
“That’s impossible. He’s among the hostages, along with his father Professor Ian Savage and a friend, Gary Porter. They were last seen by Ethan and Joanna on the second floor of the chemistry building, captured by armed militia.”
“Does Commander Nicolaou know?”
Stephens shook her head. “I don’t believe so. I just learned myself. The embassy report is time stamped 30 minutes ago.”
Lacey flipped to the second page and read the scant details from the embassy. “It’s likely President Taylor has already been notified that Americans are among the hostages. What do we know about the NPA? Do they have a history of taking foreign hostages?”
“Very little is known about the group. They seem to have sprouted from the pro-Russian militias that were part of the campaign in Latvia. The NSA is working to identify a command structure. It looks like this is the first time they’ve used the NPA name. But, the dominant militia in Latvia—led by Colonel Simenof, second in command was Alexei Gorev, he was a major at the time—is implicated in two massacres involving civilians. The city of Baltinava, near the Russian border, was quickly captured by the pro-Russian militia. Simenof is reputed to have gone door-to-door, his soldiers demanding passports. Any civilian with a Russian passport—very common in most Eastern European countries—was left alone. Those who could not produce a Russian passport were rounded up, taken to a soccer field, and shot. It all happened very fast, during the first day of occupation.”
“How many were killed?” Lacey asked.
“Estimates range from several hundred to as many as 4,000. The local officials aren’t very cooperative. The second massacre took place about a week later near the end of the conflict. Nine foreign journalists—including one American and one Brit—were captured and executed by gunmen wearing the camouflage uniform and black ski mask favored by the militias.”
“Evidence?”
“Since the city is still under control of the militia, very little. It was recorded and posted on YouTube. But the identity of the gunmen is unknown and Simenof is on record denying any involvement. And he may be telling the truth. Major Gorev and Colonel Simenof had a falling out when the Russians turned the tables and started providing heavy armor and weapons to shore up the pro-Russian militias in and around Baltinava. Simenof was satisfied with a limited victory, a small territory effectively under control of the Russian Federation, but Gorev wanted a bloodbath.”
“So Gorev ordered the execution of the journalists? Why?”
“All speculation ma’am. But maybe he wanted to punish the West. Maybe he wanted to drag Europe into the conflict knowing they did not have the stomach to win a regional war against President Pushkin and the Russian military.”
“So, we have to view the hostages as at-risk prisoners of a terrorist group.”
“Yes ma’am. That’s my conclusion as well.”
“We need to brief Commander Nicolaou and get in front of the curve before Colonel Pierson asks for recommendations and a plan.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll pull together everything we have from NSA, DIA, CIA, and foreign assets. It’ll take an hour, maybe longer.”
“You have 30 minutes. And see if there are any sat photos of the BSU campus. Pull in Williams and Ross.”
“I’m on it,” Stephens said over her shoulder, already at the door.
Lacey picked up her
phone. “Sir, we have a situation developing in Minsk, and you’re gonna want this mission.”
Chapter 10
Sacramento, California
COMMANDER JAMES NICOLAOU sat at the head of the conference table considering the ramifications of the briefing. He was surrounded by his team of senior analysts—Ellen Lacey, Mona Stephens, Mark Williams, and Beth Ross—as well as his field operatives from Alpha Team—Bull, Ghost, Magnum, Homer, and the newest member of the team, Iceberg—so-named for his mop of snow-white curly hair. Tall and lanky, Iceberg, whose given name was Jerry Balvanz, played basketball in college for two seasons before joining the Army. He quickly worked his way into Special Forces and was a member of Delta when he was tapped to join SGIT.
In less than 24 hours, Minsk had turned from a city at peace to the epicenter of a full-blown crisis, possibly the initial wave of an invasion by pro-Russian militia and, potentially, Russian regular army and air forces. There was no denying that the map of Eastern Europe was being unilaterally redrawn by Vladimir Pushkin, and it was looking more and more like the former Soviet Union.
Stephens was just concluding her briefing. “Although only three Americans are confirmed to be held by the NPA, it’s likely the total will rise as we get more information. Real-time intelligence is beginning to trickle in; I’ve received three updates in the past hour. In addition to the BSU campus and buildings, the NPA holds the main train station, called Minsk Pass—short for Passazhirsky—and the Government House, which is the seat of local and national government. The parliament is located there but was not in session when the building was taken. The international airport is also under control of the militia; all flights have been cancelled. And they occupy the KGB Headquarters, plus a few less important government buildings. That’s what we know as of this moment. But I caution everyone, the intelligence is sketchy, incomplete.”
All eyes were scrutinizing a detailed satellite image of Minsk projected on a 100-inch flat screen monitor. Key landmarks were labeled in red font. The BSU campus and main railway station adjoined Independence Square, the location of the Government House. The KGB Headquarters was two blocks northwest of the square.
“Are there any reports of an actual attack on the KGB Headquarters?” Bull asked.
Sergeant Mark Williams was quick to reply. “No sir, nothing through our channels and no mention on Twitter or Facebook.”
“Significance?” Jim said
Lieutenant Lacey took the lead again. “Too early to say, sir. However, the State Security Agency—like that of South Ossetia and Transnistria—has significant ties to Russia. It’s possible they are allied with the NPA. With the KGB providing support in the form of intelligence and manpower, it could explain how the militia was so successful in executing this action.”
Jim absorbed this information for a moment, his eyes sequentially moving amongst the faces of his intelligence analysts and field agents. It only took a few seconds for him to recognize the pattern. “South Ossetia, with significant Russian military assistance, won independence from Georgia in 2008. The conflict lasted only about a week. Once the conflict ended, Russia signed a defense agreement with South Ossetia.
“Likewise, Transnistria, a small strip of land between Moldova and Ukraine, declared its independence from Moldova. A civil war ensued. The pro-Russian separatists would have been soundly defeated if the Russian Federation had not intervened, committing the Soviet 14th Guard Army to the conflict. Without external help, Moldova couldn’t win. A negotiated settlement called the Primakov Memorandum was signed in 1997, I believe. Following Russia’s annexation of the Crimean Peninsula from Ukraine, Transnistria has officially sought admission to the Russian Federation.”
For the first time since the meeting began, Sergeant Beth Ross spoke up. “President Vladimir Pushkin is a nationalist fanatic. Since he came into power he’s exerted continuous pressure on the former Soviet Bloc countries of Eastern Europe, and slowly but surely he’s pulling them back into the Russian sphere of influence. Seems that no one is willing to stand up to his aggression.”
“Stay on topic, sergeant,” Lacey commanded while Jim raised an eyebrow at the ad-lib commentary. It was well known, ever since the terrorist action on Chernabura Island in the Aleutian chain, an action that many of the men sitting around the table participated in, that Beth Ross distrusted President Pushkin and his government.
“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.”
Jim pulled the briefing back to the subject matter. “Alright, for the moment we’ll assume the Belarusian State Security Agency is, at the least, sympathetic to the NPA. What is the U.S. Embassy doing?”
“Everything they can, sir,” Stephens said. “A couple years ago the Belarusian government ordered a reduction in staff and the ambassador was recalled. They only have a half dozen staff, and they’re trying to locate the Americans residing in, or visiting, the city.”
“It’s going to take some time”, Lacey added. “And not all Americans have registered with the embassy.”
“What is the Belarusian government saying?” Jim asked.
Ross was ready for this question. “Not much that we know of. President Alexander Yatchenko has officially notified NATO Command in Brussels. Most of what we know is coming from citizens who were in the area of Independence Square and the BSU campus. There are a lot of photos and videos uploaded onto social media, including from travelers at Minsk Pass and the airport. Plus the Belarusian military is deploying some special forces—spotters and snipers—on rooftops of buildings that have not been taken yet by the NPA. Those special forces are providing periodic reports to NATO.”
Jim knew that it would take time for intel to filter through NATO and make its way to Lacey’s team. “Get ahold of Colonel Pierson and explain that we need to cut through the bureaucracy and get those NATO intel updates without the usual delay.”
Ross made a notation on her tablet. “Yes, sir.”
“Lacey, what’s the hostage situation? There must have been hundreds, maybe thousands of civilians at the train station and airport.”
“According to eyewitness reports, no hostages were taken at either location.”
Jim scrunched his face. “Why? We have an unknown number of hostages, presumably being held at the chemistry building of the BSU campus, but none were taken at other locations?”
“We’re assuming they are still held at the chemistry building,” Lacey corrected. “But that information is rather stale.”
Jim nodded, leaving his question unanswered, and then turned his gaze to his senior analyst. “Okay. Given the intel we have, what’s the objective? And do we expect the hostages to be released?”
Lacey cleared her throat, but before she could answer, the speaker in the middle of the conference table buzzed. The voice was easily recognized as that of Sergeant Wells, the receptionist—and gatekeeper—of SGIT. “Colonel Pierson is on the line sir. I told him you were in a meeting but he insisted it couldn’t wait.”
“That’s fine. Put him through.”
A crisp voice emanated from the speakerphone. “Commander, who’s in the room with you?” Colonel Pierson never wasted time with greetings.
“Most of my team sir. I have Lacey and three junior analysts, plus Bull, Magnum, Homer, Ghost, and Iceberg. We’re in secure conference room A.”
“Good. It’s best that everyone hear what I have to say. This mess in Minsk has President Taylor’s full attention. He’s demanding answers from the intelligence community. He wants to know exactly where the Americans are being held. He said, and I quote, ‘no more American hostages are going to be murdered on my watch!’ There should be no doubt about his position.”
“We’ve been following the intelligence reports on this, sir.”
“I assumed you would. President Taylor has already authorized Operation Bright Star to forcibly win the release of the hostages. To expedite the timetable, assets already in Europe will be used. Intelligence is coming in, but we must know the exact location of the Amer
ican hostages. Make this your number one priority.”
“Already on it, sir,” Jim said.
“Good. You have one hour.” Before anyone could reply, a buzz indicating an open line emanated from the speaker. The Colonel had ended the call.
Chapter 11
Sacramento, California
IT HAD BEEN MORE THAN four hours since the NPA had taken over the BSU campus, plenty of time for social media sites around the world to receive postings of photos and videos. This was a rich source of real-time intelligence, and the focus of much of the effort of the SGIT analysts.
“The picture is pretty clear,” Stephens said. She was updating Lieutenant Lacey with support from Ross and Williams.
Ross elaborated. “The Minsk police and Belarusian Army have spotters and snipers posted on all the tall buildings within 1,000 yards of the BSU campus. Their reports are confirmed by postings across all major social media sites. The hostages have not been moved. They must still be in the chemistry building.”
“Mark, please pull up the building layout,” Stephens said. The analysts were meeting in one of SGIT’s secure conference rooms, all equipped with access to MOTHER, state-of-the-art encrypted teleconferencing, and flat-screen monitor.
“We estimate that between 20 and 45 hostages are being held, including Peter Savage, Ian Savage, and Gary Porter. Most likely closer to the high end of the estimate,” Stephens said. “We have no reports, at this time, of other Americans being held captive.”
“Confidence in that total?” Lacey asked. She knew this to be critical to the rescue planning.
Mark Williams answered. “Good. We factored in the number of full-time research assistants, subtracting faculty on vacation. Since it is the summer break, nearly all the support staff and students are away.”
Lacey nodded. “Continue.”
Stephens cleared her throat. They had covered the facts—as best they were known—and now she was venturing into speculation. “The building is constructed of concrete block and steel. It primarily houses offices and laboratories, as you can see in the layout.” She used a laser pointer to identify the rooms on the plan projected on the large monitor.