by Dave Edlund
“That’s good. I’ll make sure this information gets to the right people. Is there anything else that might be important?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Do you see anything that would indicate they have set booby-traps, or maybe an ambush?”
“No, nothing I can identify.”
“Okay. Any names?”
“Yes, two. Major Leonov and General Gorev. He’s in charge. Does that mean anything?”
“Yes. Gorev’s known to us. That’s helpful.”
“I snatched what I think is an order from Gorev’s desk. It’s in Russian, but a friend translated the document and said it refers to Spetsnaz troops here under Gorev’s command. Something about ensuring the safety of ethnic Russians. And we found Russian rubles and a photo on a dead guard.”
“I get the currency, but the photo?”
“It has a stamping on the back. My friend says it’s a popular chain of film developing stores in Moscow.”
“Anything else?”
“Maybe, I don’t know if it’s significant or not. Gorev mentioned a machine. He was discussing it with Major Leonov and some other soldiers. I don’t know what it’s supposed to do, but Leonov was in charge of placing it on the roof near the building air intakes.”
Lacey paused as she thought about this information, recalling the recent horrors of Tbilisi. “Can you describe the machine to me?” she said, a renewed sense of urgency straining at her voice.
“No,” Peter answered. “I haven’t looked for it yet.”
“Understood. Try to find it and report back ASAP. But don’t touch it; we don’t know yet what we’re dealing with. Out.”
Peter returned to Dmitri, who was huddled next to the roof-access door, right where Peter had left him.
“We have a new assignment.”
Dmitri responded with inquisitive eyes.
“Let’s find that machine you heard Gorev and Leonov talking about.”
Chapter 19
Air space over Central Europe
THE SGIT COMBAT KING AIRCRAFT was still speeding for their target, a point in empty space from which Alpha Team would descend into blackness. Commander Nicolaou was working the plan over and over in his mind; anticipating deviations and contingencies. He was keenly aware of the fact that plans seldom went as expected—there were simply far too many variables to anticipate, too much that was beyond his ability to control.
Bull approached. “Sir, Lieutenant Lacey requests a word.”
Jim entered the communication suite and closed the door for privacy. “Nicolaou,” he said.
“Commander. I’ve been in communication with Peter Savage. He’s with his father, Gary Porter, and Professor Dmitri Kaspar.”
“Good news. Are they safe?”
“Yes, for the moment, but they did not escape. We were speaking on an unsecured line—he dialed your number. I told him not to mention his location, but he slipped up and said he was on the roof.”
“Of the chemistry building?”
“Affirmative. He’s our only set of eyes that we can communicate with directly. He reported armor settled in around the campus about twenty minutes ago; tanks and APCs, plus one mobile SAM launcher. No doubt a defensive perimeter; they are likely preparing for another assault. I’ve already requested current satellite images. With the thermal images we’ll have vehicle locations pinpointed shortly. The GPS coordinates will uplink automatically to the EWO’s targeting computer.”
“Roger. Any details on the SAMs?”
“The launcher set up in Independence Square. From Peter’s description, likely SA-11 or SA-17.”
“Medium range missiles. We will be deploying at the maximum engagement range, but it’s still a credible threat. Looks like the flight crew will be busy. I’ll inform the pilots and weapons officer.”
“Sir, General Gorev is commanding the militia and, we suspect, Spetsnaz soldiers as well.”
“Not surprising that Russian regular units are directly involved,” Jim said.
“There’s something more. We have a possible link to the smallpox virus.”
“What?”
“Professor Dmitri Kaspar—Ian Savage is collaborating with him—overheard Gorev talking to some other officers.” Lacey relayed the information Peter had shared.
“If that machine is designed to disperse weaponized smallpox as an aerosol,” Jim said, “it’ll be drawn into the air intakes and infect everyone in the building. That’s why they haven’t moved the hostages. Gorev doesn’t plan to kill them, he plans to infect them and have them spread the disease.”
“Yes sir, that’s our conclusion as well.”
“But why not just disperse the smallpox in the room where the hostage are held? This plan seems too complicated, too risky.”
“We’ve considered that. Once the hostages are released following infection they’ll report that the militia didn’t deploy any weapon—they won’t know about the release on the roof. Plus, Ross and Williams ran a rudimentary computer model to predict the size of the fallout zone. From the rooftop, with a favorable wind, the aerosol will spread over at least two square miles, exposing up to 100,000 people. Shortly after sunrise, as the air is beginning to heat, a gentle breeze will pick up—ideal for spreading the virus across the most densely populated part of Minsk. That’s why Gorev hasn’t already released the aerosol.”
“And President Pushkin will blame the U.S. Gorev’s plan was to let the Delta team insert, so he had evidence of American forces on the site, ground zero for the release.”
“Sir, I’ve worked through several scenarios with my team. We believe Pushkin will claim that the U.S. is attempting to use biological weapons to kill ethnic Russians. At the very least, it will provide an excuse for a direct invasion by Russian forces. Assuming this smallpox virus matches the genetic fingerprint of former U.S. stockpiles, Pushkin is guaranteed to win popular support around the world. America will be perceived as the aggressor, and in violation of treaties banning the use of biological weapons.”
“We had this all wrong. Gorev never was planning to kill the hostages—not directly.”
“No sir,” said Lacey.
“I’ll brief the team. Our mission priority has changed. We’re going to disable that machine before it releases the aerosol. Inform Colonel Pierson, and suggest he communicates this information directly to the Joint Chiefs and President Taylor ASAP.”
After Jim terminated the call to Ellen Lacey and briefed his team, he updated the aircrew with the new intel and possible threats.
The navigator conferred with a digital map of Minsk and the surrounding area, overlaid with the flight plan. “Closest approach to the airport is about 30 miles. At 35,000 feet we’ll be outside the effective envelope of any medium range SAMs. But with that launcher at Independence Square, we’ll be cutting it close. Could take us down with a lucky shot.”
The pilot turned to Jim. “Can your team insert from a greater standoff distance, say 24 miles?”
“Negative,” Jim replied. “I’d need another 4,000 feet of altitude to get that much glide.”
The pilot shook his head. “This bird won’t go that high, we’re already squeezing everything we can out of her.”
This wasn’t news to Jim. He knew as much about the capabilities of their one-of-a-kind aircraft as the flight crew. “Captain,” Jim address the pilot, “those AIM-7X missiles strapped to our wings will home in on radar emissions. I’d like to suggest that the weapons officer power up two of those missiles as we approach the drop point. As soon as you get painted with a targeting radar, fire on it and destroy the launcher preemptively.”
“I like your suggestion,” the pilot said.
Looking over the shoulder of the weapons officer at the city map, Jim asked if the satellite images had uploaded. The EWO punched a couple buttons and a new image was overlaid on the map. He zoomed in on the BSU campus and surrounding blocks.
“These bright spots are heat signatures,” the EWO explai
ned. He rolled a tracker ball and zoomed in tighter. In remarkable detail, the bright spots became ghostly images of tanks, APCs, and the missile launcher. Four tanks were stationed within line-of-sight of the chemistry building.
“Captain, those tanks could represent a serious problem to my team,” Jim explained. “We’ll land on the roof, and if we can’t enter the building quickly, they could easily shell our position. Can you also target those four tanks? They’re stationary, so the AIMs should track to the GPS coordinates.”
“That’s an air-to-air weapon system, it wasn’t designed to bust tanks,” the EWO protested.
“True, but the missile will attack from above. Tank armor is thinnest on top. The 40-pound high-explosive warhead and tungsten penetrators will slice through the top armor, no problem.”
The EWO, pilot, and co-pilot considered Jim’s argument but could find no flaw in his reasoning. “Very well,” the pilot said. “But the remaining AIMs stay in reserve in case we get jumped by fighters.”
Chapter 20
Minsk
PETER LOOKED DOWN AT Dmitri. He was sitting with his back against the wall next to the access door. He looked tired, and the jovial, happy-go-lucky expression he had when Peter first met him was gone, replaced with… what? Remorse? Regret? Or maybe he was just resigned to his fate.
“How are you doing, my friend?” Peter tried to lift his spirits, even a little.
Dmitri shrugged. “This is not how I wanted to welcome you to Minsk.”
Peter chuckled, thinking it a joke. But Dmitri wasn’t smiling. Instead, he seemed to be contemplating deep thoughts.
“Well, you still owe me dinner. But first I’m buying the wine—the least I can do to thank you for your help. And for befriending my father.”
He looked up at Peter. “How can you be so different?” His question sounded genuine.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You and your father. You treat me with respect and courtesy. You call me your friend.”
“Sure, that’s what we do. You opened your home and your arms to welcome Dad. Why would I want to treat you any other way?” Peter didn’t expect an answer.
“Because of my name.” Dmitri answered in a low voice, ashamed, his head facing his feet.
Peter’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to decipher the cryptic response. Then it dawned on him. “Kaspar. That’s German, right?”
Dmitri nodded. “The Russians have a long memory.”
“You’re referring to World War Two? That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough.” Dmitri raised his eyes, locking Peter in his gaze. “Near the end of the war all persons of German decent were forcibly driven from their homes in Eastern Europe by the advancing Russian Army. Women, children, young, old—there were no more men of fighting age. Many of the women were raped by the soldiers as they walked hundreds of miles west to Germany. It was a brutal winter, and they were walking a gauntlet of sorts. Their possessions of any value were stolen. They were beaten like rabid dogs, even murdered for sport.”
“I didn’t know,” Peter said.
“No reason you should have. It was not important to the Allies, and has been all but forgotten by historians.”
Peter felt a wave of guilt for his ignorance. “I’m sorry. Your family—they settled in Germany?”
“Yes, before coming back to Minsk. Of course, their home was gone, taken by a Russian family. My grandparents worked hard to make a new start, and my parents did better. They afforded me an education.” Dmitri forced a smile.
Peter reached down and offered his hand to Dmitri. “Don’t worry about Gorev and the militia. If they want to get to you, first they’ll have to get past me.”
This time his smile was genuine, as was the solitary tear. “You would risk your life for me?”
Peter nodded. “That’s what friends do.”
Dmitri considered Peter, trying to understand and wanting to believe that people could be different from what he had grown up to know. But never in his life had he been treated as an equal by anyone outside his circle of family and friends—certainly not by a stranger. Dmitri felt hope for the first time in years. Not only for himself, but for humankind.
“What now?” Dmitri said.
“Let’s find this machine. Based on what you overheard, it should be near the air intakes. I don’t imagine it will be too hard to find.”
Dmitri shuffled behind Peter like a tired old man.
The air intake ducts were spaced between the exhaust stacks. They walked past the first six intakes without observing anything unusual, before Peter spotted the dark box. It was nestled snug against the next to last intake duct, and difficult to see in the darkness of night.
Wishing he had a flashlight, Peter resorted to using the cell phone as meager illumination. The machine was packaged in a hard case the size of a large suitcase. Four latches ran along the top edge, each secured with its own padlock. A chrome-plated key lock was embedded in the top of the case next to three buttons and what was probably an LCD display, although it was not illuminated. A long, narrow vent ran across the top, and another vent was evident on the side. Otherwise, there were no other distinguishing features on the case. Seeing no wires running from the case, Peter assumed that any power supply must be internal. He nearly picked up the case before recalling Lacey’s warning.
Instead, he dialed the Lieutenant.. She picked up on the first ring.
“Did you find it?” she asked, no longer concerned about possible eavesdroppers. At the moment, unambiguous communication was the top priority.
“I’m looking at it now.” Peter described the case, presumably containing the machine, as Gorev referred to it.
“It certainly sounds like it could be an aerosol dispersion device,” said Lacey.
“It wouldn’t make sense that this machine dispenses a cloud of poison or infectious disease,” Peter observed. “Gorev and his men will be killed, or at least sickened as well.”
“True, if it was poison—nerve agent or the like. But I don’t think that’s the plan. Based on other evidence, I’m certain this device will activate shortly after sunrise and spread weaponized smallpox virus spores.”
“But everyone will be infected, including the pro-Russian militiamen.”
“Getting exposed doesn’t mean getting sick.”
Then it dawned on Peter. “Of course not; you’re right. If Gorev and his men have already been vaccinated, they won’t contract the disease.”
Peter heard Lacey’s sigh over the phone. “You said the case is just sitting there?”
“That’s right,” Peter answered. “I can’t see anything tethering it in place. There’s probably a dumpster nearby. If I can get to it, I can just throw this case inside and close the lid. That should contain the spores.” Peter was reaching for the handle as he was speaking.
“No!” Lacey shouted the command, causing Peter to freeze.
“Why not? It’s the safest way to contain the threat.”
“Think about it. No, it’s too risky. Gorev would never allow the plan to be so vulnerable. The case is probably set with motion sensors and a small charge. If you move that case, even the slightest amount, it’s likely to explode and send the virus up in a cloud that will drift over the campus.”
“Well, if that was the plan, then why are there vents along the top and side of the case?” Peter said.
“The charge is a failsafe; it’s not intended to be the primary dispersion means. Even with low-power explosives, the pressure wave and heat will render much of the biological agent inactive. Slowly dispersing the agent as an aerosol is more effective. There will be an internal blower, battery operated, that will expel a plume of the smallpox agent over the course of an hour or so. The control mechanism is likely to be rather simple, although we’ve speculated the release could be triggered by favorable meteorological conditions.”
“So if it’s raining the device won’t activate. What a perverted use of sc
ience.”
“It’s likely it could also be set with a simple timing mechanism.”
“What do you want me to do?” Peter asked.
“Nothing. Boss Man will deal with it.”
“But I’m here! There must be something I can do to render the device impotent. Maybe I can douse it with flammable liquids and burn it.”
“Don’t touch it. Don’t even lightly brush against it. The motion detectors will be extremely sensitive. And if it gets too hot, that could trigger the explosive. Now that we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll come up with a plan to neutralize it. But for now, just leave it be.”
“I hear you.” Peter wanted to ask when help would arrive, but knew the answer would not be shared on an unsecured cell phone. “Call when you need my help.” He ended to call and looked at Dmitri. The man definitely looked his age plus ten.
“Come on Dmitri. Let’s get back inside and see what we can do to beef up our defensive capabilities.”
“You have something in mind?” Dmitri said.
“I do. Can we get to the chemistry store room?”
“Sure. It’s on the second floor. But what if it’s guarded?”
“I’m betting they won’t post men there.”
Peter led the way back downstairs, rifle pointing the way and Dmitri close behind. Their luck held and no one was encountered in the stairwell. On the second floor, Peter cautiously pushed the door open and peeked in the hallway. Two guards were patrolling, walking away for the stairwell. He motioned to Dmitri with his index finger at his lips and mouthed “Shhh. Which way?”
Silently Dmitri pointed to the right. Good, away from the guards.
Peter looked again just as the guards rounded the corner. The hallway was clear. “Come on.”
Silently but swiftly they left the stairwell and moved down the corridor. Then Dmitri tapped Peter and pointed to a solid wood door. Without a sound Dmitri used the master key to unlock the door. Once inside with the door closed and locked, Dmitri felt for the light switch and turned it on.
In a near panic, Peter quickly grabbed a lab coat hanging on a hook and stuffed it against the crack between the door and floor. “Sorry,” Dmitri whispered.