by Dave Edlund
With efficient movements they double-bagged the device, taping all the seams. Jim hauled it onto his shoulder and followed Peter off the roof.
It seemed that all the NPA soldiers and KGB guards had either been killed or had made the decision to retreat. A wise move, Jim thought. Regardless of the reason, no resistance was encountered as Jim’s team descended the stairs to the lobby. At the second floor, Jim radioed Ghost to alert him that they were moments away from appearing on the staircase.
“Glad to see you, sir,” Ghost greeted Jim. He then deposited the plastic-wrapped case in the back of the Humvee.
“Load up! Let’s go!” Jim ordered. With Nolty behind the wheel and Ghost still on the gun, they turned the Humvee around and drove out of the KGB Headquarters building, closely followed by the second Humvee.
Bouncing down the steps Jim saw a Russian BTR-80 armored personnel carrier only 50 meters away. It was on fire with the turret resting upside down in the middle of the avenue, and rounds for the 30mm automatic cannon were cooking off. Severely charred bodies were littered around the back of the machine. Jim reasoned Diaz and Washington had taken out the troop transport with another TOW missile, just as they had the tanks.
The radio squawked and Jim recognized the voice of Captain Diaz. “Where to, sir?”
“Our mission here is completed. We have the aerosol machine. We’ll rendezvous with an Osprey at the BSU campus, decontaminate, and debrief at the hotel.”
Upon reaching the Renaissance Hotel, the SGIT team was sprayed down with a dilute solution of bleach, effectively killing any virus on their NBC suits. The three Humvees were also sprayed down, inside and out, as was the Osprey. Since the military men all carried current vaccinations for likely diseases—naturally occurring or possible biological weapons—the risk of smallpox infection was slim.
The same could not be said for the civilian population of Minsk, or for Peter.
Chapter 45
Washington, DC
PRESIDENT TAYLOR LOOKED around the table at his most senior and trusted advisors. Several of the cabinet members were away on travel, as was the Vice President, but the meeting could not be delayed. Present also were the Joint Chiefs. The emergency cabinet meeting had been called to review the data obtained from the detailed analysis of the first aerosol device.
The fact that General Gorev was shot dead after activating the second aerosol machine was nothing more than interesting trivia, since Gorev could not be tied directly to the Russian military. President Vladimir Pushkin would easily dismiss Gorev as an independent leader of the militia, operating outside any sphere of Russian influence. It mattered little that everyone in Taylor’s administration knew that to be a total fabrication.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. However, I believe the worst is behind us. I have spoken at length with President Pushkin. It was a frank conversation, and he made it clear that his government believes they have a historical mandate to protect Russian citizens, especially in the Eastern European countries bordering Russia.”
President Taylor paused to select his words before continuing, enough time for Paul Bryan to ask a question that was on the minds of everyone in the room.
“Sir, Russia cannot be allowed to unilaterally turn back the clock to a time of their choosing and expect the United Nations and the international community to accept those historical borders. The precedent would be unacceptable. Just think, what if all of Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East were redrawn to the historical national borders of 1913. Or, heaven forbid, the map of North America was redrawn to as it was in 1800, prior to the completion of the Louisiana Purchase?”
“Relax Paul. Of course I didn’t agree with Pushkin’s statement, I’m simply telling you his position, and by extension the position of the Russian Federation. We all know who holds the keys to power.”
The president continued, “Concerning the limited conflict in and around Minsk, President Pushkin strongly denies any direct offensive involvement from his government. He steadfastly maintains that Russian troops and weapons have not been committed to the fight.”
“Those were Russian fighters we shot down, and a column of Russian tanks we destroyed inside Belarus traveling directly for the Minsk airport.” This observation came from General Hendrickson.
“No doubt, General.” President Taylor’s gaze moved around the table again.
“For the time being, President Pushkin has agreed to keep Russian aircraft out of Belarusian airspace.”
“I think we bloodied their nose pretty good,” said Secretary of Defense Hale, a smirk on his face.
The President allowed the moment of levity, and almost laughed himself. “Yes, I think we did.”
“Sir,” Bryan interrupted. “You don’t really believe him, do you?”
Taylor’s countenance became serious once again. “Do you take me for a fool, Paul? No, we will keep our guard up.”
“Of course, sir,” replied Paul Bryan.
The President dropped his pen on the table and leaned back in the high-back, plush leather chair, eyes focused on his Secretary of State. “Close to 3,000 civilians died in Tbilisi from hemorrhagic smallpox. Although Pushkin denies any involvement, the circumstantial evidence is convincing. I shudder to think how many innocent men, women, and children might have died a horrible death in Minsk had we not been successful. So tell me, Paul, what would you have me do?”
It was a rare moment when Paul Bryan did not have a thoughtful response. So he wisely opted to remain silent. Unable to hold the President’s gaze, he lowered his eyes to his tablet.
President Taylor leaned forward and placed both hands on the table. His lips were pursed, and his tired eyes reflected the strain of the past 24 hours. Several of the cabinet members squirmed in their chairs under the penetrating stare of their boss. But not the Joint Chiefs. They were accustomed to facing difficult scenarios and having to make decisions when all of the choices—every last one—was less than optimal. Decisions that would cost lives just as surely as they saved lives.
“Each and every one of you is sitting at this table because you are smart and ambitious. Let’s face it; you don’t take this job for the pay or the flexible hours.”
That brought a round of short-lived laughter. President Taylor was a remarkable politician, and a natural leader. Having passed the halfway point of his first term, he was still polling very strong—to be expected from members of his own party, but also showing good numbers from the Republican opposition. Political pundits had all but conceded the Democratic nomination to Taylor, and he was widely believed to be a shoe-in for a second term.
Joshua Taylor had defied the odds. Born and raised in California to blue-collar parents, he was a successful tech entrepreneur and sold his first company for close to half a billion dollars before age 30. Ready to take on a new challenge, Taylor stepped into the political arena, first winning a Congressional election, then moving into the Senate. He quickly earned a reputation for his hard work and middle-of-the-road sensibility. Although extremists on both sides of the aisle took every opportunity to malign Taylor’s character, his supporters spoke louder, and the American electorate, craving common-sense politicians who put the interest of the country above their own personal ambitions, created a tsunami of support that landed Taylor in the White House with an easy victory.
“Does anyone really think this is about the truth?” Taylor held his position and waited in silence until it was obviously uncomfortable.
“Make no mistake. My opponent—our opponent—is a masterful politician.” Again he paused.
“If you haven’t already figured it out, we have been played. It’s time we got smarter, and fast.”
Paul Bryan had quickly regained his composure. He lived for the challenge, and the United States had never had a more talented, brilliant, and capable Secretary of State. “With the physical and circumstantial evidence, I can win over support from our European allies. Japan, too. China will be a probl
em, but, then again, when are they not.”
President Taylor smiled. “If I remember correctly, you handled the Chinese Ambassador pretty well in that Alaskan incident involving the Russian submarine. Perhaps the same approach would work again?”
“Yes, sir. It might. I can play off the fears China has of Russian expansionism. The connection to Kazakhstan is important. I can spin this to Russia coveting Kazakhstan and, by extension, the rest of Asia. It shouldn’t be hard to tickle China’s paranoia.”
“Thank you, Paul. Please see to it.”
Paul nodded acknowledgement.
“Now, this weaponized smallpox must be eliminated. It presents a very real danger to humanity. Such weapons are not easily controlled, and it is unconscionable to imagine risking further releases of this vile disease.”
The President focused on Secretary Hale, his expression one of supreme confidence. In contrast, Paul Bryan’s countenance was dour. His face was long, eyelids drooping. Taylor considered this for a moment—his warrior was confident and his statesman was concerned, even worried. The yin and yang; complimentary and yet opposing forces, as it should be.
“I am led to believe we know where these aerosol dispersion machines have been assembled. Is that correct?”
Secretary of Defense Howard Hale was waiting for this moment. “Yes, sir. There is no doubt.”
Epilogue
Sary-Shagan, Kazakhstan
ULAN BAYZHANOV WAS BUSY pinning wires into a connector. He was working alone, as was frequently the case. He often wondered why the research facility was so large. With few scientists and staff, it didn’t make sense to Ulan. Even considering the special laboratories, like the biology lab where he thought they grew certain cultures—maybe to test experimental antibiotics—or the medical research lab where he was told they could perform DNA sequencing for tests on animals, the facility was so large that he seldom had to share his electrical assembly and test lab with any other technicians.
It was lonely at times, but Ulan didn’t mind the solitude so much. He had a good job, one that was interesting and paid well. Well enough, in fact, that he would be able to support a family when that time came, as he knew it would.
He had met a young woman a few months earlier. She cleaned many of the rooms including the electrical lab Ulan worked in. He would see her every day, late in the afternoon. After a while, Ulan introduced himself. At first, she was too shy to engage in conversation, but he was persistent, and eventually they became friends.
The squeaky wheels on the mop bucket drew Ulan’s attention. He finished with the final pin in the connector and looked up. She was pushing and pulling the mop, cleaning the concrete floor even though it didn’t look dirty at all, just as she did yesterday and would do again tomorrow.
Ulan smiled. “Hello, Aida,” he said.
She smiled back, her brown eyes shimmering.
Ulan set down the wire harness on his workbench and walked to Aida. “Seeing you is always the best part of my day,” he said, drawing a blush.
Aida worked at night, and Ulan worked the day, leaving precious little time for the two to visit outside of the research facility.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ulan continued.
Aida looked up at him, her face radiant and expectant. She, too, had been smitten with Ulan, but she could never be so forward as to say that to him.
“My supervisor said I can have Saturday off, so I don’t have to work that day. Of course, I won’t get paid either, but I have saved some money.”
Her heart was beating faster and her thin lips turned up into a smile. “Yes, and what does this have to do with me?”
Ulan reached out and gently wrapped his hand around hers, still holding the mop handle.
“I would like to meet your father.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide.
“Yes,” he said more forcefully, “I would like to speak with your father. I have some serious business to discuss with him.”
“Oh. And what business would you, Ulan, have with my father?” She played along, enjoying the game as much as Ulan did.
“Well, I intend to ask for your hand in marriage.”
She forced her face into a frown. “Perhaps I do not wish to wed? Perhaps I do not wish to be married to you?”
Ulan released her hand and blushed, stung by the unexpected rebuff. “I have a good job and I make enough money for us. You would not have to work.”
“Oh, I am only joking Ulan.”
“So there is no other man?”
She smiled warmly. “No, my silly Ulan. There is no one else.”
He looked deeply into her eyes and smiled. He felt a joy and happiness he had never experienced. Suddenly, all the hardships of his youth seemed distant memories, trivial footnotes to his history.
In all his life, Ulan had never felt this way about another person. Of course he loved his parents, but that was expected. It was a sense of duty and devotion that he took seriously, but he did not choose his mother and father. No, that was the result of fate; of events he had no influence over.
Aida was different. He had chosen her, and she him. Was this love? It must be, for all Ulan thought about when he was not preoccupied with his work was Aida. He wanted to raise a family with her, to grow old by her side.
“I am so happy Aida. Soon I will meet your father. And I will ask for your hand, and he will say yes.”
Aida beamed with joy and Ulan didn’t want to look away from her. Even when the room was suddenly lit by a thousand suns, he couldn’t avert his eyes from hers.
Ulan and Aida shared only one more heartbeat together before their bodies were incinerated, leaving only their ashes to mingle in the savagely swirling torrents of air.
Following a nerve-wracking two weeks, global tensions had finally reduced to a normal level. For three days following the nuclear attack on the Russian research facilities at Sary-Shagan, the United States, Europe, and Russia were on high alert, each side expecting an attack from the other at any moment. Pundits predicted a retaliatory nuclear attack from Vladimir Pushkin’s government, but thanks to behind the scenes diplomacy and an unyielding U.S. military presence in Eastern Europe, Pushkin never authorized the strike.
Apparently, the explanation that the attack did not occur on Russian soil had proven sufficient to quell right-wing rhetoric, exactly as President Taylor expected. To carry out such a provocative attack on Russian soil would have been inexcusable, and a retaliation in like would have been inevitable. But once it was clear that the dispersion machines were assembled in Kazakhstan, and given the possibility that more components, probably even more smallpox virus agent, were still inventoried there, President Taylor authorized the strike.
With the American military already mobilized in Europe, the attack was swift, coming only 18 hours following the Cabinet debate and President Taylor’s decision. A single B-1 Lancer commanded by Major Lorraine Doyle, escorted by no less than eight Raptor fighters, left Germany and flew south, banking east over the Mediterranean. From there, the flight crossed Turkey and overflew Armenia and Azerbaijan.
Over the Caspian Sea, the specially modified Bone fired a single AGM-129A advanced cruise missile armed with a 150 kiloton nuclear warhead. The terrain-hugging stealth cruise missile flew a preprogramed flight path at 500 miles per hour to its target, just outside the city of Sary-Shagan.
Detonation of the nuclear warhead occurred at optimum altitude above ground. The extraordinarily high temperatures of the nuclear blast incinerated everything within a five-mile radius. Satellite imagery following the attack revealed total destruction of everything above ground at the targeted research site.
Since there was no way to keep an aboveground nuclear explosion secret, the Taylor administration authorized a special, top secret warhead—one specifically designed to emulate a typical 100 kiloton Russian weapon.
President Pushkin’s objections were predictable. But with the body of evidence detailing the construction of the virus aerosol
machines, plus the direct involvement of General Gorev on the roof of the KGB building, Secretary Bryan was winning support from other nations and undermining Pushkin’s popular support.
Presidents Taylor and Pushkin agreed to withdraw military forces from Belarus, and talks between the Russian Federation and the United States regarding the independence of Belarus and the Baltic States were scheduled. President Taylor had made clear his desire that the national borders of Europe—all of Europe—be respected as currently known, and not subject to change by either diplomatic or military measures.
When the national news media picked up the nuclear explosion over Kazakhstan, Peter knew exactly what had transpired, although the cover story that it was a Russian nuclear weapon accidentally detonated by an unknown terrorist group was selling well to the general public.
Peter was still in Germany, at Ramstein Air Base where he had received a smallpox vaccination within hours of exposure in Minsk. He was being held for observation and debriefing when the news broke.
“What did I do?” he asked his friend, Commander Jim Nicolaou. The two men were sitting on a bench and although there was some foot traffic, no one stopped to loiter within earshot.
“Exactly what you were asked to do, what you were expected to do. We gathered evidence regarding the origin of the smallpox aerosol machines.”
Peter stared incredulously at his friend.
“What did you expect?” Jim didn’t try to hide his exasperation.
“Not this! We nuked that facility. My God, what if we were wrong? What if I was wrong?”
“You weren’t wrong. Let it go.”
“Let it go? I’m responsible for a nuclear bomb being dropped on Sary-Shagan! You know how many atomic bombs have been used in war?” It wasn’t a question and Peter didn’t wait for Jim to respond. “Three! Two used against Japan and now this bombing of a small town in Kazakhstan.”
Jim waited patiently until Peter finished. When he did, Jim’s words were firm.
“You flatter yourself. You didn’t authorize the nuclear attack on that research site. That order could come from only one man: President Taylor.”