“What was he offering. General?” Sen’kov asked in a low voice.
“More money than any of us have ever imagined,” Zhurbenko replied. “He wants to invest a quarter billion dollars to build the pipeline, plus another quarter billion in what he calls ‘dividends’ to investors. Hard currency, in foreign numbered accounts, untraceable. The pipeline can start flowing oil in about a year. And he offered more—he offered a way for Russia to once again become a great superpower, to regain its lost empire. He devised a way for Russia to earn untold millions of dollars a day in oil income, like a Middle East sheikhdom.”
“How can you believe anything that degenerate shit says?” Yejsk asked angrily. “He is a spoiled drug dealer who happened to get rich by stinking up half the Caspian Sea with his wildcat rigs. Where is Russia’s share of the wealth he has created? He shifts his money around in Kazakh, Asian, and Caribbean banks so fast no one can keep up with it, and yet he argues loud and long that his fees and tariffs from Moscow are too high. He should be reimbursing Russia for destroying the Caspian caviar trade, not to mention the thousands of lives he’s destroyed with his heroin imports.”
“Sir, I knew Gregor Mikhailievich Kazakov for thirty years, since before we graduated from the Academy together,” Zhurbenko said. “I’ve known Pavel Gregorievich since the day he was bom. I was his best man at his wedding when his father could not attend because he was fighting in Afghanistan. He is genuinely angry because he feels the Russian government has let him down, broken the trust with him and the military. Russia and her military forces are dying, sir. Not just because of hard economic times, but from a lack of respect, of prestige around the world. Pavel knew this. And he offered a possible way to fix the problem.”
“It is doubtful to me that Kazakov cares one way or another about Russia or the army, Colonel-General, as long as he gets whatever he wants,” Foreign Intelligence Service director Nikolai Stepashin said to Zhurbenko. “I knew and respected Colonel Kazakov as well, but 1 never knew his son to be anything but a wild drug addict who could kill without hesitation if it meant more money or power for himself. The people like him because he is a colorful character, like Al Capone or Robin Hood—both criminals in their own countries. This ‘dividend,’ Colonel-General, was a polite term for a bribe. He wants you to use the army for his own purposes, and he is willing to pay you handsomely for it,”
Zhurbenko looked at the other men in the office sternly. “I know full well Kazakov was offering me a bribe. I’m not interested in Kazakov’s bribes—to him, it’s a normal way of doing business. I do not work that way,” he said. “And when it comes to killing, Nikolai, you and I are both trained to do it without hesitation or moral question. He does it for the money—we do it for the honor of serving Russia. He may be a gangster, but he also gets results.
“But forget about the bribe. Think about the opportunity to bring some nations back into our sphere of influence. We use the army or we use Kazakov’s money—it’s just a different form of power, a different tool of government and foreign relations. The outcome is the same—the enhancement of the power and security of mother Russia. I think it is worth a look.”
The Cabinet officials looked at the floor, quietly, for several very long moments: there were no outbursts of outrage or indignation, no protests, no denials. Finally, one by one, they looked at President Sen’kov.
“I am not going to soil my first elected term in office by getting involved with bloodthirsty gangsters like Kazakov,” President Sen’kov said. “He will not dictate foreign policy. Colonel-General Zhurbenko, stay away from that hoodlum.”
“But sir . ..”
“I understand his father was your friend, but it is obvious to me that even Colonel Kazakov wanted to stay as far away from his son as possible,” Sen’kov said. “He is a murderous animal, and we have our hands too full as it is with antigovemment terrorists to worry about dealing with underworld drug lords. That is all.”
The High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, Elliott APB, Groom Lake, Nevada That evening
As she expected, there he was, and her heart sank. Better try one more time, she thought, although she already knew how the conversation would go.
“Hey, Dave,” Captain Annie Dewey said, as she activated the retina scan lock and entered the engineering lab. “The shuttle leaves in ten minutes. Are you ready?”
Colonel David Luger looked up from his computer terminal, looked at the clock, then looked at his watch and shook his head in surprise. “Oh, no. Man, is it that late already?” he asked. “I’m sorry. 1 lost track of time.”
“No problem,” Annie said, trying to sound cheerful. “But we’d better hurry.”
“Okay. This’ll work.” He furiously typed in more instructions, waited for a response, then waited some more. He glanced at Annie and gave her a sheepish smile, glanced at his watch again, and then at the screen. A few moments later, he shook his head. “Man, the mainframe is slow tonight.”
“Dave, we have to leave. It takes ten minutes just to get to the shuttle terminal.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t back out until this subroutine is finished. It’ll only take a second.” She walked over to him and massaged one of his shoulders. She took a peek at the screen. Just by reading the heading, she knew what project he was working on, and knew he’d never be able to leave it at this point. As if confirming what she already guessed, Dave shook his head, muttered an “Oh, no, don’t do this to me,” and punched in more instructions.
“Problem?”
“I hate to do this to you, Annie,” Luger said, “but I need to finish debugging this routine and upload it to the firmware lab tonight so they can get the processor ready to install on an LRU motherboard for its test flight. This is a new error code, and I have to track it down. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can go with you tonight.”
“C’mon, Dave,” Annie protested. “This is the third weekend in a row you'll be stuck out here. We've had to excuse ourselves out of four events at the last minute. On Monday I head off to Ukraine to help bring in the bombers for the joint NATO exercises—I’ll be gone for a week.”
“I’m sorry, Annie, but this can’t be helped.”
‘The test flight isn’t until Monday morning,” Annie reminded him. “This is Friday night. I know you’ll be back out here tomorrowr and Sunday working. Why not take a break for just one night?”
“I would, Annie. You know that.” She knew of no such thing, but she let that one slip by. “But I’m right in the middle of this debug routine. If I Finish this in the next half hour, I can knock off early and we can spend some time together at home.”
“But the next shuttle doesn’t leave here for two hours. We’ll miss the party.”
He raised his hands in surrender, but put them back down quickly to enter more instructions. “I can’t leave this routine now, Annie—I’ll lose all my work if I exit now, and I’ll have to start over. I’ll be on the next shuttle home, I promise.”
“That’s what you said when we missed the six o’clock shuttle”
“I can’t help it,” he said. “Why don’t you go without me this time? You can spend some time at the party. I'll get a car to take me home, and I’ll meet up with you there, Deal?”
Her pent-up anger and frustration let go at that moment. “David, this is silly. You have six programmers and technicians on your staff that can debug that routine for you in half the time Monday morning in plenty of time to load on the chip.” He turned toward the computer, his head bowed, his hands flat on the table beside the keyboard. “You have got to think about yourself once in a while. You need a break. You’re working yourself to exhaustion. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you don't socialize.” He seemed frozen, staring blankly into the desk. “Don’t you want to be with me tonight. Dave?” No reply. “David? Are you listening to me?”
Still no reply—at least, no reply to her When the computer beeped to let him know that it had found another problem, he responded instantly
, punching in more code. One moment, he was seemingly immobile, staring into nothingness; the next, he was as animated and alert as ever. Weird.
“All right.” There was no use arguing or ranting at him. They weren’t married—they weren’t even an official “couple,” at least not in his eyes. If he wanted to stay, there was nothing she could do to change his mind. “I’m off. I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay, Annie,” David said cheerfully. He was typing away on the computer, his head bouncing up and down to some internal song or rhythm, blissfully going on as if she had not said a word. “Have fun. I’ll be on that next shuttle. Bye.”
Annie Dewey never felt as alone as she did when she stepped aboard the almost full Boeing 727 shuttle plane that would take her from Dreamland to Nellis Air Force Base. Another typical night—alone.
The trick had worked like an absolute charm since his days in high school back in Billings, Montana: the best way to meet women is to help your buddy’s girlfriend throw a party. Naturally, she wants to invite all of her girlfriends to the party, so she gives their names, addresses, and phone numbers to you. Voila! Instant black-book update. During the party, he and his friends would find out more about the girls, then update the black book even more. Did they have a car? Their own place? Did they like the outdoors? Movies? Quiet dinners? Wild parties? Did they have money? Were they looking for a commitment, companionship, or just a good time? Then, whatever was planned for the weekend, they would invite the appropriate women to join them. Most important, they were sure to stay away from the ones that wanted a commitment.
Duane U. “Dev” Deverill, had certainly aged since high school, but in mind, body, and spirit he was still eighteen years old, and loving every minute of it. His entire life had been a study in taking advantage of opportunities as they presented themselves. He had never thought of himself as college material, but seven years after the end of the Vietnam War, the Air Force had been tempting young men and women with full four- year college scholarships to boost enrollment, so Dev had signed up. He’d never thought of himself as a flyer, but he’d accepted a navigator slot. He’d been the top graduate in his class and had had his choice of the best assignments right out of navigator training. He’d chosen the best assignment available: weapons systems officer aboard the then brand-new F-15E Strike Eagle fighter-bomber. As a young captain, he’d been a flight commander during Operation Desert Storm in his F-15E squadron and racked up an impressive mission effectiveness rating and an Air Medal for his outstanding performance in combat,
Despite a meteoric career progression, he’d left the active-duty Air Force and joined the Kansas Air National Guard, flying the B-1B Lancer bomber. When the One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron of the Nevada Air National Guard had started recruiting for experienced crew members to form their new B- IB squadron in Reno, Deverill had joined immediately. He’d become one of the unit’s full-time Guardsmen, helping to turn the fledgling unit into one of the best combat units in the United States Air Force. Dev had remained the same ever since he’d left Montana: supremely confident without being too arrogant, knowledgeable without being tiresome, aggressive without being annoying. He knew he was good, and everyone else knew he was good. If they forgot that fact, he was right there to remind them, but otherwise he was content to stay just a head above everyone else around him without stepping on anyone on his way to the top.
While the One-Eleventh “Aces High” was on temporary duty at the Tonopah Test Range, and a few of their bombers were undergoing modification at Dreamland, Dev shared a two-bedroom apartment with another Air Force officer, a public affairs officer at the Fifty-seventh Wing at Nellis Air Force Base, outside of North Las Vegas. It was a classic “bachelor pad,” and they took full advantage of it every chance they had. The apartment complex had a nice clubhouse available for the tenants to use for parties, along with the required pool, spa, and fitness center. Right now, Dev was in “intelligence collection” mode at a party he was throwing for his roommate’s girlfriend’s birthday. Along with steering guests toward the drinks and food and making introductions, Dev was also gathering information on the women he didn’t recognize. He was a master at making each and every bachelorette feel special and welcome without alienating or favoring any of them.
He was in the middle of yet another introduction when a newcomer caught his eye—and he found his legendary cool suddenly fizzle.
What was it about Annie Dewey that excited him? he wondered. There were plenty of great looking women here, most of them not in the Air Force; many of them had successful entry- level or mid-level managerial careers, and a couple of them were better-looking than Annie. He couldn’t quite identify what it was that attracted him to her.
Annie was trim and athletic, bordering on thin—typical Air Force. Concerned that she would be discriminated against by other Air Force pilots because women did not have as much upper-body strength as men, Annie had changed her exercise regime to include more upper-body strength sports such as rock climbing and volleyball. The difference showed: Dev noticed well-defined shoulders, back, and arms, tapering down to a thin waist, tight butt, and shapely legs. She did not have very big breasts, but the rest of the package more than made up for that.
It was his opinion that other men saw her physique, her many female friends and far fewer male friends, and her profession, and assumed Annie was gay. Truthfully, Dev had thought so, too—or else he had never really thought too much about her at all. But then he’d started noticing her and the HAWC chief of aerospace engineering, Colonel David Luger, together all the time, and he’d noticed that little whatever-it-was about her come alive. That’s what had made whatever attracted him to her ignite.
And, he noticed, Luger wasn’t with her tonight. She was dressed nicely, in a silky form-fitting dress with thin spaghetti straps, sandals, and a little gold ankle bracelet on her right ankle. Her light brown hair was up, as usual, but in a flight suit it made her look a little butch—in that dress, it exposed her thin neck and well-defined shoulders, making her look even more attractive. He looked hard without trying to stare to see if she was wearing a brassiere, and realized with a faint shock that she wasn't. She was so buff that very little beneath that silky dress jiggled at all.
What was it about her? It wasn't pure sexuality although she certainly was sexy. Allure. Dev thought that's what it was. Allure. She was alluring, She was obviously looking for something or someone in her life, but she was willing to stay out of the spotlight and w ait until she found it Dev definitely sensed a deep, smoldering passion inside her. Even if she had been gay, she still would’ve had that animal allure about her—now that he realized she probably wasn't it made him think even more about the possibilities of unleashing some of that passion in his direction.
He hoped to hell Luger wasn't her type To be honest Dev had no idea whose type Luger could be He seemed a nice enough guy. just a little detached, distracted, out of place. Annie had some kind of connection w ith him. Either she saw something in that weird engineer from Texas, or she was throwing a pity party for him. A romantic connection? Luger didn't seem the type. Maybe he was the gay one
“Heels!" Dev said, as their eyes met Most ev eryone at the squadron knew everyone else by their call sign—it was unusual for someone to use their Christian names in casual conversation He came over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then reached up and squeezed her shoulders in his hands. Good God. he thought I w ish I had shoulders that tight, “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting us.”
She used the word “us," Dev noticed, but she was alone. Her voice told him that she was disappointed at not being an “us" at the party “Where's Colonel Luger?”
“Still out at the lake,” Annie said. They called Elliott Air Fofce Base, near dry Groom Lake, the “lake” when away from there. “Sorry he can't make it.”
“I know he has a pretty important test coming up,” Dev said. “Those HAW C guys get obsessed w hen a big test is happening. They all seem
to disappear into their little rabbit holes, afraid to do anything that might screw things up. Problem is. they're afaays like that, even when they've done good.”
“They’re not exactly party animals,” Annie agreed. She looked around the room, then at him, then around to the pool area.
“I hope you brought your suit,” Dev said. “The pool is nice and cool, and the hot tub will be perfect once it starts to cool down outside.”
“I should have brought a suit, but I didn’t.”
Dev was going to give her his standard line, “Well, you know, around here, bathing suits are optional,” but for some reason he didn’t use it on Annie. Was he afraid of offending her, chasing her away? He was amazed at his own odd feelings. Since when did he care so much about what others, especially women, thought of him?
“We can get you a suit if you'd like to go swimming later,” Dev offered, “or just take a rain check,” She smiled at him— he was pleased to think he had said the right thing, caring and helpful without being too pushy. “Can I get you something to drink? I make a pretty good margarita. I’m doing mango and strawberry tonight.”
“I’m not into that stuff,” she said. That was the first hint of resistance from her, and his hopes sank. But then she suddenly stopped looking past him, took a deep breath as if she had just decided something, and said, “But if you’re making margari- tas, I know you have tequila, and I see some Coronas around, so I’ll start with a shot and a Corona.” She looked directly at him with incredible liquid blue eyes that looked like they could stop a freight train in its tracks, and asked, “Care to join me?”
Dev smiled and nodded. “Best offer I’ve had all day,” he said.
The party had ended just before midnight, but for Dev and Annie it was only getting started.
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