by Don Brown
What had become of the great Soviet nation?
What had gone wrong?
The disintegration of the Soviet Union was the greatest blow to the once-proud Russian bear.
Ukraine had left, although now, with the election of President Butrin and the declining popularity of the Americans, Evtimov saw an opening for reconciliation at the upcoming summit in Odessa on orphanages. Russia would offer Ukraine considerable money for its orphanages, against a perfect political backdrop of the twelve Ukrainian orphans arriving on the Russian freighter.
But now, just as progress was possible with Ukraine, the Americans and their cronies were after Georgia!
Would Vitaly Sergeivich Evtimov go down as the Russian president that finally lost Georgia to NATO and the west? Never over the grave of Lenin would he watch this happen!
He turned to his advisors. "Gentlemen, the Slavic blood of the Russian people make us the strongest people on the earth!" He slammed his palm on his desk. "The most militant dictators in human history could not conquer us. Napoleon and Hitler tried and failed. And we will not be intimidated by, nor will we ignore this American buildup on our doorsteps!" He eyed every man in the room. "I am ordering full mobilization of our forces!"
"But, Comrade President, " the foreign affairs minister spoke up again.
This time, Evtimov decided to let the minister speak. "What is it, Alexander Alexeyvich?"
"This buildup of opposing forces on the Georgin-Chechen border exacerbates the great risk that an accidental shot might be fired, which could lead to all-out war."
"Your point?"
"All this goes back to that stolen plutonium. Why not tell the Americans and the Turks what happened, and explain to them that we have stepped up our forces to locate the plutonium and to destroy the Chechen rebels' capacity to build a nuclear bomb?"
"And admit that our military forces are incompetent?" Evtimov glared at his defense minister. "Chechnya is our territory. Chechnya is none of their business. Do you really believe that the Americans would not mobilize if we sent our most elite airborne divisions to the northern Mexican border, across the river from Texas?"
No answer.
The moment called for decisive leadership.
"My order stands. Call up all reserves. Order the full mobilization of all Russian forces. Bring three more divisions to the Chechen-Georgian border to counter the American threat."
The White House
President Mack Williams had long since doffed the navy blue pinstripe jacket and was now crossing his arms, rocking back in his chair behind the huge cherry desk. The verbal salvos between his secretaries of state and defense were escalating.
"This whole idea of moving the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions so close to the Russian buildup is too risky, Mr. President, " the secretary of state pleaded. "The region is a powder keg. We've already got this secret plan to sneak our sub into the Black Sea and sink their freighter. Now this." The secretary of state chopped his hand in the air. "Now the Russians are mobilizing more forces. That's thousands of troops staring down gun barrels at point-blank range.
"One spark and you've got war. Please, call them back, Mr. President, or at least position them in southern Turkey, sir. And there's no legitimate reason for U.S. Air Force jets to fly over Georgia, sir. Georgia's not a NATO member yet."
Mack looked at his secretary of defense.
"But they've applied for membership, " Secretary of Defense Lopez shot back. "And we should allow overflights because Turkey is a NATO member and they've requested our presence. Either NATO means something or it doesn't. Plus, with the public relations beating we've taken over the Dome of the Rock fiasco, we need all the goodwill we can muster." Seretary Lopez wagged his finger, but pointed it at no one in particular. "Not only that, but both the Bush Administration and this administration have endorsed the request from Georgia to join NATO. Plus, I remind my friend the secretary of state that the 82nd and 101st are being deployed to Turkey, not Georgia. The Russians are in Chechnya, not Georgia. So it isn't like our troops are on the Russian border."
"Oh, come on, " Secretary Mauney said. "Georgia's such a tiny nation that there's no significant geographic barrier. What? Fifty to a hundred miles at the most?" Mauney looked at Mack. "Mr. President, rather than risk war, why not just tell the Turks that the Russians are looking for plutonium, that they don't have to worry about a border incursion, and that our buildup is unnecessary?"
A smooth feminine voice joined the fray. "But what if we're wrong in our assumptions, Mr. Secretary?" Cynthia Hewitt, Mack's national security advisor, asked. "Suppose this buildup has more than one purpose?"
"Explain, Cyndi, " Mack said.
"Suppose the buildup has a dual purpose – to find the plutonium and to invade Georgia to bring it back in the Russian fold?"
"Ridiculous, " Mauney quipped.
"Is it?" the sandy-haired Hewitt retorted. "We know Evtimov's staunch opposition against Georgian NATO membership. Their intelligence is notoriously shoddy. Maybe they believe the plutonium is in Georgia and use that as a pretext for an invasion."
"Impossible, " Mauney said. "We've concluded that the plutonium is somewhere on the high seas."
"We know that. The Russians don't know it, " Secretary Lopez retorted.
"Well, then why not just tell the Russians what we think, Mr. President? Why not just tell them we think the plutonium is on this freighter somewhere in the Black Sea? Let me open a dialogue with Foreign Minister Kotenkov. We can seek a joint solution on finding this plutonium. Give diplomacy a chance, sir. Just tell them that the plutonium is on the Alexander Popovich and perhaps they can board it, find the plutonium, and all sides can stand down before someone sets off a thermonuclear device."
"The reason we can't just do that, Mr. Secretary" – the secretary of defense responded in a slow cadence – "is this. What if the Russians don't buy it? What if they claim that their intelligence is better than ours? Suppose they refuse to board or inspect the freighter? If they take that position, then if and when we sink that freighter, the whole world, including the Russians, will know who did it. And if you want a war, Mr. Secretary" – the secretary of defense turned and looked directly at the secretary of state – "just let it get out that we torpedoed one of their unarmed civilian freighters. Remember the Lusitania?"
The British liner Lusitania was torpedoed by German U-Boats in 1915, helping bring the U.S. into World War I.
"And don't forget this. The skipper of the Alexander Popovich has sold his ship's ser vices to terrorists. It must be sunk, even if it isn't carrying that plutonium."
"But -, " Mauney interjected.
"Let me finish, please." Lopez erected his index finger from a balled fist, as if lecturing a classroom full of high school students. "If we tell the Russians what we are thinking, they will demand to know how we know. And whether we reveal our sources or not, we risk exposing our intelligence sources on the ground. We have undercover operatives whose lives would be at risk in the entire country."
Secretary of Defense Lopez stopped talking. Mack looked over at Secretary of State Mauney, expecting a response. None came. Cynthia Hewitt, her gaze sweeping between the president and the secretaries of state and defense, did not speak either. The three spirited participants in this debate had run out of gas. All eyes turned to Mack.
"All right, " Mack said. "The secretary of state makes valid points." Mauney nodded a small smile of appreciation. "However, in the end, getting that plutonium out of terrorists' hands is the very best thing we can do to avoid a nuclear holocaust. The United States is in the best position to do that." He looked at the secretary of defense and the national security adviser. "Alone. Mixing the Russians into the fray only complicates matters. Given their history of institutional paranoia and bureaucratic incompetence, and the grave uncertainty as to how they would respond if we opened a dialogue with them, I'm concerned that we would lose valuable time. Ladies and gentlemen, we don't have time to lose. What we do have
is terrorists with plutonium.
"Having said that, the secretary of state's well-founded concerns are valid." He turned to the secretary of defense. "Secretary Lopez, issue an order that no U.S. ground forces are to be positioned anywhere within one hundred miles of the Georgian border without my approval."
Then turning to the secretary of state, he said, "Secretary Mauney, prepare a communique to the Turkish ambassador reaffirming our support for them and explaining my decision to them."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Also, prepare formal requests to the British government, and all other NATO governments sending forces that all NATO ground forces observe a one-hundred-mile barrier for the time being."
"Yes, Mr. President." The secretary of defense scribbled notes on a legal pad. "What about overflights, sir?"
"The United States Air Force shall patrol the skies of Georgia as requested by the Georgian president, but shall not approach closer than twenty-five miles of the Chechen border."
This brought a wince to the secretary of state's face.
"Rules of engagement, Mr. President?" This was the secretary of defense.
"Use of force is unauthorized by United States aircraft except in self-defense. That means no firing by our planes unless we are fired upon first or otherwise threatened. At that point, U.S. pilots have weapons-free authority to the extent necessary to defend themselves. Anything else?"
No one spoke.
"That is all. For now."
CHAPTER 10
The USS Honolulu
The Aegean Sea
Conn. Sonar. We have contact! Three thousand yards dead ahead! Contact appears to be a ship of the class of Russian freighter Volga River. Bearing zero-two-zero degrees."
"Mr. Smith, " Pete was speaking with Chief Warrant Officer William Smith, who was standing in the control room at the sub's fire control console. "What's your screen showing?"
"Sir, my screen verifies one contact, sir. Mark as Sierra twelve."
"Very well, " Pete said. "Dead slow ahead."
"Dead slow, aye, Captain."
"Coordinates?"
"Twenty-five degrees east, forty degrees north."
"Right on the money, " Pete mused, checking his watch. "Chief ofthe Boat, make periscope depth."
"Making periscope depth, aye, Captain."
"What do you think, Skipper?" Frank Pippen asked.
"I think we've found our ride, Frank."
"I have periscope depth, Captain, " the chief of the boat said.
"Up scope, " Pete ordered.
The stainless-steel vertical cylinder in the middle of the control room hummed and clicked. Pete stepped behind the periscope, grabbed the training handles, and brought his eyes up to the viewfinder. Bright daylight shone above the dark green ripple of breaking waves. In the center of the screen, a long, low-lying ship sat on the water, a dark silhouette against the bright blue behind it.
"She's a freighter, all right, " Pete mused. "Open a hailing channel, Frank."
"Aye, sir, " the XO said. "Conn. Radio. Open a frequency. Channel fourteen."
"Radio. Conn. Hailing frequency open."
"Very well." Pete kept eyeing the ship through the periscope. "Mr. Pippen, please broadcast the code and let's see what we've got."
"Aye, Captain." The XO accepted the microphone from the chief of the boat. "Would you like to do the honors, Captain?"
"Why not?" Pete stepped away from the periscope and took the microphone from Frank.
"Hailing frequency is open, sir."
Pete held the microphone to his mouth, then pressed the switch opening the broadcast band. To ensure the mission's secrecy, both the submarine and the freighter were under orders from Washington to communicate only with a series of predetermined cryptic radio exchanges that would make no sense to anyone listening.
He spoke slowly. "Polar bear. Polar bear. Zero-Six-Zero-Six."
Nothing.
Men on the bridge looked around nervously.
Pete repeated the code. "Polar bear. Polar bear. Zero-Six-Zero-Six."
Thirty seconds passed. Crackling erupted over the PA system. "Piggyback. Piggyback. Zero-Six-Zero-Three."
Cheering erupted in the control room.
"Initiate docking sequence, Captain?" the XO asked.
"Very well, " Pete said. "Initiate docking sequence. Take the mike, XO." Pete handed the microphone back to Frank. "Broadcast next sequence."
"Aye, sir." Frank took the mike and pressed the broadcast switch. "Yankee-one. Yankee-one."
A short silence. Static over the speakers, then, "Red Sox-two. Red Sox-two."
"Same choir. Same songbook, " Pete said. He looked back through the periscope, switching to high-powered magnification. Men in dark wetsuits were scrambling over the gunwales, down netted ladders, and into the water.
"We've got SEALs in the water. They're waiting for us, gentlemen. All ahead one-third."
"Ahead one-third."
"Let's take this slow and easy. Last thing we need is a collision that sends us to the bottom before we get to fire a torpedo."
The Alexander Popovich The Black Sea
The captain had not yet returned to his stateroom. He was still on the bridge. Masha knew this because his voice was still mixed with the squeaks and chatter blaring over the loudspeaker.
How could this be happening? Forty-eight hours ago, Masha and her children were filled with excitement at the thought of taking a cruise on a ship across the Black Sea.
And now this.
Was she living a nightmare?
She had replayed it in her mind a hundred times in the last five minutes.
Kill the girl now. We cannot afford to have her as a witness.
I've decided to kill the girl later.
At least she knew their motives. They wanted her dead. And it had something to do with the cargo and the money they were making for transporting it to an Egyptian freighter. What could this cargo be?
Probably drugs. Perhaps heroin. What else could command so much money? This would explain why they wanted her gone.
She had to get out of the stateroom and find her children.
Perhaps she should make a run for it. But what if a guard was posted outside the stateroom? She wandered from the outer office into the captain's living area. A small galley area was located just past the head of the single bed.
A sink. Some drawers. Maybe… She opened one of the drawers. Several stainless steel steak knives glistened under the fluorescent light.
She picked one and held it up against the light. This one would do. Long enough to plunge into a man's heart.
At least the captain did not want her killed immediately. But what if he discovered that she had overheard everything that was said on the bridge? Would he kill her now instead of later?
Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
She had to do something. A small volume control knob was attached to the loudspeaker. She reached for it, turning it counterclockwise. The chatting and static diminished. Voices on the bridge were gone.
Good.
Perhaps he wouldn't know that she had heard everything. But what if he discovered that she'd tampered with the volume control? No time to worry about that now. For now, she had to get out of the captain's stateroom and find her children.
She slipped the knife in her sweater, then prayed quickly.
Lord, protect my children and protect me. Somehow, keep us from harm. I pray that I will not be forced to use this weapon in my pocket. But if I have to use this knife, then give me strength and the courage to use it quickly and effectively. Make my hand swift and deadly in the defense of your children.
She opened the door.
A man stood in the passageway. Their eyes locked.
Masha shuddered, thinking of the knife hidden under her sweater. Should she use it now?
This was not the sailor who had brought her to the cabin. This sailor's boyish face and soft, innocent eyes paralyzed her.
"Hello, miss
, " he greeted her politely.
"Hello to you, " she said. "I am Masha. I am in charge of the orphans running around the ship."
"Yes, I know who you are." His voice was as soft as his eyes, and his smile was even softer. "You are also the kapitan's guest."
"I'm sorry, but what is your name?" She knew this look. The look of a shy boy around a pretty girl for the first time.
He gazed at his weather-worn boots. "I am Aleksey Anatolyvich. I am a deckhand and the kapitan's assistant."
She flashed him a soft smile. "The kapitan has a handsome personal assistant, I should say."
His face flushed crimson. He looked back up. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Well, Aleksey Anatolyvich, I am a guest of the kapitan, as you can see, but he has been detained with important business." She touched his arm, ensuring that the blood did not leave his face. "Perhaps you could accompany me to my cabin."
"But the kapitan…"
"Aleksey." Her hand caressed his arm up to his shoulder. "The kapitan is detained. He told you to keep an eye on me. Dah?"
"Dah. "
"Come keep an eye on me." She studied his face. "I must gather my children from the deck before dinner with the kapitan tonight. Besides, I need you nearby so I do not fall overboard. Dah?"
"Dah."
He nodded. She took him by the arm and led him down the passageway.
The Al Alamein Sea of Marmara
Thank you for having me on the bridge at this moment, Kapitan, " Sal-man said. "It is a beautiful sight, is it not?"
Captain Sadir smiled at the view outside the bridge of his ship. Before him lay the glorious sight of the twenty-mile, narrow strait of water that split the great city of Istanbul in half and connected the Marmara and Black Seas. Sailing through the Bosphorus was like floating through an Islamic paradise. Colorful mosques and minarets sparkled in the Turkish sun on both sides, lining Istanbul's busy shores like precious jewels in a necklace.
Ever since they left Port Said, the young scientist who would lead them to glorious martyrdom had captured the attention of Captain Sadir.
"Yes, it is beautiful indeed, " Sadir replied. "I fear that you might be too occupied on our return voyage to come topside and enjoy the sights."