by Dale Brown
The President finished reading the report that Director of
Central Intelligence Douglas Morgan had given him moments earlier. After the President read the report, he gave it to Vice President Les Busick, then stared off into space, thinking. Busick glanced at the report, then passed it along to Secretary of State Kercheval. Robert Goff had already briefed both men; Kercheval seemed even more upset than the President. After a few
moments, President Thorn shook his head in exasperation, then glanced at Secretary of Defense Goff. "Take a seat, gentlemen," he said.
After several long, silent, awkward moments, the President stood, crossed in front of his desk, then sat down on its edge. The seething anger on his face was painfully obvious to all. Thorn stared at each of the generals in turn, then asked slowly and measurably, "General Venti, how do I stop McLanahan?"
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff thought for a moment, then replied, "We believe McLanahan's raid started off from a small Ukrainian base near Nikolayev. Special Operations Command is ready to dispatch several teams into the area to hunt them down. Meanwhile, we retask reconnaissance satellites to scan every possible base for their presence."
"If we get lucky, we'll find them in a couple days-if they haven't packed up and moved to a different location," Morgan intedected.
"If they modified other Ukrainian helicopters to act as aerial refueling tankers," Air Force Chief of Staff General Victor Hayes pointed out, "that could double the size of the area we'd need to search. It'd be a needle in a haystack."
"Not necessarily," Morgan said. "If we knew what their next move was, we might be able to set up a picket and nab them."
"And if we got a little more cooperation from the Ukrainians or the Turks, we'd find them easier, too," Kercheval added. "But this Black Sea Alliance is refusing to give us any information, although we're certain they've been tracking and perhaps even assisting McLanahan in his raids."
"They stole a damned supertanker loaded with a million barrels of oil in the middle of the Black Sea," Vice President Busick retorted. "Who would've guessed they'd try something like that? Are we supposed to set up surveillance on every
tanker in the area? What are they up to? What do they hope to accomplish?"
"McLanahan told me exactly what he hopes to accomplish, sir," General Hayes said.
"Draw the Russians out into the open," the President said. "Attack Kazakov's center-his oil empire-and force him to retaliate."
"Exactly, sir."
"Oil tankers first, then oil terminals next?"
"They're fairly easy targets for the weapons McLanahan has at his disposal, sir," Lieutenant-General Terrill Samson added.
"We can set up round-the-clock AWACS patrols and nab him as soon as he appears," Hayes said. "We interdict every noncorrelated flight in the area. A few fighters and tankers on patrol should take care of it. We can set that up immediately."
"Find him," the President ordered bitterly. "I don't care if you have to send every fighter in the force to do it. Find him. No more sneak attacks." The President glanced again at Goff, then at Terrill Samson. "General, you can help me get in contact with McLanahan."
"Sir?" "That subcutaneous transceiver system you use at Dreamland," the President said, pointing to his left shoulder with a jabbing motion. "That works almost anywhere in the world, doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir. But I've attempted to contact General McLanahan and other members of his team several times. No response." "He thinks you betrayed him."
Samson looked frozen for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know what be--" He stopped when he saw Thorn's knowing glance, then nodded. "Yes, he does, sir."
"He thinks I betrayed him, too," the President said. "He thinks I'm selling the United States down the river."
"Sir, it shouldn't matter what McLanahan thinks," Samson said emphatically. "He's a soldier. He was ... I mean, he is supposed to follow orders."
"You know where he is, don't you, General?" Samson swallowed hard. "Sir?"
"McLanahan may not be answering you, but those implants allow you to track and monitor anyone wearing them," the President said. "You said so yourself. You know exactly where he is, but you haven't told General Venti or Secretary Goff. Why?"
"What in hell is this, Samson?" Joint Chiefs Chairman Venti exclaimed. "You've been keeping this information from us the whole time?"
"No one ever ordered me to locate McLanahan, sir," Samson said.
"You're busted, General," Venti thundered. "That kind of insubordinate bullshit just landed you in hock."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" "Denied!" Venti shouted.
"Hold on, General," the President interrupted. "Go ahead, General Samson."
Samson paused, but only for a moment. He gave the President a fin-n look. "Sir, I don't like what McLanahan's doingbut only because he's doing my job."
"Your job?"
"My job is to track down wack-jobs like Kazakov and his stealth fighter-bomber and knock it out of the sky, not try to knock down one of our own," Samson said. "Sir, you're not prepared or not willing to get involved in this matter, that's fine. You're the President and my commander-in-chief, and your decision is the final word. But when honest fighting men like Patrick McLanahan do decide to act, they shouldn't be persecuted by their own government."
Samson looked at Venti, then General Hayes, the others in the Oval Office, and then President Thorn. "If you order me to find McLanahan and bring him in, sir, I'll do it. I'll use every means at my disposal to do it."
"Fine. I'll give you a direct order, General Samson," the President said. He paused for a moment, then said: "General, I want you to install one of those subcutaneous transceivers in me. Today. Right now."
"Sir? "
"You heard me. Make the call, get one out here immediately."
"But ... but what about McLanahan?" Busick retorted. "How is that going to stop him?"
"I'm going to talk with him. I want to hear his voice," Thorn said. "If he's turning into some kind of high-tech terrorist or supervigilante, I need to find out for myself. If I determine he or the ones that fly with him are unstable, I'll send every last jet and every last infantryman out to nail his ass."
Tirane, Republic of Albania Two nights later
For the second night in a row, the crowds had gathered in front of the four-story office building across from the German embassy in the Albanian capital of Tirane, the headquarters of the United Nations Protection Force, composed mostly of Russian and German troops, assigned to patrol the southern Albania-Macedonia border. Since the stories had broken in the world media about the`&Al between Pavel Kazakov and members of the Russian government, massive protests had broken out all over the Balkans, but none larger or louder than in Tirane. The German government, considered Russian collaborators, became equal targets for the protesters.
Tonight's protests were the worst. Albanian troops were called in early, which only angered the protesters even more. Albanian labor unions, upset because Kazakov had not used union labor to build his pipeline, led the protests, and the army and police were not anxious to confront the unions. The crowd was unruly, surging back and forth between the United Nations headquarters and the German ernbassy. Shouting quickly turned to pushing, and the police and army had trouble controlling the massive crowds. Pushing turned to fighting, fighting turned to rock and bottle throwing, and rocks and bottles turned into Molotov cocktails.
Virtually unheard and unnoticed in all the confusion and growing panic in the streets was the wail of an extraordinarily loud siren, but not a police or fire siren-it was an air raid warning siren. Moments later, the lights on all Albanian government buildings automatically started to extinguish-another
automatic response to an attack warning dating back to the German blitzkriegs of World War 11. The sudden darkness, combined with the lights of emergency vehicles and fires on the streets, sent some protesters into flights of sheer panic.
The police had just started to deploy r
iot-control vehicles with water and
tear gas cannons when hell broke loose. There was an impossibly bright flash of light, a huge ball of fire, and a deafening explosion that engulfed an entire city block, centered precisely on the German embassy. When the smoke and fire cleared, the Germany embassy was nothing more than a smoking hole and a pile of rubble. Everyone within a block of the embassy-protesters, police, army, embassy workers, and curious onlookers-were either dead or dying, and fires had broken out for several blocks around the blast.
The President's study, The White House, Washington, D.C.
A short time later
"The devastation is enormous, sir," Director of Central Intelligence Douglas Morgan reported, reading from the initial reports on the incident. "The entire Germany embassy is gone-nothing but a pile of concrete. Police and news media estimated a crowd of perhaps five thousand was outside the embassy involved in the protest, with another five to ten thousand police, news media, and onlookers within the blast radius. The joint United Nations-NATO headquarters across the street was severely damaged--casualty estimates there could top three hundred dead or injured."
President Thomas Thorn sat quietly in his study next to the Oval Office. He was dressed in a casual shirt and slacks and wearing only a pair of sandals, having been awakened shortly after going to bed with news of the terrible blast in Tirane. His bank of television monitors were tuned to various world news channels, but he had the sound muted on all of them and was listening to his Cabinet officials feeding him reports as they came in, staring not at the televisions but at a spot on the wall,
staring intently as if he could see for himself the horror unfolding thousands of miles away.
"Sir, the situation is getting worse by the minute," Morgan said urgently. "The German government has ordered troops bivouacked in three Albanian port cities to move eastward toward the capital-the number of troops deploying into the capital Tirane is estimated so far to top three thousand. An estimated five thousand Russian troops are moving from outlying camps in Serbia and Macedonia into the cities and are setting up so-called security checkpoints-it looks like an occupation."
"They're overreacting," Thorn said in a low voice. Secretary of Defense Robert Goff looked at the President with a surprised look on his face, as if Thorn had just grown donkey's ears. Was that a trace of hesitation, maybe even doubt, in Thorn's voice? "I need facts, Doug, not speculation or newspaper hyperbole. If it's an invasion force, tell me so. If it's a redeployment of troops in response to a major terrorist incident, tell me that."
"It's a major redeployment of troops, obviously in a defensive response to the explosion in Tirane, that can easily escalate into an invasion force." Morgan narrowed his eyes to emphasize his last point: "And that's not some newspaper's assessment. sir, that's mine."
"Thank you, Doug," the President said, not seeming to notice Morgan's emphatic response but with a touch of apology in his voice nonetheless. "Any more details about this air raid warning that was issued moments before the blast?"
"No information about that, sir," Morgan said. "The Albanian Ministry of Defense clairns the Interior Ministry ordered them to blow the horn to try to disperse the protesters. There is no word from the Transportation Ministry on whether or not there was an unidentified aircraft over the capital. Russian or Genrian radar stations claim they were not tracking any unidentified aircraft."
11 So there could have been an unidentified aircraft-only no one is admitting that one got by them," Secretary of Defense Robert Goff observed.
"What other forces are mobilizing?" the President asked.
"Gen-nan forces in Albania; Russian forces in Serbia and Macedonia. Any troops on the move in Russia? In the Commonwealth states? Any Russian naval forces moving? Any Russian or German tactical air forces?"
Morgan shook his head, glanced quickly at his briefing notes to double-check, then shook his head. "No, sir. Only tactical airlift and sealift units, and
they look like routine support missions."
"I would think that an 'occupation' force would need a lot of support units set in motion fairly quickly for an occupation of an entire capital city to be successful," the President observed. "And few successful occupation forces leap into action from a standing start. I don't see an invasion happening yet."
"Not that we could do anything about it if it was happening!" Goff commented.
"Perhaps not," the President said, with only a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"I can't believe we are going to sit here and do nothing!" Goff said. "Shouldn't we be calling the German chancellor and the Russian president, warning them that their actions resemble an occupation force and that we object to such a move? Shouldn't we be calling the Italians or the Bosnians or our NATO allies, reassuring them that we're at least monitoring the situation and perhaps discussing some options?"
"I'm sure they know that we are doing and thinking all those things," the President said easily. "Besides, action-,,, speak louder than words. Even watching and waiting is doing something."
"Not in my book, it isn't," Goff said under his breath. "What would you have me do, Robert?" the President snapped. "Tell me right now: what forces would you like to commit? We have two Marine Expeditionary Units nearby in the Med and in the Adriatic Sea, plus one aircraft carrier battle group in the Aegean Sea. We have two B-113 bomber squadrons on alert in Georgia and two B-2A stealth bomber squadrons ready to go with conventional bombs and cruise missiles in Missouri, plus one air expeditionary wing in South Carolina ready to deploy if needed. That's about twenty-five thousand men and women, fourteen warships, and perhaps one
hundred combat aircraft we can have over the Balkans in eight hours, and perhaps double that number in twelve hours. Do you have a target for me, Robert? What's the mission? What do you want to blow up now?"
"I don't want to blow up anything, sir-I just want to make it clear to Sen'kov, Keisinger, Zhurbenko, and all those other nutcases that we don't like what they're doing and we are ready to act if they persist!" Goff replied. "In case they interpret our silence as disinterest or even as tacit acceptance or permission, I want it clearly and emphatically known that we will tolerate no offensive moves in Europe, no matter what the provocation."
"I think it's you that needs to be told," the President said. "Robert, I'm telling you now--don't you interpret my so-called inaction as tacit permission or disinterest. But I am not going to respond to the threat of war with a threat of my own." He went over and clasped Goff on the shoulder. "Robert, you seem to think there's someone out there that needs to get slapped down. I'm here to tell you: there isn't. Let it go." He could tell that there was a lot that his friend still needed to say, so he took away the reassuring tone in his voice and said, "Go home, Robert," and it was an order, not a suggestion.
t, Goff took a step closer to the President and asked, "Is that what you told President Martindale during your little meeting with him? 'Just go home'? Or did you tell him or help him do something else?"
If Goff expected the President to be surprised that he knew about the private meeting, he didn't show it. "That's exactly what I told him, Robert-whatever he wants to do, whatever ideas he has, forget about them," the President replied. "He is not the president any longer. He does not run U.S. foreign or military policy-I do. He's a private citizen now, subject to all laws, with no special protections or considerations because of his previous position."
:'Then why did you keep the meeting secret from me?" 'Because it was between him and me," Thorn said. "It was one president talking with another. If I couldn't convince him to stay out of it, without the rest of my Cabinet behind me, it was my failure." Goff looked skeptical. The President gave his friend a slight, knowing smile, then said, "Maybe the same
reason you didn't tell me you met with him." Goff's mouth dropped open in complete surprise, then bobbed up and down like a freshly caught trout. "How did I know? You told me-not in words, but in your eyes, your mannerisms.
I know you, Robert, just like you know me. The problem is, you know me so well you think you can reason with me, change my mind. You can't. I know you so well, I know Martindale approached youand I know you turned him down."
Goff couldn't hide his amazement, but he couldn't help toying with Thorn anyway-he was so infuriatingly confident, Goff actually wanted to try to get his friend mad at him any way he could, just to get a rise out of him. "You're sure of that? You're sure I turned him down, Thomas?"
"Fairly sure," the President said. "'What Martindale wants to do is bold and exciting and challenging and risky, and it's what you want to do. Problem is, it's also illegal, and you know it, and you will not break the law. nat's why you're trying so hard to convince me to do something-because if I don't do it, Martindale might, and if he does, he will probably fail, and then the United States looks even more like an inept failure. Whatever's going to happen, Robert, will happen. I'm not going to add to the confusion and fear. We let it play out. So go home, my friend. I'll call you if I need you."
Both Morgan and Goff exited the study, leaving the President alone with his thoughts-and his secret fears.
Over the Black Sea That same time
The attack on the German embassy in Tirane went off with surprising precision and flawless execution--even Pyotr Fursenko, who had enormous trust in his constructs, was as pleased as he was surprised. It went off so well and so quickly that he had little time to prepare for the second part of their dangerous mission.
Gennadi Yegorov was the quiet, unexcitable captain of their pickup strike team. Even with the constant threat of Pavel Kazakov and his demonic anger hovering around them,
Yegorov took his time, refamiliarizing himself with the forward cockpit and explaining several key pieces of information to Fursenko-he was mindful of the fact that although Fursenko had designed and built the plane, he had never flown in it or any other aircraft before. Yegorov got Kazakov to agree to an extra day to prepare, and it was time well spent. By the time they were ready to launch, Fursenko felt confident he could play the role of Yegorov's assistant and flip the right switches at the proper time.