The Krakow Klub

by Philip C. Elrod

  She reveled in the thought that she was now, as president of the United States, arguably the most powerful person on the planet. Now, no more orders! Never! At least, that’s what she thought. Just then, her secure satellite phone that connected her to Stoellar announced that he was on the line. She cursed aloud.

  She drained the last drops of bourbon from her glass before answering. How she hated him! Of course, there were few people that she didn’t hate. She gnashed her teeth at the thought of talking to him. She abhorred his condescending manners and tone of voice, even his slight Eastern European accent. How she would love to wipe that insipid smile off his face with a swipe of her long, perfectly manicured nails. Nevertheless, she would have to bide her time. Eventually, she would find a way to rid herself of his control. Indeed, she did love to fantasize about dispatching him in some barbaric fashion.

  For now, being the political animal that she was, her voice oozed charm as she answered the phone. “Erik, how nice of you to call. What may I do for you today?”

  He ignored her greeting and snarled into the phone, “Have the Navy take out an island off Key West named Scott Key. I want everyone there taken into custody and detained for questioning by my special team of interrogators. I don’t care if you wipe that damned island off the face of the earth. It is essential to neutralize what’s going on there immediately.”

  She frowned and asked, “Now, now, isn’t it just a little premature to start wiping out small dissenting factions at this stage of the game? I hardly think anyone cares about what could be happening at some obscure little mosquito-infested speck of sand. It couldn’t possibly be that important to us.”

  “Damn it, Carla, this is serious. I’m ordering you to do it now. I’ll expect a report from you immediately after the island has been secured.”

  He ended the call abruptly without even saying goodbye.

  Carla was enraged. She yelled aloud, “That fucking bastard! Who the hell does he think he is?” She threw the empty bourbon glass against the wall where it shattered into a thousand glittering fragments. “How dare he order me around like that? I am not some common house servant! One day, I will turn the tables on that bastard. I’m the president now, and he’ll just have to learn to live with it. One day I will have the bastard’s head on a stake!”

  It was such a pleasant thought, and she savored it immensely before picking up the White House phone and calling Admiral Abraham L. Bloodworth to give him the order to take Scott Key immediately with all force necessary. The entire operation was, of course, to be top secret.

  ****

  Admiral Bloodworth, chief of Naval Operations, was surprised but not shocked by the president’s order. In the midst of a national crisis, he knew to expect anything. Immediately, he contacted Rear Admiral Hugh Morningstar to carry out the President’s order.

  Morningstar, commander, Naval Surface Forces Atlantic (COMNAVSURFLANT), quickly reviewed his resources in the area and configured CSF635 from units currently operating in the Atlantic not too far from Florida.

  Captain Frederick (Fred) Popovich would command the operation. Popovich was a first generation Polish-American officer who had graduated with honors from the Naval Academy. After many years of exemplary service, he was currently on the list to be promoted to rear admiral, pending congressional approval.

  Captain Popovich received his orders, which were relatively brief:

  “To: Commander CSF635

  “From: Commander, Naval Surface Forces Atlantic (COMNAVSURFLANT).

  “You will proceed to the designated coordinates at flank speed and secure the island known as Scott Key.

  “You are to take into custody all inhabitants and retain them for interrogation.

  “You are to use whatever force is necessary to accomplish your mission.

  “We have accurate intelligence that this little island is the headquarters for the terrorists who assassinated President Wilkinson, as well as other terrorist attacks.

  “Proceed with caution but secure the objective as quickly as possible.

  “You can probably expect armed resistance so act accordingly.”

  Captain Popovich read the order several times, and it still made little sense to him. Scott Key was a mere speck in the Atlantic Ocean near Key West, Florida. To send a CSF on such an assignment seemed to be extreme overkill. He knew that Washington, DC, was in turmoil and the whole country was on edge, but his orders still seemed a bit over the top. But he, like most military officers, followed his orders even though they might seem a bit stupid at the time. That was what you did if you wanted to stay in the military. Orders are orders, and you simply obeyed them.

  As his small naval armada headed rapidly toward Scott Key, Captain Popovich prepared his plan of attack.

  “Plan of attack,” he almost laughed at the term. “What the hell do you have to do to take a tiny island of less than a square mile inhabited by less than a dozen people?”

  Why couldn’t he have been ordered to take Havana? That would have been a battle that made headlines all over the world. And by God, he probably could have done it!

  This inconsequential little sand bar would do nothing for his career. There wouldn’t even be a report in the newspapers. Nevertheless, he would be extremely careful in this mission. He wouldn’t have been ordered to take the tiny island unless there was accurate information about the terrorist group. Perhaps, he could get some good press out of this after all. Surely, anyone who captured the terrorists responsible for assassinating the president would receive unprecedented accolades. He smiled to himself.

  Based on his extensive training and experience, he understood that there is no such thing as an insignificant assignment. Even the most unimportant of missions could result in disaster. Nothing was guaranteed. Even the best-made plans could result in loss of men and equipment to the unforgiving depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Popovich leaned back in his command chair and said out loud, “If they want that speck of sand and the few souls there, then by God I will get it for them.” He calculated that his strike force would be on the scene by early the next morning. In the meantime, he would send a recon plane to get photos, IR images, and radar profiles of the island prior to his arrival.

  It was only a couple of hours before the recon plane returned. The pilot’s report was most disconcerting. He had detected nothing even though he had made four passes directly over the island.

  The dense cloud cover over the island obscured any hope of visual imaging, and most amazingly, there seemed to be some kind of radiation shield that blocked both the IR imaging equipment and surface scanning radar.

  Popovich did not like that report. He was becoming more concerned by the minute about the possible outcome of his assignment.

  What should he do next? He hesitated to send in an assault force blindly. He had no idea what defenses might be in place on the island. The possibilities were endless. Captain Popovich chose not to make a final decision until in the morning. Perhaps by then, after a good night’s rest, the situation would be clearer.

  ****

  The Gulfstream V stopped briefly in Honolulu for refueling. The Dragon Lady, accustomed to taking long flights, used a three-pilot crew to enable her to fly as long as she desired. One pilot was sleeping, and two were on duty at all times. The flight to Shanghai required maximum fuel capacity, and that’s why she had selected the Gulfstream V for her purposes. At the time, she hadn’t thought of needing such long-range capabilities, but being ever cautious, she decided that someday, at some time, she might just need that extended range. Now, she was most thankful for that decision.

  As the jet lifted off from Honolulu, Number Eleven, the Dragon Lady, settled down for some serious thinking. She did not intend to go down without a fight. She was convinced that Stoellar, for all his brilliance, was losing it. She mulled over her position and came to the conclusion that the only person in the Krakow Klub that she needed from this point on was Carla Montrose. Controlling the White Hous
e was essential to controlling the military. Controlling the military was essential to taking control of the entire government. It was that simple. If the plan had any chance of success, Montrose would be needed.

  Fortunately, Eleven had insisted that Stoellar introduce her to Carla Montrose before she agreed to her being the president of choice for Operation Plato. The meeting had been a highly charged affair. The two women disliked each other immediately. Montrose, the emotional one, displayed her feelings through body language even though she spoke quite civilly.

  The Dragon Lady betrayed nothing. She was a master at hiding her real feelings and acted as if she were quite pleased to meet such an important personage. Her performance probably merited an Academy Award. Only Stoellar noted the glint in her eyes that told him she could dispatch Montrose without batting an eyelash.

  Fortunately for all concerned, the meeting had been short.

  Afterward, Stoellar nervously asked Eleven what she thought of Montrose. She gave him a look that could have incinerated a lesser being. “Who?” she answered in a voice as cold as the Arctic. “I don’t think that I’ve met anyone of importance today. Your minion is far below me socially, mentally, and physically. My ancestors would have used her for target practice. I’ve had gum on my shoe that was more important to me.”

  Stoellar was obviously not happy to hear this and started to try to explain why Montrose had been selected, “Eleven, she…”

  Eleven put her forefinger to her lips and smiled. “Shhh! My dear, Number One, I understand that you had to select that creature, but take heed, she is out of control, and it will only get worse. Use her for now but remember that she is dangerous, not because of her brains, but because of her ego. Watch her at all times. You may need to eliminate her sooner rather than later. You’re out of practice. Back in the good old days, she’d already be swimming with the fishes.”

  Stoellar knew that she was right, but he still needed that pint-sized psychopath for a little while longer. She had been the only viable candidate for the job, even though she was a diminutive egomaniac and totally devoid of principals or morals. In other words, she was perfect for the job. At least for the moment.

  Eleven had already been formulating a plan of action. She would use Montrose to her advantage and without the knowledge of Stoellar. It was against Krakow Klub protocol, but she figured that the Krakow Klub was nearing the end of its useful life.

  She quickly called Madame President in the White House.

  Montrose was most annoyed that the phone had interrupted her. She knew it would be Stoellar again since he was the only person with access to that number, or so she thought.

  She answered impatiently, “What do you want now? I have a lot of work to do for you so stop interrupting me.”

  Carla was so startled to hear the female voice that she almost dropped the phone.

  “Carla, this is Number Eleven. I have important information for you and it is urgent.”

  Regaining herself, Carla, in a voice that was far less than pleasant, replied, “And what is so urgent that you bother me after hours?”

  “Listen carefully; time is not on your side. We have discovered that the members of the Krakow Klub have been compromised by an implant that allows us to be tracked. That implant is extremely small and cannot be detected by most normal scanning procedures. There is a doctor in California who understands the device and where it is located.

  “I’m going to make arrangements for him to come to you and remove yours as soon as he’s finished dealing with Erik Stoellar. I would suggest that you have a military jet fly him from California ASAP, as it is getting late in the day. Come up with some story that he is essential to national security. Also, don’t say a word to Stoellar; keep this just between the two of us.

  “I’ve already talked to Dr. Cheong, and he will be prepared to extract your device as soon as he gets to the White House. The extraction is painless and will only take a few minutes. I suggest that you do not let the Secret Service know what you are doing. Have Dr. Cheong do the procedure in the residence.

  “Then, I would suggest that you have your device planted into another person’s head. Obviously, that would be someone already in the White House. If I’m correct, the other person will also have a device. That being the case, just have Cheong switch the two. Then, voila, you will be off the radar. At least for the present time.”

  Number Eleven gave Montrose Dr. Cheong’s private number and urged her to call him as soon as possible. “You make up whatever story necessary to get him to the White House. But get him there as fast as possible. I’ve already discussed this with Dr. Cheong, and he’ll be awaiting your call. So, get moving! Carla, your life probably depends on ridding yourself of that device very soon.”

  With that, the line went dead and Montrose, for once in her life, was speechless, but not for long. With her life at stake, she would certainly not hesitate to act swiftly.

  President Montrose immediately called an air force general in her acquaintance to arrange for Cheong’s flight to Washington, DC, in a supersonic military jet. The trip would take less than three hours, even with the jet needing an in-air refueling midway. Helicopters would be made available to take Cheong to the airport and to deliver him to the White House upon arrival in Washington, DC. The cost to taxpayers would be enormous, but she didn’t care at all.

  If Dr. Cheong were rushed to the airport immediately after finishing with Stoellar, he could be at the White House in Washington, DC, shortly after 10 PM

  But with whom could she safely switch devices?

  Then it came to her.

  “Yes, of course! What a brilliant idea!”

  Chapter 10: We Are at War

  “Remember that even in war there is a time for restraint. A time to hold back your sword.”

  - Suzanne Collins, Gregor and the Code of Claw

  John Scott was worried, but he did not want to show it. He would have to keep his feelings to himself for now. He wasn’t worried about his ability to defeat the Krakow Klub. That was not the issue. The ultimate victory was a sure thing. His Mylean legacy now included more than a thousand remote spacecraft. Even the least powerful of his craft was a formidable opponent for any earthly adversary.

  Each of his craft could detect incoming fire of any weapon, and at a great distance. It then had the means to protect itself in various ways, including simply deflecting the projectile with a gravity shield. Or it could totally destroy it before it reached its target. Maxxine had assured him that it would take less than one hundred of his craft to defeat the combined military might of all the armies on Earth. That left him with an enormous reserve force if it came to an all-out war.

  It was conceivable that a thermonuclear device could destroy one of his remote craft, but that was highly unlikely. If a warhead were launched at one of his ships, the remote would sense the incoming missile and respond at the speed of light. The missile could be vaporized instantly along with those who had launched it. Or, the remote craft could simply avoid the projectile, and take no action at all against the source. It depended on several factors, including the relative degree of danger the remote sensed.

  John shook his head sadly. If the military were to mount an attack in strength, it wouldn’t be a war; it could easily turn into a mass slaughter. The thought of that truly made him sick to his stomach. He knew that getting involved as he was made it possible that he might be responsible for thousands of lives being taken. It made him sick to think about it.

  The only way that he would ever feel the thrill of victory would be if he could win with minimal loss of innocent lives. But, now, the scene for confrontation had already been set. A CSF was headed toward Scott Key and would certainly press some form of an attack. If anyone or anything attacked his island, he would have to stop it. There would most likely be bloodshed. But he could not allow any harm to be done to his island or anyone on it, even if it meant totally destroying the entire CSF.

  He almost hated to admit it, bu
t to save his Julia, he would kill many—a great many. Probably all that the situation required. It was a frightening thought.

  ****

  John arrived at the living quarters where Jim and the freshly dressed president were waiting.

  Jim greeted John, asking, “What is the status of Scott Key? Are Julia and Sylvia safe?”

  John replied, “All is well there. I’ve made all my resources available to Mister T and Maxxine to defend it, and I’ve authorized lethal force to be used if necessary. Be patient; you’ll see for yourself in just a few minutes.”

  President Wilkinson suddenly spoke up, “Just a minute! I understood that we would be going directly to Washington.”

  John gave Wilkinson an approving nod, “Mr. President; we’re only stopping at the island briefly, and then we’ll head directly to the Greenbrier after that. There’s no need to go to Washington, DC, at the moment since the entire government, except for Carla Montrose and her staff, are already at the Greenbrier.

  “We don’t need to go to Washington, DC, until we’re ready to confront the Krakow Klub openly. There are things that we must do before we are ready for that confrontation.

  “Incidentally, sir, you look much better in your fresh duds.”

  The president had asked for a suit and tie for his return to the White House, but Jim Slater had suggested otherwise. “Mister President, think of all the times you’ve seen a television broadcast at the scene of a natural disaster or in a war zone. Did you ever see the mayor, the president, or anyone else of status dressed impeccably in a business suit? No! They would be wearing something like a windbreaker, baseball cap, and casual dress. You don’t want to look like you’re untouched by the crisis. You certainly don’t want it to appear that you wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty. You’ve got to look like you’re ready to jump in and join the first responders or the military.”

  Wilkinson had thought for a minute and then agreed. “You’re right, of course, Dr. Slater, I’m not yet accustomed to thinking presidentially. But I learn fast. Please bear with me.”