Carl Wilson looked at the camera.
“Major, I know that man is our commander in chief, and I need to show the proper respect to him,” Clay said. “But he is a raving maniac.”
“You’d better get started, Sergeant Major. I don’t know how much time we have remaining,” Jake said.
“Yes, sir, I will get right on it,” Clay promised.
CHAPTER SIX
When the Soviet Union collapsed, the emerging nation of Russia inherited a military designed to fight an all- out global war. At the end of the Cold War the Russian military was left with an air force that could no longer afford to fly its airplanes, a naval fleet that sat rusting in harbors, and an army in shambles. With no more clear-cut enemies in central Europe or on the Chinese border, the military-technical considerations that played a dominant role in Soviet force development and deployment throughout the Cold War period became obsolete. An army that was once one of the two biggest super powers in the world struggled in its brief, but bloody war with Chechnya.
Colonel Andre Yassilov, the commanding officer of a missile battalion on an army base near Moscow, was a victim of the chain of events in Russia. Yassilov’s grandfather had been a hero of the Soviet Union who was personally decorated by Josef Stalin for bravery against the Germans during the Great Patriotic War. Colonel Yassilov’s father was killed in Afghanistan and given a hero’s funeral. Colonel Yassilov, who had served with honor and distinction in the war in Chechnya, had been a member of the army for twenty-six years.
But now things had changed. There was no pay for the military. Worse, there was very little food. The desertion rate of Yassilov’s soldiers was higher than fifty percent and Yassilov couldn’t blame them. At one time being an officer in the Russian armed forces meant having a position that not only commanded great respect, but also paid very well. Now, however, Yassilov, whose missile battery was equipped with SS-25 nuclear warheads, was forced to wait tables. The irony of it was extremely bitter. He had more firepower under his command than the total amount of explosives used in all of World War I and World War II combined—but he was waiting tables, groveling before diners for their measly tips.
Yassilov had swallowed his pride to work at the Gostiny Dvor restaurant, which was situated deep within a decorated garden on Volkova Street. The restaurant had a large dining hall that could seat eighty persons, a VIP hall, and a summer terrace. The interior of the restaurant was vintage Russian with timbered walls, massive dark- brown furniture, decorative windows with shutters, and handmade carpets. In the yard in front of the restaurant there was a fountain and a small waterfall. It was a favorite dining place for tourists, and had especially been so for Americans before recent events had almost completely stopped American travel.
It was here that Yassilov was first approached. One year earlier Yassilov would have never even considered discussing business with someone who made an offer to buy nuclear warheads. Had he been approached even three months ago he would have reported the contact to the proper authorities. But his personal situation had so deteriorated, and the amount of money the man offered was so large that it staggered the senses. It was sufficient money for Yassilov to return his own family to the economic level they had once enjoyed, and there would even be enough leftover to buy food and supplies for his men.
What Yassilov was being asked to do was a terrible violation of the oath he once swore, but, he reasoned, that oath should go both ways. If he owed allegiance to his country, then didn’t his country owe allegiance to him?
The SS-25 missiles under his command had been destined for destruction under terms of the SALT treaty, which meant it would be fairly easy for Yassilov to comply with the request.
Yassilov dismantled the weapons as ordered, but he adjusted the inventory so that all were accounted for, though in fact he held back ten of the warheads. He sold the three warheads for a total of one million five hundred thousand Rubles. That was a small outlay for the man who bought the warheads. He had a buyer in Germany who would pay ten million euros for them.
The buyer in Germany contacted a Venezuelan arms dealer who agreed to pay one hundred million euros for the ten warheads. The Venezuelan paid the money without haggling because he had a customer in Yazikistan who would pay him five billion Venezuelan bolivars. The weapons never left Russia until the final deal was completed; then they were transported quickly and easily from Russia to Yazikistan in containers marked MEDICAL RADIOLOGY.
That night Karin came to Jake’s house, bringing dinner with her, and because she was expected, she let herself into the house. “Jake?” she called.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Jake replied. “I saw you drive up, so I’m getting the root beers.”
“Are you ready to see the Reds beat the Cardinals ?”
“Ha!” Jake replied returning to the living room carrying the two soft drinks. “In your dreams. The Cardinals have the Reds’ number, and always have.”
“What time does the game start?”
“At seven,” Jake said, putting the drinks on the coffee table. “I’ve got it on the right channel. The clicker is on the lamp table right beside you. Just turn it on.”
