Major? A lawyer? Or a patriot?”
Zubchenko stiffened. “I know my duty, Colonel. I cannot allow the President to leave this compound without written orders from someone in legitimate authority!”
“The President himself is the
Zubchenko felt cold. By training and temperament, he was more a policeman than a professional military officer, but he knew how to count rifles. More important, he could read the iron determination in Soloviev’s voice and eyes. If he tried to resist this man and his soldiers, he would only be signing his own death warrant. He looked away from the colonel’s steady, unnerving gaze, turned to his sergeant, and said through gritted teeth, “Let them through.”
Soloviev pushed past the ashen-faced security officer, marched into the dacha, and took the stairs to the second floor. Russia’s tall, barrel-chested President came down to meet him before he was halfway up. Ironically, eight months of enforced seclusion seemed to have restored the man’s vigor. He looked rested and even a little younger than he had in the days before the generals forced him to declare martial law.
The President stopped on the staircase, looking down with a tight, controlled smile. “Is this a state visit, Colonel Soloviev? Or a firing squad?”
“Neither, sir. Marshal Kaminov and his subordinates are dead.” Soloviev said it bluntly. “My men and I have come to escort you back to Moscow.”
“Back to power?”
Soloviev nodded. “Yes, sir. By the time we reach the city, it should be reasonably secure. Generals Pikhoia and Baratov and their troops are busy now disarming certain FIS and military units… until their loyalties can be ‘determined.’”
The older man seemed strangely unsurprised. “I see.” He straightened up, somehow gaining apparent height and size. “Very well, Colonel. Let’s be about it. I suspect that time is at a premium.”
“Yes, sir.” For the first time Soloviev hesitated. “Our forces on the Polish border…”
“Are about to invade,” the President finished for him. When he saw the younger man’s surprise, he laughed harshly. “Marshal Kaminov was ‘kind’ enough to keep me informed about what he was doing with the nation I was elected to lead.” He shook his massive head. “The thought of Russian soldiers acting as paid mercenaries for the French! What insanity! I’ll soon put a stop to that nonsense.”
Soloviev nodded, relieved.
When they turned to go downstairs together, the President laid a hand on Soloviev’s shoulder. He lowered his voice. “One thing more, Colonel. I know how much you and your comrades have risked to restore our democracy. I only wish our people could know how much they owe you.”
Soloviev shook his head slowly. “We merely did our duty, Mr. President — to you and to the Constitution. Nothing more is necessary.”
“Or wise…”
“Or wise,” Soloviev agreed. “Kaminov and his closest followers are dead, but there are many more like them scattered throughout our military and the ministries. For now they are confused, adrift and rudderless. But that will change as time passes.” His mouth thinned to a grim line. “Who knows? You may have need of us again someday.”
Slowly, sadly, Russia’s President nodded. Both men walked out toward the waiting vehicles in silence.
The high-ranking soldiers and civilians gathered in the Situation Room sat clustered at one end of the rectangular table. They faced an array of video cameras and a giant wall screen which showed their British opposite numbers meeting in the Cabinet Room at Number. 10 Downing Street. As the war escalated, these satellite teleconferences between the allied military and political leaders were becoming a daily routine. However, the scattered news reports coming out of Moscow made this morning’s top-level conclave anything but routine.
Electronic display maps visible to the men and women on both sides of the Atlantic showed the current status and deployment of all Combined Forces naval, air, and ground units. Other symbols, highlighted in red, depicted the latest intelligence regarding EurCon’s military forces. At the moment, the Russian divisions detected on Poland’s eastern frontier were lit up in white. With Kaminov apparently dead, no one really knew which way they would jump now.
The President leaned forward, eager to get straight to the point. The letters
The director of Central Intelligence spoke up first. “Yes, sir, I think we should.” Quinn went on with specifics, “The real-time pictures from our most recent satellite pass over the border area showed several troop units on the move in Belarus. They were moving east — not west. Moscow’s orders for a pullback were also mentioned in several tactical communications between Russian field commanders picked up by our Vortex SIGINT satellite over Eastern Europe.”
The President eyed his portly CIA chief narrowly. He suspected the man had other reasons to believe what the Russians were saying — reasons he didn’t want to go into here. Not in front of the British. Just before they’d made the satellite hookup to London, Quinn had been called out of the room to receive an urgent signal from his agency’s Moscow Station. When the director returned, he’d looked stunned at first — almost poleaxed by what he’d been told. The President made a mental note to shake the story out of the man after the meeting. To make sound decisions he needed every scrap of information he could lay his hands on.
He turned to Reid Galloway. “Is there any other hard evidence of a Russian withdrawal, General?”
Galloway, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, nodded firmly. “Yes, Mr. President. Our AWACS plane flying over eastern Poland has detected large numbers of Russian combat aircraft heading back to their old bases. They’re not making any effort to avoid our radar coverage or hide their movements. Those are not the actions of a country still preparing a sneak attack.” The U.S. and Royal Air Force officers seated around both tables muttered their agreement.
“Very well.” The President looked into the video camera feeding his image to London. “What do you think, Mr. Prime Minister?”
The Englishman’s eyes gleamed behind his thick glasses. “I think, Mr. President, we should redouble our efforts to bring this war to a speedy and victorious close.”
“I agree.” The President breathed out in relief, feeling a tiny part of the strain he’d been under dissipate. War with France and Germany was bad enough. The prospect of war with Russia as well had been almost too terrible to contemplate.
His gaze settled on the map display showing friendly naval forces and convoys in the North Sea. If the Russians were really going to stay out of the conflict, it was time to take more decisive measures against the enemies they already had. Time to roll the dice. He set his jaw. “That’s why I’m convinced we should approve ‘Haymaker’ immediately, Mr. Prime Minister.”
The other man sat forward. “You’ve heard from Ross, then?”
The President nodded. “Very late last night. Everything’s set on his end. But apparently our newfound friends are waiting on us before giving the final go-ahead for their own forces.” He glanced at his own advisors, knowing some of them were still very leery of what they considered essentially a political gambit — one that could carry an extremely high military price tag if any one of a dozen things went wrong. “I know there are risks in this operation, but I believe the risks are worth taking.”
Britain’s leader glanced at his cabinet colleagues for a moment. Then he nodded decisively. “Speaking for Her Majesty’s Government, Mr. President, I agree. We must strike, and strike now.”
“Then Haymaker is a go.” The President turned to General Galloway.
The chairman of the Joint Chiefs grinned. “Yes, sir.” He turned to the other British and American service chiefs.
