Hammond stood with his eyes wide. “What the hell have I done?” he asked.
Perry Johnson laughed. “Son, you have just been thrown into the political quagmire that is known as Europe. I’m afraid you have won over their military types and now the politicians want to get hold of you.” He motioned to a seat.
After sitting down Johnson continued, “Look, Roger, these guys are running a little scared. You came in and calmed them down a bit, so naturally, they are interested in who you are and what you may have to say on all that’s going on. Steve called me and said to tell you to go over there and keep doing what you’re doing. He said it’s the first unifying thing to happen to those guys since we won the war. So just pack up and go. Try and take some time to enjoy yourself. It will be a one week trip.”
Hammond sat back and deflated a bit. “This is getting awfully tiring going back and forth to the continent,” he commented, then sat up in his seat. “And Patricia was coming up this weekend. I had hoped to spend a little time with them,” he exclaimed.
The CNO got a slightly hurt look on his face. “Sorry about that Roger, but this has got to happen. Do you want to take her along?”
Hammond shook his head. “No, she can’t be away that long and Little Steve doesn’t have a passport.”
“We can fix that if you like. You sure?”
Hammond thought a minute, then shook his head again. “No, if I take them it will be for us, not for business. Besides, you know how this will go. I probably won’t have the time to do much of anything but schmooze.”
The CNO’s face got a resigned look. “I hate that, Roger. The both of you have been through a lot. Let’s get this done and I’ll see what we can do to get you some time together,” he promised.
Hammond gave a weak smile. “I appreciate it. I know it’s not your fault. When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Johnson said with a shrug.
Hammond chuckled and shook his head. He pointed his finger at his boss, “Keep this up and I’ll talk to my detailer,” he joked.
The CNO placed his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you to the plane. It’s a Navy one this time. We’re sending you in style,” he said.
“Oh great,” Hammond said as they left the office. Both were stopped cold with news from California.
Erich Bolin sat in the back of a van and pored over the files of the case. It still amazed him how a seemingly innocuous request sometimes unravels into a major case. There had been nearly twenty major riots or near riots in Poland recently that had sifted down to something concerning ethnic Russians. After conducting a search of videos in the areas surrounding the events, the man calling himself Filip Menski had been seen at fifteen of them. After getting the call from his friend Hector Polski, he had tried to look the man up and found nothing at all, not even a birth certificate. That red flag led to some surveillance. From there, it was found that he met regularly with a group of men, including Anton Kursov, a pharmacist who was renting out an apartment to Menski. A simple check led to the discovery that all of the men were Polish citizens that had come to Poland from the Soviet Union in the last century before the breakup. That had been when he contacted Agencja Wywiadu, the nation’s foreign intelligence service.
It hadn’t taken long before Menski had been identified as Anton Bugayev, a member of the Russian SVR. The last place Bugayev had been seen was in the Ukraine just prior to the Russian takeover. A van had been placed one block from the apartment to keep an eye on things. To their surprise, it had picked up radio transmissions from the apartment after two of their meetings. Bolin’s case was rock solid. But, as usual, he wanted a little icing on his cake. They had learned there would be a meeting tonight in the basement of an apartment building not far from the Polski residence. Already the listening devices had been planted and a tracer placed on Bugayev’s scooter. A squad of twenty men was waiting in three vans to go in and assault them during the meeting. He would catch them all at one time.
One of the men stuck his head around the curtain in the van. “They started their meeting,” he said.
“Is it being recorded?”
“Yes sir, we are ready when you say go.”
Bolin peeked around the curtain and scanned the street. It was quiet. “We go in as planned, van three, go to the back, the other two go to the front. Make this quick. Now move!” he ordered.
The three vans sprang around the corners of the buildings and pulled up directly by the only exits of the building. Immediately the doors flew open and the fully armed officers, dressed in black, rushed into the building.
The radio team heard a warning from somewhere in the building over a separate frequency. Inside the basement, the men tried to scatter. Several made it to the basement stairs before several of the police crashed through the door screaming for everyone to get on the ground. Two of the men made a break for the two small basement windows, only to be stopped by officers standing outside. It was a wild melee until the officers were finally able to get everyone down and on the floor. Once there, Bolin surveyed the captives. “Alright Bugayev, time to show your face,” he said. None of the men on the floor moved. Cursing in disgust, he had each man turned over to see their faces. Bugayev wasn’t there. “Son of a bitch!” Bolin swore. He looked around the room for other places for people to hide. That was when he noticed the laundry chute. The end of a rope was dangling from the opening.
“Get some men going through the building, room by room. I want that man found immediately,” he screamed.
Several of the men started to head back up the stairs when a call came out over the radio. “Someone just jumped down the fire escape!”
More units were called in and an extensive search was begun in the area, but after an exhaustive search, there was nothing. Anton Bugayev had escaped.
The difference had been night and day. Today’s exercise had sent the same 100 drones against a training battalion on the exercise fields. Tanks and troops were everywhere, yet, in a matter of ten minutes, the drones had descended on the troops and had simulated kills on over 600 different people. After expending the last rounds, the drones had returned to their launch points and had been shut down. The general watching the display could not believe his eyes.
“How many of these things do we have?” the General asked.
“My understanding is there are already five thousand of the things ready to rock and roll. This is the first class. A second is in training and a third has started. I called down to Bragg. They already have over a thousand people trained and they are on transports to Germany. We shared the organizational ideas and the communications setup. They replicated it and saw the same results. These guys will head out day after tomorrow,” said the Colonel.
The General slapped the Colonel on the shoulder. “Get them ready fast, Colonel. I have a feeling we will need them over there yesterday,” he said.
Hammond finished putting some papers into his briefcase for the trip. Captain Clarity had made sure he had all he would need. Just as he was about to leave, Clarity entered the office one last time. “By the way, I have some reading material for you,” he said with a grin. He handed over a three ring binder a good five inches thick.
Hammond got a pained look on his face. “Mike, don’t you think I have enough to do?” he asked.