Olga blushed.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is something I’ve wanted to see since I was a child.”
“There’s no need for apologies,” returned the Premier.
“I was only playing with you. In a way, I, too, am anxious to see what’s so special about this amusement park. I must admit, though, that touring it with the U.S. President will be most unique. If only my children could have been with us… You’ll be sure to help me with the proper souvenirs.”
“Of course. Comrade General Secretary. I’ll be happy to.”
The whine of the jet engines changed noticeably as the hint of a pressure alteration pressed on their eardrums. A muted electronic tone sounded, followed by a woman’s soothing voice.
“The captain would like to inform you that we are beginning our descent into Petropavlovsk. Please extinguish all cigarettes and fasten your seat belts.”
Rodin hastily finished his tart and the tea. Olga stepped forward to remove the tray.
“Thanks for the snack, my dear. I feel better already.”
Olga nodded and left the cabin as quietly as she had entered. Viktor Rodin was alone once again.
After making sure that his seat belt was buckled, he swiveled around and peered out the window. He saw they were over the sea once again, although this time he knew the body of water to be the Pacific Ocean.
As the IL-76 pulled out of a tightly banked turn, he got his first view of the city for which they were headed.
Petropavlovsk lay glistening in an ample coat of newly fallen snow.
Fortunately, the storm front had long passed and the skies remained clear.
Rodin stirred as a loud, grinding sound beneath them indicated that the landing gear was being extended.
The plane slowed as the engines again changed octaves. Still glued to the window, the Premier could now see the first of the port facilities.
This included over a half-dozen destroyers, a large missile carrying cruiser and various support ships. He also spotted the dockside concrete pens where the Third Fleet’s submarines were moored. Further inland, they passed over an installation bristling with antennas and radar domes. This all-important site was the heart of the facility.
Dozens of individual figures could be seen busily walking to and from this central structure.
And just how would the face of the base change if the summit with Robert Palmer proved successful?
Rodin pondered this fascinating question as the airport came into view, opposite what appeared to be a huge, wooded public park. So intense was his train of thought that not even the jolt of the plane’s twenty wheel landing gear biting the pavement disturbed him.
Fleet Admiral Stanislav Sorokin waited impatiently for the glistening, silver-skinned IL-76 to halt before the gate. The command plane had been flying with the benefit of a stiff tailwind and had arrived a good thirty minutes before schedule. Sorokin was pleased with this, for their day promised to be a busy one.
Their first stop, after leaving the airport, would be at the sub pens.
Here, the Premier would be escorted on a personal tour of their latest Delta Illclass ballistic-missile-carrying sub, the Vulkan. Sorokin couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. Ignorant of the plan already set in motion, Rodin would be meeting the crew that would soon be responsible for his incineration. If the “man of peace” only knew the ultimate destination of the missiles he would soon be inspecting!
So far. Operation Counterforce was proceeding without serious difficulties. Their only major setback had been the KGB’s failure to eliminate Petyr Valenko, the Vulkan’s present captain. The hit on Valenko had been ordered following a report from the sub’s zampolit.
Two sloppy attempts on his life had met with no success. The local operatives were far from the professionals who worked out of Moscow, and their incompetency wouldn’t be ignored. Yet, it was doubtful Valenko had any reason to believe he hadn’t merely been the victim of two unrelated accidents.
Whatever, Konstantin Belchenko didn’t seem too concerned that the captain remained on duty. A phone call to his dacha in Penza had reconfirmed Belchenko’s belief that ways would be found to work around Petyr Valenko.
Sorokin hated having one of his line officers had died in this manner. Valenko had an unblemished service record.
He didn’t seem to be the type that had strong political convictions, but the admiral couldn’t ignore the warnings of the frantic Zampolit.
One more individual would be sacrificed for the good of the masses.
The grinding whine of the IL-76’s turbofan engines sounded clearly inside the terminal, and Sorokin walked calmly to the observation window. With his right hand, he vainly attempted to smooth down the wild tufts of thin white hair that never seemed to stay in place. He took a deep breath and prepared to meet the man whom he had already condemned to a fiery death. He looked on as the aircraft slowly pulled up to the terminal, appearing like a ponderous, prehistoric beast. The plane halted, a walkway leading directly into the interior was connected, and minutes later his grinning, youthful guest appeared.
With a forced diplomatic smile, Sorokin met the Premier with a hug and kisses on both cheeks.
“Good morning. Comrade General Secretary. Welcome to Petropavlovsk.”
Rodin stretched his cramped frame and politely answered, “Thank you.
Admiral Sorokin. It’s been much too long since I’ve visited this portion of the Rodina. How have you been?”
“As well as a man of my advanced years can be,” Sorokin said without much emotion.
Rodin shook his head.
“I just hope that I can remain as active as you when I reach your age, Comrade. I see we’ve had a little snowstorm.”
“It wasn’t the first of the season, and it won’t be the last,” the admiral commented.
“We’ve been lucky so far in Moscow. The autumn weather has never been so glorious. Of course, now I have the warm, sunny skies of Los Angeles to look forward to.”
Sorokin smiled at that.
“If you’re ready, Comrade General Secretary, I think it’s best that we get moving.
Our schedule today is a tight one.”
“I was expecting as much,” Rodin responded, and turned to issue last-minute instructions to Olga Tyumen and the rest of his staff.
Ten minutes later, the Premier and the admiral were cruising down the icy streets of Petropavlovsk.
From the spacious back seat of a black Zil limousine, they watched the busy city pass. An awkward moment of silence prevailed. It proved to be Viktor Rodin who cleared his throat and initiated the conversation.
“This city has certainly grown since my last visit. I can attribute the orderliness of this expansion to the navy. Admiral. Your planners did an excellent job of anticipating the future needs of this expanding port facility. As always, I commend you for your foresight.”
Sorokin merely nodded at the compliment as Rodin continued.
“I have been meaning to meet with you for some time now. As you know, these past two years have been hectic ones for me. Establishing one’s power base in the Kremlin can be most tiring, but the effort shall soon pay off handsomely.”
Rodin broke off his discourse when the car suddenly skidded on a patch of ice while rounding a road curve. The alert driver steered into the direction of the skid and soon had the limo back under complete control.
“I imagine that these streets must have been impassable earlier. By the way, are we headed to the base now?”
Sorokin replied flatly, “That we are, sir. Your welcoming speech has been delayed until after your inspection of the Vulkan. Since their orders have them sailing on the noon tide, this scheduling change was necessitated.”
“There’s no trouble with that. Admiral. I’d much rather have the opportunity to meet the brave crew of one of the Motherland’s most advanced vessels than hurry off to give one of my infamous speeches.”