Her sister had always hinted that it was this above-average intelligence that scared off her suitors, but Kuzmin thought he, knew better! She hadn’t settled down because she hadn’t found a man whom she could call her equal. Surely the captain more than adequately fit this profile. Sorry that their leave had been cut so abruptly, Kuzmin looked forward to their return, when he would once more invite the captain for dinner. With this added motivation, the which man scooted forward as quickly as he could.
A blast of frigid air hit his feet, and soon his whole body was enveloped in a chilly breeze, the transfer of which was the purpose of this shaft. When the cold caused painful cramps to develop in his thighs, his progress was all but stopped. Writhing in agony, he reached in vain to massage his muscles. He could only attempt to rub the cramp out against the cold steel of the shaft. Eventually his muscles relaxed and he continued on.
Just when it seemed that he would never reach his goal, a sliver of light beckoned from up ahead. The intensity of the light gradually increased in relation to his forward progress. He had to give his eyes several seconds to adjust to the brightness before he was in a position to see the source of the light.
The ventilation grill was set in the wall immediately above the captain’s desk. From this vantage point Kuzmin had an adequate view of the room’s interior.
It was to the cabin’s single bunk that his eyes were drawn. There, laying bound and unconscious on the narrow mattress, was Petyr Valenko.
Angered to the point of desperation, the which man snapped out the wire screen’s bottom fasteners with the heel of his hand. Oblivious to injury, he tumbled out of the shaft head-first, using the desk to break his fall. Though he was racked with pain, he focused his entire attention on his captive friend.
The warrant officer sighed with relief when his fingers found the captain’s pulse; it was weak, but steady. While removing the adhesive tape from Valenko’s mouth, Kuzmin spotted a nasty looking red bruise over Valenko’s right temple. To halt the spotty flow of blood still oozing from the wound, he used a damp wash cloth as a gentle compress.
Then he wet another towel and laid it over Valenko’s forehead.
As he unraveled the tape binding the captain’s wrists, Kuzmin realized that his friend was stirring.
Ever so slowly, the captain’s eyes opened. As he struggled to focus, he caught sight of Kuzmin and groggily mumbled, “Stefan? Stefan, what has happened here?”
“Easy now, Comrade,” the which man gently pleaded.
“Give yourself a moment to allow your head to clear. You’ve got one nasty gash on your forehead.”
Kuzmin unraveled the tape that bound the captain’s ankles. By the time he was done, Valenko was doing his best to scan the room.
There was a sudden light in his eyes as memory returned, and Valenko gasped, “The Vulkan … my ship … the Zampolit!”
Kuzmin put a finger to his lips and signaled the captain to be quiet.
Then he whispered, “I’m afraid you have a sentry outside your door.
Captain. We’re going to have to be very careful not to draw his attention.”
Valenko nodded that he understood and strained to sit up. The which man helped him by placing a pair of pillows under his neck.
With frantic urgency, Valenko said, “You’ve got to help me, Stefan. The zampolit and Senior Lieutenant Leonov have taken control of the ship!”
“I figured as much,” the which man said.
“I’ll bet this mutiny is related to the sensor tape I just completed analyzing. The hydrophone recording device was not malfunctioning, as we had earlier assumed. It looks to me like someone deliberately slit the cassette tape. I can prove not only that the shock-wave was caused by an exploding Kresta-class cruiser, but that the weapon that caused the blast was … a Soviet torpedo.”
Stunned by the disclosure, Valenko’s eyes widened.
“No wonder Novikov didn’t want the Vulkan to ascend for reconfirm orders!”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” the confused which man asked.
Valenko took a few seconds before answering.
“The first thing that you have to know, Stefan, is that the Vulkan is under a Red Flag alert. To my knowledge, this is not a planned exercise. As you well know, when such an alert is received we need only concern ourselves with communication attempts on the ELF bands.
When Zinyakin picked up that transmission, just before the blast, my gut told me that it was one of our own ships desperately trying to contact us. If it was indeed a Soviet torpedo that took it to the bottom, someone sure went to extremes to make certain that message wasn’t successfully transmitted.”
Suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn’t know the time, Valenko looked at his watch — and issued a long sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness there’s still time.
Our war orders have instructed us to empty our missile magazine at 2130 hours. When I voiced my decision to order an ascent to communication depth at 2100 hours, to receive a final confirmation, the zampolit made his move. No war has been declared, they only want us to believe that one has!” “But why?” asked the stunned which man “You’ll find the answer to your question locked inside the warhead guidance system. If my suspicions are correct, I think you’ll find that the set of targets that were originally programmed have been drastically changed.”
“In what way?”
“Our previous targets were primarily soft ones-various military and civilian centers on America’s West Coast. If hard targets have since been substituted, the Vulkan could be the lead element in a surprise, decapitating first strike. To find out for certain, I’m going to need your assistance, Stefan.”
“Just name it, Captain. I’m behind you one hundred percent.” “First off,” said the captain, “I’m going to want you to tie me up once again. There’s no use letting these maniacs know that we’re on to them. Then, you’re going to sneak back out of here and access that guidance system. Today’s code word is Lake Khasan. If our targets have been changed, we can be certain of the mutineers’ motives. It will be up to you to make sure that our SS-N-18s can’t be launched.”
“I believe I can get into the missile room without attracting too much attention,” the warrant officer said.
“Yuri Chuchkin and I are on excellent terms. If I can be there alone for a few minutes, I know of a most accessible circuit panel. A quick slash and the launch-control system will be completely inoperable.”
“Excellent! How thankful I am for the bond that brings us together, Stefan. For the sake of little Nikolai and the rest of the children of the world, we mustn’t fail. Now quickly, retie these bonds and be off!
The seconds to the apocalypse continue to tick away.”
Chapter Ten
For President Robert Palmer, the day had already been a most trying one. During the preceding weeks he had looked forward to this afternoon with great anticipation. At last the United States and the Soviet Union could be on their way to a new beginning. The way it was turning out, the present world outlook appeared anything but hopeful.
Palmer reflected on the morning’s confusing events as he watched the plane carrying Premier Viktor Rodin touch down on the nearby runway.
His vantage point was a private gate, set into one end of Los Angeles airport’s international terminal. Standing before a huge picture window, he watched the massive Soviet aircraft hit the pavement with a noticeable jolt. A puff of smoke rose from the landing gear as the brakes were applied, and the lumbering jet coasted to an eventual halt. While it turned to begin the journey back to the terminal, the President mentally prepared himself for the encounter that would soon follow.
At forty-eight, Palmer was one of the youngest Chief Executive’s in history. In office for a little over seven months, he had already taken it upon himself to tackle a problem that had been facing the country for almost a century. Soviet-American relations were the paramount concern of the times. This was especially true in the U.S.” where citizen involvement had reached an all-time high. Palmer’s landslide victory in the recent election proved this.