The first had been traced to the Kremlin office of Senior Politburo member Pavel Zavenyagin. Though Rodin had little personal contact with that particular individual, he knew much about the man’s checkered career. A thin, balding, beady-eyed figure, characterized by a full drooping moustache and a set of thick, bushy eyebrows, Zavenyagin was one of the last of the old-time hard liners Still living in the past glories of World War II, it would be just like him to support such a desperate act of treachery.
It proved to be the recipient of Admiral Sorokin’s second call that truly surprised the Premier. Konstantin Belchenko had been one of the Soviet Union’s most illustrious bureaucrats. Just as much a legend in his time as the admiral, the First Deputy of the KGB was someone who Rodin had always looked up to.
With his brave exploits during the Great War a matter of general public knowledge, Belchenko did for their intelligence service what Sorokin had done for the navy.
Rodin wondered if perhaps the sickness that Belchdenko had been fighting the past few months had pushed him to this extreme. Fever could distort a man’s perspective in a most subtle way. Although the Premier wished he could blame it on Belchenko’s infection, he knew that there had to be a solid motive behind the first deputy’s actions. Like Zavenyagin, he must have been still living in the past. Fearful of the new, enlightened world that was dawning, Belchenko had helped instigate the plot in a desperate effort to push back the hands of time. Conscious of the man’s position of power, the Premier had made the hard decision to immediately place Belchenko under arrest. Already units of the MVD were moving into the woods that surrounded his dacha on the banks of the Sura.
With him out of the way, there was only one more conspirator to face.
Stanislav Sorokin’s flight plan made it evident that he was headed for Petropavlovsk.
There would be a uniformed “welcoming committee” waiting for him there, courtesy of Viktor Rodin. His decision to place the admiral under arrest had been equally as difficult as that concerning the first deputy, but Rodin had had no choice. To apprehend one of the legends of their time could prove most unpopular, but the Premier knew that he could deal with that problem.
In the new world order that would hopefully follow, Sorokin’s talents would have been greatly appreciated.
The conversion from a wartime fleet would take a unique vision for which talented sailors such as the admiral were famous. Yet, like his coconspirators, Sorokin had decided to go out with a bang instead of a whimper.
As Rodin’s thoughts turned toward the future, he visualized that moment when Robert Palmer had first conveyed the news of the Vulkan’s demise.
Like young school boys, they had shouted for joy and embraced.
Although this day had come close to being the most tragic one the earth had ever known, the hand of destiny demanded that sanity prevail. Out of this black tide of tear and despair would evolve a new era of international cooperation, although neither leader fooled himself into thinking that such a conversion would be easy. Many obstacles would still have to be faced.
First on Rodin’s agenda was the reconsolidation of his power back home.
Unfortunately, that would necessitate a temporary delay in the present summit.
He had gratefully accepted Palmer’s offer to use one of the President’s command planes to fly back to the Soviet Union. There, he would bring to public justice the madmen responsible for this near tragedy. Then would begin the arduous task of working toward the lofty promises that both leaders had sworn to each other on this most eventful of days.
Looking out at the seemingly endless California city that hugged the coastline here, Rodin shuddered as he contemplated the consequences if the Vulkan hadn’t been stopped in time. So that such an occurrence could never come to pass again, the nuclear genie had to be contained forever. This was the ultimate purpose to which he would now devote his entire life. Only by banning nuclear weapons from the face of the earth could man’s continued existence be assured.
The frigid north wind blew icy gusts, and Konstantin Belchenko halted momentarily to pull the collar of his greatcoat closer to his neck.
Peering out toward the narrow footbridge that crossed the surging Sura, he caught sight of the ancient birch forest on the river’s opposite bank. Like a fleet of sailboat masts bending in a blustery breeze, the white, shaggy trunks swayed in unison. The sound of the merciless wind rose in a howl, clearly predominating over the steady crash of the Sura’s current.
When a raven’s harsh cry called in the distance, Belchenko looked up and caught sight of an ominous bank of dark storm clouds, gathering above the woods. Already, the first snow flurries were falling.
Soon the total brunt of the advancing storm would be upon them.
Oblivious to the threat, Belchenko pushed himself on toward the bridge’s tapered span.
Though his nurse Katrina had pleaded with him to remain before the fireplace in the dacha, the call had been much too loud for the first deputy to ignore.
Drained by the events of the day just passed, he knew of but a single place where his tangled contemplations would sort themselves out. As they had served for decades past, the birch forest remained his sole place of grace.
Aware of the sheet of ice that was rapidly forming on the bridge’s planked floor, he carefully crossed the expanse. Here the crash of the Sura was almost deafening. For an instant, he stopped halfway across and took in the swift current as it tumbled downstream.
Was it really that long ago that he had shared this same view with his father? Aware of the passing years, he remembered a time of glorious innocence when a fishing rod and a picnic basket had been his only concerns. It was during that period that the woods had first spoken to him like a long lost friend. Soothed by its message of primal simplicity, he had never failed to return in the crazed years that had followed.
Even during the Great War he had managed to spend some time there. In fact, it was on this very span that he had conceived the idea which first brought him to the attention of his commanding officer — the legendary Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria. Assigned to an NKVD intelligence batallion, Belchenko thought of a plan to place their agents in occupied towns dressed in the uniforms of the German SS.
With instructions to murder, rape and pillage, their agents would always leave behind survivors who could attest to the fact that the Germans were far from saviors. The psychological affects of such an operation had rallied thousands of potential defectors to the Rodina’s cause.
Pleased with Belchenko’s concept, Beria had given the young officer his own crack unit. Under the direction of the organization known as SMERSH, he had led a squadron of soldiers to the front. Positioned behind their own Red Army units, it was their duty to shoot any of their comrades who tried to retreat in the face of German counterattacks. Though often distasteful, he was well aware of his duty’s importance and gave the task his all.
After the war’s conclusion, he again returned to Penza, this time as a full-fledged KGB agent. Recruited by General Ivan Alexandrovich Serov in 1954, the year that the KGB was born, Belchenko sought the first Eastern-bloc agents to crack the newly formed imperialist organization known as NATO.
Once more, he rose in the ranks.
In April of 1967, under the direction of Yuri Andropov, he went off to Vietnam. With tons of America’s latest captured war gear waiting for them, the KGB had had an intelligence field day.