It was way out there for Dan to grasp. Nobody in the room was primed for what Kenneth said. Because his ancestry was from the Far East, there seemed to be a great amount of credibility in his words. Dan tried to take everything he had heard and piece it all together. But it didn’t fit.
“Well, Admiral, that’s an interesting point of view.” The president by now knew he was in over his head. It was one of those days when he thought the job too big. “Your opinion doesn’t make things less complicated.”
“I understand that, but it is my opinion,” offered Sukudo.
Dan ran what Kenneth said over again in his head. It was more than odd, but he wasn’t sure how. On one level, it made perfect sense. On another, he couldn’t believe that he had endorsed Levi’s recommended action — or nonaction. Still on another, it seemed to come out of nowhere. It was so far out in left field that Dan was surprised that Sukudo had said anything like it at all, which was exactly why nothing added up for him.
The president was clearly uncomfortable with the subject and felt inadequate to be pondering the realities. To him any decision he made might have the wrong ramifications for his administration and the way history would record his term. That, he especially didn’t like to think about. It was petty, but he did want a library when his last term was finished. “I’ve got to wait on this, gentlemen. I don’t even have a gut feeling on what would be a proper course of action. Some of the variables have to drop by the wayside so I can get a better grasp.”
That meant to Dan that the president was going to do nothing. So what else was new?
Everyone held their breath. The Saratov paralleled the War Eagle. She was five miles to the north and passing. For sonar, it was like being right next door.
Jim could have kicked himself. He didn’t get his ship deep enough. The War Eagle was five hundred feet more shallow than the Saratov. This would make it hard for him to slip behind and into its shadow. He couldn’t dive because opening any doors for the ballast would immediately be heard. He’d have to ease the War Eagle down and behind over several miles. That would be tricky. It required great patience.
To listen to the Saratov, Bumper had relieved his ensign of the headphones and sonar equipment and took them on himself. As the Saratov passed, he enhanced the signature and fed the computer a better footprint for the tracking. To a top-notch, experienced operator like Bumper, the Saratov was almost inaudible. The quietest ship he had ever followed. At times, it disappeared completely from his ears. Only the computer seemed to have a constant lock. He knew that was tenuous at best. The computer took in all the variables and attempted to plot the most reasonable course for the ship. Then passive sonar would focus on that area where the computer expected the prey to show. Luckily it had been correct.
“She’s a real ghost, Cap,” he said over his shoulder. “Past and moving off.”
“Linc, ahead slow.”
“Aye, Cap.”
“Okay, Bump. Don’t lose her. At the end of fifty miles, I want to be right in her behind.”
Jim hadn’t rested in a long time. Mental fatigue often was the real enemy in these circumstances. Being this close was daring; moving closer was dangerous.
The excitement was awesome for Boris Valsovich. His tank battalion was bivouacked outside of Lyublino, and Moscow towered on the horizon. There was been word of a calamity in the east. Something that involved radioactive material, and the local towns were being evacuated as a precaution. It was only known to the military.
Boris knew, though. He now knew that Andri had succeeded in the beginning of his plan. He had sent a very real message to the Russian government. It was beautiful to Boris. With one well-placed nuclear explosion, the Russian government was going to have one option: surrender. No one would be hurt. The transition would almost be peaceful. Then back to the communist way. The Balkans would be the first countries to rejoin the new Soviet Empire.
It sent chills of joy up his spine. It also proved a much-argued point in warfare. Can one government be held hostage? Yes, thought Boris. The trick is making sure that the government never gets in that position.
In thirty-six hours, he would make contact with Andri and roll his tanks onto Red Square. There he would demand that Ochinkin resign, and the Congress of the People’s Deputies recognize Andri Stemovich as their interim president. It shouldn’t take more than six hours on the outside. It had better not be longer than that because Boris had only enough fuel left in his tanks for six hours. They had burned the rest getting the men ready to fight and mentally prepared to run over civilians if need be. There wouldn’t be any hesitation like the failed September coup of long ago. Yet Boris could not see much military resistance. He had the most powerful battalion in a three-hundred-kilometer radius. No one should pose much of a challenge. The people would realize the futility and give up.
Thirty-six hours, he thought, grinning. Thirty-six hours, and we’ll be back.
Thirty-six hours. Joseph couldn’t keep his mind on his work. He was so occupied with the details of the communist rally that he hid in the boiler room of the hotel and went over every last detail. Everything had to be perfect. Most importantly, the people had to remain united. If the police came, they had to stand their ground and never waiver. It was going to be the first real step back to communism.
He glanced over his notes again and ran his finger across a number that had been rubbed out and upgraded several times during the course of the final week. It wasn’t two hundred thousand people anymore. At least a quarter of a million were going to pack Red Square. The movement was gaining considerable ground. Joseph couldn’t help but imagine what role he might play in the new government. His mind even fantasized about being the Communist Party’s new leader. If things fell right, it would not be unreasonable to think of reaching that high point.
In the back of his thoughts the realities of his present job began to call. He still had several things to attend to before the day was through. He glanced down at his watch. “Thirty-six hours,” he mumbled. That was the time left before the rally.
The Toledo was already as far north as Booker Dunbar wanted to take her. The message he received from his friend Sukudo asked him if he could even spread his exercise around the tip of the Norwegian coast. Dangerously close to Russian waters.
By this time, his XO had begun to subtly question the real nature of their exercise. It was obvious to him that there was something more in their being so close to the ice pack. It had to be important because the positioning of the ship put it at great risk. It had to be there for a better reason than just a drill.
Normally there wouldn’t have been any reason for Booker to ease his ship so far north, but the Russian Navy and Air Force were acting very peculiarly. Reports had every Russian vessel in that area steaming east at high rates of speed. The Toledo was buzzed several times by Russian fighter bombers, and then they, too, flew east, almost giving them permission to travel farther north.
His helicopter crews, dropping sonar buoys, actually reported receiving a thumbs-up from one Russian pilot. It was puzzling as to what exactly was going on in the Arctic Ocean above the Russian coast, but it wasn’t good. Fortunately, Booker had a little more information than the average naval captain. He now deployed his helicopters in a line perpendicular to the coast, effectively cutting off an escape route for any sub that might venture around the tip and try to slip away. To his men, it was a boring exercise. To him, it was a giant gamble on a hunch, as he tried to mind read Sukudo from thousands of miles away. Somehow it’s going to be my ass, he thought.