"We've been through this before," Matthews replied, controlling his anger, "or have you forgotten?"
Levchenko smiled crookedly, turned halfway around to see Talavokine, then karate-chopped Matthews viciously across the throat.
The fatigued pilot, caught with his guard down, partially deflected the savage blow, tripped, then fell backward onto the bunk. Two Cuban guards rushed forward and placed the barrels of their AK-47s on Matthews's neck.
"I told you before," Levchenko growled, "that we can make it easy, or we can make it difficult. I mean to get the information I need that you possess."
Levchenko inhaled again, then exhaled while he talked in Matthews's face. "I have decided to move our schedule ahead, so it's your choice. Easy, or difficult? Which will it be, Colonel Matthews?"
Matthews glanced at each guard and Talavokine, then back to Levchenko. "Since we're talking about torture, why don't I just go ahead and give your goons a reason to kill me?"
"They won't kill you, colonel, until I have the information I need. You can attack me right now and they will simply beat you into submission."
Matthews swallowed twice, feeling the end of each barrel in the sides of his throat. "Pride. You must fill the mirror with it."
Levchenko grabbed Matthews's flight suit and yanked the pilot into his face. "It's real simple, swine. We don't have to torture you. We use a much more sophisticated system."
"Drugs," Matthews said, moving his head back slightly.
"That's correct, tough guy," Levchenko growled as he crushed out the Pall Mall on the floor. "We use Versed and Brevital. You will tell us every detail you know about the Stealth, along with the operational data and your command's warfare philosophy." Levchenko grinned again and lighted another cigarette. "You won't remember a thing, so don't be stupid and stubborn."
Chapter Ten
Lieutenant General Yuliy Voronoteev sat in his office at Troops of Air Defense and stared out of the rain-streaked window. His gaze covered the Moskva River and Maurice Thorez Embankment, but his mind was not registering the image.
Voronoteev knew the Soviet military system as well as anyone. If the American Stealth bomber was in Soviet hands, then one of the persons who would know — who would have been included in the logistics — was the commander in chief of Troops of Air Defense, General of the Army Ilych Dankoffevich Borol'kov.
Voronoteev unlocked his desk and retrieved a bottle of vodka from the lower right drawer. He unscrewed the top from the container and took two quick swallows, then recapped the bottle and placed it back in the drawer.
The two-star general, knowing that Borol'kov was on an inspection tour at Kubinka Air Force Base, eighty kilometers west of Moscow, picked up his phone and requested the commanding officer. Voronoteev thought about the animosity that had developed between the two officers.
"General Borol'kov's office," the senior warrant officer answered in a high, nasal voice.
"General Voronoteev for General Borol'kov," Voronoteev said as he placed the latest monthly air defense report in an Eyes Only folder.
The administrative officer responded in his most pleasant manner. "I am sorry, comrade general, but the commander is visiting Kubinka today. May I be of assistance to the general?"
Voronoteev knew the unctuous and politically savvy warrant officer well. "I'm sure you can, Lugayev. I have a readiness report for General Borol'kov, and I need access to the last combat efficiency report."
"Absolutely, comrade general," Lugayev answered smartly. "I will have it delivered to your office immediately."
"No," Voronoteev responded, closing the snap on the classified folder. "It is past time for my morning walk. I will be over in a few minutes."
"As you wish, comrade general."
Voronoteev placed the receiver down and thought back to his first encounter with Borol'kov — the encounter that had cost Voronoteev his first major command and tainted his entire service career.
The date had been September 6, 1976. The place had been Sakharovka Air Force Base, near the village of Chuguyevka, 200 kilometers northeast of Vladivostok. Voronoteev had commanded the 3d Squadron of the 513th Fighter Regiment of the Soviet Air Defense Command. The incident had been the defection to Japan by squadron pilot Lt. Viktor Belenko. He had flown a MiG-25 to asylum in the West, landing out of fuel at Hakodate Airport in northern Japan.
The loss of the highly classified front line interceptor had been difficult enough, but the defection of a Soviet officer and an elite combat pilot had been devastating to the Kremlin leadership.
Heads rolled, including Voronoteev's, Belenko's commanding officer. After the board of inquiry, presided over by then Col. Ilych Borol'kov, Voronoteev had been reassigned to the staff of the deputy commander in chief for Military Schools, Strategic Rocket Forces. The nonflying billet had been humiliating, but the removal from command and subsequent censure had destroyed Voronoteev's career in the military.
Voronoteev cleared his mind, shoved back his chair, stood and placed the Eyes Only folder under his arm. He opened the door to his outer office and spoke to the starshina in charge of the clerical staff. "I will return in a few minutes," Voronoteev said as he walked through the cluttered office.
"Yes, comrade general," the chief master sergeant replied, rising to attention.
Voronoteev walked the length of the command and staff offices, passing the first deputy commander and chief's austere quarters, then climbed the wide stairs leading to Borol'kov's spacious suite. The impressive office, replete with bedroom, large bath, walk-in vault, and entertaining salon, was a subject of much discussion among the lower ranking officers.
Voronoteev opened the door to the small outer office and approached Starshiy Praporshchik Lugayev. The smiling senior warrant officer popped to attention and held out a large folder for Voronoteev. "The last combat efficiency report, comrade general."
Voronoteev accepted the bound folder wordlessly, leafed through it, then frowned. "This does not reflect our implementation of Armaments and Aviation Engineering. This report is ambiguous." Voronoteev could see that Lugayev, who blanched, had been taken by complete surprise. "Did you compile this report, Lugayev?"
The short, dapper warrant officer, still at attention, hesitated a moment. "Yes, comrade general."
"At ease," Voronoteev said in a pleasant tone. "Has General Borol'kov read this report?"
"I'm sure the commander has, comrade general," Lugayev answered, clearly uneasy. "I believe that he has endorsed the last page."
Voronoteev thumbed through to the final page. "So he has. It is unusual for the general to miss such a glaring oversight."
Lugayev remained quiet, studying his immaculately manicured fingernails.
"Well, Lugayev, we can let this be our secret. I'll correct your figures as I adjust my readiness report. Open the vault and I'll get the two previous efficiency reports."
"Comrade general," Lugayev said haltingly, "I am expressly forbidden to allow anyone access to the vault, sir."
"Open the vault, Warrant Officer Lugayev," Voronoteev ordered sternly. "I take full responsibility for the security of the contents."
"Yes, comrade general," Lugayev replied as he rounded his desk and entered the spacious office. Voronoteev followed Lugayev into the commander's suite and waited until the vault swung open.
"Comrade general, this is highly irregular, and I must ask you to certify that I was ord—"
"Lugayev," Voronoteev interrupted, "this is official business and I don't have time to waste. We will seal the vault as soon as I compile the figures."
Lugayev nodded his head, stealing a glance toward the outer office entrance, then backed through the open door and closed it behind him.