Representatives of the Japanese Emperor formally signed the documents of surrender on September 2, 1945, aboard the battleship USS Missouri, at anchor in Tokyo Bay. The Second World War was officially over. The nations of the earth were ready to turn towards peace. But the threat was not ended.
Germany’s rocket scientists had shown the world how to build missiles and rockets capable of reaching space, and spanning the distances between nations. America’s own scientists had discovered the secret to building nuclear weapons. It was only a matter of time before the two deadliest technologies in history merged to become a single weapon with unimaginable destructive power.
The weapons of World War II had given rise to the weapons of World War III. For the first time, mankind had the knowledge and the ability to destroy all life on planet earth.
CHAPTER 14
The sun was just beginning to dip below the volcanic peaks to the west of the city, when Customs Officer Evgeny Petrov spotted the militia car. The big black Volga squeaked to a stop near the head of the pier, about thirty meters from where the customs man was standing.
Arms wrapped around himself for warmth, Petrov hunkered farther down into his heavy wool greatcoat, and trudged toward the car, his boots crunching through the layer of rime ice and snow that covered the cement quay. He had called for militia backup nearly two hours ago, and the idiots were just now getting here.
A car door opened and a man climbed out and tightened his own coat, as Petrov covered the remaining distance to the car. The driver wore the uniform and insignia of a major in the militia.
A major? That much was good, at least. The militia man was going to need some clout to handle this situation. But where were his men? Had the fool come alone?
The militia officer straightened his hat and turned up the collar of his coat against the wind. “I am Major Noviko,” he said. “Are you Petrov?”
Petrov nodded. “Yes.” He looked around. “Where are your men?”
“A truck is coming behind me,” Noviko said. “It should be along in a minute or two. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what the problem is?”
Petrov pointed toward the pier. “There is the problem,” he said.
Moored to the pier were two ships: enormous boxy vessels, the size of skyscrapers laid on their sides. The ships were car carriers, both of the same design, with blue-painted hulls and white superstructures.
The vessel closest to the head of the pier had the name Shunfeng lettered on the hull near the bow. The second ship had the name Jifeng painted in the same location.
Both ships had large open cargo doors, and steel ramps extended down to the pier. As the two men watched, strange-looking six-wheeled vehicles drove down the ramps of both ships, and fell into line behind long rows of similar vehicles that were already parked on the pier.
There were perhaps a hundred vehicles on the pier already, their motors all running as they sat idling on the snow-encrusted concrete. They were all painted dark green, and they all had angular profiles and heavy construction. Some were relatively featureless. Others bristled with antennas, or were topped by what were unmistakably guns. They were obviously military vehicles.
“These ships have no authorization,” Petrov said. “We have spoken to the masters of both vessels, and they claim that these vehicles are for delivery to the naval base at Rybachiy. But they have produced no proof of clearance, no manifest transfers, no delivery authorization of any kind.”
Petrov nodded toward the still growing ranks of military vehicles. “I have formally notified both masters that it is against the law to offload their cargoes without customs clearance.” He scowled. “As you can see, they ignore our warnings.”
The major nodded gravely. “Yes, I see. And how many men do you have in your charge, here?”
“Three,” Petrov said. “Myself, and two other customs agents.” As he watched, another pair of the angular six-wheeled vehicles rolled onto the pier. These were topped by what seemed to be rocket launchers.
“So far, they are remaining inside the fence of the customs area,” Petrov said. “But we can’t keep them here if they decide to leave. That’s why I called the militia for reinforcements.”
“A prudent move,” Major Noviko said. He checked his watch and frowned. “My men should be here by now.”
“Perhaps you should call them, to check,” Petrov said.
“I will,” Noviko agreed. “But first, please summon your other two agents.” He surveyed the lines of military vehicles. “We’re going to need a much larger response force to contain this. I want to have more information before I call in the request.”
Petrov nodded and unclipped a tape-swaddled radio from his belt. The pier lights were flickering on now, and the sun was nearly gone behind the peak of Koryaksky mountain.
As he summoned his men by radio, Petrov noted that the stream of vehicles had finally halted. They sat idling on the pier, clouds of vapor rising from their exhaust pipes.
Shubin arrived almost immediately. Borodin took a couple of minutes longer. He’d been down at the far end of the pier, and he was breathing heavily when he stumped over to stand near his supervisor and the militia officer.
Major Noviko nodded. “Is this everyone?”
“Yes,” Petrov said. “At least until our reliefs show up in about an hour.”
“Good,” Noviko said. His right hand came out of the pocket of his greatcoat, and Petrov had barely registered the presence of the automatic pistol when he heard the crack of the first bullet.
Borodin dropped to the frozen concrete like a sack of potatoes. Shubin raised his hands and took a rapid step toward the militia officer, but the gun whipped around quickly, and a bullet hammered through his forehead. His body collapsed beside Borodin, blood spilling among the ice and snow.
Stunned by the suddenness of the attacks, Petrov’s only thought was to run. He turned, his boot heels slipping on ice, but Noviko’s pistol barked again.
He felt himself slammed forward, as though someone had punched him in the spine. He pitched forward, and fell to the pier. The impact with the frost-covered concrete was somehow more painful than the bullet.
He lay in the ice and snow, his faced turned toward the nearer ship. Men were coming down the cargo ramp now. A lot of men. Soldiers. In black uniforms.
Petrov’s vision was failing by the time the first squad of soldiers came near. He couldn’t turn his head for a better look, and he couldn’t see them clearly. But as his brain processed his very last rational thought, he wondered why the strangers were speaking Chinese.
CHAPTER 15
President Chandler nearly dropped the phone before his sleep-numbed fingers managed to fumble the receiver to his ear. “Yes?”
“Mr. President, this is Lieutenant Colonel Briggs, the Situation Room Watch Officer. I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, but we have a developing situation that requires your attention, sir.”