“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down with Doug, Lester, and General Venti, give them the go-ahead,” the President said. “Advise me when the operation is under way.”
“Don’t you want to discuss this with the rest of the Cabinet, the Joint Chiefs, with the congressional leadership?”
“Bob, unless the Constitution’s been rescinded in the past twenty minutes, I am the commander-in-chief,” the President said. “You are my secretary of defense and national security advisor, and the Vice President is my chief of staff. I’m familiar with Project Siren, and I think I have an idea about the difficulties of doing a covert extraction so far inside enemy territory. I am therefore authorizing you to plan the mission with the help of your intelligence and military advisors and get it under way immediately.”
“But … but what about the possibility of something going wrong?” Goff asked. “Are you going to just authorize such a dangerous mission without considering all the dangers and ramifications first?”
“If we had the time, I would. But I presume we don’t have the time to waste. ISA and HAWC are good choices. Get them moving.”
Goff, still stunned, could do nothing else but nod. The President nodded and got back to work on his computer. Goff headed for the door; then he stopped and said, “This could be a very big disaster, Mr. President. Are you sure you don’t want to think about it some more?” Without looking up from his work, the President asked, “You haven’t been keeping up with your meditation, have you, Bob?”
Goff shook his head and chuckled. It was Thorn’s ass on the line, he knew it, and he didn’t seem too perturbed by it. “I’ll get the mission moving immediately, sir.”
FOUR
Near Zhukovsky Air Base,
Russian Federation
“Nasrat f karman!” one of the hoboes exclaimed as the stranger emerged from the shadows. “Well, well, what do we have here?”
The five hoboes under the bridge slowly rose to their feet as the woman in the jogging suit approached their tiny campfire. Outside, the freezing rain had started again, driven by gradually increasing winds; it would begin snowing soon, and this time they were in for measurable accumulations.
Even in the dim light, the hoboes could tell she was shivering uncontrollably. She may have once looked pretty, but her features were now pale and haggard. Her jogging suit, an expensive imported one, was filthy and encrusted with frozen mud and leaves. “Who might you be, sika?”
“Pamageetye … pamageetye mnye pazahalsta. I … I need help, please,” the woman stammered through chattering, blistered lips. “Please … please help me.”
“A pretty young thing like you?” the biggest hobo, obviously the leader of the group, responded. “Of course, of course. Anything you want.” He stroked a thick, scraggly beard and licked his lips. “But it’ll cost you. Don’t worry, though. It’ll help you warm up.”
Linda Mae Valentrovna Maslyukov brought her right hand up, the one holding the police pistol. “Don’t move, asshole,” she said weakly. The hoboes tensed, staring at the gun in total surprise. “All I want is a blanket and some food. We don’t want any police attention.” Two days in the freezing cold, with no shelter and no warm clothing, had finally taken its toll. She reasoned — probably correctly — that she was better off trying to get help from these hoboes under the bridge than risk being seen at the tavern. It was either die of hypothermia or risk being caught. “Just give me some food and I’ll—”
The piece of driftwood came out of nowhere, landing squarely on the back of her head. Already half-conscious from exposure, Maslyukov collapsed in a heap.
“You huyisos!” the big hobo shouted angrily at the hobo who had been hiding in the shadows and had clubbed Linda from behind. “What did you knock her out for? I’m not going to fuck an unconscious bitch!”
“Well, then I will!” one of the other hoboes chimed in eagerly.
“Uobyvat! Get the fuck out! I get first taste!” the big one said. “You, get over to the highway and flag down a cop. This has got to be the bitch the police have been looking for. Maybe we’ll get a reward for finding her. Take your time.” He bent down, pocketed the pistol, then unzipped the woman’s jogging suit jacket and fondled her breasts. “And someone get me some water and some vodka. Let’s see if we can wake sleeping beauty up and have ourselves a party before the police get here.”
“It’s her, all right,” the police officer said, holding the photograph up to the face. Even though her face was white with cold, streaked with frozen dirt, blood, and mucus, and the hair tangled and twisted, she was recognizable. The officer unzipped the top of her jogging suit, checked her carotid for signs of a pulse. “She’s still alive. Barely.” He then roughly fondled I; her breasts. “Wow. Nice big American breasts.”
“Knock it off, pizdasos,” the first officer’s partner said. “Is i the only way you can cop a
feel with a woman is to find one half frozen to death?” He shined his flashlight over her body, noting the torn pants pulled halfway down her buttocks and the palm prints across her breasts. “Besides, you want any of that after these gavnos pawed her? If she doesn’t die of the cold or of any diseases from these animals, she’ll die of shame once she finds out who touched her.”
They were at the edge of the river, several meters upstream from the bridge abutment where the hoboes lived. They had found the woman facedown in three inches of snow. The first officer shined his flashlight under the river overpass and saw a few faces. “Disgusting pigs. How in hell could you give those animals any money?”
“Shto ty priyibalsa ka mn’e? We’ve been working double shifts for two days trying to find this kurva,” the second officer said. “If they hadn’t come forward, we’d still be working to find her, and you know we’re not going to get paid any overtime. A few rubles is cheap goodwill for handing her over to us alive. If they killed her, I’d make sure they all got their balls handed to them. Now stop copping a feel and call it in. The faster you leave her tits alone and have the MSB collect her, the faster we can go get a drink.” While the first officer pulled out his portable radio to call in their discovery, the second officer searched the woman, then covered her with his coat to keep her from dying of exposure.
“Ambulance and an Interior Ministry unit are on the way,” the first officer reported. “ETA twenty minutes.”
“Christ, she might be dead by then,” the second officer said. “We better take her to the hospital at Zhukovsky.” The two police officers picked her up and had carried her several dozen meters through the brush and rocky riverbank toward their car parked just off the bridge, when they heard the heavy rotor sounds of an approaching helicopter. “Well, they got here fast. We’ll stay put.”
“Sounds like a heavy chopper — must be army,” the first officer said. The helicopter flew out of sight, but they could hear it hover, then land nearby. It did not use any lights for landing — a very remarkable feat, considering the poor weather. A few minutes later, they heard a rustling of branches, but could see no one. “Where in hell are they? What’s taking them so long?”
“I’ll go and—” But just then, their flashlights spotted a figure dressed in what looked like a bulky flight suit or battledress uniform, wearing what looked like a flying helmet. “That looks like the pilot. Where’s his crew? Or is he by himself?” He raised his voice and shouted, “Vi zlidyolye kavoneebood? Are you waiting for someone? Get over here!”