Defcon One, page 17
As Dimitri applied the tourniquet, the CIA agent briefed him. “We are going to steal a car, a bureaucrat’s car, and drive to an outlying train station.”
Dimitri gave the American an incredulous look as he twisted the tourniquet tighter.
“The best disguise, under the circumstances. We have our credentials,” the agent groaned again, “and I can camouflage my shoulder and head.”
Dimitri remained silent, brooding.
“You with me, Dimitri?”
“Yes. I am with you.”
“Okay, let’s move it!”
Dimitri nodded, still in shock. His mind was working slowly, mechanically.
“Reach in the glove box and reload your weapon. Put some extra rounds in your coat pocket.”
Dimitri complied as they turned a corner next to a government building by the Hotel Minsk. Wickham drove past the parking area and turned into a narrow alley.
Dimitri stared at Wickham, thinking he was insane. Every KGB and GRU officer in Moscow was after them and the American was going to steal a Soviet government vehicle.
The Russian immigrant now understood what the CIA director of clandestine operations had meant when he said Stephen Wickham was the best in the business.
Wickham, a former Marine captain and decorated combat veteran of the Grenada invasion, was regarded as a real-life hero throughout the Central Intelligence Agency.
Wickham stopped the car, ripped off his undershirt, wrapped his head, then jammed his hat over the makeshift bandage. The American then relocated the tourniquet under his topcoat and turned to the young spy.
“Dimitri, walk across the street and wait for me by the row of trees next to the corner.”
“Yessir,” Dimitri replied, glancing up and down the alley.
“I’ll pick you up in five minutes. Don’t do anything to draw attention.” Wickham looked down at his shoulder. “Understand?”
“Yes,” Dimitri said. “By the row of trees.”
“Okay, here we go.”
The two men got out of the car. Dimitri walked across the busy street while the American proceeded toward the parking area.
COBRA FLIGHT
“Cobra, Pinwheel. You have multiple bogies at eleven o’clock, thirty-five out, blocking three-three-zero to four-one-oh.”
“Roger, Pinwheel,” DiGennaro replied, scanning his radar scope and instrument panel.
“Time, Bill. Let’s climb to forty-three-oh until we have a visual.”
“Roger, forty-three,” Parnam responded quietly, checking his radar and armament switches.
“Cobras,” the voice was cautious and tense, “looks like a couple of fighters in trail. Say ’bout five miles at four-one-oh.”
“Copy, Pinwheel,” DiGennaro replied as he leveled his fighter at 43,000 feet.
Fifteen seconds passed as the two F-15 pilots strained to see the massive Soviet bomber group.
“Two has a tally,” Parnam simultaneously informed DiGennaro and the AWACS aircraft. “Ten o’clock, low.”
“Roger. I’ve got ’em, Bill,” DiGennaro radioed. “We’ll go down this side, past the tail-end charlies, then do a one-eighty and join in trail.”
“Copy, boss. You wanna stay here, or descend?”
“We’ll go down to four-one-oh when we reverse. I’ll call the descent.”
“Roger,” Parnam replied, surveying the large Russian group in the moonlight. “Be hard to miss, firing into that gaggle.”
“Yeah,” DiGennaro answered, then added, “be like stomping on Godzilla’s foot. He’d eat you for breakfast.”
Pinwheel broke in as the two F-15s streaked past the two Soviet MiG-31 Foxhounds trailing the bomber group.
“Cobras, Hawk flight is on the tankers. Leopard flight will be aboard in four minutes.”
“Roger, Wheel. We’re comin’ around and descending to four-one-oh, in trail.”
“Copy, Cobra. The flight leader of the Hawks will be up your freq when they’re off the tanker. He’s the tactical commander.”
“Roger,” DiGennaro replied, uncomfortable with not knowing who the flight leader was. Placing the thought aside, he concentrated on lowering his nose and reducing power as the two F-15s turned to join the Russians.
“Pinwheel, the group is staggered in different layers, altitudewise, and flanked by fighters.” DiGennaro silently counted the Soviet aircraft.
“Roger. The Hawks are on the way. Be up your freq in a couple of seconds.”
“Okay, Pinwheel. Looks like the Russians continually rotate the fighters off the tankers.”
No reply.
“Cobra, Hawk One up.”
“Roger, Hawk,” DiGennaro replied, not recognizing the flat voice.
“Hawk flight is taking high cover. The Leopards are taking low,” the Hawk flight leader ordered.
“Cobra One,” DiGennaro responded.
“Cobra flight, deploy on each side of the lead bomber,” the Hawk leader ordered.
DiGennaro hesitated, thinking that was the last place he wanted to be
“Copy, Cobra?”
“Ah, roger, Hawk. We’re movin’ forward now,” DiGennaro replied, looking over at Parnam, happy his wingman hadn’t made a snide comment. He couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he knew what Parnam was thinking.
“Two, you take the right side. I’ll go left.”
“Super,” Parnam responded, irritation clearly evident in his speech.
“Hawk, Pinwheel,” the AWACS controller interjected. “The Navy troops are one hundred out. Recommend we wait until they’re on station.”
“Copy, Pinwheel.”
The radios were silent for a few seconds.
“Cobra flight, Hawk One,” the flat voice radioed.
“Hold your position for the moment.”
“Holding,” DiGennaro answered, looking over at the Russian pilots in their MiG-31s.
“Great,” DiGennaro said to himself. “Absolutely fantastic.”
LAJES
The president knew he had to de-escalate the confrontation, without backing down, and rescind the DEFCON-Two condition before a major military crisis developed, a crisis that could be the decisive turning point in the survival of mankind.
The hangar was quiet. Zhilinkhov spoke in a low, controlled voice.
“The American government,” the interpreter said slowly, “has continued to build a vast array of weapons, while—”
“In response to your massive military buildup,” the president shot back.
“Is your Star Wars system not designed to control the world, to hold the Russian people and our friends under your thumb?” Zhilinkhov responded, trying to regain the offensive.
“Secretary Zhilinkhov,” the president sighed heavily, “our philosophy has never changed, never will. We believe that weapons in the hands of free people discourage war. Weapons held by free people deter attacks by aggressive enemies and keep the free world safe.”
Zhilinkhov started to respond, then fell silent as the president continued.
“Secretary Zhilinkhov, before we can proceed with any meaningful dialogue, I have to insist on a condition.” The president looked straight into Zhilinkhov’s eyes. “Now. Immediately, Secretary Zhilinkhov.”
“What is this, you say, condition?” Zhilinkhov was no longer smiling.
“Turn back your bomber groups. Now, Mister Secretary. The groups approaching our east and west coasts. We cannot talk under a cloud of threats and provocations.”
The president stared, unblinking, at Zhilinkhov. The Russian clamped his jaws together, looked down at his briefing notes, then back to the president.
The room grew quiet, everyone waiting for the Soviet leader’s reply.
Zhilinkhov, without speaking to the president, turned to his foreign minister, Nebozka Vuyosekiev. “Send the message. The groups are to turn back immediately.”
“Yes, Comrade Secretary,” the burly Vuyosekiev replied, rising from his chair, motioning for an aide.
“Report back,” Zhilinkhov ordered as the foreign minister and his top aide conferred at the end of the table.
The crowd was hushed while the two men spoke in low tones. The military officer snapped to attention, saluted Vuyosekiev, turned on his heel, then briskly walked out of the hangar.
The president, inwardly pleased and relieved, waited for Zhilinkhov to speak.
“It is done, Mister President, in good faith. I am a reasonable man, as you can see.” Zhilinkhov beamed a deceptive smile.
“Your quick response is sincerely appreciated, General Secretary Zhilinkhov. A step in the direction of peace.”
Zhilinkhov only nodded, smiling.
The president turned to Herb Kohlhammer, his secretary of state. “Herb, downgrade to Defense Condition-Three immediately. On my authority.”
“Yes, Mister President,” Kohlhammer replied, turning to his aide.
Zhilinkhov smiled at the president. It made no difference to him if the Americans went to their condition-three status. He already had the information he needed. The Americans were honest and gullible. They would react to the threats. The plan would work. Russia would soon rule the world.
The Kremlin boss continued smiling, genuinely this time. “Mister President, your initiative is gratifying to the people of Russia. We have made a great beginning working together.”
The president returned the smile. “Let us hope we can resolve our other differences too, General Secretary Zhilinkhov.”
“Oh, we can, Mister President. I assure you that every effort will be made to correct the current situation.”
The general secretary of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Communist party felt pride in not lying to the naive American. Deception was not regarded as lying in the Soviet government.
Chapter Ten
NORAD
General Matuchek sat in the briefing room listening to the operations officer and the intelligence chief. The staff intel officer was speaking.
“General, the French Spot Earth resources satellite has photographed five Soviet Typhoon submarines leaving their secret base at Gremikha, on the Kola Peninsula. All of this activity has taken place in the past fourteen hours.”
“Go on, Colonel,” Matuchek urged.
“These subs, General, are the largest in the world. They’re five hundred fifty-eight feet long and carry twenty SS-N-20 ballistic missiles, which have a range of more than five thousand miles.”
“Where are these subs now?” Matuchek asked, writing notes on his briefing folder.
“We don’t know, sir. Probably headed for the center of the northern Atlantic. Each missile carries six to nine multiple independently targetable nuclear warheads.”
The officer paused, seeing Matuchek leafing through his folder. “General, they are capable of striking North America and Western Europe even when docked at their home port in Gremikha.”
“Please continue, Colonel,” Matuchek requested, looking at the last page of the report.
“At least eleven other subs—mostly Delta- and Yankee-class boats—have left port too. Another Typhoon, in the final stages of construction, is preparing to leave the shipyard at Severomorsk. Sir, missiles have already been loaded on that particular Typhoon and the boat has never been to sea.”
“What do you read from this?” Matuchek placed his pen on the table and folded his arms.
“Sir, the submarine bases at Polyarnyy and Petropavlovsk are empty, along with the secret base at Gremikha. The Soviets protect their fleet, especially the Typhoons, like mother hens. I believe, sir, they’re going to use these weapons on us.”
Matuchek glanced at his watch, keeping in mind his briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff in eight minutes.
“Colonel,” Matuchek hesitated, “you may be absolutely correct. However, our immediate threat is the approaching Soviet bombers. They can do a lot of damage with their nuclear cruise missiles.”
“I couldn’t agree more, General. Their long-range airborne missiles do constitute a tremendous threat to our major coast cities, especially if they’re used in conjunction with nuclear weapons launched from submarines.”
“What is your recommendation, Colonel?” Matuchek continued, not waiting for a reply. “The submarine problem is not a NORAD priority, as you well know, until the missiles break the surface of the water.”
“I recognize that, General. My recommendation is to push the Joint Chiefs to focus more ASW coverage in the North Atlantic. The Russians can sit out there, with near impunity, and blast the hell out of Europe and North America. We really need all the naval air coverage we can concentrate in the North Atlantic.”
The small briefing room remained quiet while Matuchek organized his thoughts. “Okay, Colonel, I’ll suggest a stepped-up effort. The Navy isn’t going to appreciate the Air Force recommending any …” Matuchek paused. “You get the picture?”
“Yessir. We need a more concerted naval effort, though, or we’re going to be vulnerable in the midsection.”
“Alright, Jim. I appreciate all the work you and Matt have done. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matuchek reached for the door handle leading to the private, sealed room where he would confer with the Joint Chiefs in three minutes.
As he swung the door open, a loud horn blared, startling him. The raucous sound signified a change in the Defense Condition.
Matuchek changed course, almost jogging, as he stepped onto a narrow threshold overlooking the central operations room. The two briefing officers followed closely behind.
CINCNORAD stared at the status board, then audibly sighed. A large DEFCON-Three display had replaced the Defense Condition-Two light.
“Well, things are looking up,” Matuchek said as he turned to reenter the sealed briefing room.
The two younger officers were visibly relieved, grins creasing their faces.
MOSCOW
Dimitri stood by the row of trees, nervously glancing up and down the street. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again while he watched the parking area where the American had disappeared.
His numbed mind tried to sort out what had happened in the past two hours. It seemed like ages since he had slept in his bed, or, more importantly, had a cigarette. He had left them in Wickham’s apartment in their hasty escape.
Dimitri thought about Svetlana momentarily, then snapped back to the present when the dark Lada, bearing government markings, pulled alongside the curb.
“LET’S GO,” the American shouted in Russian, barely stopping the car.
Dimitri bolted into the automobile, catching his coat in the door. Wickham roared into traffic as Dimitri opened the door and freed his coat.
“Where are we going?” Dimitri asked, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for possible threats.
“To Kalinin to catch the train. Two-hour drive, at most. We will turn off the highway at Khimki and follow the road to Kalinin. I’ll explain more when we get out of traffic. They probably won’t miss this car for a couple of hours.”
Dimitri sat quietly, watching the CIA agent drive with his left hand. His right arm remained motionless with the hand through his coat front, providing a sling.
As the Lada reached the outskirts of Moscow, both men breathed easier. Each kilometer spelled safety, more security for the agents.
“Dimitri, our original plan won’t work now.”
“What are we going to do?” the young agent blurted, in a small voice, tension tightening his throat.
“I’ll need your help, so listen closely.”
Dimitri nodded, rising in his seat to look behind the automobile. His heart still pounded. What would they do to Svetlana? He ached to go back to her, then realized he could never return.
“When we get to Kalinin, we’ll submerge the car in the river. Then we’ll separate to enter the train station a few minutes apart.”
Dimitri’s eyes appeared glazed.
“Are you listening, goddamnit?”
“Yessir,” Dimitri replied, focusing on Wickham’s face.
“When we enter the station, Dimitri, you go into the john, the men’s room, and enter a stall. Stay in there until the train arrives. I’ll come and get you when it’s time to board.”
“I understand. Where are we going?”
The agent checked in every direction, awkwardly downshifted for a corner, then continued.
“The train will take us close to Leningrad. We’ll get off outside Novgorod, next to the Volkhov River.”
“Then we go by truck again …?” Dimitri interjected, hoping their escape would be in a familiar, nonthreatening environment.
“No, that’s too risky. Intelligence has informed us the Soviets are on to the ruse. We lost two men eight months ago. The Russian border guards knew precisely where our agents were concealed in the truck. We had to resort to hiding our people inside the trucks a few months after your insertion.”
“How then—?” Dimitri stopped himself, seeing the look on the American’s face.
“When we get off the train near Novgorod, at night, I’ll send a prearranged signal via satellite. That will set the rescue operation in motion.”
The American braked for another turn and continued his brief to Dimitri. “I have a satellite transmitter sewn inside my topcoat. We can send only coded messages. No voice.”
Without hesitating, the agent continued. “When we are in place, at the pickup point, I’ll send a coded message and the helos will be en route almost immediately.”
“Helicopters?” Dimitri was astonished.
“That’s correct. The extraction procedure has been rehearsed many times. I have a UHF radio built into the satellite transmitter. I will be able to talk with the pilots when they are within fifteen or twenty miles of our position.”
The Lada rounded a corner and the American continued his explanation to the frightened young operative. “Dimitri, when we get close to Kal—OH SHIT!”
Both men saw the checkpoint simultaneously. The guard house and closed gate were only four hundred meters away as the American started slowing the Lada.
“Dimitri, quick, grab the scarf from my right coat pocket and wrap it once around my neck.”
