Patriot: An Alex Hawke Novel

by Ted Bell

  “Fuck it, Vasily. Just tell me what in hell is going on.”

  “Tonight, you’re going to be dealing with the Dark Rider. One of my country’s most precious secrets. There has always been a Dark Rider in Russia, since ancient times. He arises in times of trouble to lead Mother Russia through the darkness. When she emerges once more onto the broad sunlit plain and into the light, the Dark Rider fades away, to be replaced by the Pale Rider, who cares for his people in a more benevolent fashion, let us say. Do you understand? It’s just the ebb and flow of our history.”

  “What’s his name, anyway?”

  “He has no name.”

  “No name. We’re off to a bad start already, aren’t we, General?”

  “Listen to me. I’m not joking. He literally has no name. Not that I or anyone here would know, at any rate. We call him Uncle Joe. You can call him that as well.”

  “This is some weird shit, pal. I’m telling you. Why Uncle Joe?”

  “You’re aware of Joe Stalin.”

  “Who isn’t? The ugly little shit who succeeded Lenin. Crazy little pockmarked fucker who murdered millions and sent the rest to the Siberian gulags. Right?”

  “Well, that’s one interpretation. The great savior of Mother Russia who defeated the Nazis and secured the Soviet Empire is another. Our new Dark Rider got the name because he bears an uncanny resemblance to the real Joseph Stalin. Same height, five foot four inches, same blemished complexion, same demeanor, et cetera. Hell, he even sounds like the original!”

  “Where’d you dig this hoary ghost up, anyway?”

  “Let’s just say his origins are clouded in mystery, shall we, Colonel?”

  “You say it. I don’t really give a damn where he comes from. So long as he pays his bills and doesn’t screw around with me.”

  “That will not be a problem.”

  “I hope not. So what’s this Uncle Joe want to talk to me about? Aside from apologizing for the fact that his government stuck TNT up my ass.”

  “His vision, Colonel.”

  “His vision?”

  “Yes. For a new and glorious Soviet Empire. One destined soon to reemerge upon the world’s stage and dominate it. Rising imperiously from the ashes of failure that have been Russia’s fate after perestroika and glasnost and all the trappings of democracy given us by Yeltsin and Gorbachev in collusion with you Americans. Two traitors who were responsible for the unforgivable dissolution of the mighty Soviet Empire. The greatest geopolitical disaster of the twentieth century.”

  “I get it, I get it, spare me the histrionics. It’s good old empire building, that’s all. So you already gobbled up Crimea and the Ukraine. Estonia next? That’s just the beginning? You and your new boys want it all put back together again, is that it? A massive land and power grab, no matter who gets crushed beneath the tank treads, right?”

  “I will let Uncle Joe answer that question. I have no idea how much motive he intends to reveal to you. I know only that he thinks you can be extremely useful to implementing his vision. That is why you are here.”

  “So where is our boy Putin in all this? He’s not the type to be sitting on the sidelines.”

  “Listen carefully, my colonel. Putin rules the old Russia. The Dark Rider rules the new Russia.”

  “And Putin is okay with that? Doesn’t sound like the Putin we all know and love.”

  “Let’s just say it’s complicated and leave it at that, shall we? For your purposes, that’s a very wise attitude to take when it comes to internal Soviet politics and—”

  They were interrupted by the deep thump-thump-thump of a heavy helicopter descending overhead.

  “He’s arrived. We should make our way up to the tower. We do not want to be late.”

  “That big-ass tower by the lake? I was wondering about that? Only building with no lights on.”

  “It is his residence whenever he visits here. We call it the Dark Tower. There is a helipad on the rooftop. That’s how he comes and goes.”

  “He doesn’t like to be seen . . .”

  “Correct. You yourself will not see him. He will be in the room with you and you will hear his voice . . . but you will not see him. No one does.”

  “This is all getting very mysterious, General.”

  Krakov laughed in his hearty way, “Yes, it is the Russian way. You should know that after all these years.”

  The general stood, pausing to regard his appearance in the large gilt mirror above the fire. Satisfied, he tipped back his glass and drained the rest of the bourbon.

  “Let’s go,” he said, motioning toward the door.

  THERE WAS NO ELEVATOR TO the top of the Dark Tower. The general said the tower was an architectural treasure, that it had been built in the sixteenth century and no one wanted to disturb its integrity.

  “God forbid anybody screws around with this old treasure,” the Texan said, taking a whiff of the cold dank air that poured down from above. The two men began climbing the worn stone staircase that wound upward. On every landing was a guttering candle stuck in an iron sconce providing patchy light. Not a lot of light, the colonel thought, minding his step, but enough.

  “Which floor is he on, anyway?” the Texan asked over his shoulder, after they’d gained four or five.

  “The top one.”

  “Of course. He’s Uncle Joe, after all.”

  They trudged upward.

  Ten minutes later, breathing heavily, they stood outside a heavy wooden door hung on iron hinges that looked to be centuries old. Two armed sentries stood at full attention on either side of the door, wearing fancy black uniforms that the colonel couldn’t place for the life of him. If they were Russian, they were costumes from some earlier century.

  “Good evening, General,” one of the two guards said, holding out a small thumbprint scanner. “If you don’t mind, sir?”

  “Not at all,” Krakov said, pressing his right thumb on the touchscreen.

  The two sentries stepped aside, allowing the general to open the wide wooden door. Inside, the room could only be described as a large cell of gloom. A high ceiling above where flags of the former Soviet states hung lifeless in a ring around the large desk below. There were two plain wooden chairs visible, clearly meant for General Vasily Krakov and the colonel. Between the chairs and the desk hung a black scrim. With little light behind it, it appeared as if the two chairs were facing a blank wall.

  “Come in, come in!” a voice boomed, magnified and electronically modulated. The voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a very deep well.

  Colonel Beauregard was first through the door. He had to squint his eyes to see in the dim light. There was a worn Persian rug underfoot, barely covering the cold stone floor. There was a minimum of furniture, at least that he could see. And it was cold.

  “Come closer,” the disembodied voice called out.

  And they did.

  CHAPTER 26

  Good evening,” Uncle Joe said.

  The colonel heard a click, and a dim yellow light was illuminated atop the desk behind the scrim. Now was revealed the Dark Rider. A coal black silhouette, seated at a table facing outward, shoulders squared, head held high.

  Trying to appear like a big man, Beauregard thought, but in a little man’s body.

  Two candles flickered in sconces on the wall behind him. A stubby candle or two on the desk shone light across the man’s face but revealed no discernible features. Uncle Joe was sitting very erect, his hands folded together on the tabletop. That was about all you could see, just shapes.

  “Good evening, Uncle Joe,” Krakov said, a bit of timidity suddenly coloring his voice.

  “Good evening. You look well, General. And here is the famous Colonel Beauregard, I gather. Welcome to the Dark Tower, Colonel. It’s over four hundred years old. And if these walls could talk . . . well, you would hear a lot of screaming.”

  Uncle Joe laughed at his own joke. A guttural, disturbing laugh.

  The Texan was somewhat disqui
eted by that remark and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. If Uncle Joe meant it to be funny, fine. But, if he was serious? Fuck.

  “Thank you for inviting me, sir. Mind if I call you Uncle Joe?”

  “Not at all. It’s my name.”

  “Well, then, Uncle Joe, this is quite a palace you have here, sir.”

  “Oh, it’s not mine. It belongs to the people. To Russia. To the New Russia. Novorossiya.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not at all. It is good to meet you, Colonel. I know you have come a long way. But I think you’ll find your journey worthwhile. Let me say first that I have long been an admirer of yours. Vulcan mercenaries came to my aid when I needed you in Chechnya and again during the Georgian troubles. While I did not deal directly with you or your men, I have nothing but the highest regard for both.”

  “Thank you, sir. I wish I could believe that the Kremlin shared your feelings.”

  “Yes. As do I. Perhaps one day they shall. Their treatment of you was appalling after all you had done for the army, the navy, and what is now called FSB. I prefer the old term KGB and I would appreciate your calling it that as well.”

  “Always do. FSB never quite caught on down in Texas, Excellency.”

  “It will always be KGB to me.”

  “Yes, indeed, sir. Always.”

  “Now, Colonel, let’s get down to the brass tacks. The very reasons why I wanted to have this meeting with you, agreed?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ve studied your dossier at length. I know all about you. You are astute and politically aware. You know that there is a new Russia lurking just over the horizon. Rumbling over the horizon with the roar of a million battle tanks. Sometimes if you look in the right place, you can see the golden glow of destruction, heralding its approach. We owe a great deal to our forefathers just as you do in your country. Yet, for a time, Russia has turned its back on the past. I intend to rectify that. I believe that the collapse of the Soviet Union was the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the twentieth century.”

  “A phrase I just heard from the general, Uncle Joe. I’m sure many of your countrymen would agree with you, sir.”

  “You’ve no idea. From the Soviet Union of our fathers we received a great legacy. Infrastructure. Industrial specialization, a common linguistic, scientific, and cultural heritage. To use this enormous gift together for our onward development is in our common interest . . . and also common sense. My wish is not to re-create the USSR. It would be naive to try to restore or copy that perfection which remains rooted in the past. But hear me now. A close integration of Soviet imperialism based on new values and a new political and military foundation is imperative.”

  “If I may interrupt, you speak of this ‘New Russia.’ What is your vision for it?”

  “Good. You get to the point. Let me begin by describing the world in which we find ourselves early in the twenty-first century. In my view, our adversaries are weak and confused. In addition to proving himself spineless and without morality, the current American president seems utterly ignorant of the lessons of history. He has America in full retreat. Slashing defense spending, slashing military, slashing his own border protection. The entire Mideast has become a tinderbox with a hundred beckoning fuses. Our ISIS friends, for example. The fall of Syria and Yemen. The Boko Haram in Africa. We pushed your president in Syria, barely nudged him, and he folded like a house of cards.”

  Uncle Joe sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and continued.

  “He is beset by enemies on all sides. He nearly went to war last year with China over the illegal expansion into the South China Sea, the use of North Korea as a surrogate bitch. Yet, when my country moved into the Crimea, what was his reaction? He ignored it. What does that tell you, Colonel?”

  “I am an American and I find it disgraceful. But, for our enemies, it presents a huge opportunity. Historic, actually.”

  “Yes. You are exactly correct. This hollow man has the nerve to say that my country, Russia, is a ‘local power that operates out of weakness.’ Really? Weakness? Is he mad? I will only remind you Americans that Germany was once a local power operating out of weakness . . . that is, until Hitler came along.”

  “Exactly, Uncle Joe,” the colonel said, liking where this was going. The little guy thought he was Hitler . . .

  “Power, like nature, abhors a vacuum. A weakened American presidency, and, thus, a weakened America, presents us with a huge vacuum. The West underestimates us and that is good. Because I intend to fill that worldly vacuum, Colonel; I intend to fill it with the might and power of the New Russia! Do you understand me?”

  “I do,” Beauregard said, catching the fervor of the moment. “You think America is over. You think China lacks the nuclear arsenal to challenge you or even get in your way. You think the time is right for a new Soviet-style Russia to emerge as the world’s new superpower, one that can challenge China or anyone else for world dominance. You want to return your borders to those you enjoyed before the fall of the Soviet Union. You want to—avenge your honor after the fall of your empire!”

  The Dark Rider exploded with laughter.

  “Yes! Precisely! General, you see that I was correct in my belief that the colonel here would grasp my vision?”

  Krakov was laughing as well. “Oh, I think he more than grasps it, Uncle Joe. I think he grabs it by the neck and embraces it.”

  “Is the general correct, Colonel? Do you embrace my vision?”

  “I’d say that’s the understatement of the century, sir. Yes, I do embrace it. American leaders not only betrayed me, they are betraying themselves by letting Washington destroy in a few short years what has take two centuries to build. My men fought and died for the old America. I myself am a proud son of the American Revolution, the SAR. I wouldn’t sacrifice even one of my glorious bastards for the new America.”

  “But you would let them fight for the New Russia?”

  “I would indeed, sir. I would indeed.”

  “Excellent! It is the response I was hoping for, obviously. I welcome you with open arms.”

  “Please tell me how I can help you, sir. I don’t know how much you know about Vulcan since our fall from grace.”

  “How many men do you have under arms?”

  “I could raise an incredibly effective strike force of thirty thousand impeccably trained warriors.”

  “They are all still loyal to you?”

  “Right down to their bones, sir.”

  “Weapons?”

  “Armed to the teeth. The best combat armament in the field. In addition, at our facility in Texas and around the world, we maintain both aerial and naval assets that are the equivalent if not superior to that of any military on earth, including your own. We designed these things. We know how to fly them and we know how to sail them. Surface vessels and minisubmarines employed in acts of sabotage. Sail into an enemy port and take down its power grid, for example.”

  “Good, good. We are on the same page, Colonel. Tell me more. Your intelligence assets? Still intact?”

  “Intact and are ready to go operational on your signal. You have to understand something, sir. Our clients included just about every substantive government and intelligence agency on the planet. We know them inside out. Names, from top to bottom. Moles, who and where. Operations, both on the books and already in play. I can state unequivocally that there is no repository of the world’s secrets on Earth that can rival this brain I carry around with me.”

  “You know all the world’s secrets, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Amazing. Do you know what we could do with that kind of knowledge?”

  “I’ve been waiting for the right person to ask me that question for a very long time, Uncle Joe.”

  “What good is any intelligence service on Earth if the enemy knows all its secrets?”

  “Worthless.”

  “Now I’m going to ask you a question you don’t have to answer.”

 
“Fire away.”

  “A number of high-level intelligence officers have died recently. Too many for coincidence in my view. Oddly enough, all seemingly of natural causes. A couple of deceased Americans, Brits, a French operative or two. Did you by any chance have anything to do with that?”

  “Of course,” the Texan said with a laugh. “How did you figure that out?”

  “I simply looked at all the potential suspects to see which of them might possibly be at odds with the entire world. Yours was the only name on the list with a grievance sufficient to warrant such global retribution.”

  “Here’s the deal, Excellency. These bastards, especially the American politicians and intelligence chiefs, thought they could shit all over Vulcan and its men and not pay a price. Hell, I haven’t even begun to get even. You think I’m pissed off? You should talk to some of my warriors. I have to rein them in every now and then or you would see serious shit going down on Capitol Hill.”

  “Not an easy group to maintain control over, I would imagine.”

  “You’ve no idea, sir.”

  “You obviously have some very highly trained political assassins inside Vulcan.”

  “The best in the world, bar none. They’re like ghosts. They can go through walls.”

  “Men and women who would be capable of systematically dismantling and eventually destroying certain agencies and their assets who are most troublesome to us going forward with our plans? Saboteurs who might take down the power grids of major cities without a shot fired?”

  “Without question. Give me names and addresses. We’ll take it from there. We’re ready to start tomorrow.”

  The silhouetted figure sat back in his chair, appearing to ponder. Finally, he spoke.

  “You’re familiar with a man named Patrick Brickhouse Kelly, I would presume.”

  “Brick Kelly, of course. Chief of the fucking CIA. He’s the right bastard who found it convenient to throw Vulcan under the bus in the first place. Why?”

  “A matter for another time, perhaps.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The Dark Rider swiveled his chair to the left.

  “General Krakov, it appears Colonel Beauregard and I are about to embark on a long and rewarding comradeship together. I will leave it to you to iron out all the logistics and compensation issues. I’m sure the colonel knows he and his men are going to be amply rewarded for their services?”