Cold Warriors (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #3)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  But Travkin was confident the plan would work. They had figured no more than eight to ten weapons would be needed before the American public would demand their government give in. Life in America wouldn’t change much since most of its citizens had no involvement in foreign affairs. Their economy would continue to lurch along under ridiculous structural deficits and massive multi-generational debt loads. In fact, they might actually save some money with the military cutbacks they could afford.

  But in the meantime, Russia, with its massive oil reserves, would continue to grow their economy, continue to modernize their military, and once again begin to flex her muscles around the globe. And with Putin’s continued consolidation of power, eventually Russia would return to the old ways of a party in charge, guiding its people to greatness. Not a communist party, but a hybrid pro-business, pro-capitalist, anti-democratic ruling elite that would stress security and military might over individual rights.

  His chest swelled with pride when he watched tapes of the old parades through Red Square, of Sputnik beating the Americans to space, of Gagarin reaching the stars before any American, of the greatness that once was.

  To imagine what it could be without having to support crippled states like before, with oil wealth rivaling any nation, was to feel goose bumps up and down your arms, the tingling almost orgasmic.

  Though his grandfather doubted it would ever happen in his lifetime, Travkin was certain it would happen within his—the once proud CCCP adorning rockets and ships, tanks and airplanes, uniforms and buildings around the world again.

  And the world would tremble in fear at the reawakened bear.

  A debt free, massively capitalized nation, with a renewed pride in itself, and a military unrivaled the world over.

  A screen flashed to his left and he tapped it, the image of his grandfather appearing, the old man wearing his old uniform with pride.

  And a black eye and swollen lip.

  “Grandfather! What happened?”

  “It is of no consequence. There was an incident but I told them nothing. Be warned though, the Americans may know what Crimson Rush is, and may be getting close to finding you.”

  “Let them find us. There will be others to replace us.”

  His grandfather smiled.

  “You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

  “I can imagine no greater compliment, General.”

  Levkin’s smile grew more.

  “Your mother will be so proud when she is informed of the critical part you have played in these events.” He sighed. “I wish I were twenty years younger. I’d be there with you.”

  “Don’t worry, General. We will do you proud, and you will live to see our country returned to its former glory, thanks to you.”

  Levkin nodded at his grandson, pride written all over his face. Then it turned all business.

  “You were to deliver a status report ten minutes ago. What happened?”

  “We were nearly discovered. The Americans raided the house where we had tapped the Internet feed so we were forced to leave. One of our tail cars spotted an FBI agent tracking us so we detonated the West Point weapon early to cover our escape, but unfortunately were forced to engage the agent. Their vehicle was completely destroyed and the occupant killed. Our departure was routine and unnoticed by the authorities.”

  “You’re certain no one knows you’re aboard the plane?”

  “Absolutely. We loaded in a hangar and the plane left on an approved departure along with several others fleeing the detonation. No one will know it was us.”

  “Excellent. You’re certain the agent pursuing you is dead?”

  “Absolutely. There’s no way anybody survived that explosion.”

  St. Luke’s Cornwall Hospital, Newburgh, New York

  Sherrie felt a dull hammering in her head, a fog separating her from a world out of reach, a world of echoes and strange noises and no memory of who and where she was. She focused on the sounds, at first mere distant murmurs, then as she slowly regained consciousness, voices, low and indistinct.

  Then there was the pain.

  It erupted with a fury that rushed her to a fully awakened state, her back leaping up and her eyes shooting open to a blurred, glassy world of stark white and moving forms.

  “She’s awake!”

  She cried out in pain, unable to resist it anymore.

  “Put her out, Goddammit! I’m still operating here!”

  “Give me a moment,” came a calm voice from behind her and suddenly a warmth—an exquisitely wonderful warmth—spread through her body and she dropped back onto whatever she had been lying on, a world of sparkling lights and fantastic colors tripping the light fantastic on the back of her eyelids.

  And as she was about to completely give in to the wondrous sensations around her, she suddenly remembered there was something she needed to tell them, something too important to wait. She clawed against the warmth, trying to swim to the surface to relate her critical message, but it was no use.

  The warmth was just too damned blissful.

  Résidence Hôtelière de la Cerisaie, Longjumeau, France

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  Kane bit his tongue at West’s expression of shock and denial as he looked away, his eyes looking for something else to fixate on other than his daughter, eventually deciding on the television showing the latest horrifying footage out of West Point Military Academy and Memphis on loops with talking heads providing near useless context.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was,” he mumbled, his face red with embarrassment.

  “Be polite,” tutted Adelle at her daughter. “After all, Mr. West did help save you all today.”

  Alexis frowned then turned her frustrations on Zorkin.

  “Is that thing ready yet?”

  Zorkin batted the air with his hand, dismissing her as he continued to copy the microfilm.

  “Are you sure you know how to use that thing?” she replied.

  “Listen, missy, I’ve been doing this since before your damned father was your age!” came the retort.

  Jaws dropped.

  Alexis turned beet red, her head whipping around at all the shocked expressions in the room.

  “What? What are you all looking at?” she cried. “So I never met my father. Is it my fault he died before I was born?” She glared at her mother then West. “And why the hell do you keep holding his hand?” she fired. “You two can’t seem to keep your hands—”

  And then she froze, her own jaw dropping as she stared at West. The room became silent as the dawn of realization seemed to finally be creeping over the horizon.

  “Done!” said Zorkin, spoiling the moment and tossing a USB key to Kane who caught it then inserted it into a laptop provided by Alexis. “I can’t believe how difficult that was! I thought this was supposed to be the modern—”

  “Why am I named Alexis?”

  Zorkin shut up, finally cluing into the momentous discovery that was about to happen thanks to his outburst. Kane ignored it, instead uploading the files to Langley then quickly scanning the contents himself.

  “What do you mean?” asked Adelle. “You know why.”

  “You said I was named after my father.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Alexis is a girls’ name.”

  “Yes.”

  “So the male equivalent is Alex.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your name is Alex.”

  “Yes,” replied West.

  “Are you my father?”

  The elephant in the room swelled as Kane struggled to focus on the intel streaming before his eyes. He looked up to see West nod then Alexis cry out, jumping from her chair and rushing out the hotel room door.

  “I’ll be back,” said Adelle as she followed her daughter. West began to stand when she waved a finger at him. “You stay here.”

  West mumbled something that no one but he understood, then Kane cleared his throat, dialing Langley on his cellph
one and putting it on speaker.

  “This is Morrison. You’re on speaker.”

  “Director, you’re on speaker here too. I’ve got Mr. White and Mr. Green with me, along with Alex West and Viktor Zorkin.”

  “I’ve read all your files. With the exception of Mr. Zorkin, consider yourselves all sworn to secrecy as part of the National Security Act. Mr. Zorkin, I can’t obviously place you under such restrictions.”

  “I am a patriot, Director, not a madman. Consider my services and discretion at your disposal.”

  “Very well. We’ve received your transmission and are reviewing it now. Have you had a chance to look at it?”

  Kane nodded at the phone.

  “Yes. We’ve got a lot of locations listed with deployment dates, partial radio frequencies—”

  “What do you mean partial?”

  “At least half of that portion of the microfilm has been damaged. Almost that entire column of data has been scratched out, almost as if deliberately.”

  “Goddamned French!” cursed Niner.

  “We’ve also got activation and deactivation codes—”

  “You’ve got deactivation codes?!”

  “Yes, sir, but I’m not sure that’s necessarily good news. From what I can tell, these codes can only be used after the device is already activated.”

  Dawson muttered a curse, shaking his head. “So what you’re saying is that in order to deactivate the weapons, we need to activate them, risking them going off, then pray that the deactivation code works.”

  “Anything else of use?” asked Morrison.

  “Well, we’ve got locations, but they’re lat and long, down to the minutes, not seconds, so we’ll know within about a square mile where the devices are.”

  “That’s an awfully big area to search times one thousand.”

  “Looks like we’re dealing with about five hundred devices according to the manifest. The rest were due to be deployed after the theft of the microfilm, and apparently those are all stored in warehouses in Russia.”

  The volume of Morrison’s voice changed slightly as orders were barked.

  “Deploy units to every one of those locations as you get them, and let the White House know that we need to have the Russians confirm they have those other five hundred weapons.”

  Kane continued to read the specs on the weapon as the conversation progressed.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not much, sir. There are detailed specs here so our guys should be able to disarm them once they find them, but that’s about it. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t cut the power in any of these areas.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re tied into the electrical grid with a limited battery backup. If power is cut, they’ll immediately radio home, and if they don’t get a response before the battery dies, they detonate.”

  “How long does the battery last?”

  Kane shook his head.

  “According to this, several days, a week at most.”

  “Which would be why we’ve never had any accidental detonations,” said somebody else in the room at Langley. “We’ve never had a power outage in one of the weapons’ locations longer than the battery could last.”

  “Christ, we’ve been damned lucky,” muttered Morrison. “Anything else you can tell us at this point?”

  “Negative. But I’ve only skimmed the data, you guys might have more luck. Where do you want us?” asked Kane, looking about the room.

  “I want you in Moscow. The President has already added Levkin to the Termination List. As soon as we’ve got things secured here, he wants this man captured, interrogated, then dead.”

  “So do we,” piped Niner.

  “See if your friends in Moscow can help you. Morrison, out.”

  The line went dead and Dawson already had his own phone out, calling the “friends” in Moscow, Kane was certain. The door to the hotel room opened quietly and West rose. Kane looked to see a smiling Adelle then a meek Alexis enter the cramped quarters. Alexis’ eyes and cheeks were red from crying, but she had a shy, tentative smile on her face as she approached West, arms dangling at her sides, shoulders drooped, chin down and eyes up, decades of womanhood wiped out leaving a child behind.

  West said nothing, instead stepping around Kane’s chair and taking his little girl in his arms for the first time as her shoulders heaved in sobs.

  Kane rose as did the rest, stepping outside, a lump in all their throats at the tearful union.

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “The President is giving a speech tomorrow to address what is going on, and to announce a change in official policy with respect to our national energy strategy,” came the voice of the White House official briefing a large number of people tapped into the videoconference. Leroux was still in OC3, technically still in charge of the room despite Morrison being there, having taken a free chair at one of the workstations. Leroux was listening to the conversation, but his mind was preoccupied with something else.

  Why was Dimka crying?

  “The President will announce that all moratoriums on oil drilling will be lifted immediately, including Arctic drilling, as well as restrictions on shale oil fracking. The Keystone XL pipeline will be fast tracked, and all oil produced by companies in the United States will be reserved for domestic use only. The goal is to be oil and energy independent before 2020 with all of our oil being either domestic or Canadian sourced. This will be used to allow us to draw down our forces worldwide as we will no longer need to protect our foreign oil supplies. It is hoped that this will placate those responsible for the attacks.”

  Not bloody likely.

  Suddenly something popped in Leroux’s head.

  If something happened to Sherrie, then they must have known she was following them!

  Leroux reviewed the transmissions logs for OC3, quickly eliminating anything from the list that he could explain, the remaining few being personal cellphones and devices, with all but one device registered in the Langley network as being authorized.

  Which means we have one unauthorized device in the room!

  He sent a test ping to the device and it came back as active, another unauthorized transmission appearing in the log along with his authorized one.

  “Unofficially we’ve grounded our aircraft, dusted off the rapid drawdown plans for our bases, and pulled our naval forces back from any unfriendly shores. At this moment in time, until we can stop the perpetrators of these heinous attacks on our soil, we must at least appear to be meeting their demands.”

  Leroux began decrypting the signals that had been sent from the unauthorized device, then nearly gasped out loud as the last message transmission appeared.

  You are being followed.

  Rage began to build as he realized it had to refer to Sherrie’s pursuit of the RV. He glanced at Dimka, but she had positioned herself so he couldn’t see her face.

  Through the fog of rage he realized that Morrison was now talking.

  “I’ve got news on just who might be behind this,” he said. “We’ve been able to trace the money. It seems that a large amount was transferred to Islamov, who immediately transferred it to another account. It was bounced around to several more, but we found its final destination. The account belongs to a proxy company in the Cayman Islands. The source account also belongs to a proxy company, this one in the Bahamas. We raided the offices of both and were able to determine the owners behind them, and both were the same.”

  “You mean they sent themselves the money?” came a voice over the speaker.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then the entire thing was a ruse right from the start!”

  “It appears so. We believe the transfer was made to make us think Islamov and his people were behind this so we’d immediately blame Islamists for the attacks. This seems evident from the transmission they sent.”

  “If it’s not Islamists, then who is it?”

  “We’ve been able to
trace both proxy companies back to former Major General Yuri Levkin. It would appear, ladies and gentlemen, that this man, a known Soviet era zealot who urges a return to the old days, is behind the attacks on our soil.”

  “So we’re under attack by Russia?”

  “There’s no indication that Russia is officially behind this, however Putin and Levkin are known to be friends, and to regularly meet.”

  Leroux jumped slightly as the screen updated, indicating another message being transmitted. He quickly began to decode it.

  “What are we saying here? Are we seriously saying that Russia could be tacitly behind these attacks?”

  Morrison shook his head.

  “At this point we just don’t know. I would guess that at most Putin is aware of the attacks and hoping that Levkin achieves his goals, whatever they are, since we’ve been a thorn in the Soviet and Russian side for decades. Anything that hurts us helps them.”

  “Should we confront him? Let him know that we know?”

  Morrison shrugged his shoulders.

  “That’s for the politicians to decide. I personally think we should keep it under our hats and use it to our advantage. Let them think we’re still after Islamist terrorists, but quietly track down the Russians behind this.”

  Leroux stood up from his desk.

  “Sir, I’m afraid it’s already too late for that.”

  Morrison spun toward Leroux, the expression on his face suggesting shock at someone so low on the totem pole daring to speak.

  “Explain.”

  “We have a traitor in the room.”

  Leroux looked at the decrypted transmission on his screen.

  They know who’s behind it.

  “Explain.”

  Leroux picked up his own phone and dialed the number of the unauthorized device. Dimka jumped as a vibration was heard near her station. Leroux stepped over and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around in her chair, a cellphone gripped in her hand, tears streaking her face.