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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  As Messina breathed a sigh of relief reality once again came back into focus and his head spun to the left just as the wall of water slammed into him with so much pressure he almost blacked out immediately from the shock. And as he scrambled helplessly to stay alive, he realized it was no use, and instead turned his attention to more important things as he was battered to death by the debris and the rocky bed of the Colorado.

  Thank you God for saving my family.

  And he only hoped that whatever sins he had committed in this world would be negated by his one final, selfless act, that resulted in a mother and her precious daughter escaping the onslaught.

  And Lieutenant Rick Messina, Arizona National Guard, husband and father of two, finally succumbed, one of the final recorded victims of a Cold War long forgotten.

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  There was silence throughout the Operations Center as the realization that there had been a detonation set in, reports from the ground scant, the only information that had reached them so far was that the dam had failed.

  The only saving grace was that by the time the wash from the collapsed dam would reach any substantially populated area, it would have dissipated enough to do little if any damage.

  But it signaled one other thing.

  Possibly.

  If all the weapons were set to detonate at the same time, then the others should have gone off by now as well. And none had. Which meant the crisis might actually be over.

  But Leroux refused to let himself relax.

  “Any word on other detonations?” asked Morrison.

  “Negative. No other detonations reported as of yet.”

  As of yet.

  “How long do we wait?” asked Sherrie, her voice barely a whisper.

  “We don’t,” replied Morrison. “We continue forward, locate each and every one of these weapons, deactivate them, make them safe, then find every single person involved, and bring them to justice.”

  Justice.

  Right now Leroux just wanted them all dead. That would be justice. After all, it was the method of justice most employed by the USSR, the very empire these crazed lunatics were trying to restore. It would be fitting justice to slap them in some third world style gulag in Alaska, awaiting trial, then just shoot them all after torturing them for the names of their comrades.

  Comrades.

  It made him sick. Why would anyone want to bring back the old USSR? But then he realized that it was already happening, and most Russians were either cheering it, or tacitly supporting it, those who spoke out labelled agitators and tossed in prison.

  And if the West wasn’t careful, they could once again face an enemy even more powerful than before, with massive reserves of money and dozens of countries heavily dependent upon its oil and natural gas reserves, not the least of which were most Northern European countries.

  Would America stand alone if the gas taps were turned off, leaving its traditional allies in the cold?

  Leroux shuddered at the thought and hoped that the events of the past few days would at least open the world’s eyes to the dangers such a future might bring.

  Sherrie squeezed his hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “I was just wondering if there’s another Cold War, would we still have the will to fight it.”

  She frowned.

  “These are different times, but I like to think we would.”

  Leroux nodded, unsure if he shared her confidence.

  Alex West Residence, Black Forest, Germany

  Alex West sat in his favorite chair with a clear view of the front door, tea on his knee, a smile on his face, happier than he could ever remember being. Adelle sat in the next best seat, Alexis the third, and poor Viktor Zorkin was relegated to the worst seat in the house, his back to the door.

  But none seemed to mind, all smiles and laughter, Alexis having taken to her father quickly, already calling him ‘papa’, something that melted his heart every time he heard it.

  And he and Adelle had rekindled their romance, something he was pleased could still happen at seventy-five without blue candies. They were slower in their old age, but with gun-toting KGB no longer chasing them down, they could be forgiven for taking their time and enjoying each other’s offerings.

  “It will take some time to track them all down,” said Zorkin as he sipped his tea. “Perhaps years.”

  “I’m not sure who could be left beyond underlings,” said Alexis. “General Levkin is dead, all of the men at his complex are dead, and his men in America are either dead or captured.”

  “Don’t forget the money, my dear,” said West. “Somebody fronted an awful lot of money for this endeavor.”

  “Follow the money,” agreed Adelle.

  The sound of a car pulling up outside had West and Zorkin reaching for their weapons, urging the women to stay behind them, but instead they too pulled their own.

  “I count two,” whispered Zorkin.

  “No, three,” said Adelle.

  “Definitely three,” agreed West, though he couldn’t be certain, but if he were going to be wrong, he was going to go with his beloved’s answer.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Enter,” said West. “Slowly.”

  The door opened and a pair of hands appeared first, empty, then the smiling face of Kane.

  “Are we interrupting anything?” he asked as he entered, followed by the two Delta operatives Dawson and Niner.

  “This is cozy,” commented Niner, the fact the room was never designed for seven painfully obvious.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” said West, standing and offering his chair.

  Kane waved it off.

  “No, you keep it. We’re only here to say hi and to pass on the thanks of our government for your help. We’ve got a flight to catch this evening out of Frankfurt.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m just really here for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I seem to remember owing someone an arm wrestle.”

  Zorkin jumped from his seat, looking for a place to meet the challenge.

  And finding no surface not covered in some remembrance.

  “It appears we are defeated by a packrat,” he muttered. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

  “The best?” asked Kane.

  “Yes, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

  Kane laughed and Niner leaned in.

  “Are you going to take that from an old man? Kick his ass!”

  The room erupted in laughter as Kane shook his head.

  “I think maybe it’s best to leave some questions unanswered.”

  Niner leaned forward again.

  “How about the hood of the car?”

  Zorkin leapt from his chair again and rushed for the door.

  “Time to teach this young bastard a lesson!”

  Zorkin disappeared, followed by a laughing Kane and his friends, leaving West, Adelle and Alexis behind.

  “Mom, how did you ever get out of the Soviet Union after you were captured?”

  Adelle smiled.

  “Perhaps that’s something you should ask your dad.”

  Siberia, USSR

  April 14th, 1982

  Adelle Bertrand shivered, curled up into a ball in the back of the military transport. Her teeth chattered from the cold and her fingers were so numb she was beginning to worry about frostbite. Her face was swollen from the beatings, and she didn’t want to think of what had almost happened.

  Even though they were trained to shut down, to compartmentalize, weeks or months of repeated rapes was something nobody could recover from, no matter how good the training.

  But Zorkin had saved her, intervening and making sure she was put into the right hands, honorable hands. She had still been beaten. Still tortured. Still interrogated for weeks.

  B
ut that, she was trained for, and could recover from.

  The vehicle suddenly braked, skidding to a halt on the frozen, snow-covered roads, cursing from the front cabin erupting from the two men tasked to transport her. She listened to the sound of the passenger side door opening, yelling, then several pops, more shouts, and two more pops, the distinctive sound of a muzzled weapon unmistakable.

  The engine still idled ahead of her, but the sound of feet crunching on snow rounded the side of the vehicle, stopping at the rear. The canvas flap was tossed aside and a flashlight was shone in her face. A shadowy figure climbed inside then walked toward her, kneeling beside her, a hand reaching out.

  She shrank away, not wanting to be touched by anyone.

  “Adelle, it’s me.”

  The voice was familiar, but in the darkness she could see nothing. She remained silent as she tried to place the voice, but the engine and howling wind made it impossible.

  The flashlight left her face and shone on the man’s face and she cried out in joy, leaping forward into his arms.

  “Alex!”

  He held her tight, and though she was in pain, terrible pain, she didn’t say a word as her cracked ribs screamed in agony at his crushing embrace.

  It was the most wonderful feeling she could imagine.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled as he cut her bonds.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  She rubbed her wrists as he began to open a bag he had with him.

  “How did you find me?”

  He handed her a warm winter jacket which she pulled on immediately, her fingers too numb to zip it up.

  “Here, let me get that,” he said as he zipped it for her. “A note was slipped under my door with this location and a date and time.”

  “Who do you—”

  “I think we both know.”

  “Zorkin.”

  West nodded as he fitted a warm toque to her head.

  “Good thing he’s on our side sometimes,” said West as he helped her from the back of the truck.

  When they both were standing at the rear of the vehicle Adelle grabbed his neck, pulling him down to her, her frozen lips pressing against his as he returned the kiss, the embrace not one of lust, but of a passion now beyond the primal.

  She broke the kiss and looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

  “I think you love me.”

  He smiled and wiped away a tear that had escaped.

  “I admit to nothing, but then again, you are a highly trained spy, so you should be able to tell.”

  She smiled, pushing away from him but still holding his hands. Assessing his eyes and his smile, she nodded.

  “You love me.”

  It was a statement of fact. Not a joke, not a guess, not a wish. A fact.

  West smiled.

  “Lady knows best.”

  He pointed to the front of the truck.

  “Now, how about we get out of here, we’ve got a sub to catch.”

  Adelle let West help her into the truck, West climbing into the other side after dumping the bodies into a ditch and covering them with snow. As the vehicle began to move forward, glorious heat spilling into the cab, she looked at the man she knew she loved and wondered what their future might bring.

  Whatever it is, I know it will be wonderful.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I grew up an Air Force brat living in many places, the longest in West Germany, spending many of my formative years, eight through fifteen, living and breathing the daily reality that was the Cold War. We lived off base, “on the economy” as it was known, so we could experience German culture while we were there. We lived on the second floor of a house—its own separate apartment—in a town called Hugsweier, with our German landlords living on the main floor.

  The two families became extremely close, and my parents still visit annually.

  Herman and Erica were fantastic people, and I have over the years come to think of them as my German grandparents and their daughter as a sort of sister. Herman unfortunately passed away some years ago, and I hope soon that life will stop interfering with my plans to get back to my old stomping grounds so I can see the rest of my extended family soon.

  These were fantastic times, exciting times, and terrifying times. The military base we were stationed at was a prime Soviet target. In a nuclear exchange, we knew we were toast within minutes. Even if the war stayed conventional, we were still a prime target. We had bomb drills at school, not fire drills. We lived under constant terrorist threat, whether it was from groups like the home grown Red Army Faction (also known as the Baader Meinhof Gang) or Middle Eastern terrorists, it never ended. The searches, the armed guards, the Armored Personal Carriers at the gates to go to school, not to mention the armed escorts on the school busses.

  Exciting. Terrifying.

  One of the many things I have come to realize now that I’ve spent more than twenty-five years back home is that the average person has no concept of how good we have it here. 9/11 was a wake-up call, but little has happened on home soil since then. We don’t go to sleep at night with tanks on our streets, soldiers in our workplace, children practicing bomb evacuation drills, and an enemy, only hundreds of miles away, who wanted to kill us.

  And with the Soviet Union defeated, a new generation of Europeans no longer know that fear either.

  And it is all thanks to those Cold Warriors who held back the Russian bear for decades, eventually winning in the end, so future generations wouldn’t know the fear the USSR and its allies in the Warsaw Pact represented. It is a generation of soldiers who were willing to die to defend our way of life, but thankfully were never forced to.

  But because few shots were fired, these veterans are quite often forgotten, overlooked in favor of our vets from two world wars, Korea, Vietnam, and more recently Iraq and Afghanistan where actual battles that make great movies occurred. But these Cold Warriors, like my father, are veterans who joined a volunteer military to defend us, with little thanks or recognition, against a military arguably mightier than any we have ever faced in history or since, armed with nuclear, biological and chemical weapons, as well as a massive sophisticated conventional force far more terrifying than the average civilian knew.

  I’d like to thank these Cold Warriors, these veterans—and there are millions of them—for their service and sacrifice.

  And my German family, for making one military family feel so much at home, Vielen dank!

  On a much lighter note, there are people to thank for their contributions to this book, the writing of which was a far less noble endeavor than fighting the Cold War, I assure you! I’d like to thank Brent Richards for teaching me how to headbutt someone without knocking yourself out, Klaus Rößel for the German translation and Felicitas Grant and Mechtilda Dowd for the double-check. For advice on the Black Sea and boats in general, I’d like to thank Richard Jenner. As well, the real Chris Leroux for some gaming info, and the real Rick Messina who has been a great friend and supporter for many years—sorry I killed you, dude! Of course I’d like to thank my wife and daughter and parents, as well as all my friends for their continued support, and you the fans who have made all this possible.

  And to those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com then sign up for the Insiders Club. You’ll get emails about new book releases, new collections, sales, etc. Only an email or two a month tops, I promise!

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has written over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, the first installment of which, The Protocol, has been on the bestsellers list since its release, including a three month run at number one. In addition to the other novels from this series including The Templar's Relic, a USA Today bestseller and #1 overall bestseller on Barnes & Noble, he writes the bestselling Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers, the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, and the Detective Shakespeare Mysteries. Robert lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

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