Peter Savage Novels Boxed Set

by Dave Edlund

  “Thank you, Paul,” President Taylor said. Then he paused, eyes seemingly looking through the Secretary of State. “Seems we’ve been here before.”

  Bryan nodded. “Too many times. I wish it wasn’t so.”

  After a moment, President Taylor continued, “The Air Force destroyed a column of Russian armor headed for the Minsk airport. For the moment at least, the airport is firmly under our control, and we are not being challenged in the air.”

  “Congratulations, sir.”

  “Not yet—this is far from over.”

  “If I may ask, sir, suppose our hypothesis that the smallpox weapon was manufactured by Russia is confirmed. Do you intend to bomb the facility?”

  Taylor looked weary, the wrinkles on his face deep, his eyes puffy and heavy with fatigue. “If we find such proof, and it is irrefutable, I have no choice but to vaporize the facilities responsible for manufacturing the virus and building the weapon.”

  The sudden realization swept over Bryan, the revelation filling him with dread. His jaw dropped, and he was about to speak, but Taylor held his hand out, quashing any objection.

  The nightmare scenarios raced through Bryan’s mind, painfully imagined and terrifying. What the President was contemplating was akin to standing in a vat of gasoline and lighting matches, then dropping them in the hope the flame would extinguish before igniting a deadly conflagration. Events could rapidly spiral out of control and lead to not only a large-scale war, but one involving the exchange of nuclear weapons, a horror the world had only witnessed once. And until his dying breath, Paul Bryan was determined to do everything in his power to prevent a repeat.

  The voice of President Taylor pulled Secretary Bryan back to the present. The phone buzzed twice and he eased himself into a Chippendale chair. “President Pushkin. I wish we were not speaking under such grave circumstances.”

  “You seem to take military conflict rather easily, Mr. President. A pity. You would be wise to have higher regard for American lives.”

  “Sir, neither of us has the time to play games. We both understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “Indeed, perhaps you should have given it more thought before you interfered in the affairs of a sovereign nation. America has no right to use its military might to change the course of events in Belarus. Only the people of Belarus have that right.”

  “I’m glad we agree on that point.” Taylor knew his sarcasm wouldn’t be lost on the Russian President.

  “My country has an agreement with Belarus to provide protection in the event of an attack from outside forces. We have shown considerable restraint, but if America and NATO do not back down, I’m afraid we will have no choice but to honor our agreement.”

  “I have spoken with President Yatchenko, and he expressed his desire that Russian aircraft, troops, and vehicles leave his country immediately.”

  President Pushkin chuckled dramatically. “So, you order your military to invade Minsk and attack Russian aircraft, and I am to take your word that you were invited?”

  “Believe what you will. The truth is self-evident.”

  “Indeed. Many of the citizens of Minsk hold Russian passports. Did you know that?”

  Pushkin didn’t wait for a response. “The Russian people are loyal to each other. I have a sworn duty to protect my people wherever they live. In Belarus, we have many citizens. Although we are separate nations on paper, that is a mere formality. Our people—my people—are very close.

  “I sat down with President Yatchenko last year, and gave him my pledge of protection when we signed the formal agreement. Belarus is not a NATO country. You have no right to become involved militarily.”

  “The United States and our European allies are responding to our moral obligation to defend a peaceful country.”

  “International law is on my side,” Pushkin said. “I must insist that you withdraw all American armed forces and military equipment within 24 hours.”

  President Taylor paused for a moment before answering, Mr. Pushkin, once Russian forces have fully withdrawn, along with Russian armor, anti-aircraft batteries, and fighter aircraft, then, and only then, will U.S. and NATO forces leave Belarus.”

  “I see,” Pushkin said. “So this is how you wish it to be.”

  “Spare me the indignation. We all know you are stirring up trouble in the former Soviet Bloc countries under the guise of independent citizen militias.”

  “You have no right to lecture me. My country is exercising its right to protect and support ethnic Russians wherever they may live. America is no stranger to sending armed soldiers into foreign lands to protect her citizens. Why should Russia be any different?

  “In Europe, Asia, Latin American, the Middle East, it’s always the same. You use bribes and threats to coerce governments to become pro-West, pro-U.S. If that doesn’t work, you order your intelligence agencies to destabilize leaders and put your own puppet regime in power.

  “You’ve united Western Europe under NATO and now you won’t be satisfied until all of Eastern Europe is also economically and militarily allied against Russia!”

  “Since 1945, it has been the policy of the United States to support democracy and freedom of the people to fairly elect their government. It’s unfortunate you view that policy as a threat.”

  “So you say. In reality, my country’s boundaries have receded in the west and the south as a result of persistent pressure from the United States. You have long stirred civil unrest and fomented rebellion in the border regions. These are lands that were united under one flag, the Russian flag, by Peter the Great and Catherine the Great long before the birth of America.”

  “I am familiar with Russian history. And you aim to reestablish those historical borders?”

  President Pushkin remained silent.

  “You’ve made mistakes this time.”

  Pushkin sighed, and President Taylor thought it a bit theatrical. “You should know me better, Mr. President. I do not make mistakes.”

  “Oh?”

  “The world is already learning how America has used a biological weapon in Georgia to poison innocent people. Your weak attempt to blame my government is refuted by the evidence… evidence from none other than the European Molecular Biology Laboratory. It is time to face the truth; you have no credibility on the world stage.

  “As I’m sure you know, my country has already briefed the Secretary General of the United Nations on these outrageous and provocative actions your administration has taken. How can you justify infecting thousands of civilians with disease and then blame it on Russia? How dare you! My Foreign Minister will soon address the entire Assembly, and lay out the irrefutable evidence of your guilt.”

  President Taylor had expected this, and listened calmly until Pushkin finished. “We have many captured Russian soldiers in Minsk.”

  “And what is your proof—that they speak Russian?” Pushkin laughed. “Your prisoners are militiamen—rebels—not Russian soldiers.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Mr. President, heed my warning and withdraw your troops and airplanes before this skirmish escalates past the point of no return. Once the United Nations is aware of your crimes, America will stand alone.”

  “Did I tell you that we recovered an aerosol device from a rooftop in Minsk? It was designed to disperse weaponized smallpox virus. Clever contraption, really—it proved rather difficult to disarm.” Now it was Taylor’s turn to let out a short, mirthless chuckle. “But of course you know that. After all, the machine was made under your direction.”

  The line was silent for several heartbeats before Pushkin replied. “You say you recovered one machine for dispersing aerosols, smallpox virus?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Are you surprised?”

  “Indeed. Did you deactivate the machine before it could dispense the virus?”

  “Fortunately, yes. It is our understanding there has been no release in Minsk. The population is safe. But just to be certain, we are initiating a sma
ll-pox vaccination program for the civilians who may have been exposed. We have good reason to believe the aerosol dispersion machine and the virus itself were manufactured by your government.”

  “Once again, a groundless allegation, Mr. President. My government does not engage in biological terrorism. That, it would appear, is the sole domain of the United States.”

  “On the contrary, the device was assembled using Russian components, including Russian explosives and detonators. And the anti-clumping agent mixed with the virus powder is also of Russian origin.” Taylor decided there was nothing to lose by overstating what he actually knew as fact. But Pushkin did not pursue the President’s claims and remained silent.

  “The virus itself is the interesting part. The analysis—genetic sequencing—is not completed yet, but we expect it will indicate the smallpox is identical to that used in research in the United States. A strain that was stolen and sold to a Russian agent.”

  “I am baffled. You admit the smallpox virus is identical to U.S. genetic strains, and yet you accuse Russia of building and deploying the weapon? Who will believe such nonsense?”

  “There is no doubt it is of Russian manufacture.” Hearing his words spoken aloud, President Taylor realized how ridiculous his accusation sounded. It would take a significant PR effort to spin this so that opinion did not swing against the United States.

  “Come now, we both know that your military has the resources to make this machine look like it was fabricated in Russia. Let me tell you, as a friend, if I were to make a bioweapon and deploy it in a secret attack, one aimed at civilians—”

  “But, of course, you did just that,” Taylor interrupted.

  Unfazed, Pushkin continued, “I would instruct my scientists to purchase American parts and use captured American explosives. This would ensure that if the weapon was captured, it would not be traced back to my government.

  “The virus itself, that is the tricky part of this thought exercise. Hmmm. I am told by my scientists that Russia no longer maintains live smallpox virus samples. We have a complete genetic code, which is sufficient should we ever have a need to manufacture the ghastly virus.”

  President Taylor was surprised at Pushkin’s command of American slang, and then recalled Pushkin had attended both Harvard and Oxford in the U.K., each for two years, more than two decades earlier.

  “Since the smallpox genetic sequence does not match Russian strains, but does match American strains, the logical conclusion is clear.”

  “We both know the truth.”

  “You speak of truth as if it were an absolute. There is no such thing. Truth is what others choose to believe.”

  President Taylor recognized the futility in further debating the issue.

  “Mr. Pushkin, we can either negotiate a peaceful settlement to this unfortunate situation, or the United States and its NATO allies will use all necessary force to bring an end to your government’s aggression.”

  When Vladimir Pushkin replied, his words were clipped, his voice tight as if he was struggling to restrain a violent outburst. “President Taylor, I have indulged your insulting accusations long enough. You have seriously underestimated my resolve—the resolve of the Russian Federation and her people, and, ultimately, the resolve of the sovereign nations of the world. I warn you, tread carefully, for you are walking into a minefield.”

  Before Taylor could reply, the line went dead.

  s

  “Okay,” Peter said. “Clearly time is of the essence.”

  Jim opened the door and called for Colonel Garrett. He was involved in a conversation with a Marine sergeant, but Jim assumed his needs took priority over just about any other business.

  “Colonel, I assume you know the essence of the conversation I just concluded.”

  “I know that you are in charge of a secret mission and I am to provide whatever support and assistance you require.” Other officers may have felt denigrated by being sidestepped, cut out of the information loop, but not Garrett. He was confident in his abilities and the trajectory of his career and took no offense. Jim read that right away and decided to downplay his authority as much as possible.

  “With your permission, sir, I’d like to get my team working on that case right here. We could use the video and secure com link to bring in my analysts at The Office.” The facilities that SGIT called home, located on a portion of the McClellan Business Park in Sacramento, was affectionately called ‘The Office’ by the team.

  “Whatever you need, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jim replied, and then he called for Bull and the communication technicians who were hanging back in the shadows outside the room. Within a few minutes the case was resting on a long table. The technicians arranged bright lighting and had already connected Lieutenant Lacey, whose image filled the flat screen.

  Before he began, Jim dismissed everyone other than Peter, Gary, Ian, and Magnum, who would be needed to deal with the explosive charge. Colonel Garrett ensured the door was closed on his way out.

  “Lacey,” Jim began. “Everything we are about to discuss is ‘need-to-know’; Sensitive Compartmented Information.”

  “Understood,” Lacey replied.

  “We are going to disassemble the aerosol machine. Magnum has rendered it safe by removing the detonator. The circuit boards are toast thanks to Peter’s improvised EMP bomb—”

  Uncharacteristically, Lacey cut off her boss. “Excuse me, sir, did I hear you correctly?”

  “Affirmative, Lieutenant. Peter somehow managed to rig up a close-proximity electromagnetic pulse weapon that overloaded the electrical circuits of the machine. Very effective.”

  Lacey’s mouth was agape and her eyes were wide as she listened from the SGIT conference room.

  “Bring in Stephens and Ross; I want their eyes on this, too. And who’s your best Russian translator?”

  “That’s Ross, sir,” Lacey answered.

  “Very good. Peter saw some writing on the circuit boards, maybe other parts as well. Ross can translate for us. We’re looking for evidence as to the origin of this device. The explosive charge and smallpox virus—we’re assuming that’s what it is—will be transported to Germany for further analysis. Colonel Pierson has the details, but that is not our concern at this time. The device itself will be secured for any follow-up analysis at a later time.”

  Lacey placed the video conference call on hold while she summoned Mona Stephens and Beth Ross.

  Jim grabbed a small hand-held camera, connected wirelessly to the communication link so that his analysts, halfway around the world, would clearly see everything as Peter meticulously worked his way through the case.

  “This is the device removed from the roof of the chemistry building. It was placed adjacent to an air-intake vent,” Jim explained as Stephens and Ross seated themselves in the conference room at The Office.

  “I’ll begin with the display and three buttons.” Peter gingerly removed the circuit assembly and placed it on the table.

  “Looks like a standard timing circuit,” Gary said. “I’d imagine one of the buttons activated the manual timer, and the other two buttons are to increase or decrease the set time. This key lock is a simple switch to prevent accidental arming.”

  “Now, moving on to the circuit boards,” Peter explained. There were a total of three, two large and one a little smaller, aligned in a row with about an inch of separation. Peter pulled the first board out of the slot with both hands. It was a snug fit. He placed the circuit board on the table under the light and Jim captured close-ups with the camera. They repeated the process with the next two boards.

  Peter stopped, waiting for comment from any of the SGIT analysts. All three were framed on the large monitor, each sitting behind an opened laptop.

  “This board,” he held one in front of the camera for closer scrutiny, “appears to have sensors for measuring atmospheric pressure and wind speed. And this component here—” Peter pointed to a blue chip soldered to the board. “
I think this is a humidity sensor. It looks very much like humidity sensors we have in portable meteorological instruments.”

  “I concur,” Gary added. “These are most definitely sensors, not the typical transistors, capacitors, and resistors one finds on PCBAs.”

  “Mr. Porter?” Ross interjected. “PCBA?”

  “Printed circuit board assembly.”

  Beth Ross nodded as she continued typing on her laptop.

  “I understand measuring humidity and atmospheric pressure, but I’d think wind speed would be even more important.” This question came from Lacey.

  “Oh, of course. Wind speed is inferred from a miniature pitot tube that connects to the air-intake grill. It’s right here,” again Peter pointed out the component—it was longer and more slender than the other components soldered to the printed circuit board.

  “A pitot tube measures air speed by a differential pressure,” Gary elaborated. “They are commonly used on aircraft.”

  “Except in this case air speed is the wind blowing over the case,” Lacey said.

  “Correct.” Peter maneuvered the board in front of the camera. “Can you see the writing clearly?”

  Beth Ross answered, “Commander, can you zoom in on the center board?”

  Jim did, enlarging the image two fold. It appeared as a smaller image on the lower left of the monitor, overlaid on the video of Lacey, Ross, and Stephens.

  Ross studied the image. It was Cyrillic printing—several words that Peter assumed were a manufacturer name and board ID.

  “Definitely Russian,” Ross said. “Now, please focus on the left board, the writing along the edge, see it?”

  “Got it.” Jim zoomed in until the writing was large and clear.

  “Hmm, that’s odd,” Ross said. Her lips moved in silence, like she was sounding out the words she was reading.

  “What’s odd about it?” Stephens asked.

  “Well, the other two circuit boards have Russian markings indicating they were fabricated in Russia. But this board…” Ross shook her head. “No, this writing is not Russian.”

  “Are you certain?” Lacey asked. “It looks like Cyrillic characters to me.”