Shattered Bone (10 page)

The thick darkness seemed to enfold him, muffling the low voices that ran through the dimly lit terminal. He drew his thin jacket around him and shivered again from the cold. He thought of Jesse, sitting in their California home more than four thousand miles to the west and felt more desperate than he had ever felt in his life.

Before he had a chance to stretch his tired legs, Ammon was shoved into the back of a small sedan and driven to an ancient wood cabin fifty kilometers north of the city. It was near the Dnieper River, deep in a forest of spruce, aspens, and white pines. It was not a luxurious place, even by Ukrainian standards, much more a poor man's hunting lodge than a rich man's summer home on the lake. But it was private and extremely secluded.

Here he was told to stay put. He found a moldy bed in one of the tiny bedrooms and immediately fell asleep.

Fourteen hours later, he awoke. It was late afternoon and the sun was sitting low, sending dim sunbeams horizontally through the window. He heard a truck pull up, its tires crunching the wet gravel until it came to a stop, and then men's voices outside. As he listened, some of the voices faded away, muffled by the thick forest that surrounded the cabin. He listened to the sound of men spreading out through the woods, secluding themselves in the trees as they set up a perimeter security zone. A few of the voices grew louder as they approached the cabin. Ammon sat up in his bed, instantly alert.

After the men entered the cabin, all was quiet. Then the door to the bedroom opened. Amril was standing there, his huge frame filling the doorway, beckoning for Ammon to come.

Ammon followed him into the kitchen. There he found four men sitting around an enormous kitchen table. They appeared to range in age from about forty-five to maybe sixty. All of them were dressed in hunting clothes and covered with mud and muck. He noticed the shotguns stacked against the wall as well as three dead geese that had been stretched out near the kitchen sink. The musky smell of wet fowl filled the air.

The men turned to look at Ammon as he walked into the room. They continued to stare as he approached the table and sat in the only remaining seat. Amril stood near the doorway to the bedroom with his arms clasped behind his back.

For a long time no one spoke. The only sound was the occasional creaking of the old wooden chairs as the men shifted in their seats. Finally the youngest of the men turned to Ammon and spoke in perfect English.

“Do you remember me, Carl?” he asked.

Ammon flinched at the mention of his name. It had been almost twenty years since he had been called anything but Richard Ammon. To be called by his christened name sounded strange and uncomfortable.

Ammon studied the man intently. He was of medium height and stocky. His hands were huge and rough. Short cropped hair spread like stubble across his strangely uneven head. His face was covered by what looked like a week's worth of graying beard. His eyes were pale and green. Almost yellow. His smile was forced and tight.

Richard Ammon had seen this face only once, and it had been many years before, but still he remembered. After a long pause, he replied in a quiet voice, “Yes, Ivan Morozov, I know who you are.”

This was the man who had first approached Ammon's father about sending his son to the Sicherheit. This was the man who had come to the apartment early one morning to take him away. After that, Ammon had never seen Ivan Morozov again, though his name had been whispered among the students and instructors at the school. Everyone knew that Morozov managed every detail of the Sicherheit. It was he who directed the lives of his agents.

Morozov hesitated a minute as the recognition spread across Ammon's face. He watched Ammon's eyes flicker and burn. “It has been a long time, hasn't it, Carl? So much water has passed under the bridge. But now, here you are once again. It must be good to be back.”

Ammon stared into Morozov's face but didn't reply. After a moment of silence Morozov reached into his jacket and extracted a crumpled package of cigarettes. Pulling out a smoke, he rolled it absently between his muddy fingers.

“It's kind of funny, isn't it, Carl? Life used to be so much simpler. For you. For me. For men such as ourselves. It used to be that we knew who our enemies were. We knew who to fight. We knew who to watch.

“But now, the world has changed. Who would have dreamed....” his voice trailed off. “I mean, look at us, after all these years, both of us finding ourselves back here in the Ukraine.”

An awkward moment of silence. Ammon turned to the other men in the room. None of them spoke. None of them even looked in his direction.

Ammon turned back to Morozov. “Who are these men?” he asked abruptly.

Morozov leaned forward in his seat. “If you knew who they were, you would change the tone of your voice.” Ammon sat back. He was still unimpressed.

“Why have you brought me here?” he demanded. “You almost killed me with your little scheme. And for what purpose may I ask? I thought our war was over.”

Morozov didn't miss the bitter tone of Ammon's voice. Ammon wasn't intimidated. That was good. They would need a man who wasn't afraid, even when he was alone.

“We finally have a job for you,” Morozov answered. “With your flying expertise and ability to operate within the United States, we think you—”

“And what if I'm not interested?” Ammon quickly cut in. “What if you have the wrong man?” He folded his arms in silent defiance. “I have always been loyal to my country.

“But what is this? I don't know what your intention is here, but I tell you right now, you have made a huge mistake if you just assumed that, like you, I am for sale.”

Morozov's face turned suddenly sour. “I want to tell you something, Carl,” he said sternly. “Something extremely important. Since we arc going to work together again, I think we should just clear the air.”

Morozov inhaled on his cigarette and let the smoke drift lazily out of his nose as he tapped ashes onto the kitchen table. He motioned to one of the Ukrainians and said, “But before I go any further, there is something that we want to know. Victor and I have been talking about the microfilm you gave us. We wanted to ask you. Why is the information outdated and useless? Don't you trust us anymore?”

Ammon instinctively tightened his stomach muscles in an effort to keep the blood from draining from his head. He didn't quiver or flinch or blink an eye as he answered in the same calm voice as before.

“You told me to bring in anything I could, but you only gave me two days. On such short notice, I did the best I could.”

Morozov smiled. “Of course. That makes perfect sense,” he said, then leaned forward in his chair. “No need to apologize, Carl, but there is something I want to explain. And this is very important, so I want you to listen very closely.”

Morozov looked around the room and gestured to the other men as he spoke. “You are one of us, Carl. You are Ukrainian, and have been since your birth. Your father, your mother, your grandparents ... your people have been rooted in this soil for five hundred years. This place, dark and drab as it is ... this place is your home.

“And that is not all, my boy,” he continued, his lips spreading into a thin and evil grin. “For your commitment doesn't end there. For you are also mine. In many ways you are more my son than your father's. I was the one who taught and trained you. It was I who set the course for your life. I was the one who saved you from a life with a drunk in the gutter.

“You were one of the few who were chosen. Out of the thousands of young men I could have selected, you were one of the very few culled from the crowd.

“And knowing that, did you think you could just walk away from me? Did you think you could just disappear in the West and never hear from me again?

“You'll never be one of them, Carl. While the West may have many things to offer, it isn't you. It simply isn't in your blood. You are a soldier. You are loyal. You will do what I command you to do.”

Morozov leaned further across the table toward Richard Ammon. “We need you now, Carl,” he whispered. “You're the only one who has the unique talents and training to complete this mission. So we are forced to use you. But I have to be quite honest. Some of these men don't trust you. They suspect that you might have grown soft. Gotten hollow in the middle. So I have had to assure them that you can be relied on.

“I have staked my reputation on you, Carl. So do not let me down. Consider yourself on a sort of probation. If you do well, we will reward you. But remember, I'll be watching you. I will be at your back, watching your every move.”

Ammon swallowed hard. Morozov sat back in his chair, waiting for him to reply. But Ammon didn't answer. It was one of the few times in his life when he couldn't think of the right thing to say.

___________________________ 

__________________________       

KIEV, UKRAINE

“N
ow LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS
,” M
OROZOV SAID COLDLY
. “T
HESE
men are very busy, and we have already wasted their time. It is time to get on with the matter. But before I tell you what part you will play, there is something I want you to read.” Morozov nodded his head toward Andrei Liski, the weasel-like man who took out a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and carefully spread it out on the table.

“How well do you remember your native tongue?” Liski asked sharply as he looked up from the paper to Richard Ammon.

Ammon hesitated. Morozov broke in. “He was not allowed to speak anything but English once he entered our training as a child. He has not spoken Russian in more than twenty years.”

Liski stared at Richard Ammon, unable to hide his impatience.

“My Russian is weak, but I can manage,” Ammon finally said.

“Then take a look at this,” Liski said unsmiling, as he pushed the paper across the table. “Tell me if you need help in the translation, for you will need to get this right. This isn't something you want to screw up, or you will never understand.”

Ammon picked up the paper and stared at the Cyrillic writing. It seemed so foreign and unfamiliar. He read each word and then translated it in his mind, taking his time as he went, splitting his attention between making a correct translation and understanding the contents of the page. As he read, his face turned pale and the blood drained from his head. His hands began to tremble. His eyes widened and a look of pure disbelief spread across his ashen face. No one spoke, but all watched him intently as he read to the bottom of the page. He looked up at the waiting men, then turned back to the memo and read it again.

1325Z23MAY

WARPLAN OPTION 3

LIMITED TACTICAL NUCLEAR STRIKE

---------------------------
---------------------------

MISSION STATEMENT: THE PURPOSE OF THIS OPTION IS TO CONDUCT JOINT OPERATIONS AGAINST THE UKRAINE, DETER AN ARMED RESPONSE OR COUNTER ATTACK, SUPPORT OPERATIONS TO ELIMINATE UKRAINIAN LAND/AIR FORCES, SEIZE CONTROL OF THE COUNTRY, ELIMINATE THE CURRENT GOVERNMENT, IMPLEMENT INTERNAL SECURITY MEASURES, REINFORCE AND RESUPPLY RUSSIAN FORCES, SUPPORT KASS SCHEME OF MANEUVER, INTERDICT FOLLOW-ON FORCES AND ELIMINATE THE THREAT OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION (WMD) AGAINST THE ATTACKING RUSSIAN FORCES, MOTHERLAND, OR OCCUPIED TERRITORIES, WHILE MINIMIZING OWN FORCE LOSSES.

1. FIRST PRIORITY IS TO PROTECT RUSSIAN FORCES AND MINIMIZE OWN COMBAT CASUALTIES WHILE INFLICTING MAXIMUM DAMAGE TO UKRAINIAN FORCES. SREDNEKOLYMSK LABORATORIES ESTIMATE MINIMUM 30-37 PERCENT CASUALTY RATE AMONG TARGET FORCES AFTER FIRST WAVE NUCLEAR ATTACK. ASSUMING A CASUALTY RATE OF ONLY 30 PERCENT, 350,000 UKRAINIAN COMBATANTS WOULD BE ELIMINATED WITHIN 48 HOURS. VICTORY WOULD THEN BE ASSURED. COLLATERAL DAMAGE TO CIVILIAN POPULATION IS ESTIMATED LESS THAN 200,000—CERTAINLY AN ACCEPTABLE RATE. PREVAILING WINDS AND THE LOCATION OF THE SKROVEK HILLS, ALONG WITH THE RELATIVELY LOW YIELD OF THE TACTICAL WEAPONS WOULD LEAD TO MINIMAL LONG-TERM IMPACT UPON THE SURROUND-INGAREA.

2. UKRAINIAN FORCES HAVE NO NUCLEAR CAPABILITY, HAVING CEDED ALL NUCLEAR WEAPONS AS PART OF THE START III AGREEMENTS, SO A RETALIATORY STRIKE IS NOT A CONCERN. HOWEVER, CURRENT UKRAINIAN DOCTRINE CALLS FOR THE USE OF WMD, I.E., CHEMICAUBIOLOGICAL WEAPONS, AS A LAST RESPONSE OPTION IN THE CASE OF IMPENDING MILITARY FAILURE. ALL UKRAINIAN WMD ARE CURRENTLY STORED IN UNDERGROUND FACILITIES THAT ARE
ONLY
VULNERABLE TO NUCLEAR AITACK. THUS, A FIRST WAVE NUCLEAR ATIACK IS THE ONLY WAY TO GUARANTEE THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL UKRAINIAN WMD WHICH MIGHT OTHERWISE BE USED AGAINST RUSSIAN OFFENSIVE FORCES.

3. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECT OF THE USE OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS UPON THE UKRAINE WOULD BE TWOFOLD:

A. THE SHOCK VALUE WOULD ASSIST IN SUBJECTING THE CIVILIAN POPULATION TO RUSSIAN CONTROL

B. MORE IMPORTANT, IT WOULD ALSO HAVE A DRAMATIC PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECT UPON WESTERN GOVERNMENTS WHICH WOULD WORK TO OUR ADVANTAGE ONCE HOSTILITIES ARE INITIATED IN THE REGIONS OF THE FORMER WARSAW PACT COUNTRIES. SHOWING OUR RESOLVE EARLY BY USING LIMITED NUCLEAR FORCE AGAINST THE UKRAINE WOULD REDUCE THE POSSIBILITY OF A MAJOR EAST/WEST NUCLEAR EXCHANGE BY AS MUCH AS 70% ONCE THE WARSAW CAMPAIGN IS UNDERWAY. THE FIRST USE OF WMD WOULD UNDOUBTABLY RESULT IN ENORMOUS POLITICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL REWARDS THAT COULD EFFECTIVELY BE EXPLOITED ON THE BAITLEFIELD.

4. WE BELIEVE THAT THE UNITED STATES/EUROPEAN UNION WILL NOT—REPEAT—NOT—RETALIATE AGAINST RUSSIA FOR THE USE OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS AS LONG AS SUCH USE IS LIMITED TO ANY ONE OF THE FORMER REPUBLICS.

5. HOSTILITIES AGAINST THE UKRAINE WILL COMMENCE AS PLANNED. RECOMMEND THE USE OF TACTICAL NUCLEAR WEAPONS TO ASSURE A SWIFT AND ACCEPTABLE CONCLUSION.

----------------

SUPREME COMMANDER

----------------

I CONCUR.

VLADIMIR FEDOTOV

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Ammon looked up and swallowed hard, his face a sheet of gray. “How do you know this is real?” he finally asked.