Authors: Don Brown
"In his stateroom, sir, " the XO said.
"Summon him to the control room. It's time to put his skills to work."
"Aye, Captain."
Office of the president of the Russian Republic
Staraya Square, Moscow
The audacity of these Americans!" The Russian defense minister, Giorgy Alexeevich Popkov, paced to and fro in front of the president's desk, waving his hands in the air. "To claim that
our
planes violated Georgian airspace. Typical Yankee lies!"
"This would not be the first time that the Americans have twisted things to their liking for propaganda purposes, " President Evitimov said, exchanging curious glances with his foreign minister.
"We shall expose their lies!" Popkov flailed his hands in the air. "We shall produce our radar tapes and show the world direct evidence of their aggressive and belligerent behavior."
"Sit down, Giorgy Alexeevich!"
The defense minister complied.
"I would rather expose our stolen plutonium!" Evtimov said.
That comment brought a tension-filled silence. Popkov squirmed in his chair like a writhing snake.
"Well, Comrade Defense Minister, what have you to say about this?"
Popkov looked around the room, exchanging glances with his friend the chief of staff, as if Sergey Semyonovich Sobyanin would tell him what to say.
But Sergey Semyonovich looked away from his old friend. Good. Sergey was smart enough to know where his loyalties should lie.
"We shall find the plutonium, Comrade President, " Popkov stuttered. "We have reason to believe it is in Grozny."
"We do, do we? Based on what?"
"Based on our intelligence on the streets, which is highly reliable."
"And if we do not have the plutonium yet, how do you propose that we go about getting it?"
The weasel pulled himself up a bit. "By following the course that you have so boldly set forth when we began this operation, Comrade President. By pouring more forces in against the rebels. By pummeling them, and by sticking to our commitment to do so until Chechnya is a literal wasteland."
"And what if all this does not work, Giorgy Alexeevich? What if that Chechen rebel Aslambek Kadyrov is at this moment building his bomb in some town other than Grozny, and we are bombing the wrong place?"
Popkov crossed his right knee over his left, then switched back and crossed his left knee over his right. "Please, I remind us all" -- his eyes swept the room again -- "patience is in order. Only a few days have passed since we discovered all this. Besides" -- he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile -- "we always have the option of withdrawing our forces and executing General Order 46."
That comment brought stunned silence. General Order 46, named such because the forty-sixth longitude ran just east of Grozny, was a highly classified plan thought of and presented by Popkov in his first act as defense minister two years ago. General Order 46 had created heated controversy in the upper levels of the Russian command.
The plan called for the total withdrawal of all Russian forces in Chechnya, followed by the dropping of a neutron bomb over the Chechen capital city by Russian aircraft.
Unlike a thermonuclear device, which would vaporize and obliterate everything within a multi-mile radius, a neutron device, at least in theory, would leave all structures intact. Buildings, bridges, and roads would all be left standing after the attack for subsequent repopulation by Slavic Russians.
But the presence of lethal neutrons would destroy all human and animal life in the city and in the countryside for miles around.
There were too many questions about the plan. How would they assure that deadly neutron radiation would not drift into Russia? What about the reaction of the international community? Was there a way to execute this without Russia's fingerprints being on it?
President Evtimov had shelved the plan for the time being. Privately, Evtimov worried that Popkov may try something without his permission.
"Let me make it perfectly clear, Giorgy Alexeevich, that General Order 46 is not an option at this time, and certainly will never be an option without my express approval. Are we clear on this point?"
"Extremely clear, Comrade President."
"You may continue our conventional buildup and pummel Grozny to the stones, but I want no mention of General Order 46 anymore unless I bring it up. Are there any questions?"
The weasel slumped back into his chair. "No. There are no questions, Comrade President."
Evtimov turned to his foreign minister. "I have been thinking, Alexander Alexeyvich, that in light of the worsening crisis in Chechnya, and because of the timing of our upcoming resolution in the United Nations condemning America, perhaps we should postpone my meeting with President Butrin?"
The foreign minister leaned forward. "No sir, I do not believe it advisable to cancel that meeting."
President Evtimov raised his eyebrow. "Really? Why do you say this, Alexander Alexeyvich?"
The foreign minister leaned forward in his chair. "We have a unique opportunity to bring Ukraine back into the eastern camp. And there are several reasons for this."
"What are your reasons?"
"First" -- the foreign minister brought the tips of his index fingers together -- "cancelling the summit will signal to the world that we consider Chechnya to be a serious international crisis. The more we signal business as usual, the better."
"Good point, " President Evtimov said.
The foreign minister continued. "Also, I know Vlaclav Butrin well. He is bighearted. Orphans are his passion. I remind you, Comrade President, that the orphans aboard the Russian freighter live in the very same orphanage where President Butrin himself was raised. Trust me, Vitaly Sergeivich, your offer to spend millions of rubles on Ukrainian orphanages will strike close to his heart. Your presence there at the dock will be meaningful to him.
"I suggest that the theme of your visit be on humanitarian cooperation, with Russia committing to become a major partner with Ukraine on the issue of orphans.
"I can have our staff prepare a major speech for you, Comrade President, on Russia's determination to take care of displaced Ukrainian orphans who continue to suffer residual radiation as a result of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster."
The president thought about that for a moment. "Ah, yes. Excellent points, Alexander Alexeyvich. Think of the photo opportunities for the Western media with all those orphans hugging me and Butrin!"
The foreign minister nodded his head in agreement. "Not only that, Comrade President, but if your speech is good enough and we throw enough Siberian oil money behind this orphans project, you, my dear friend, might even win the Nobel Prize for Peace."
"The Nobel Peace Prize?" Nods of agreement came from other cabinet ministers. "How about that?" The idea resonated in his head and grew more appealing. He let the words roll slowly off his tongue. "President Vitaly Sergeivich Evtimov. Winner of the Nobel Peace Prize for his work in helping the poor Ukrainian orphans!"
"That sounds very nice, Comrade President." This was Sergey Semyonovich Sobyanin, the president's chief of staff.
"Yes, indeed it does, Sergey. Thank you very much."
"
Dah. Dah
, " the men of the cabinet were saying.
"In fact it sounds so good, " the president continued, "that I'll drink to that." That brought cackles and laughter from the cabinet members present.
"Sergey!" the president said through laughter.
"Yes, sir."
"Have the waiter bring rounds of vodka for everyone. We shall celebrate my upcoming summit with President Butrin, and more importantly, my soon-to-be-awarded Nobel Prize for Peace."
More nods of approval. A round of cheering from the members of the cabinet. Then, four uniformed waiters marched into the president's office with silver trays full of glasses, ice, vodka, caviar, cheese, and crackers.
They drank and toasted and laughed and cackled about the Nobel Prize.
After a few minutes of gaiety, Evtimov checked his watch. "Gentlemen, it has been a productive meeting, but we must get to work. You are all excused, except Sergey Semyonovich." He nodded at his chief of staff. "I need a few words with you."
"Of course, Comrade President."
The ministers filed out of the president's office, and when they did, only the president, the chief of staff, and three members of the president's personal security detail remained.
The president nodded at one of his bodyguards to close the door.
"Sit back down, Sergey Semyonovich."
The chief of staff complied.
"Tell me, Sergey, what do you think of our defense minister?"
Sergey Semyonovich hesitated. "What do you mean, Comrade President?"
"You and he are longtime friends, as I understand it?"
"For years, we drank vodka, hunted deer in the forest, and went to banya together."
"And now, Sergey, where do your loyalties lie?"
The chief of staff spoke without hesitation. "My allegiance is with you, Vitaly Sergeivich. You are my president, and you are my friend. I have no other allegiances."
"Then I can trust you, even in matters concerning the defense minister?"
"Totally."
"Then tell me. What do you think of the defense minister's . . . stability?"
"I have my concerns."
"Is this true?"
"Yes, sir."
"How so?"
"I thought the reference to General Order 46 was, under these circumstances, wholly inappropriate."
"Hmm." The president studied the face of his chief of staff. "And what of the circumstances surrounding the shooting down of our planes?"
"I am suspicious of Popkov's accounting."
"Why do you say this?"
"First, it is unlikely that the Americans would fire into our airspace. Possible? Yes. Likely? No. It is also unlikely that our pilot would float by the wind from Russian territory to Georgian territory. Both these events are possible, of course. But with two unlikely events in the same story, combined with the fact that Giorgy Alexeevich feels that you are blaming him for the loss of plutonium . . ."
"Do you feel he should remain as defense minister?"
"That is your call alone, Comrade President."
"You did not answer my question, Sergey Semyonovich. Do you feel he should remain as defense minister?"
The chief of staff looked down at the floor, then looked back up at the president. "I believe that Giorgy Alexeevich has become unstable. That makes him dangerous, especially since he is in command of the most powerful army in the world."
"No,
I
am in command of the most powerful army in the world."
"Of course you are, Comrade President. But should Giorgy Alex-eevich become more deranged, how can we be assured that he will remember who is in charge? Unless they know that he is contradicting your orders, our generals will obey him." A pause. "What if he ordered execution of General Order 46?"
Sergey Semyonovich's point was well-taken. "Are you willing to help me take care of the problem?"
The chief of staff shot the president a suspicious look. "Take care of the problem, sir?"
"Again I ask you, Sergey Semyonovich, are you willing to help me take care of the problem?"
Their eyes locked. "Yes, my president, I will take care of the problem."
The
Alexander Popovich
The Black Sea
The next day
Masha stood in the passageway leading out to the main deck of the ship. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was in sight. She had decided to move the knife from her thigh to her back, thinking that repositioning it would give her quicker access when she needed it. But the sharp knife had slipped down a bit down her back, and she needed to position it higher under her bra strap.
She would need to use the knife soon, she had resolved. She did not know when, or how.
But soon.
Donning her sunglasses, she stepped out into the bright afternoon sun on the main deck of
Alexander Popovich.
She glanced toward the center of the deck, where the Captain Bat-sakov's loyal sidekick, Aleksey Anatolyvich, had erected a net across the deck. The orphans were patting a ball back and forth across the net with their hands. They laughed and cackled as they played.
Aleksey seemed good with children. She prayed that she would not have to hurt him, and that somehow, he would become her ally.
"Dima, come over here!"
The skinny little boy with the bug-eyed glasses bounded across the deck with a wide grin on his face. The brisk sea breeze blew through his blonde hair, disheveling it as he wrapped his arms around her. She held onto him for a bit longer than usual.
"Are you having fun, Dima?"
"
Dah
! Aleksey teach us how to play volleyball on ship!"