Revolution (40 page)

“President Martindale wants us to rescue him, as discreetly as possible,” said Dog. “But we don't know exactly where he is. And the place is ringed by Romanian soldiers.”

“Can you formulate a plan to extricate him?” asked Samson.

“If I knew exactly where he was, maybe.”

“The ambassador is working on that,” said Samson. “In the meantime, prepare a plan.”

“Tell us what you need,” added Dog. “Equipment, other information. We'll have it waiting for you when you land.”

Presidential villa,
near Stulpicani, Romania
2354

T
HE PUMP HOUSE WAS MORE OVERGROWN THAN
V
ODA REMEMBERED.
. Brambles covered about three-quarters of the front and side walls. A tree had grown so close that it appeared to be embedded at the back. Hiding here was out of the question.

“We'll rest behind the tree,” he told his wife and son. “We'll rest, and then we'll find another place.”

“Where, Papa?” asked Julian.

“On the other side of the hill,” said Voda. He glanced at his wife. Her expression, difficult to make out in the shadows cast by the trees, seemed to border on despair.

“I'm going to scout ahead. Stay here with your mother,” Voda told his son. Then he pointed to a clump of trees. “Mircea. Hide there. I'll be back.”

“Don't leave us, Papa,” said Julian.

“I'll be right back,” he told him. “I won't be far.”

Voda was lying—he wanted to use the phone but didn't want either of them to hear how desperate he was. He had to stay positive, or at least as confident as he could, to buoy their spirits.

So far, he hadn't heard the dogs, but that was just a matter of time.

Voda walked in as straight a line as he could manage, stopping when he could no longer make out the large tree that rose from the side of the pump house. He took out the mobile phone and dialed the American ambassador's number. The phone was answered on the first ring.

“I am still alive,” he said.

“Mr. President, we will help you as much as we are able to. Where exactly are you?”

Voda hesitated. There were many reasons not to trust the Americans. But there was no other choice.

“There is a pump house behind my property, half hidden in the woods. We cannot stay there very long. There are many soldiers still arriving. I hear many trucks. What is going on?”

“The news is reporting that the defense minister was assassinated by guerrillas,” said the ambassador. “They are also reporting rumors of your death.”

“Prematurely.”

“Our satellites have seen troop movements all across the country. It seems pretty clear that there's a coup, and that the plotters intend to kill you.”

“Who is behind it?”

“I don't know, Mr. President. I would hesitate to make a guess without some sort of evidence, and I have none.”

It had to be Locusta, Voda thought. It was his area of command, and he was the only one powerful enough to even dare.

“I want you to call General Locusta. Tell him that I know that he is behind this, and that he is to stand down,” said Voda. “Tell him…”

Voda considered what to say. His instincts told him to be strong with the general—fierce. But perhaps it would be wiser to work out a deal.

“Tell him he must stand down,” Voda repeated finally.

“I don't know if that will do much good coming from me, Mr. President.”

Voda sensed that was a diplomatic answer—probably Washington had told him not to interfere.

“Are you going to help me or not?” asked Voda, struggling to keep himself from bleating.

“Yes. We will try to rescue you if we can. If you want.”

Hope!

“Of course I want,” said Voda, practically shouting.

“I want to connect you directly with the Dreamland people who have been supporting your counterterrorist troops. They will help you.”

The loud bay of a dog echoed up the hillside.

“Are you there, Mr. President?” asked the American ambassador.

“Give me the number.”

“I can connect you, or have them call you.”

“No. Tell me the number now. It's not safe for them to call me; the phone can be heard, even when just buzzing. I will call them when I can, in a few minutes. Right now I have to move my family to safety.”

Presidential villa,
near Stulpicani, Romania
29 January 1998
0010

T
HE HELICOPTER
G
ENERAL
L
OCUSTA COMMANDEERED TO
get up to the president's mountain house had been used during the Moldovan operation. There hadn't been enough time to completely clean the interior, and spots of dried blood covered the floor. Locusta stared at the blood, brooding. The operation had been successful, though if the Americans had deigned to provide better support, he would not have lost the helicopter with Brasov aboard.

The colonel had always been a problematic officer—a fine leader, but headstrong, occasionally impulsive, and unfortunately as committed to democracy as he was to getting ahead. He would have had to watch Brasov carefully had he lived—so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise after all.

But now that he was dead, Locusta missed him, and mourned the loss of his spirit. He was the sort of man an army needed.

The kind a country needed. Like himself.

A command post had been set up at the intersection of Highway 34 and the road leading up to President Voda's property. There was a field next to the intersection; a pair of spotlights and some small signal flares marked the area for the helicopter to set down.

Locusta sprang out as soon as the pilot nodded to him. Head down against the swirling wind, he ran toward the men standing near the road.

“General, we're glad you're here,” said Major Ozera. “The situation is under control.”

“You've found President Voda?”

“We expect to shortly. There was a tunnel from the house to a small cave at the edge of the property. We have dogs following his scent.”

“Good.”

Locusta looked around. About two dozen troops were holding defensive positions near the road.

“You've given orders that anyone found is to be shot?”

“Of course,” said Ozera. “As you ordered. The troops have been told that the president is dead and that we're looking for the guerrillas. The special team is with the dogs,” he added. “They won't get away.”

“They had best not. They have already failed once.”

Ozera didn't answer. The “special team” was the handpicked group of assassins who had made the initial assault.

“Pull as many of the troops back as possible,” Locusta told him. “Bring in more weapons, enough to fight a large force. But keep them a good distance away. Have only your men on the property.”

“I've brought up everything we had,” said the major. “Everything except the antiaircraft guns.”

“Bring them. They're very useful.”

The Zsu-23-4 mobile antiaircraft guns looked like tanks with four 23mm cannons mounted at the front of a flattened turret. They could be used against ground or air targets, as necessary.

“Our command post should be up at the house,” Locusta added.

“Yes. Let me place these new orders, then get a driver.”

While he was waiting for Ozera to return, Locusta called his headquarters.

“The Dreamland people keep calling to ask if we need help,” said his chief of staff. “What should we tell them?”

“Tell them the situation is under control,” said Locusta. “Tell them to remain on the ground. Tell them the situation is very confused, and we don't want them getting in the way.”

“They already have at least one plane in the air, General. And we understand more are being readied.”

“Tell them I'm traveling to the president's home personally and will confer with them soon,” said Locusta. “But emphasize that we do not need them, and do not want them in the air.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is the plane they have in the air?”

“I can check with air defense.”

“Do it. Call me back immediately.”

“Yes, sir, General.”

Dreamland Command trailer,
Iasi
0010

“I
T'S TOO RUGGED TO LAND NEAR THAT PUMP HOUSE
,”
SAID
Danny, pointing to the satellite photo of the area. “But if they can come up the slope a bit, over to around here, we can lower a basket, take them out like it's a rescue. Even in the dark it shouldn't be that hard.”

“Can we get in there without being seen?” asked Samson.

“The Osprey is black, so it's hard to see,” answered Danny. “But it is pretty loud. I would say the people on the ground would know we're there.”

“The President wanted this done without the Romanians knowing we're involved,” said Samson.

“I'd like to get in and out quietly too, General,” said Danny. “The less people who know we're there, the safer we are. But no aircraft is silent.”

“I think we just have to do our best,” said Dog. “If they see us, they see us. But we can't not grab him because we might be seen.”

“I didn't say we weren't going to do it, Bastian,” snapped Samson. He turned back to Danny. “What sort of team will you need?”

“If we can sneak in? I'd say a three man team—Boston, Liu, myself. We don't want too many people because we want to move as fast as possible. For air support, one Flighthawk to show us what's going on, another if things get tight to cover our exit. And whatever else you can throw at them if all hell breaks loose.”

“We could run the Flighthawks as a diversion,” said Zen. “Do a low and slow approach along the road, have the Osprey come in from the north. That might solve the problem of the noise.”

“If it's noise we're trying to cover,” said Dog, “let's bring one of the EB-52s down close. That makes a hell of a racket.”

“Good,” said Samson. “We can use one of the B-1s as well—a nice sonic boom should get their attention.”

“I thought you didn't want to be seen,” said Danny.

Samson looked at Dog. “I think we can interpret the order to the effect that you're not to be seen,” he said. “And take it from there.”

“Where do we go when we have him?” Danny asked.

“The American embassy,” said the general.

“Is that where he wants to go?”

“Why wouldn't he want to go to the embassy?” asked Samson.

“If I was the president, I'd want to go to my office, rally my troops.”

“We can deal with that after we have him,” said Dog.

“Bastian's right. Let's just grab him.” Samson leaned across the conference table, looking at the Osprey pilots. “How long before you can get in the air?”

“As soon as the aircraft is fueled, we're good to go.”

“Colonel Bastian!” Sergeant Liu stuck his head out from the communications area. “The
Johnson
is reporting four MiGs coming hot and heavy toward the Romanian border, straight across the Black Sea.”

Aboard EB-52
Johnson,
over northeastern Romania
0012

L
IEUTENANT
K
IRK
“S
TARSHIP
” A
NDREWS TRIED TO IGNORE
the pull of the Megafortress as it turned toward the north, focusing all of his attention on the control screens in front of
him. His Flighthawks—
Hawk Three
and
Hawk Four
—were just passing through 25,000 feet, climbing toward 30,000. The
Johnson
's radar was tracking four MiGs, flying in tight formation at roughly Mach 1.2, coming across the Black Sea.

“What's the word on the ROEs?” Starship asked the
Johnson
's pilot, Lieutenant Mike Englehardt, referring to their rules of engagement—the orders directing when they could and couldn't use force.

“No change. We're not to engage beyond the border.”

“These guys are loaded for bear,” Starship told him. “They're either coming for us or they're going to hit something in Romania. Either way, I say we take them down now.”

“Our orders say no.”

“Screw the orders.”

“Yeah, we'd all like to, Starship,” said the pilot. “But our job is to follow them. We'll get them when they cross.”

“By then it may be too late. What's Dog say?”

“It's not up to him.”

Starship nudged his control yoke, bringing
Hawk Three
on course for a direct intercept of the MiGs. He could take at least one of the planes down when they came across the border; with a little luck and help from the computer, he might get two. The
Johnson
could shoot down the rest with Scorpion-plus air-to-air missiles.

But by then the MiGs would be in position to launch their own attack, albeit at long range, against either the
Johnson
or the pipeline.

“Radar profiles indicate bandits are equipped with two AS-14 Kedge and free-falls,” said the radar operator. “Possibly GPS guided. Aircraft are still proceeding on course.”

Free-falls were bombs dropped almost directly over the target; they could be guided to their destination by the addition of a small guidance system that used GPS readings. More deadly were the AS-14 Molinya missiles, known to
NATO as the Kedge. The air-to-ground missile could be guided by laser, thermal imaging, or television. In some respects similar to the American-made Maverick, its range was about ten kilometers—just enough to hit the gas pipeline without crossing the border.

“They'll be in range before the border, or just after it,” Starship told Englehardt. “Look, they shot down the helicopter. Things have changed.”

“Look, you're preaching to the converted,” Englehardt replied. “I'm already on the line with them.”