Overlord Page 25
“What’s up, Jack?” Everett asked as the four men gathered around.
“Virginia is using a Nellis fighter to fly to Washington; she is officially taking over Group. She’ll fight for the plan as it stands, but she can only do so much. Matchstick has requested a prisoner be taken back to the facility. I arranged that already with the FBI through General Caulfield’s people. He goes back with Will, Henri, and me. Carl, you’re to get to Houston on the first military flight you can get. Arrangements have been made at Andrews Air Force Base. As for us, we have a few pointed questions for Matchstick that he has to answer before we head to Hawaii.”
The four men stood facing each other with the whine of helicopter turbines ripping the air around them. Carl Everett looked his companions. He turned to Will Mendenhall and held out his hand.
“You take care of this guy, Captain.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Will said tightly. He always hated good-byes. “And if you run into that navy flier anywhere, tell him I said he better get his ass home safe,” Will shouted over the mounting noise of the Black Hawk.
“I think you may see Ryan before I do, but if I do, I surely will pass it on.”
The two men shook hands and Everett turned away from Mendenhall quickly and faced his friend.
“Jack,” Carl said, not knowing just how to say good-bye.
Collins looked at the watch on Carl’s wrist and then nodded his head.
“Swabby, I don’t know just what Niles, Director Lee, and Matchstick had up their sleeves, but I swear to God, it better be worth it. You are the best man I have ever known.”
The two men shook hands. Then to the astonishment of all Jack bear-hugged his friend. They stayed that way for a moment.
“You better knock it off. I mean, we’re a long way from don’t ask, don’t tell,” Carl said as they parted.
“Kiss my ass, Navy,” Jack said as he backed away.
“Ditto, you Army puke,” Everett said with a smile. “We’ll meet again, Jack, you better believe it. Maybe not here, but some place where we can raise hell.”
Collins nodded and then started walking toward the waiting Humvee. Carl turned to Henri.
“I don’t like you, Froggy, I think you know that.”
“I do indeed, Admiral.”
“But that man sees something in you the rest of us don’t. Don’t let him down.” Carl, against his better judgment, held out his right hand. “Get everyone you can home safe. I don’t think I’ll be there to see it.”
“Understood.”
The two antagonists shook hands and then Henri Farbeaux left Everett with a small salute to the man who had been chasing him since 2001.
Carl watched the Humvee leave with a last wave of Jack’s hand. He smiled as he knew he would more than likely never again see the two men he admired. With a thought toward Sarah McIntire, Jason Ryan, Niles Compton, Alice Hamilton, and the rest, Admiral Carl Everett turned and made his way toward the waiting Black Hawk and his ride to Houston.
* * *
Collins smiled, as did Will. They both realized they might never see the man they had come to admire more than most. It was Henri Farbeaux who put the whole scene into context.
“Gentlemen, I doubt that is the last good-bye we’ll be making. I suspect that we will have many more.” He smiled sadly. “And very possibly not many hellos and welcome homes afterwards.”
The three soldiers turned and looked at the three hissing prisoners bundled in the back of the Humvee.
8
SEVEROMORSK NAVAL AIR STATION
MURMANSK, RUSSIA
Sarah, Anya, and Jason Ryan were sitting inside the small hut, watching the Russian language news reports coming out of the United States. Many more Russian officers, scientific technicians, and civilian engineers were stunned at what was happening. Sarah knew Jack and Everett were at Camp David during the attack, but a quick, secure phone call to Nevada had informed them that the two men were safe. Sarah had a chance to speak with Pete Golding, who was now in charge of the Event Group facility since Virginia Pollock had been called to Washington. Sarah knew something was wrong when she had asked why Virginia and Niles Compton were both in the same place at one time outside of the complex and Pete Golding had become quiet for ten excruciating seconds on the international phone line. Then he said it looked as though, along with the president of the United States, the Chinese president, and the chancellor of Germany, Niles might not make it.
Since she had heard the bad news from Camp David it seemed as if the world had turned into her ultimate nightmare. Ryan watched the television as Anya Korvesky explained what was being said; she understood the Russian language fluently. Earlier Anya had been informed by General Shamni in Tel Aviv that she was now a military liaison with the project that had been formed to combat this terror from space. She was just as stunned as the rest of the world at learning they had basically been at war since July 1947—the very same year her nation, Israel, had been born. She glanced at Ryan when the news report showed the Walter Reed military hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. She saw his jaw working and then he kicked out with his foot, sending a small trash can flying through the air.
A small Russian nuclear technician nodded his head and then sat the trash can upright. Everyone in the room was as angry as the American and wanted to do the very same thing—kick out and strike anything.
“Look,” Ryan said as he turned to face Sarah, “Did Pete say anything about when my real orders would come through? I mean, we’ve babysat this fucking power plant long enough.” He looked around at the Russians and the fifteen naval police guarding them. “The damn thing seems to be in good hands, they don’t need us anymore.”
Sarah walked over and faced Jason, then smiled. “We all want new orders, but we’re supposed to take this thing wherever the Russians are taking it and inform Niles and Virginia when it’s on station—wherever that is. Until then we have to bite the bullet just like everyone here.”
“Goddamn it, Niles is probably dead along with the president, and do you think for one minute the Chinese are going to look kindly on how well we protected their president? This whole alliance could come crashing down around our ears and here we sit. I’m a United States naval aviator and I want out of here. I want orders cut by Virginia, Pete, or whoever else may be in charge releasing me from Group. I want to fight, not babysit something that may be nothing more than a small alien’s pipe dream!”
“And you shall get your wish,” an officer in a snow-white naval uniform said as he stood just inside the doorway. He quickly gestured for the naval police of the Russian navy to escort the nuclear technicians and engineers from the small office. He stepped aside for the thirty-plus people to pass. He removed his saucer cap and then closed the door. “Maybe not one of your super carriers, but it is a warship. You three are to accompany me to your transport.”
He started handing out identification badges with their pictures on them. Even Anya received one. She looked at it and saw it was a picture from her Israeli Army days. She was surprised at how the Russians got ahold of it. Then she saw the workings of Mossad. She immediately knew that General Shamni had her placed here in the guise of an army major, not a Mossad agent—it probably would make for a harder working relationship with the Russians if they knew who she really worked for.
Ryan looked closely at the man’s white uniform and the two shoulder boards he wore. The man was a captain, second rank.
“My name is Captain Vasily Lienanov. I am the first officer of the ship that will transport you and this power plant that cost many Russian lives to its destination.”
Ryan stepped up to the man and saluted. He accepted the shipboard identification and placed it around his neck.
“May I inquire, Captain, if this engine is so important and speed is of the essence, why the alliance isn’t transporting the power plant by military cargo plane?”
Sarah placed her ID over her head and then watched the two naval men discuss the situation.
“I guess you have not been updated on the military situation,” the dark-haired and handsome Lienanov began in very passable English. “All aircraft outside of military fighter cover has been grounded. The alliance issued the orders after the civilian airliner attacks in the Pacific and the downing of your aircraft in San Francisco. Our transport may be somewhat safer, but almost just as vulnerable. We will depart with one of the most powerful Russian fleets ever assembled.” The Russian captain lowered his head in near shame. “And then we will slip away from that fleet in the middle of the night and make our run for our destination.”
“Alone?” Ryan asked incredulously.
“Yes, we will run at flank speed for forty-eight straight hours.”
“Can you tell us what our destination will be?” Sarah asked as she and Anya exchanged curious looks.
“No, I cannot, as I have yet to be informed by my captain. Now, if you will follow me, we are to be underway in less than fifteen minutes—the fleet awaits.”
As they joined the rest of the technicians and engineers in the back of a two-and-half-ton Bulgarian-made truck, Ryan was still angry at his assumption he was being allowed to wither away babysitting and not fighting. Sarah felt as angry as he but unlike Ryan she suspected they were a part of something that was extraordinary. She just smiled and patted his leg as the truck sped off. They were followed by the captain in a second transport with the remainder of the techs.
Ten minutes later the truck stopped and the tailgate was lowered. Two men in black Nomex, carrying the short version of the venerable AK-47 assault rifle, allowed them to hop down. They were soon joined by Captain second-rank Lienanov, who gestured them to follow him. They walked around the transport and faced a sloping hill that ran downhill toward the naval base proper. Ryan’s eyes widened when he saw the ship they were to make the passage on. He turned and faced the Russian, who was smiling.
“May I present to you, our latest naval achievement: the nuclear-powered missile cruiser, Pyotr Veliky.”
The warship was the newest, largest cruiser in the world. Ryan had heard the rumors of her launch and even seen mockup drawings of her design. But that could never compare to the gleaming gray hull of her massive shape. It was one of the most beautiful sights any naval man in the world could ever behold. This was the Russian navy’s equivalent to the Nimitz-class carriers of the American navy.
The Russian started to explain, but Major Korvesky beat him to it. She had known about this warship even before the Russian engineers laid down her keel for her initial construction.
“The flagship of your Northern Fleet, Kirov class, although that is more of a lazy designation because she is a class of ship all her own. She displaces 26,000 tons, about the same size as a World War II aircraft carrier. She has a suspected top speed of thirty-seven knots and has a crew of nearly eight hundred sailors. It is also suspected that her weapons arsenal includes, but is not limited to, twenty SS-N-19 Shipwreck missiles, designed to engage large surface targets. Air defense is provided by twelve SA-NX-20 Gargoyle launchers with ninety-six missiles and two SA-N-4 Gecko with forty-four missiles.” Anya looked down on the ship and was truly as impressed as Ryan. All Sarah knew was that this was one of the more beautiful ships she had ever seen, with her sharply angled and raked bow and gorgeous lines. She also noticed the roped down and secured, shrink-wrapped cargo on her aft decking where a helicopter would normally be—the alien power plant.
“Impressive.” Lienanov eyed the Israeli woman closely. He and Ryan exchanged glances. Ryan only grimaced as he suspected Anya might have blurted out a little too much knowledge.
“Just a hobby of mine.” Anya had been so impressed that she forgot just who she was in company with. She smiled at the captain, who didn’t bother returning it.
“As I said, your ship awaits.”
One hour later the Pyotr Veliky put to sea. She was joined by the most powerful assemblage of Russian naval power ever documented, her course heading south.
FORT MEYER, MARYLAND
There were no less than three hundred agents from the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Capital Police on duty at the nondescript building, surrounded by even more armed U.S. Army personnel. Radio traffic was limited and the only outside communication came in from old-fashioned landlines buried deep underground.
Speaker of the House Giles Camden was sitting in an ornate room that was once used by former General of the Army George C. Marshall when he was at Fort Meyer for his weekly riding at the local stables. The senator saw the many portraits of the general and felt somewhat intimidated for the first time in his many years in Washington. The room was ripe with military history, a subject Camden was short of memory on, with the exception of military contracts and the rewards they could provide.
A light knock sounded at the door and his chief of staff entered. Lyle Morgan cleared his throat and then stepped up to the senator.
“The president was wheeled out of surgery ten minutes ago. Our friends at the White House are keeping the news of his condition secret for the few moments it will take to brief you on the situation.”
Camden looked up and grimaced.
“This should have been over with by now. The entire political system knows those people are just playing for time. What is the president’s real condition?”
“Right now it’s fifty-fifty that he recovers. He’s still in a medically induced coma.”
“I want his cabinet signed off on this, I want everything aboveboard. He obviously cannot fulfill the duties of his office at this time, so let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
“We do have one slight problem in the works.”
Camden just stared at the young chief of staff and waited. He removed his glasses and then wiped them clean on a handkerchief.
“It seems the military has been placed on alert by the president’s National Security advisor and the Joint Chiefs.”
“Well, even I can see the need for that; after all we were attacked. I have no reason to call off the alert. I already have to bite the bullet for not believing any of this outer space crap to begin with. I will have to mend some very high fences.”
“That’s not the problem. Our own military forces have been placed on alert for actions in other parts of the world; it seems promises have been made to other countries in this so-called coalition formed by the president’s office and our allies, including the Russians and the Chinese.”
“And where did you come by this information?” Camden asked as his temper started to flare.
“I have my military sources. Some high-ranking officers are not pleased that we would designate forces to defend other territories outside of our own borders before we know just where any attack would happen. It’s all preplanned.”
“As soon as this official swearing-in ceremony is finished I want to speak with Caulfield, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. That man has been a pain in my side for nearly five years. This country comes first; I want to hear his reasons why that shouldn’t be the case. And don’t wait until I’m sworn in, I want you to get word out to the directors of the CIA and FBI that I would like their resignations on my desk an hour after I’m sitting in the Oval Office. Is that clear?”
“Is that wise? I mean, so soon in a time of emergency? My advice is to wait, and then if you have to, you sack the whole cabinet at once and bring in our own people. But after things calm a bit.”
Camden’s face soured at the thought of having to work with the president’s men. He hated them, but even more, they despised him as much as their boss.
He was about to speak when the door opened and most of the president’s cabinet entered the room. Camden almost smiled but caught himself when he saw that the last man to enter was the chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, attired in his long, black robes.
The Speaker of the House rose to be sworn in as the next president of the United States of America.
THE PENTAGON
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was haggard as he waited inside his large office. Several doctors had checked him out from head to toe as he made his phone calls. As he hung up his call from COMSURPAC, the commander of Surface Forces—Pacific, the door opened and the president’s national security advisor walked in and started pacing. General Caulfield nodded that everyone should leave the office. He sat at his desk and waited.
“I guess you feel the same as I do? Pressing duties keeping you away from the swearing in of the new president?”
“Please tell me that Operation Cut and Run has been initiated to its fullest?”
“It has—all with the exception of Centurion. General Collins is enroute to Nevada to finalize plans with Magic. He will depart for Hawaii within the hour. His team is waiting for him there. The new president will soon have knowledge of the Overlord plan, with the exception of our fast-reaction force.”
“Good. You know how he’ll react—he’ll recall all naval forces as soon as he can. The president knew all along that Camden would never go along with the placement of U.S. troops in any land other than this one. We predict he will run scared and then cancel Overlord. If we are hit he will insist this country comes first.”
“I have ordered Admiral Fuqua to see to it that his forces remain on course for action in any part of the world. We may be able to initiate world defense before our new man in office can stop it.”
The national security advisor stopped pacing and then faced Caulfield. “It’s treason on a massive scale, but I’m willing to hang if Overlord can continue. I hope you’re of that same opinion?”
Caulfield just smiled and then sat back in his chair. “If our new president finds out, that’s the least he will do to us and a thousand others. In case we are caught, it’s imperative that at least Centurion is operational. That could assist our allies and not affect the readiness of our armed forces.”