Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (15 page)

 
          
“It
is doubtful to me that Kazakov cares one way or another about
Russia
or the army, Colonel-General, as long as he
gets whatever he wants,” Foreign Intelligence Service director Nikolai
Stepashin said to Zhurbenko. “I knew and respected Colonel Kazakov as well, but
1 never knew his son to be anything but a wild drug addict who could kill
without hesitation if it meant more money or power for himself. The people like
him because he is a colorful character, like Al Capone or Robin Hood—both
criminals in their own countries. This ‘dividend,’ Colonel-General, was a
polite term for a bribe. He wants you to use the army for his own purposes, and
he is willing to pay you handsomely for it,”

 
          
Zhurbenko
looked at the other men in the office sternly. “I know full well Kazakov was
offering me a bribe. I’m not interested in Kazakov’s bribes—to him, it’s a
normal way of doing business. I do not work that way,” he said. “And when it
comes to killing, Nikolai, you and I are both trained to do it without
hesitation or moral question. He does it for the money—we do it for the honor
of serving
Russia
. He may be a gangster, but he also gets results.

 
          
“But
forget about the bribe. Think about the opportunity to bring some nations back
into our sphere of influence. We use the army or we use Kazakov’s money—it’s
just a different form of power, a different tool of government and foreign
relations. The outcome is the same—the enhancement of the power and security of
mother
Russia
. I think it is worth a look.”

 
          
The
Cabinet officials looked at the floor, quietly, for several very long moments:
there were no outbursts of outrage or indignation, no protests, no denials.
Finally, one by one, they looked at President Sen’kov.

 
          
“I
am
not
going to soil my first elected term in office by getting involved
with bloodthirsty gangsters like Kazakov,” President Sen’kov said. “He will not
dictate foreign policy. Colonel-General Zhurbenko, stay away from that
hoodlum.”

 
          
“But
sir . ..”

 
          
“I
understand his father was your friend, but it is obvious to me that even
Colonel Kazakov wanted to stay as far away from his son as possible,” Sen’kov
said. “He is a murderous animal, and we have our hands too full as it is with
antigovemment terrorists to worry about dealing with underworld drug lords.
That is
all.”

 
          
The
High
Technology
Aerospace
Weapons
Center
, Elliott APB,
Groom Lake
,
Nevada
That evening

 
          
As
she expected, there he was, and her heart sank. Better try one more time, she
thought, although she already knew how the conversation would go.

           
“Hey, Dave,” Captain Annie Dewey
said, as she activated the retina scan lock and entered the engineering lab.
“The shuttle leaves in ten minutes. Are you ready?”

 
          
Colonel
David Luger looked up from his computer terminal, looked at the clock, then
looked at his watch and shook his head in surprise. “Oh, no. Man, is it that
late already?” he asked. “I’m sorry. 1 lost track of time.”

 
          
“No
problem,” Annie said, trying to sound cheerful. “But we’d better hurry.”

 
          
“Okay.
This’ll work.” He furiously typed in more instructions, waited for a response,
then waited some more. He glanced at Annie and gave her a sheepish smile,
glanced at his watch again, and then at the screen. A few moments later, he
shook his head. “Man, the mainframe is slow tonight.”

 
          
“Dave,
we have to leave. It takes ten minutes just to get to the shuttle terminal.”

 
          
“I
know, I know, but I can’t back out until this subroutine is finished. It’ll
only take a second.” She walked over to him and massaged one of his shoulders.
She took a peek at the screen. Just by reading the heading, she knew what
project he was working on, and knew he’d never be able to leave it at this
point. As if confirming what she already guessed, Dave shook his head, muttered
an “Oh, no, don’t do this to me,” and punched in more instructions.

 
          
“Problem?”

 
          
“I
hate to do this to you, Annie,” Luger said, “but I need to finish debugging
this routine and upload it to the firmware lab tonight so they can get the
processor ready to install on an LRU motherboard for its test flight. This is a
new error code, and I have to track it down. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can
go with you tonight.”

 
          
“C’mon,
Dave,” Annie protested. “This is the third weekend in a row you'll be stuck out
here. We've had to excuse ourselves out of four events at the last minute. On
Monday I head off to
Ukraine
to help bring in the bombers for the joint
NATO exercises—I’ll be gone for a week.”

 
          
“I’m
sorry, Annie, but this can’t be helped.”

           
‘The test flight isn’t until Monday
morning,” Annie reminded him. “This is Friday night. I know you’ll be back out
here tomorrow
^r
and Sunday working. Why not take a break for just one
night?”

 
          
“I
would, Annie. You know that.” She knew of no such thing, but she let that one
slip by. “But I’m right in the middle of this debug routine. If I Finish this
in the next half hour, I can knock off early and we can spend some time
together at home.”

           
“But the next shuttle doesn’t leave
here for two hours. We’ll miss the party.”

           
He raised his hands in surrender,
but put them back down quickly to enter more instructions. “I can’t leave this
routine now, Annie—I’ll lose all my work if I exit now, and I’ll have to start
over. I’ll be on the next shuttle home, I promise.”

           
“That’s what you said when we
missed the
six o’clock
shuttle”

           
“I can’t help it,” he said. “Why
don’t you go without me this time? You can spend some time at the party. I'll
get a car to take me home, and I’ll meet up with you there, Deal?”

 
          
Her
pent-up anger and frustration let go at that moment. “David, this is silly. You
have six programmers and technicians on your staff that can debug that routine
for you in half the time Monday morning in plenty of time to load on the chip.”
He turned toward the computer, his head bowed, his hands flat on the table
beside the keyboard. “You have got to think about yourself once in a while. You
need a break. You’re working yourself to exhaustion. You don’t eat, you don’t
sleep, you don't socialize.” He seemed frozen, staring blankly into the desk.
“Don’t you want to be with me tonight. Dave?” No reply. “David? Are you
listening to me?”

 
          
Still
no reply—at least, no reply to
her
When the computer beeped to let him
know that it had found another problem, he responded instantly, punching in
more code. One moment, he was seemingly immobile, staring into nothingness; the
next, he was as animated and alert as ever. Weird.

 
          
“All
right.” There was no use arguing or ranting at him. They weren’t married—they
weren’t even an official “couple,” at least not in his eyes. If he wanted to
stay, there was nothing she could do to change his mind. “I’m off. I’ll see you
at home.”

 
          
“Okay,
Annie,” David said cheerfully. He was typing away on the computer, his head
bouncing up and down to some internal song or rhythm, blissfully going on as if
she had not said a word. “Have fun. I’ll be on that next shuttle. Bye.”

 
          
Annie
Dewey never felt as alone as she did when she stepped aboard the almost full
Boeing 727 shuttle plane that would take her from Dreamland to Nellis Air Force
Base. Another typical night—alone.

 
          
The
trick had worked like an absolute charm since his days in high school back in
Billings
,
Montana
: the best way to meet women is to help your buddy’s girlfriend throw a
party. Naturally, she wants to invite all of her girlfriends to the party, so
she gives their names, addresses, and phone numbers to you.
Voila!
Instant black-book update. During the party, he and his friends would find out
more about the girls, then update the black book even more. Did they have a
car? Their own place? Did they like the outdoors? Movies? Quiet dinners? Wild
parties? Did they have money? Were they looking for a commitment,
companionship, or just a good time? Then, whatever was planned for the weekend,
they would invite the appropriate women to join them. Most important, they were
sure to stay away from the ones that wanted a commitment.

 
          
Duane
U.
“Dev” Deverill, had certainly aged since
high school, but in mind, body, and spirit he was still eighteen years old, and
loving every minute of it. His entire life had been a study in taking advantage
of opportunities as they presented themselves. He had never thought of himself
as college material, but seven years after the end of the Vietnam War, the Air
Force had been tempting young men and women with full four- year college
scholarships to boost enrollment, so Dev had signed up. He’d never thought of
himself as a flyer, but he’d accepted a navigator slot. He’d been the top
graduate in his class and had had his choice of the best assignments right out
of navigator training. He’d chosen the best assignment available: weapons
systems officer aboard the then brand-new F-15E Strike Eagle fighter-bomber. As
a young captain, he’d been a flight commander during Operation Desert Storm in
his F-15E squadron and racked up an impressive mission effectiveness rating and
an Air Medal for his outstanding performance in combat,

 
          
Despite
a meteoric career progression, he’d left the active-duty Air Force and joined
the Kansas Air National Guard, flying the B-1B Lancer bomber. When the
One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron of the Nevada Air National Guard had started
recruiting for experienced crew members to form their new B- IB squadron in
Reno
, Deverill had joined immediately. He’d become
one of the unit’s full-time Guardsmen, helping to turn the fledgling unit into
one of the best combat units in the United States Air Force. Dev had remained
the same ever since he’d left
Montana
: supremely confident without being too
arrogant, knowledgeable without being tiresome, aggressive without being
annoying. He knew he was good, and everyone else knew he was good. If they
forgot that fact, he was right there to remind them, but otherwise he was
content to stay just a head above everyone else around him without stepping on
anyone on his way to the top.

 
          
While
the One-Eleventh “Aces High” was on temporary duty at the Tonopah Test Range,
and a few of their bombers were undergoing modification at Dreamland, Dev
shared a two-bedroom apartment with another Air Force officer, a public affairs
officer at the Fifty-seventh Wing at Nellis Air Force Base, outside of North
Las Vegas. It was a classic “bachelor pad,” and they took full advantage of it
every chance they had. The apartment complex had a nice clubhouse available for
the tenants to use for parties, along with the required pool, spa, and fitness
center. Right now, Dev was in “intelligence collection” mode at a party he was
throwing for his roommate’s girlfriend’s birthday. Along with steering guests toward
the drinks and food and making introductions, Dev was also gathering information
on the women he didn’t recognize. He was a master at making each and every
bachelorette feel special and welcome without alienating or favoring any of
them.

 
          
He
was in the middle of yet another introduction when a newcomer caught his
eye—and he found his legendary cool suddenly fizzle.