Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (26 page)

 
          
“Germany
is nothing but a stabilizing, independent-minded, powerful force in Europe,”
Filippov said as sincerely as he could, his mind fairly whistling with the
effort to think of the right amount of sugar and bullshit to feed Schramm.
Filippov’s aide was staring, dumbfounded, as his superior was virtually
inventing
a Russo-German alliance of some sort while standing wet in his bathrobe in his
bedroom! “It is the largest and most powerful nation in Western Europe, and it
deserves a leadership position far greater than the scraps left to you by the
United States and NATO. But now with the
United States
turning its back on the Western alliance,
it is clear to me that
Germany
must take its rightful place as the leader
of the European Union, Let the North Atlantic Treaty Organization dissolve. It
has served its purpose and has become an outdated, unwieldy, even dangerous
anachronism/’

 
          
“So
if Germany reins in the Western European nations, Russia will contain and
control the Eastern European nations?” Schramm asked. “Germany and Russia work
together to create a lasting peace in Europe?”

 
          
“Exactly.
Well put. Minister,” Filippov said. “There is no reason we should work at cross
puiposes when we are being pulled together by common goals and common enemies.”

 
          
“Some
will say this is too similar to the Axis alliance before the Great Patriotic
War.”

 
          
“Our
countries are radically different now—the
world
is different,” Filippov
responded. “There are no Third Reich, fascist, or communist regimes in place in
our countries. We are all stable, democratic, open societies ruled by law and
by the people, not by megalomaniac dictators. And I do not propose an alliance for
now, although one can certainly be contemplated in the near future. All I
suggest is that we use our individual influences to work together to bring
peace and stability to eastern and southern Europe.”

 
          
Schramm
nodded in agreement. “I like the sound of this, Mr. Filippov,” he said. “We
work together to bring peace to the Balkans, not apart. We throw off the old
ties and forge newer, stronger ones together.”

 
          
“Exactly,”
Filippov said. His aide had been furiously writing on a pad of paper, and he
finally showed his superior his notes, trying to toss out any other ideas as
long as he had the German foreign minister’s ear. “And there are many other
areas of cooperation we can explore, as well,” Filippov said, his mind racing
again, trying to think of more avenues of cooperation that could keep this
sudden foreign affairs windfall on firm ground.

 
          
“Such
as?”

 
          
Filippov
read the third or fourth line of his aide’s notes, then looked up in a
wide-eyed expression.

 
          
The
note said simply,
Kazakov's oil?

 
          
He
paused, again writing and rewriting the script in his head a dozen times,
before saying, “Such as
Europe
’s
reliance on so much Middle Eastern oil. Russia is a major world oil exporter,
yet Europe buys less than ten percent of its oil from us. Germany gets less than
twenty percent of its oil from Russia, and we are your neighbors! Correcting
that situation would offer enormous advantages to both our economies.”

 
          
“I
think this is a matter to be discussed in a meeting of our commerce and energy
ministers, Mr. Filippov—”

 
          
“It
is a foreign relations matter as well, Minister Schramm,” Filippov interjected.
“We know why Europe imports little oil from Russia—recent history will
certainly not convince some persons in our respective countries to become too
closely linked. That is understandable. But look at current events, Minister.
Europe cast its lot with the United States for its longterm military and
economic security, and it now appears that gamble has lost. The United States
no longer needs Germany.

 
          
“Russia
knows better, sir. Russia has natural resources, raw materials, more than any
nation on Earth—including petroleum, massive reserves that cannot even be fully
explored for two generations, let alone tapped. The known Caspian Sea oil
reserves are five times greater than those in the Persian Gulf, and only a
fourth of the oil fields have even been fully explored.”

 
          
“Yet
Russia
exploits these reserves only for itself,”
Schramm pointed out. “It is fine for you to speak of tapping these fields—but
then all pipelines lead only to
Russia
, to Samara or
Novorossiysk
.”

 
          
“Exactly
so. Minister,” Filippov said. “But wc have a plan to invest over a billion
dollars in the next year to build a pipeline linking the
Black Sea
with the
Adriatic Sea
. We have some influence in
Bulgaria
;
Germany
has considerable influence with
Albania
. If the
United States
leaves NATO and leaves
Europe
, as our information suggests, they will
abandon any plans to build a base in
Vlore
, and
Greece
and
Turkey
will lose their great benefactor and will
have to fend for themselves.
Turkey
will certainly leave
Albania
and
Macedonia
to their own fates.”

 
          
“You
are proposing a Russian oil company build a pipeline from the
Black Sea
to the
Adriatic
?” Schramm asked incredulously. “A private
company, I assume? Gazprom only builds pipelines in
Russia
. LUKoil wanted to build a pipeline through
Ukraine
and
Poland
to the
Baltic Sea
. but its investors scattered after the
Russian invasion of
Ukraine
, and the company is teetering on the edge
of bankruptcy. That leaves ...” There was a pause, and Filippov heard a muted
gasp. “You’re not suggesting
Metyorgaz?
Pavel the Playboy?”

 
          
“I’d
prefer not to reveal too many details about the proposal for now, Minister,”
Filippov inteijected, He was surprised as hell when Schramm mentioned
Metyorgaz. Kazakov’s oil company cum drug distribution front company. But then
again,
Germany
was very closely linked with
Albania
, and it certainly had a major presence in
the Balkans. They would certainly be aware of any large-scale development projects
proposed for the region. And Kazakov was an international crime and business
Figure—they
certainly
would be on the alert for anything he might be
involved in. “I will say that
Russia
is committed to developing the
Caspian Sea
petroleum resources and serving all of
Europe
with inexpensive oil. That is of great
benefit to all of us.
Russia
is securing commitments from many different
sources to do just this, and we look to the leaders in the European Union to
help us.”

 
          
“You
sound like a sales brochure now, Herr Filippov,” Schramm said, with a nervous
chuckle. “
Germany
is indeed looking for safe, secure, reliable sources of energy. Our
dependence on
Middle
East
oil is not
desirable, yet it is a relatively cheap and reliable source—”

 
          
“As
long as the
United States
secures peace in the
Middle East
,” Filippov inteijected. “What if the
United States
withdraws from the
Middle East
as we see they have done in
Europe
? The price of oil will skyrocket, and
supply will be in greater jeopardy.
Germany
needs to secure its own source of oil,
right here in
Europe
, not the
Middle East
. The
Caspian Sea
oil reserves are the answer. The problem
is, what will
Turkey
do with oil transiting the Bosporus Straits if instability sets in?
Where will you go to get oil from
Asia
? To
Syria
?
Israel
—if it even exists in five years? Will you
need to invade
Turkey
in order to get oil shipments through the
Bosporus
?”

 
          
There
was a lengthy pause from
Bonn
. Filippov was going to ask Schramm if he was still on the line when the
German foreign minister finally asked, “So the attack against
Albania
was not a retaliatory strike, but only the
beginning of a campaign to secure land and rights to build this pipeline to
Europe
?”

 
          
“I
cannot comment further on this morning’s events,” Filippov repeated. He
certainly could not—he had no idea what had happened except that a NATO radar
plane was a burning hunk of metal in
Macedonia
. But his word rang true, loud and clear. A
secret attack on
Albania
to secure pipeline rights? Kazakov was just crazy enough to do
something like that. ... “As for the rights to build a pipeline—we do not want
bloodshed. We hope to
convince
the respective governments in southern
Europe
to participate in this lucrative and
important expansion.”

 
          
“I
see,” Schramm said woodcnly. Any person could hear the words between the words,
the thinly veiled threat. “We will talk more of this. Minister Filippov.”

 
          
Filippov
hung up the phone, feeling as drained and shaky as if he had just run a
two-kilometer sprint. “What... in ...
hell
is going on?” he shouted to
his aide. “What in
hell
just happened?”

 
          
“It
sounded to me,” his aide replied with a smile, “that you have just negotiated
an alliance with
Germany
to divide the Balkans between you, sir.”

 
          
“But
what about
Albania
?” Filippov asked. “What happened in
Albania
?”

 
          
The
aide shrugged and replied, “Does it matter now, sir?”

 
Zhukovsky
Flight
Research
Center
, Bykovo (
Moscow
),
Russia

Several days later

           
“Everyone freeze! This is a raid!
No one move! ”

           
The uniformed Spetsnaz shock troops
burst into the Metyor Aerospace building without warning, automatic weapons
drawn, thirty minutes past
midnight
. They quickly fanned out through the first
floor of the building. They were followed by plainclothes Glavnoe
Razvedivatel’noe Upravlenie (GRU), General Staff Intelligence Directorate,
agents, with bulletproof vests under their long coats, carrying small automatic
pistols.

 
          
Pyotr
Fursenko and Pavel Kazakov were sitting in Fursenko’s office when the agents
burst in without any further warning, guns leveled. Kazakov was casually
sipping a glass of fine French sherry and enjoying a Cuban cigar, Fursenko was
nervously guzzling coffee and chain-smoking bitter Egyptian cigarettes. “How
much longer were you going to make us wait?” Kazakov asked, with a smile. They
did not answer, but roughly hauled both of them to their feet, out of the
office, and out to the main hangar floor.

 
          
There,
surrounded by plainclothed agents and uniformed Spetsnaz special forces
commandos, was Sergey Yejsk, President Sen’kov’s national security advisor, and
Colonel-General Valeriy Zhurbenko, chief of the general staff. Fursenko looked
at both men in wide-eyed shock. Pavel Kazakov merely smiled and looked directly
at Yejsk and Zhurbenko in turn.

 
          
Yejsk
nodded to the officer in charge of his detail, and he had his men roughly
search both civilians. Fursenko looked horrified, his body jerking away at
every soldier’s touch; Kazakov merely allowed the search without resisting,
smiling confidently at Yejsk. The soldiers put the two men’s hands up to the
backs of their heads, then slapped the hands with the barrels of their rifles
to warn them to keep them there. When the soldiers were finished, Yejsk stepped
over first to Kazakov, who looked directly back at him, and then over to
Fursenko, who looked very much like a doe caught in headlights.

 
          
Yejsk
stepped closer to Fursenko until he was almost nose to nose with him and asked,
“Do you know who I am?” The scientist nodded. “Do you know who these men are?”
This time a shake of his head. They are the men that will tear this building
apart piece by piece, take you to prison, and throw you naked into a cold
four-by-four-foot cell if I do not like the answers you give to my questions.
Do you understand?”

 
          
Fursenko
nodded so hard, every soldier in the hangar could see it Kazakov merely smiled.
“That’s an easy one,” he said. “Are you done? Can we go now?” His guard whacked
him on the side of his head with the barrel of his rifle.

 
          
“I
will give
you
an easy one. Doctor—where is the bomber?”

 
          
“Which
bomber?” Now it was Fursenko’s turn to get a shot to the head.

 
          
A
soldier ran up to Zhurbenko and whispered in his ear. “What is the combination
to that door lock. Doctor?” Zhurbenko asked, Fursenko gave it to him instantly,
and moments later they had the secure hangar door open and the lights on.
Inside they found nothing but an aircraft skeleton, roughly resembling the
Metyor-179 bomber, with several large pieces of composite material, wiring, and
engine parts scattered around the polished floor. “What is
that?”
Yejsk
shouted.

 
          
“Our
latest project, the Metyor-179. It didn’t work,” Fursenko replied uneasily.

 
          
“The
real
Metyor-179. Where is it?”

 
          
“It’s
right there, sir,” Fursenko replied. “That’s all there’s left of it.”

 
          
“Ni
kruti run ’e yaytsa!
Don’t twist my balls!” Yejsk stepped up close to
Fursenko and slapped him backhandedly across the face. “One more time.
Doctor—where is the Metyor-179?”

           
“Stop hitting the poor doctor on the
head, Yejsk,” Kazakov said. “You don’t want to ruin that fine brain of his.”

 
          
“Zakroy
yibala!
Shut your fucking mouth!” Yejsk shouted. “I should do the world a
favor and put a bullet in your brain right now!”

 
          
‘That’s
not why you came here, Yejsk, or we’d be dead already,” Kazakov said. “But of
course, then you would be, as well.” His eyes fell, and he motioned down,
inviting Yejsk to look. Yejsk and Zhurbenko glanced down at their crotches and
saw tiny red dots of light dancing on their clothing right near their genitals.
They looked at all the soldiers in the hangar and saw red laser dots on their
heads, their shoulders, and their crotches—every man had at least three dots on
him, all centered on areas not protected by bulletproof vests.

 
          
“You
dare threaten me?” Yejsk cried out, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.
“I will tear down everything you own and dump it into the
Black Sea
, and then I will have your broken corpses
tossed on top of it all.”

 
          
“Well,
well, General Yejsk, you are beginning to sound just like a gangster,” Kazakov
said. His eyes narrowed, and the casual, relaxed, amused smile disappeared. “We
stop the bullshit now, Yejsk. You came here on the orders of the president to
find out what we’re doing and to get in on the action.” Yejsk glared at
Kazakov, but Kazakov knew that he had guessed correctly. “Now, I suggest we
send all of these security men home for the evening, and let’s talk business.”

 
          
“You
had better cooperate with us, or you’ll wish you were back humping goats in
Kazakhstan
,” Yejsk said angrily. With a wave of his
hand, Yejsk dismissed the Spetsnaz troops, leaving only two personal
bodyguards. He could see none of Kazakov’s men in the rafters anymore—but they
hadn’t seen them up there the first time, either. The rumors were obviously
true—Kazakov had an army of former Spetsnaz commandos, well-trained and now
well-paid and loyal, working for him.

 
          
“Where
is the bomber, Pavel?” Zhurbenko asked. “We know it departed here two hours
before the attack against
Kukes
,
Albania
, and now it’s missing.”

 
          
Kazakov
lit up a cigar, then offered one to Zhurbenko and Yejsk—Zhurbenko accepted.
“It’s safe, being hidden in several different secret locations in three or four
different countries.” “What in
hell
do you think you’re doing?” Yejsk
thundered. “Conducting your own little foreign policy campaign, your own little
imperialistic war? Don’t tell me you actually loved your father so much that
you stole a stealth bomber and killed hundreds of men, women, and children to
avenge
him?”

 
          
“I
wouldn’t bother to pick up the phone to save my father,” Kazakov said, a
malevolent grin on his face. “Besides, he died precisely the w ay he wanted to
die—maybe not with his boots on, but at least within spitting distance of his
enemy. He probably called them names just before they put a rope around his
neck—that would appeal to his sense of defiance. I’ve got better things to do
with my time and money than launch off on some romantic quest to avenge a man
who didn’t care one shit about me.”

 
          
“Then
what
are
you doing?”

 
          
“I
am creating a favorable economic and political climate for myself—and if you
and that patsy Sen’kov were smart, a favorable economic climate for
Russia
, too,” Kazakov said.

 
          
“How?
Are you going to bomb every national capital in the Balkans and the
Transcaucasus, just to lay down some pipe?”

 
          
“I won’t have to,” Kazakov said. “The
raid on Kukes was a warning. Unless you blabbermouths leak the information
sooner and reveal me. I will go to the Albanian and Macedonian governments and
make the same offer to them. If they refuse my generous offer, they will suffer
the same fate.”

           
“You’re insane!” Yejsk retorted.
“You expect one aircraft to bomb two sovereign governments into submission so
you can build a pipeline through their countries?”

           
“I am hoping
Russia
will intervene,” Kazakov said. “
Russia
should come to those countries’ assistance
and guarantee their security. With Russian troops firmly but discreetly in
place, the security of both those republics and my pipeline will be assured. In
a year, the pipeline will be in place and we can all start making money.”

 
          
“This
is the most asinine idea I have ever heard!” Yejsk said. “Do you just expect
these governments to roll over and play dead? What about—?”

           
“NATO?” Kazakov interjected. “You
tell me, Comrade National Security Advisor—will NATO be a factor?” He smiled
when he saw Yejsk look away, lost in thought—his intelligence information was
accurate. The
United States
was indeed pulling out of NATO and leaving
Europe
. This was truly the opportunity of a
lifetime, and finally some high-ranking members of the Russian government were
beginning to notice it, too. “Who else?
Germany
? I have information that says that there is
an extraordinary level of cooperation growing between
Russia
and
Germany
, now that the
United States
is removing itself from
Europe
and NATO.”

 
          
“So
why do we need you, Kazakov?” Yejsk asked angrily. How in
hell
did this
punk gangster know so much? “You’re nothing but a drug dealer. Why does
Russia
need any cooperation from you and
Fursenko’s pretty toy?”

 
          
“Go
ahead and try,” Kazakov said. “Try to march Russian Army troops into
Macedonia
now, without an invitation—
Greece
and
Turkey
will declare war, and it might drag the
United States
back into
Europe
and the alliance. As I understand it, the
United States
hasn’t left NATO yet—you will certainly
give them a reason to stay. Invade
Albania
, and
Germany
will feel threatened and may break off your
new little detente. You
need
me, Yejsk. You need the Metyor-179 to
perform precision, devastating, and most important,
deniable
destruction
in the Balkans and the Transcaucasus. If the republics believe you are at all
behind this, the game is up. But if you make them believe that they need
Russia
’s help, you assert control over your former
sphere of influence again, and I get the economic, military, and political
stability I need to invest two billion dollars into the region.”

 
          
“This
sounds like some kind of protection racket, Pavel,” Zhurbenko said. “Why should
we be a part of it? Why can’t
Russia
pledge to invest in a pipeline? Have
Gazprom, or LUKoil build the pipeline and we pay for the project with revenues
from the oil purchases?”

 
          
“If
you could do it, you would have done it already,” Kazakov argued. “Both those
companies are wallowing in corruption and debt, mostly because of the bungling
and interference from their biggest shareholder, the Russian government, and
its inept bureaucracy. With my plan, neither
Russia
nor the republics lay out any money at
all—I pay for the pipeline. It belongs to me. I pay a prenegotiated flowage fee
to the republics, which is pure profit for them, in addition to the profits
they make if they decide to buy and refine some of the crude in their own
refineries. I will make them a good deal for the crude.”