Excerpt Debt of Honor

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" rowspan="2" width=210 BGCOLOR="#99CC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="08a8dfc3.jpg"> <div> <B><IMG SRC="0a1b8230.jpg" border=0 width="184" height="291" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ALT="bookworldinfo.com. Robert A. Gallinger"></B></div> <div> <B> ALT="A Debt of Honor book cover for mystery suspense novel by Robert A. Gallinger"  </B></div> <div> <B> <iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=ordermysteryb-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=059521097X&=1&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr" style="width:120px;height:240px;" scrolling="no" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0"></iframe>  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B> <IMG SRC="http://service.bfast.com/bfast/serve?bfmid=2181&sourceid=41566261&bfpid=059521097X&bfmtype=book" BORDER="0" WIDTH="1" HEIGHT="1" NOSAVE ><A HREF="http://service.bfast.com/bfast/click?bfmid=2181&sourceid=41566261&bfpid=059521097X&bfmtype=book" TARGET="_top"><IMG SRC="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/8610000/8617695.gif " BORDER="0" ALIGN="center" ALT="Debt of Honor" ><BR>Debt of Honor</A> Barnes&Noble<P>  </B></div> </td> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=82 style=" border-bottom: 1px solid #999980;" BGCOLOR="#CCCC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="08b8dfe1esnpes.jpg"> <div> <B>home </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#003300" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B> </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#336699" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>    |   </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#336699" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>  </B></FONT><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="home "><B>home</B></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter Excerpts">Chapter Excerpts</A>   |   <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt No Time to Die">Excerpt No Time to Die</A>   |   <A HREF="id22.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Suffer the Fool">Excerpt Suffer the Fool</A>   |   <A HREF="id24.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Deadly Encounters">Excerpt Deadly Encounters</A>   |   <A HREF="id28.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Crooked Path">Excerpt Crooked Path</A>   |   <A HREF="id30.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Dead Light">Excerpt Dead Light</A>   |   <B>Excerpt Debt of Honor</B>   |   <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Whispers">Excerpt Whispers</A>   |   <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Escape">Excerpt Escape</A>   |   <A HREF="id38.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Taken by Force">Excerpt Taken by Force</A> <A HREF="id42.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Site Map">Site Map</A> <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Info">Contact Info</A> <A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Synopses">Synopses</A> <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Order Info"> Order Info</A> <A HREF="id40.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Author Bio">Author Bio</A> <A HREF="id47.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Links">Links</A> <A HREF="id49.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Reviews ">Reviews </A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=398 width="100%" colspan=2 BGCOLOR="#CCCC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="08b8dfc3.jpg"> <div> <I>Excerpt Debt of Honor</I></div> <div> <I>This www.bookworldinfo.com page provides a complete chapter (or more) to review for "A Debt of Honor," a suspense novel by Robert A. Gallinger</I></div> <bR> <div> <B>Debt of Honor</B><B> </B></div> <div> CHAPTER ONE</div> <div> While he waited, Colonel Vladimir Antonovich, a SID investigator from the Moscow prosecutor's office, roughly fondled a 23-inch bronze statue of a paratrooper that sat proudly on his desk. </div> <div> For a moment, he ignored the early morning April sun blinking in the windows, and the samovar's noisy steam. </div> <div> He was obsessed with the statue and the memories it brought to mind, although he rarely admitted that he was even interested in “the damn fool thing,” as he sometimes liked to call it. </div> <div> The statue was clothed in battle dress, including a rounded jump helmet made of heavy bronze. An extended D-6 parachute hung from its back, and was draped partially around its legs. </div> <div> An AKMS assault rifle with folding stock was slung loosely across its chest, and several tiny grenades dangled from a web belt at its waist.</div> <div>  It reminded Vladimir of the combat gear that he used to haul himself, back when he'd been a gruppa commander, back when he'd been a bit younger, much more bold, perhaps a little less wise than now. </div> <div> Afghanistan was still fresh in his mind, even though it had been in 1980 when he'd gone there on that one-of-a-kind-assassination mission six years ago.</div> <div>  It turned out to be a special assignment filled with death and sorrow.</div> <div>  Frowning, he stared harder at the statute and its unique load. There was a naked baby in the crook of its right arm. The left arm was wrapped around a thin, hooded reaper clothed in dark robes. </div> <div> The reaper reached almost to the paratrooper's shoulder, and clutched a sickle in a wrinkled hand. The reaper glared at the soldier like he wanted to take him to his grave this very instant, with or without his combat gear on. </div> <div> Smiling, Vladimir tipped the statue up slightly, so he could better read the inscription on the shiny metal plate screwed to its wooden base. He breathed deeply as he read. </div> <div> <I>The deceits of man are seemingly endless,</I> <I>but there are really only two. The one is his birth,</I> <I>the other is his death, the rest are only history</I>. </div> <div> Carefully, Vladimir sat the statue down and slid it to the edge of the desk. He twisted it so it would face the thickly padded door at the far wall. </div> <div> He wanted everyone that entered to get a grand view of the monster that had been created especially for him, and wanted to see their initial facial reactions as they moved quickly into the room toward his desk and biting stare. </div> <div> He recalled that his wife, Aleksandra, had given it to him six years ago during his early combat years when he'd been serving as an intelligence officer with the GRU, a long time before he'd been temporarily attached to the SID for his current civilian duty. </div> <div> She'd told him at the time that the statute and its images were supposed to remind him of two fundamental things that might one day overshadow his life. </div> <div> One was the hazard of serious combat duty, and the other was the limitation of his frail mortality, whatever that was supposed to be, he often wondered. </div> <div> He patted the statue gently on the head, then adjusted its position to aim it better at the door, and then he sat straighter in his seat. </div> <div> There was little time left to worry about the hazards of battle or about his fragile mortality, or about the alignment of the stupid statue on his desk today. </div> <div> He had too much work to do to think about such nonsense now, especially since he'd never really understood what the hell it was that Aleksandra was trying to prove to him with the stupid statue in the first place. </div> <div> Firming his jaw, Vladimir impatiently pushed a blue button on the newly installed intercom-telephone machine that was on the desk near his fist. </div> <div> It was almost as though he'd wanted his stiffened first finger to drive the button straight through the instrument, on into the hard oak desk, down to the floor. </div> <div> Shoving back from his immaculately organized desk, he clutched his right wrist with his left hand as he held the receiver to his ear, waiting for a response. The way his face was twisted, he was obviously upset about something, and impatient. </div> <div> He leaned forward when he heard the familiar voice in the receiver, and rested his elbows on the desk.</div> <div>  “Yes, sir?” a female voice asked through the machine. </div> <div> “Get Major Frunze over here for me please, Alena. Right away.” </div> <div> His voice was not exactly unfriendly; it was simply deep, firm, direct and demanding like always, much like a military officer's voice on line in command. </div> <div> “Yes, sir.”</div> <div>  “Get Kulick, too.” </div> <div> “Anything else, sir?”</div> <div>  “Not at the moment. Just tell them that it's urgent. I want a briefing concerning the charred bodies that were found out near Gorky Park last night. </div> <div> "That little event might have had something to do with the kidnapping cases they're currently working for me. Did you get all of that?”</div> <div>  “Yes, sir.”</div> <div>  “Good. Have a nice Monday, Alena.” He hung up the phone, sat back in his high-backed leather chair, and then reached for his throat. </div> <div> Using both hands to make sure he did it right, he carefully straightened a brown uniform tie that was slightly off center at his neck. </div> <div> At a glance, the tie appeared to be too tightly knotted, but it didn't seen to bother him in the least. </div> <div> It was simply another accessory to the uniform he wore with pride and dignity, and strictly in accordance with the Soviet Army Manual then in force. </div> <div> From his controlled movements and even speech, and his meticulously pressed uniform, it was obvious that Vladimir maintained a strict Army discipline and appearance despite his current temporary assignment to the SID, the Special Investigations Department, of the town prosecutor's office. </div> <div> Although he was authorized to wear his military uniform or civilian clothing, as desired, he normally preferred the uniform, since it kept his mind on his Army roots and the honor and integrity associated with it. </div> <div> He was one man the Mafia or their <I>teneviki</I> friends and associates would never be able to reach with money, promises of power or threats of violent death. </div> <div> They knew that fact quite well themselves already, he was sure of that. And if not, they would soon find out. </div> <div> The <I>teneviki</I>, or the economic part of the Soviet Mafia as the politicians liked to call them...the so-called shadow people...had to do with the game of semantics in a way, much like politics itself.</div> <div>  It was like calling a cobra a poisonous snake or a poisonous snake a cobra. In either case, their bites could be lethal or at least hurt like hell regardless of how they were called. </div> <div> Vladimir Antonovich had learned that simple truth months ago after he'd first been attached to the SID, and he and his wife had almost lost their lives at the hands of the then procurator-general of the Soviet Union, Boris Churnov. </div> <div> Then, like now, no one could be trusted regardless of his prominence or his lofty government position. The dark shadows cast by the Mafia could be anywhere, in or out of government, now like before. </div> <div> Pushing deeper into his comfortable chair, he unconsciously moved a short strand of dark hair back away from his forehead. He was careful that it did not interfere with the narrow part at the left side of his head that looked like a military barber had carved it there. </div> <div> With the hair in its proper place, he rubbed the side of his face. He thought about the <I>teneviki</I> and their expanding activities despite Churnov's and Goseigen's deaths months ago at the Finnish border. The Mafia organization had new leaders presently, secretly recruited from the ranks. </div> <div> He suddenly wondered how much of the sting-like operation, summarized in the folder beneath his hand, could be safely revealed to Frunze or to Kulick, while the whole town was under various degrees of suspicion these days. </div> <div> No matter how much he trusted both of them; there was always that small doubt in the back of his mind, especially whenever he thought about the deceits of the former procurator-general of the Soviet Union, Churnov, and the disgraceful manner in which he'd lived and died. </div> <div> It was a matter of record that Churnov had been murdered, Mafia style, near the Finnish border six months ago by KGB Colonel Goseigen, a powerful Mafia godfather himself, who'd ended up dead at the same time with a bullet hole in his chest. </div> <div> Vladimir shook off the images of Churnov and Goseigen, and thought again about his own partners, Frunze and Kulick. </div> <div> He recalled that Frunze had been assigned to the SID from the KGB at about the time the new prosecutor's office had been formed a year ago. </div> <div> Kulick had come from the Army like himself. Vladimir and Kulick had served in Afghanistan, although not at the same time nor with the same unit. </div> <div> Still, Vladimir had always felt more of a bond with Kulick than with Frunze, even though they'd all been on the same SID team for the past year, working shoulder to shoulder, or as Kulick liked to say, cheek to cheek. Kulick was something else again. </div> <div> But that was the way of combat soldiers, especially those who'd faced death during the same war, whether they'd served at the same time together in it or not. </div> <div> All that really mattered was that they'd been there in the same place to engage the same enemy face-to-face, and had lived to tell the tale about their adventures. </div> <div> That was what bonding was all about. Living to tell the tale, living to talk freely with a comrade who'd been <I>there</I>, too, living to remember the ones who'd fallen in the fray. </div> <div> Living with a vodka glass held high, tears stinging, speeches droning, teasing the brain with the glories from the past, of fallen comrades, smiles that used to be. </div> <div> Vladimir sighed deeply, and suddenly thought about the bushy mustache Kulick wore that always seemed to be in his way whenever he ate or drank in his usually undisciplined manner, something like a child, wet and sloppy.</div> <div>  Frunze, on the other hand, he recalled, was always neat and clean and professional, young and athletic-looking, tough to the core. Although in his early thirties like Kulick, possibly several years younger than Vladimir himself, Frunze looked younger than he actually was. </div> <div> Vladimir thought that it had a lot to do with his tedious daily physical-conditioning regime that he sometimes liked to miss himself. Smiling, he remembered Kulick rarely ever made it to the gym either, preferring to smoke another pack of cigarettes instead. </div> <div> Clearing his mind of his partners, Vladimir glanced at the thick folder beneath his hand. He touched it lightly, and then tapped its hard cover several times, making nervous rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat sounds. </div> <div> Calming his finger, he looked closely at the security classification marking on the folder's face. Using his first finger, he touched each of the letters in the marking one at a time until he reached the last of them. </div> <div> T O P   S E C R E T  EYES ONLY!</div> <div>  The security and special compartmented markings should certainly deny those without the appropriate security clearances and need-to-know access to the contents of the folder regardless of how high their grades or positions might be. </div> <div> Only those possessing the proper authorization would ever see the contents of the folder, if he or the new committee could help it. And they could. </div> <div> Vladimir still hoped the ominous markings would help protect the contents of the folder, but he had serious doubts about that already. </div> <div> The markings were only words. An AK assault rifle and a bayonet might be better. Unauthorized intruders would surely respect the show of deadly weapons more than written words unless, of course, they happened to be awesomely stupid or fanatically insane, or both, he thought. </div> <div> In that case, more deadly measures might have to be taken other than a “show of force” to keep unauthorized personnel away. </div> <div> But this time, that wasn't the plan at all. This time he and the others on the newly formed committee actually wanted the Mafia buggers to show up, and try to gain access to the files, at least one part of them. </div> <div> And when they did, they'd have them once and for all. That was the plan at any rate; but even the best-laid plans had been known to fail, at least sometimes. </div> <div> Vladimir traced a straight finger beneath the words being used for the operation, RED MERCURY, and wondered if it had not been too conspicuous a phrase, a code-word term that seemed to cry out the object of the operation, or at the very least, a possible area of involvement. </div> <div> He recalled that he'd not been able to persuade the minister to change it, so he'd had to accept it like a lot of other things he couldn't control himself these days. </div> <div> Squirming in his chair, he remembered the time. He was supposed to meet with the Minister of Foreign Affairs in less than an hour, and Frunze and Kulick were still "missing in action" like always. He sat up and pushed the button on his intercom-telephone set, even harder than the last time. </div> <div> “Yes, sir?” </div> <div> “Where are they?” </div> <div> “I…I don't know, sir. I'll try again,” Alena said nervously. </div> <div> “Never mind. It's too late. When you find them, if you ever do, tell them that I had to go to another meeting. Set up a new time for them later.” </div> <div> “Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?” </div> <div> “No, just remind them that I damn well want a detailed briefing about the bodies that were found last night when I get back. I don't know yet what's going on here, but I want them to find out the details and tell me. </div> <div> "The bodies might have something to do with several of the recent Mafia kidnappings they've been working. I want them to update me on them, too. Did you get all of that?” </div> <div> “Yes, sir. I'm sure they have a good excuse for their tardiness this time.” She hesitated a moment to catch her breath. Although Vladimir had never been exactly mean to her, his curt military manner could be intimidating at times. “They may still be over at the militia forensic labs,” she stuttered. </div> <div> “They're never late, sir, or rarely ever.” She tried to make excuses, but even she knew that that would be a useless exercise. Vladimir Antonovich was not a man who accepted excuses, only successfully completed actions.</div> <div>  “Yes, I know; they're only late when I need them.” He straightened his tie using his thumb and first finger this time to do the job. </div> <div> Keeping the tie straight and tight was a boyhood habit that he'd learned from his stepfather during his youth, before he'd entered the Army at the age of eighteen back in 1969, some seventeen years ago. </div> <div> Vladimir thought about the initial report he'd received early this morning concerning the bodies that had been found. </div> <div> The fire trucks had been quicker than usual, and had been able to put out the automobile fire before it had completely destroyed everything, including the people inside of it. </div> <div> The forensic people at the militia labs were still examining the bodies since the SID had no labs of its own. </div> <div> From the initial report, the victims had been badly mutilated, besides being burned, almost like they'd been tortured by someone who knew what he'd been doing. </div> <div> There were no license plates on the vehicle either, and although the motor serial number had been erased, the forensic people had indicated in their preliminary report that they thought they might be able to find out what it was anyway. </div> <div> That is, they emphasized, "assuming the obliteration had not been done too long ago, or done by a professional." </div> <div> Vladimir smirked a little when he had images of one part of the report that had said that the entire engine head had been removed and taken to the labs for tests.</div> <div>  Despite their somewhat unorthodox methods, it would be the forensic people who would ultimately find out who owned the automobile that the bodies had been found in; he'd bet his life on that. </div> <div> Glancing at his wristwatch, Vladimir quickly pushed back from the desk. He had a meeting to get to. He'd have to talk to Frunze and Kulick later, or maybe shout at them a little, he thought, since they'd not kept him properly informed of their whereabouts this morning. </div> <div> He stopped by Alena's desk. Alena came to mock attention in her chair in the outer office as he loomed over her and her newly installed Agat computer, a proud addition to her cluttered desk. </div> <div> “I'm leaving,” he said. “I'll be at the Foreign Affairs office most of the morning, with the minister himself.” </div> <div> He waited to see if she had anything to say about that. She didn't; it was on his calendar already. He didn't have to remind her of any of his appointments. After all, she was in charge of that part of his life. </div> <div> He continued, unshaken by her coolness under fire. “And don't forget to round up my two tardy malingerers for me either. I must speak to them today without fail.” </div> <div> He stepped back a pace, and started to say: “Did you get all of…” He saw the wide smile on her lips, so didn't complete the sentence. </div> <div> He knew she understood what had to be done anyway, so why keep asking her if she'd gotten “all of that?” </div> <div> Vladimir Antonovich touched the brim of his service cap with two cocked fingers as a friendly salute to her, and then turned abruptly about.</div> <div>  He crashed through the door like he was in a hurry, like always, charging for a bitterly contested battle on the other side of the hill where all the action was. </div> <div> That was a place he loved to be, in the thick of it, despite Aleksandra's grave reservations about the dangers lurking there, trying to steal him away, maybe forever someday.</div> <bR> <div> CHAPTER TWO </div> <div> Colonel Vladimir Antonovich arrived at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs skyscraper on Arbat Street twenty minutes early. He'd always been impressed with the building since, for the most part, its elevators almost always worked. </div> <div> Reaching the twenty-second floor, where the elaborate conference room was located for the meeting, he saw the others were already there. </div> <div> The minister was sitting at the head of the long, polished conference table. He was looking at his notes when a pretty blond secretary escorted Vladimir into the spacious room. </div> <div> In his light gray suit and conservative tie, the minister looked like a middle-aged American businessman, a bright contrast to the row of stiff, unsmiling Politburo members whose portraits hung from the conference room walls above the stiff, dark faces of the bureaucrats sitting stiffly at the table, waiting impatiently for the secret meeting to begin. </div> <div> “Good morning, Colonel,” the minister said. </div> <div> The minister grinned like he shared a secret as he jumped from his seat. </div> <div> He cordially shook Vladimir's hand. “Please have a seat, Vladimir. Right here.” He motioned to the empty seat at the head of the table to the left of his own. </div> <div> Turning to the others, he said, “It's a little early, but we may as well start. We all seem to be here, at least the ones who are coming this morning, so there's no sense in delaying our discussion any longer.” </div> <div> The minister sat down, and looked across the long table at the others. Most of the chairs were empty since this was to be a closed meeting, open only to a select few chosen by the minister. </div> <div> Clearing his throat, the minister didn't mince any words. He got to the heart of the matter immediately.</div> <div>  “The future could become very complex and very dangerous, indeed,” he said, “if Operation RED MERCURY is not successful. We could be faced with a very serious problem, a problem of international proportions if it's allowed to get out of hand.” </div> <div> He rubbed his narrow hands together like a Merchant in Venice might do, and then leaned forward. </div> <div> He laced his fingers in front of himself, then informed the group of five men sitting at the long, 20-person table that the operation had been formulated and planned by the same man who'd be responsible for its timely execution.</div> <div>  “I have personally selected that man, Comrades,” the minister continued. “He sits here among us…Colonel Vladimir Antonovich!” </div> <div> Turning to his right, he raised a long finger to point Vladimir out to the group. “I think you all know the colonel, a war hero from Afghanistan.” </div> <div> He hesitated as they nodded, then continued. “As you know, there has been a lot of speculation about the mysterious disappearance of many of our scientists. </div> <div> "I think you've heard the standard rumor, the Mafia or <I>teneviki, </I>our so-called shadow people,<I> </I>has kidnapped them all, or have killed those whose ransoms have not been paid promptly, or in some cases, not paid at all.” </div> <div> He removed a handkerchief from his back pocket, and then wiped his forehead. He thought about the ones whose ransom had not been paid, the ones who'd been returned piece by piece in bloody cartons. </div> <div> “The rumors are not entirely true. Colonel Antonovich has looked into several of the cases, and has concluded that, although the shadow people may be involved somehow, maybe even extensively, he doesn't think that they've been operating alone. </div> <div> "He thinks that some people at the Kremlin, or within other parts of the bureaucracy here in Moscow and elsewhere, are working with them, or have at least more than a transitory involvement with them and their illegal activities.” </div> <div> The minister reached to pour himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher, and then drained the glass quickly, then placed it by his hand. </div> <div> He slowly wiped his mouth with a handkerchief like he was trying to formulate his next words. “Now, as you all know from the Uzbek Cotton Affair, there's no doubt as to the ingenuity of the <I>teneviki.</I> They seem to be heavily connected with a lot of people we might least suspect, here and elsewhere, in and out of government. </div> <div> "I have called you all here today to try to snare a Mafioso or two to see what they can tell us about our epidemic of missing scientists. </div> <div> "It is becoming clearer as each new victim is snatched that the local Mafia has an outstanding intelligence group working for them right here beneath our noses.</div> <div> " It looks like someone within our own organization is feeding them information about our daily activities, and the comings and goings of our scientists. We must find out who this person is, or persons are.” </div> <div> Vladimir glanced at the others around him as the minister continued to talk. He knew at least some of the ones sitting in the room with him could not be counted on to support him if things got a little out of hand. </div> <div> Many of them could be expected to step back into the shadows, and point their fingers at the executor of the operation if things went astray. </div> <div> And the executor this time would be Colonel Vladimir Antonovich, himself. Out on the limb like always. In the vanguard, protecting the politicians. </div> <div> Vladimir had hoped that most of the co-players could have been different people than those sitting next to him, but it was too late to question that. The decision had already been made. </div> <div> He'd simply have to be more careful than before, and watch his back like always. </div> <div> The Army, the KGB, and the Ministry of Defense (MOD) were all represented at the meeting. Any one of them could become a problem, especially if the hypothesis of the plan proved to be right. </div> <div> One or more of them might well be connected solidly with the Mafia for all he knew. And if that were the case, they would be able to track his every move under the plan he had to present to them this morning, after the minister had finished his part of the talk, which he hoped was short, so he could get on with it. </div> <div> And what about the Minister of Foreign Affairs himself? he wondered. The minister might be involved with the shadow people himself somehow for all he knew. </div> <div> He could trust no one this time around, he was sure. Too much was at stake like last time when not only he but his wife as well had almost lost their lives in the chaotic shuffle, along with Kulick and Frunze, and Inessa Kostenko. </div> <div> Vladimir noticed that a Deputy Minister of Science and Technology was also at the meeting. He could mean even more trouble as far as he was concerned. Scientists were always a pain in the neck to paratroopers, especially this one. </div> <div> “Please, Vladimir, explain how the plan will work,” the minister said. “Tell us how you intend to handle the current speculation about our missing people. But first, let me introduce everyone who will be part of our new committee, our RED MERCURY task force, if you will.” </div> <div> Vladimir nodded his head courteously as the name of each of his “new associates” was mentioned. </div> <div> There was no special order of introductions. The minister simply went around the room where each of them was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, and introduced them. </div> <div> Vladimir already knew most of them, or was aware of their positions and backgrounds, and that for him was more than sufficient for the time being. </div> <div> The first man introduced was the new Chief of the KGB. He'd replaced Chebrikov last summer. His name was Comrade Rothko. </div> <div> In his mid-forties, he had a stern face and sterner eyes that always seemed to be staring right into your guts. </div> <div> He said he planned to change the image of the KGB and the people who worked for him. It was rumored that he was once a close friend with KGB Colonel Goseigen, a local Mafia godfather who'd been killed last year on the Finnish border, along with then Procurator-General Churnov. </div> <div> Rothko seemed honest enough to Vladimir. Still, it had been rumored that he was a little more interested in the better things in life than he should have been, considering his high-level government position. </div> <div> And it was well known that his goals reached far beyond his current office. Based on his extensive personal objectives and his remarkable political ambitions, he was not a man to be trusted entirely. </div> <div> Vladimir moved his eyes to the next man as he was introduced: Marshal Kvatov, Commander of all of the Armed Forces of the Soviet Union. </div> <div> Almost completely bald, he had wide shoulders and strong-looking hands, which some said he'd used often during the early Afghanistan campaign to squeeze the breath from more than one captured Mujahedin raider, as he had liked to call them then. </div> <div> The front of his neatly pressed brown uniform jacket, unbuttoned at the moment, was strewn with dozens of medals and badges, many of them earned for his heroic actions in the war zone several years ago. </div> <div> Unfortunately, his record was not without a blemish or two either. He'd been suspected of dealing in money transactions during his war years, and had been accused of other get-rich-quick schemes involving the black market as well. None of it had ever been proven, though. </div> <div> But many from his command had eventually ended up in a Siberian gulag for similar dealings anyway, swearing to the end that they'd been innocent of any crime, “like all convicted thieves and scoundrels do,” the marshal had said at the military tribunal at the time, ignoring their pleas for mercy. </div> <div> The records were clear, Vladimir thought, the marshal could be a formidable foe in any arena, if he chose to be. </div> <div> Based on the possible use of his military position to further his own financial gain over the years, and his obvious lack of professional support or compassion for those who'd ever served loyally within his command, he was not a man to be trusted entirely either. </div> <div> Looking at Kvatov, Vladimir almost smiled, but caught himself just in time, turning it into a yawn instead. </div> <div> The marshal, to him, looked almost as huge as a T-72 tank compared to the trim officer sitting next to him. The other man, he knew, was General Komonov, the Deputy Minister of Defense, and a long time Army associate. </div> <div> The Deputy MOD was a short man with a Stalin-like mustache that he liked to comb nervously with his thin fingers whenever he spoke. </div> <div> The general had always been an overly ambitious man, Vladimir recalled, as evidenced by his rapid rise to power within the MOD. </div> <div> And he could stretch the truth beyond reason, too, if it would support his objectives at any crucial point in time. </div> <div> Despite his potential contributions to the committee, and his long association with the Army and with Vladimir himself, he was not a man to be trusted entirely, mainly because he liked to lie when it suited his agenda, and lies could easily get a person killed. </div> <div> Vladimir straightened his tie as he glanced at the Third Deputy Minister of Science and Technology when he was introduced. </div> <div> His name was Doctor Anatoly Semenov, a nuclear physicist, one of the best scientists in the business, according to his own accounts of himself. </div> <div> Self-centered and powerful, he was not a man respected or loved by many people in or out of government. </div> <div> On top of his somewhat distorted personality, Semenov was an unusually tall man, and had an absurd looking Adam's apple that protruded from his neck like a chicken when he clucked out his words, which more often than not had been less than completely honest over the years. </div> <div> Supposedly, according to some, he was a man more interested in gold than in power, but that did not make him any less dangerous than any of the others. </div> <div> Based on his inflated ego, and his quest for fortune from any source where it might be found, he was not a man to be trusted entirely. </div> <div> Vladimir's thoughts were suddenly interrupted. He looked up at the minister, who was speaking. “Now that I've finished my little talk, you may proceed with yours, Vladimir,” the minister said. “Please.” </div> <div> Vladimir cleared his throat as he glanced one more time at his associates. He suddenly had an uneasy feeling about the whole operation and his part in it. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I will make this as brief as possible. I know you are all busy men.”</div> <div>  "Just a moment, Vladimir,” the minister interrupted. “I'm sorry. There's one other thing I failed to mention. The Chief of the MVD, Comrade Vitalii Fedorchuk, will also be part of our little group, our new committee.</div> <div>  “He's out of town today. I'll brief him later. He didn't want to send any of his deputies. Our Ukrainian friend obviously does not trust any of them.” He smiled. </div> <div> They all laughed heartily at that, the marshal pounding on the tabletop until his face grew red.</div> <div>  “I'm sorry, Vladimir, please continue,” the minister said more seriously, trying to calm the others with a raised hand. </div> <div> Vladimir quickly explained the objective of the contingency operation plan called RED MERCURY, and outlined the estimated number of troops and equipment required to ensure its success.</div> <div>  It would be a combined sting operation, he explained, leveled against the Mafia at the highest levels. The military would provide support, as required.</div> <div> Vladimir provided tentative schedules, probable reactions that could be expected from not only the <I>teneviki</I>, but their government and business connections as well. </div> <div> Then he detailed out how the operation would most likely proceed, using a tiger team…a team organized and equipped something like an American SWAT team…that would be headed by himself in the vanguard when it was time to strike with speed. </div> <div> Vladimir planned to have Frunze and Kulick join him, too, although they didn't know it yet. In his mind, he'd already volunteered them for the job earlier in the day. </div> <div> He knew they'd be pleased when they found out that he'd thought about them in his plans. “And that's where we stand,” Vladimir concluded. </div> <div> “If we had to use it, do you think this so-called tiger team could intimidate the Mafia or the <I>teneviki</I> all that much?” General Komonov, the Deputy MOD, asked.</div> <div>  “From what I know of them, I don't believe they can be so easily intimidated. They have their own teams, their own Army; their own government is what I've heard. </div> <div> "Yet, no one seems to know who they are, or where they're located. It will not be an easy trick to track them down or to take them by surprise, if that is your intention, Colonel.” </div> <div> “It will all be in the timing,” Vladimir said. “And as for who they are or where they are, just remember what some of our sources have told us. </div> <div> "The <I>teneviki</I> could be anyone and might be hiding in the shadows anywhere: in government, in the military, in industry, anywhere.”</div> <div>  “Exactly,” Semenov, the Deputy Minister of Science and Technology, said. “That's one reason I don't think it will work.” </div> <div> Jerking his head up and down like a chicken in a barnyard on a hunt for scraps of corn, he played with a paper clip, nervously bending it completely out of shape between his long bony fingers as he talked. “Myself, I would concentrate on apprehending the government bureaucrats. </div> <div> "It will be difficult enough to do that job without trying to run down the shadow people, who nobody seems to know anyway. It seems that they keep their identities guarded better than the members of our Central Committee.” </div> <div> He extended his beak-like mouth and tried to smile, but he still looked like a rooster. No one at the table smiled with him. </div> <div> Few trusted Semenov even with one of their most guarded smiles. Cornered, he could squawk. </div> <div> “We're working on other contingency plans to do just that, Doctor,” Vladimir said. “But remember what I've said. The shadow people could be a government bureaucrat, a mechanic, a taxi driver, anyone at all. </div> <div> "We will have to look in all directions during our search for them, or they could make us very sorry, very sorry indeed, using the strong arm of the Mafia.”</div> <div>  “Damn it, Colonel,” Rothko said, interrupting. “You're asking to get your head cut off, not to mention other parts of your body, and the heads of any others you try to lead into an area controlled by the Mafia and its thugs, if the plan is ever implemented. I say it's a suicide mission, pure and simple.”</div> <div>  “I don't think the shadow people will take kindly to this plan of yours either,” the Deputy MOD interjected.</div> <div>  “We must do what is required,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said, almost defensively. </div> <div> “Gorbachev and some of the others in the Central Committee have so directed. They want us to take action to ensure that kidnapping of important scientists is curtailed immediately. </div> <div> "There are already four of them unaccounted for, not counting the ones who've been returned in garbage bags, piece by piece during the extended ransom negotiations. </div> <div> "The Central Committee people feel that if this business is not stopped immediately, they may be the next ones to feel the fingers of the Mafia around their own throats, and none of them want that if they can help it. </div> <div> "They feel that if our scientists continue to be taken, ransoms paid, and none of the scientists ever returned anyway, then whoever takes them should be punished severely for their unlawful actions. In other words, they want them dead without fanfare.”</div> <div>  “I understand some of them are not being taken at all,” Rothko said snidely. “Some sell themselves to the highest bidder is what I've heard, much like common whores. Maybe the Mafia or <I>teneviki </I>is not involved at all, or at least not as much as many would have us believe.” </div> <div> He gave a quick glance to Vladimir, and then looked back at the minister. “Maybe it's all an elaborate hoax. There are many third world countries out there that would give a right arm, maybe the left one as well, for a nuclear bomb capability. </div> <div> "And they would not be afraid to use it, the fanatical bastards. To build a bomb, they would need scientists and technicians. See the connection? Maybe we should be looking for someone other than the Mafia. </div> <div> "I cannot bring myself to the conclusion that the Mafia would be interested in bombs; they are interested in money, in wealth, in great fortunes, yes; but bombs? I don't think so.” He sighed deeply as he sat back in his chair, placing his hands on the table in front of himself. Smugly, he waited for a response. </div> <div> Vladimir shrugged his shoulders, and then started to explain the purpose of the operation more fully. He was not here to speculate. He was here to brief them on the purpose of the plan, and just maybe, to hasten one of <I>their</I> falls.</div> <div>  “The primary purpose of RED MERCURY is to ensure that the kidnappings, and in some cases, the brutal  killing of our scientists ceases immediately,” Vladimir said.</div> <div>  “The only way to do that is to snare a few of the ones responsible, and then go from there. I'm sure that once we find the core of the apple, we'll be able to find the tree. After that, the rest will be relatively simple. </div> <div> "The secondary purpose of our operation is to…” He stopped talking when he saw the Minister of Foreign Affairs stand with his hand in the air, motioning for him to sit.</div> <div>  “Allow me, Vladimir,” the minister said. “The secondary purpose of the operation is to weed out the heinous scum here within the government itself that might be assisting the shadow people in anyway with the kidnappings. </div> <div> "We intend to stop this new business forthwith no matter what the personal risk is to ourselves, or to our officials.”</div> <div>  “What about the Americans?” the marshal asked bluntly. </div> <div> “They may be helpful in the long run,” Vladimir said. “There's no doubt they will agree with us that further delays would be intolerable. They must realize like we do that the kidnapping of scientists is not healthy for any of us. </div> <div> "If any of them are somehow smuggled out of the country to a third world power like Iraq, Iran, Libya or Afghanistan, for example, nothing will ever be the same again. The Americans know that as well as we do. But for now, we intend to treat this as an internal matter.</div> <div> "We don't want to get the Americans into this unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You know how they can be in a crises situation. Like cowboys on wild horses.” He smiled. </div> <div> “And if there are American cowboys already involved?” the marshal asked, his voice low and intimidating. “What if they are part of the scheme, after all?” </div> <div> “We'll handle them harshly like the others,” Vladimir said. He didn't tell him about the American, James Warwick, who was already in over his eyeballs, although only a few on either side of the ocean knew about his exact mission.</div> <div>  “What do you intend to do with the Soviets that might be involved?” the Deputy MOD asked. “Or with any Americans that might be in on any of it?”</div> <div>  “Kill them,” the marshal said. “Kill every last one of them, Soviets and Americans and any other would-be terrorists alike. That's what I would do.” </div> <div> He made two fists on the table, and narrowed his eyes like he was thinking about some of his ventures in Afghanistan, where he'd had to deal with the bothersome Mujahedin in his own way, almost on a daily basis.</div> <div>  “We will do what we have to do to stop them, all of them,” the minister interjected, <I>within the law</I>. </div> <div> The marshal opened his hands and turned his palms up, frowning. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. </div> <div> He looked directly at Vladimir, and said evenly, “Do you know who any of the scoundrels are yet? Ours or theirs?” He squeezed the end of his bloodshot nose and blew air through it like he was trying to clear his ears. </div> <div> “We think we know who some of them are, but we're still investigating,” Vladimir said. </div> <div> “Who do you suspect?” The marshal persisted. </div> <div> “You'll know in due time,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said. “For the time being, only myself and Colonel Antonovich know the suspects' names. I intend to provide the list to General Komonov this evening at his office. </div> <div> "A Major Frunze from Colonel Antonovich's office will provide a sealed envelope to General Komonov for safekeeping. </div> <div> "The envelope will contain a cassette tape with the suspects' names on it. The MOD has the thickest safe in town.” He smiled slyly at General Komonov. </div> <div> “That's where Komonov stores his favorite vodka, along with several juicy State secrets, I understand.” </div> <div> There was a low rumble of laughter as they all glanced at Komonov's reddened face, then his scowl.</div> <div>  “He also has the thinnest backdoor in town,” Marshal Kvatov said, silencing the room with his booming voice. </div> <div> “I understand that he provides certain of his friends an access key that not even his most trusted guards have. Why is that, General?”</div> <div>  He looked directly at Komonov, then glanced at the foreign minister, his lips tight. </div> <div> “It allows certain people to visit me without going through the regular guards in the lobby,” General Komonov said. “With the key I provide them, they're able to enter my office through the back of the building, undetected for the most part, just as they like it. </div> <div> "Only my personal guards in the hallway near the rear exits see who comes and goes through the back way. But I assure you they all come on official business of the State, and not to sample my vodka.” He smiled weakly as he sat lower in his seat.</div> <div>  “Still sounds strange to me,” the marshal said. “Almost like whores sneaking around in the darkness of the night.” </div> <div> “It allows certain people that would rather not be seen in the MOD building, access, sir,” Komonov said. He sounded more defensive than before.</div> <div>  “And it has worked well for me throughout the past year. I don't intend to change it for no reason at all. When something works, why change it?” </div> <div> He shuffled the papers in front of himself, avoiding the piercing stare of the marshal. He finally glanced toward the head of the table, and said, “Despite Gorbachev's efforts at <I>glasnost</I>, some things have to remain closed to the public, as well as to those within the government without a need to know. </div> <div> "I think my backdoor operations have paid off quite well so far. I've learned a lot about certain things that I might not have learned otherwise. If some of my visitors had had to enter the MOD through the busy main lobby, they might have been noticed by some they'd rather not be seen by, nor would I.” </div> <div> “Even I have used the MOD's backdoor,” Doctor Semenov said, ruffling his feathers slightly. “Especially when it would not have been appropriate for me to have been seen like the general said. Sometimes, it is important not to be seen in certain places at certain times.” </div> <div> He tried to smile again, but it looked more like he was going to crow. </div> <div> “That sounds like something the Mafia and its <I>teneviki </I>friends would do, if you ask me,” the marshal said sitting straight.</div> <div>  “They're always hiding in the shadows themselves somewhere. I see no valid reason for government officials to be sneaking around through the backdoors of the MOD, night or day.</div> <div> " Like I said, only the Mafia and their whores would act in such a deceitful manner. I think this procedure of yours should be reconsidered, General Komonov.” </div> <div> Doctor Semenov placed his bony hands on the arms of his chair. He started to stand up to defend Komonov's position, but instead relaxed on his seat when the minister raised his hand for immediate silence. </div> <div> General Komonov's face was a deep red, almost as red as Semenov's. Both of them looked like they would like to kill the marshal with their bare hands. </div> <div> The minister tried to get the meeting back on track as quickly as possible. Things were getting out of control, which was not the intended purpose of the meeting at all. </div> <div> He spoke before the marshal had a chance to say anything more to set Doctor Semenov or General Komonov off. </div> <div> They weren't there to discuss how the MOD ran its internal security, or how Doctor Semenov tended to sneak around at night. They were here to catch some Mafia kidnappers.</div> <div> " I have selected General Komonov to be my deputy in this matter based on the recommendation of Colonel Antonovich,” the minister interrupted. </div> <div> “The names of the suspects will be provided to all of you at the appropriate time. In the meantime, it's best that only a few of us know. We might be wrong about who the suspects really are.”</div> <div>  “Is it a matter of trust?” Doctor Semenov asked, still smarting from Marshal Kvatov's insinuations. </div> <div> “You do not trust any of the rest of us with the names? Is that it?” He laid the paper clip he'd been playing with on the table, and then nudged it around a few times with his first finger before he looked up again at the minister. </div> <div> “Not at all,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said. “It's not a matter of trust at all. It's a matter of need to know, pure and simple. I'm sure we all recognize the importance of maintaining a strict need to know on this matter. </div> <div> "We've all been in the government or in the military long enough to be aware of that.” He reached for his glass and took another sip of water, and then he glanced at the looks on the committee members' faces as he wiped his mouth.</div> <div>  “I will provide a summary briefing each week until the plan has been completely staffed,” Vladimir finally said. “A more detailed monthly briefing will be provided to keep you all updated with whatever intelligence we obtain, along with any other changes. </div> <div> "Naturally, if the plan has to be implemented at anytime you will be the first ones to know.” </div> <div> “And our people?” General Komonov asked, rubbing his bushy, Stalin-like mustache with two narrow fingers. “What about them?” </div> <div> “You must tell your staffs and troop commanders that they are to develop a coordinated operations plan for an extensive field exercise to test our rapid-deployment-force capabilities. </div> <div> "The time and place of the exercise, you may tell them, will be provided at a later date. They may have to be called up to supplement my tiger team. </div> <div> "But don't tell them that. Just make it clear that I am the one that will have the authority to call them into action, if it comes to that. </div> <div> "Under no circumstances should they be told of the true nature of our plan. Remember, this is top-secret information. No one outside of this room except the Minister of the MVD, Comrade Fedorchuk, when he returns to Moscow, must ever hear about it.”</div> <div>  “Thank you, Vladimir,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs said. He stood by the table. “I know there will be other questions later, gentlemen; but for now, I think we should get back to our other important duties. </div> <div> "I will provide each of you more details concerning the plan soon.” He stepped around the conference room table, and shook each of their hands as they began to leave. </div> <div> He motioned for Vladimir to stay. When they'd gone, the Minister of Foreign Affairs sat back at his place, crossed his arms over his chest, and then smiled broadly. </div> <div> He motioned again, this time indicating that Vladimir should take a seat by him like before. </div> <div> “Tricks of the trade,” the minister said, grinning. “We could make some people blush with our...tricks. Do you think it will work, Vladimir? Really work?”</div> <div>  “I hope so, sir. We'll try, that's all we can do.”</div> <div>  “What will they say when they find out that the plan has all been a hoax?” the minister asked, raising his eyebrows.</div> <div>  “Some of them may thank us, sir. After all, the plan will bring the culprits out of their skins, I'm sure, and that's all that counts to me. I'm positive someone will be visiting the office of General Komonov after tonight to find out whose name is on the cassette. </div> <div> "The thief or thieves certainly will be in for a surprise when they find out what's really on the tape, and later, that the tape is bugged neatly to catch a fish.”</div> <div>  “It's unfortunate in a way,” the minister said, “but from our internal investigations we know that at least one of our associates is likely to be involved with the shadow people at this time. </div> <div> "Some of them, unfortunately, may also have been involved with the Uzbek Cotton Affair, but arrest warrants have been held in abeyance pending the outcome of our own operation. </div> <div> "Their day is coming though, I'm sure. And as for the recent kidnappings, there's no real evidence as to which one of our officials may be involved with them either, not at this time at any rate. </div> <div> "I suspect, though, that few others, except at the highest echelons of the Politburo, would ever attempt such an adventure with the Mafia, so that's where we shall begin, at the top.”</div> <div>  “I hope we're right,” Vladimir said. “I also hope that we have not overlooked anyone.” </div> <div> “Well, there's still the GRU, you know. But your friend, General Komonov, will probably inform them of what is happening, at least the part that he knows about.” </div> <div> “That's true. And as far as the militia is concerned, I'm sure Fedorchuk will get them involved somehow, too, after he has been briefed about our plan. </div> <div> "After all, they are part of the MVD. Not only that, but I think I will soon be personally involved with the militia myself again since there have been two new bodies found last night out by Gorky Park.” </div> <div> “Oh?” The minister looked serious. “I had not heard.” </div> <div> “There were two mutilated bodies found in an automobile fire. It looked like they'd been tortured. It might be Mafia business from the looks of it.</div> <div> " I intend to offer the services of the SID to the militia to assist them in the investigation. We've worked together before on other such cases.</div> <div> " I know Chief Investigator Kostenko there. We used to be good friends in the old days, before I married.”</div> <div>  “Mutilated bodies? That could prove to be interesting, professionally, I'm sure; but don't forget our main mission here, Vladimir. We must find the ones who are kidnapping our scientists. All else must be given secondary priority.”</div> <div>  “Yes, sir, I understand. The bodies found last night may not be anything at all. I didn't mean that the way it sounded, sir.” </div> <div> The minister nodded. He knew Vladimir did not take death lightly. He'd seen too much of it here in Moscow, and earlier in the hills of Afghanistan. </div> <div> Vladimir continued. “After the forensic people have finished their work, and I've discussed the case with the militia, I'm sure that our interest in the latest bodies may fade quickly. </div> <div> "If it's finally determined that there has been a multiple murder, it most likely may have some connection with the increased drug trafficking in the streets lately. </div> <div> "In that case, I'll let the militia continue on with the case alone. As you know, sir, my office is primarily concerned with Mafia and <I>teneviki</I> matters, leaving the other business of political or routine crime to the KGB and/or militia respectively.”</div> <div>  “Whatever routine crime is anymore,” the minister said. “And as for our Kremlin tricks, our tricks of the trade, I suspect that one or more of our associates will leak the news to the newspapers before the week is out, too, at least the part about our suspect tape being maintained by some government office.” </div> <div> The minister leaned forward, and poured another glass of water, and then said, “Isn't Gorbachev's <I>glasnost</I> wonderful?” </div> <div> He saw Vladimir's frown, so changed back to being serious again. “At any rate, the planned <I>Pravda </I>and <I>Izvestiia</I> revelations should make the Mafia scramble. And if any of the ones we're looking for are actually on our committee, none of them will dare speak publicly about our classified contingency plan, at least not at first. </div> <div> "That would only draw more attention to their own clandestine activities, and shine the lights on themselves as it were.”</div> <div>  “I hope you're right, sir.”</div> <div>  “So do I. And as for the Americans, I'll inform them personally myself,” the minister said, “at least the part about the tiger team, and what it is we hope to accomplish with it, something like Gorbachev's <I>glasnost</I> policies have tried to do in other areas, perhaps. </div> <div> He winked discreetly at Vladimir. “We don't want the Americans to think that we're preparing for a coup or something, though. But no matter what they think, I will reserve the rest of it until another time, after we've seen what happens after tonight at General Komonov's office.”</div> <div>  “Very good, sir. Incidentally, the American, Warwick, is making progress, too. There have been several probes already, all using third party intermediaries, of course. He's expecting more. Soon.”</div> <div>  “I hope he isn't a mistake,” the minister said.</div> <div>  “He was personally recommended to me from a friend in Virginia, sir. He can be trusted, I'm sure. </div> <div> "And if he continues to make certain shadow people, or others, think he's something that he isn't, well, sir, who can say what he may turn up for us. </div> <div> "As far as anyone knows, he's nothing more than an American entrepreneur, looking into some of our power plant problems with the object of obtaining extensive government contracts to help fix them in cooperation with our own technicians.” </div> <div> “That brings him much too close to our nuclear scientists, Vladimir. I think you'd better watch this man, and use all due caution in your dealings with him. </div> <div> "Where there's money, there are greedy hands, and such hands have no conscience. That is an historical fact, Vladimir. </div> <div> "Watch out for the one who steals. He may make you sorry someday while he breaks your back with his iron heels.”</div> <div>  “The Americans would not send us a thief, would they, sir? A man with iron heels?” He smiled impishly. </div> <div> The minister continued. “He could be something worse. Watch yourself. I would not like trying to replace you, nor would your lovely wife, Aleksandra, I presume.” He smiled.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> Alone, James Warwick sat in a wing chair in his hotel room, reviewing the latest proposals he'd prepared concerning the upgrade of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant. </div> <div> He was wearing shorts and socks, nothing else, as he read the documents.</div> <div>  Periodically, he stopped reading to take a drink from a water glass that was filled with vodka, straight up, no ice, as he liked it.</div> <div>  Even looking directly into his face, few would suspect that he was already forty-five years old. He was tall, trim, and athletic-looking, and he wore his still dark hair short like an ex-military man might do. </div> <div> He'd been with the CIA since he'd been twenty-five, and had spent several tours in Vietnam, undercover, learning all there was to know about greed and corruption, and their impact on the “war.” </div> <div> He spoke several languages, including Russian, and liked to travel when he could, on business or otherwise. </div> <div> He had no roots that anyone knew, and no family at all currently, although once he had a wife, who'd died when he'd been thirty, taking their stillborn boy with her. </div> <div> After that he'd begun to volunteer for every dirty and dangerous assignment he could, becoming almost fanatical with his duties, and rich as well without hardly trying. </div> <div> He was perfect for the current mission, Travis Stone, his boss, had told him in the office a couple of months ago, in February. </div> <div> He knew a lot about nuclear power plants, knew how to speak Russian without the trace of an accent, knew what had to be done once he found out who was at the bottom of the recent kidnappings of scientists, which, everyone knew would likely lead to their transfer, at least the ones who were allowed to live, to places like Iran and Iraq. There, their special talents could be put to use to develop a bomb or two for their captors. </div> <div> After that, selected terrorist groups would have a field day, extorting money and concessions at will, anytime, anyplace, anywhere at all.</div> <div>  Not a pleasant prospect in anyone's mind, except, perhaps, the ones whose fortunes might be enhanced by it, their pockets made big, and their evil powers extended more fully. </div> <div> Whatever happened, some would profit from it, others would not, some would even die, others might not. </div> <div> And in the end, like always, there would be no clear winners or losers, only the memories one more time, and the dead bodies. </div> <div> Warwick suddenly sat straight in his chair, and threw the documents he'd been reading onto the end table. There was something outside in the hall. </div> <div> Quietly, he stood and crept to the far wall. There, he pressed his ear against the door. He felt something touch his toe. </div> <div> His neck tingled as he glanced at the floor, where he saw a jab of light under the door, and something lying by his feet. It was a brown business-type envelope. </div> <div> He waited until he thought it was clear, and then picked it up and quickly returned to the chair. </div> <div> Sitting, he ripped open the envelope, and browsed the message that was cut and pasted with various sized letters, almost like a kidnapper's note, providing guidance. Warwick quickly scanned the letter. </div> <div> Mr. Warwick: With your high-level connections, and mine, I think we could do a little business that could profit us both. I would like to talk at a place I choose soon. </div> <div> If you concur with such a meeting please wear your pinstriped suit tomorrow when you visit the Office of Science and Technology to discuss proposed power plant upgrades with Doctor Semenov. </div> <div> Wear a red flower in your lapel. If I see you in the suit, I will assume you will want to meet, and will contact you again with a place and time. </div> <div> Destroy this note. It could be used against you, and/or me, if it ever found its way into the hands of the wrong people. </div> <div> Until we meet in person, </div> <div> A Friend that knows how much a scientist is truly worth these days. </div> <div> Warwick stood with the note in his hand, and went to the bed where his trousers were lying. </div> <div> There, he pulled a cigarette lighter out from the side pocket of the trousers, and lit it, touching one edge of the note with its flame. </div> <div> Soon, he dropped what was left of the burning paper into the metal wastebasket near the bed.</div> <div>  “So it begins,” he whispered to himself, returning to the chair. </div> <div> <I>Just like all of the other times when someone wanted to line my pockets with gold, while they tried to line a hole with my pockets, me in them, inside out, broken and dead cold.</I> </div> <div> Sighing, he leaned back and slowly sipped his vodka, thinking of his next move and the next, any of which could bring rewards or death, his or someone else's. </div> <div> He was ready in either case. Slowly, he took another sip of vodka, contemplating the future and his part in it.</div> <div>  Excerpt from <B>A Debt of Honor. </B>Copyright (c) 2001 by Robert A. Gallinger. </div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id32_m.htm" TITLE="Excerpt Debt of Honor">Back to Top</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Synopses">Synopses</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Order Info">Order Info</A></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="home ">Home Page</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id42.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Site Map">Site Map</A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Whispers">Next Page</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id30.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Dead Light">Previous Page</A></div> <div>  </html> </head> http://www.bookworldinfo.com/adebtofhonor_excerpt.htm <title>Book World Info - Offers Novel Excerpt, Book Excerpt, Novel Summary</title> <meta name="description" content="Offers Novel Excerpt for Mystery Suspense Book A Debt of Honor by Robert A. Gallinger, Novel Summary, Book Summary."> <meta name="keywords" content="a debt of honor, mystery suspense book, robert a. gallinger, book summary, novel summary"> </head> </html>  </div> </td> </tr></table></body>