Hunter Goforth
Arctic Wind
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to Father James Danner, (Captain, USN, Retired). Shipmate, friend and Chaplain aboard USS Iowa, who helped with my research and wrote the prayer used in the story.
Prologue
The view was breathtaking. The large picture window overlooked the heart of the old city, and the lights highlighted each of the old structures creating a tapestry of color against a starry night sky. The cigar and cigarette smoke inside the room only partially dulled the overall sparkling vista as the eight men inside sat back in their rich leather seats to both admire the view and to discuss the weighty matters that only very high ranking executives and political leaders addressed. The curling smoke was only diminished when one of the men took a sip from the crystal glasses each held.
The men in the room savored both the drinks and the moment. Each had worked very hard to be included into this august group, although none of them had what many would consider a spotless career. In fact, several would be what many would be considered a felon by any standard. None the less, here they were, controlling a huge sector of power of their country, and ready to expand their empire at any cost.
One of the men turned his seat to face the others. He continued the discussion they had been having. “We have clearly outgrown the capacity of our nation to meet our needs. True, we have now gained over ninety five percent of the market at home and are each secure in our business or our political influence, but I hope you will agree this leaves a hollow feeling. We must expand beyond our borders where there are more raw materials, more industry and in particular, more customers. So far, we have been successful in bringing in our smaller neighbors, but now we must look beyond this. Our goal must be to expand from coast to coast. Only in this way can we solidify our influence and control,” the man said.
“This is true. It also means bringing in much needed technical expertise which we do not currently have. This will allow our operations to become much more efficient. This, in turn, will save us enormous amounts of money in the long run,” said another man in the room. He was dressed in a tailored suit and wearing his signature red carnation in his lapel.
“Don’t forget the added materials. My people need much more of the raw minerals available elsewhere. It is too expensive to import these. Having the mining operations, smelting and refining centers under our control will benefit all of us,” said another man, dressed in a suit which could best be described as “off the shelf.”
There was a chuckle from across the room. “I am fortunate that we do not need so much of the raw materials, but more of the customers themselves. My facilities are at only half what my people say is our full capacity, yet, we have saturated our markets.” He sat forward in his seat. “But to be able to eliminate the competition would mean more people purchasing from us. Can you imagine what that might bring?” he asked sitting back in his seat.
“I believe we are all in agreement,” said the first man. “The question is, when do we proceed,” he said looking at each of the men.
“It will be extremely expensive. It always is,” said one.
“Yes, but I believe we must make this short term sacrifice in order to reap the benefits in the long term. I, for one, am ready to make this happen,” said the man with the carnation.
“It has worked so far with little real effort or expense,” said another man.
“True, but that was with our former allies. There is only one real one left. Do you feel they will come our way?” asked the carnation man again.
“I feel they will as long as we move as we have in the past. With just the right pressure, they will come around. After all, they know what we are capable of,” said the first man.
The men sat in silence for a moment. The decision would be a weighty one. Each would have to make sacrifices in one way or another.
“What of our people,” asked one man sitting to one side. He had been silent up to now.
The first man snickered. “What of them? You know what our people are like. As long as they are well paid, they shut up and do as they are told. If not, we have ways of dealing with the problems which do not jeopardize what we are doing. We have made each of their lives much better through our efforts. They can buy things, go on vacations, and live their lives as they see fit because of us. Ultimately, they will live an even better life. If they cannot see that, then they cannot reap the benefits. It is plain and simple. We are the driving force behind our nation and we make these kinds of decisions. Ultimately, it is up to us to take care of them in a manner we plan and execute. In the end, we all prosper,” he said.
The men around him were nodding their heads. He knew he had won the argument even before the meeting had begun. This simply confirmed it.
‘Then we must move as soon as we can. The quicker we do this, the better off we are,” said the man in the simple suit. The man nodded again. “We leave it to you Alexi Andreovich,” he said.
Alexi Borodin nodded and looked back out the window at the beautiful onion domed spires gleaming below him. Unbeknown to the others in the room, the effort had already begun.
The proceedings had taken three weeks, but the jury’s verdict had been unanimous. The Austin, Texas, courtroom was filled with onlookers, but the ones standing out from the rest were the fourteen mayors, a master sergeant, and an admiral, who had attended every day of the trial including the testimony they had each presented. They all sat quietly, yet despite the verdict, the tension inside the courtroom remained high. The jury was now recommending a sentence.
Everyone had been crammed into the wooden bench seats trying to get a look at the man who, just two years earlier, had tried to take down the government of the United States. He sat on the left side of the courtroom with his trial lawyer. A Venezuelan lawyer had been requested, but firmly denied by the judge, who sat behind his bench just to the left of center in the front of the courtroom. Instead, a special legal team had been assigned to defend the accused. That way, there would be no doubt that the accused would get a fair trial. The guilty verdict hadn’t gotten any response from former Venezuelan President Parente, who sat smugly in his seat. Despite his protestations that he should wear his military uniform, he was wearing a simple orange jumpsuit. He acted as if he didn’t care what might happen to him.
The evidence had been damning. There was testimony of what had happened at the dinner, what had happened to each hostage in their makeshift cell in the mountain compound, photographs of Parente personally stabbing his victim, Mayor Jim Mitchell, and further testimony from the Special Forces team members who had rescued Mayor Patricia Hammond from being Parente’s second murder victim. Parente was even forced to show his mangled hands to prove he had been the man lifting the obsidian knife in preparation of stabbing the mayor in the chest. Even Sergeant Miller had taken the stand to tell how he shot the knife out of Parente’s hands with his rifle. When asked why he didn’t simply kill the man with the knife, Miller had shrugged and said, “We were told to bring back the people responsible, if possible. I made it possible.”
From the front of the courtroom, the bailiff stood. “All rise,” he said as the door to the jury room opened and the jury made its way back into the courtroom, sitting in their box to the right of the people in the room.
“Please be seated,” the bailiff said. After everyone was seated, the judge turned to the jury.
“Have you reached a sentencing recommendation,” he asked.