Once in the flow of the traffic that always seemed to be going this way and that but never getting anywhere, Anatov began to speak in hushed tones. "I want you to pull together as large a team as you can, as quickly as you can, and be ready to go when I give you the word."
Orlov raised an eyebrow. "So, it has been confirmed? It will hit Russia.".
The Minister of Defense sighed. "Yes, again." There was a silence as the two walked briskly down the hall. Everyone who saw them coming parted for them, as much out of fear for Orlov as for respect for their superior. This was good, for the tired old man who was charged with defending Russia's faltering regime was staring vacantly at the floor as he marched on. When he finally did speak again, there was a hint of anger in his voice, mixed with a bit of frustration. "For the second time in one hundred years, we are going to be hit by a meteor." Looking over at Anatov, the colonel could see the concern in his expression as he continued to mumble: "The mystics and the fringe have already latched onto that little coincidence. I'm sure you've seen them in the streets and on the bloody damned television, spewing their prophecies of impending doom."
Without commenting, Orlov nodded. The comparison between the Tunguska event and the political turmoil in Russia that followed less than nine years after that had been seized upon by more than one group in opposition to the current regime. The similarities between the corruption that was rampant in czarist Russia and the state of affairs in modern Russia were far too obvious to ignore. Hence, the connection between the devastating event of 1908 and the revolution that followed in 1917 was being viewed as a blessing from the heavens by those who sought to stir the people of Russia to rise up and sweep away the government in Moscow.
These thoughts led Orlov to his next question. "Is there a particular target of interest that you would like me to concentrate on?"
Yuri Anatov hesitated before answering. He knew that Orlov was politically astute. To survive as long as he had in his profession, particularly in the position he held, one needed to know who the players were and how to stay afloat in the swirling tides of intrigue that were part of Russia's political system. From the way the colonel had framed his question, the minister of defense suspected that he knew who in the regime in Moscow he was most concerned with. "Yes," Anatov stated bluntly. "General Likhatchev."
Stopping, Orlov stared at his superior with an expression that was as much one of anger as surprise. Being dispatched to the far reaches of Russia to deal with an officer who had stepped out of line was one thing. To be ordered to go after a man whom many considered to be the last true patriot in all of Russia, a man whose only crime was that he had dedicated his entire life to the service of their Motherland, was quite another.
Caught off guard by Orlov's sudden stop, Anatov hesitated, turned, and looked back at the silent colonel. "Is there a problem?"
Unsure of where he stood on the issue, Orlov chose the course he normally followed. Gathering himself as quickly as he could, he allowed his face to assume its usual dispassionate expression. "No, Minister. Not at all."
"Good," Anatov snapped. "Now, let us continue. I have much to do and so little time." Orlov acknowledged with a mumbled response that the Minister of Defense did not hear. General Igor Likhatchev was an ultranationalist who had barely been beaten during Russia's last presidential election. That he intended to have that position, one way or the other, was not a state secret. The General took every opportunity he could to promote himself and to criticize the current president. It came, therefore, as no surprise that Likhatchev would find a way to use the pending disaster to his advantage.
After moving along the corridor in silence for several seconds, the Minister picked up where he had left off. "If projections are correct, the resulting impact of the meteor, though not catastrophic, will have the same characteristics of a nuclear detonation. It is believed that the disruption of normal communications as well as the seismic signature of the impact will be enough to trigger a fully functional Perimeter. Therefore I issued an order last night to all elements of the Strategic Rocket Force to disable the Perimeter system." After a moment's hesitation, Anatov glanced up from the floor in front of him and over to Orlov. "This morning, when it became obvious that this order was being ignored, it was repeated. An hour ago, every regimental commander in Likhatchev's province responded that they would not comply."
"The launch officers at the individual sites must still initial the final sequence," Orlov stated briskly. "They, and not General Likhatchev, are the key to Perimeter."
"Ordinarily, that would be true," Anatov countered. "But it seems that General Likhatchev has managed to subvert the normal chain of command. As you know, he took extraordinary steps to ensure that key military units and personnel in his province were well taken care of in an effort to cultivate their loyalty."
This came as no surprise to the colonel. Likhatchev's efforts to generate a base loyal to him and him alone was well known throughout the military. Even officers in Orlov's own handpicked command had been courted by representatives of the General. "What makes you think that removing General Likhatchev will make a difference?" Orlov asked.
This time, it was Anatov who stopped in his tracks. "Damn it, Colonel. I do not have time for this! What is and is not possible on the political level is not your concern. You are a soldier, I give the orders, you execute them. Is that clear?"
Orlov hesitated before answering. While none of his missions could be described as ordinary, this one was quite different. The other targets Orlov had dealt with had meant nothing to him. General Likhatchev, on the other hand, did. In his heart, Orlov had long ago suspected that it would take a man like the General to save Russia. Perhaps, Orlov thought to himself as Anatov droned on, the general is the one, the man on the white horse who has come to save Russia.
"Colonel," Anatov snapped. "You do understand what you must do?"
Suddenly aware that his mind had been wandering, Orlov managed a crisp "Yes, Minister, of course."
Satisfied by this automatic response, Anatov resumed his brisk pace. Without another word, the colonel fell in, like a good soldier should, to the left of his superior. As they continued down the corridor and Colonel Orlov listened to the Minister's special instructions, he began to formulate his own plan of action.
Chapter 5
Each of the plans-and-operations officers assigned to the 22nd Special Forces Group had a unique specialty. Major Kevin Spatlett. for example, was the master when it came to dealing with antiterrorism issues. Captain Jon Fllison, a quiet and studious type, had proven himself unparalleled in the fine art of setting up training programs for the military of third world nations. Armed with a fertile imagination and a flair for hatching flawless raids. Captain Tony (ones had earned the nickname of "Indiana Jones."
To most, however. Andrew Fretello reigned supreme within the realm of Special Forces plans and operations. A graduate of Leavenworth's School for Advanced Military Studies, he was known throughout the group as "The Wizard of Weird." This title derived as much from Fretello's ability to deal with the unusual as from his habits while doing so. When handed an off-the-wall task in hand. Fretello would slip away to a dark corner of the group's oversized walk-in vault. Sequestered from the hustle and bustle that characterized the Group's operations section, he would conjure up a concept of dealing with whatever contingency or mission he had been assigned. Though his solutions were often unconventional and his plans frequently controversial, few could match his ability to pull together all the diverse elements that went into a Special Forces mission as quickly as he could and weave them into a clear, coherent operations order.