"They are in the back of just another truck crossing just another bridge," said Ekdol. "I just phoned the driver not to deliver them. Now, as I promised, you can come and get me. I'll say nothing of our agreement. But go back on your word, Mr. President, and you will be unable to stop my people in other cities and towns. Do you understand?"
"I understand," said the President.
And then the line went dead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Orlov touched the button on the speaker outside Rossky's door.
"Yes?" said the Colonel in a strident voice.
"Colonel, it's General Orlov."
The door buzzed and Orlov entered. Rossky sat behind a small desk to the left. There were a computer, telephone, coffee mug, fax machine, and flag on its gunmetal surface. To the right was the cluttered desk of his assistant and secretary, Corporal Valentina Belyev. Both of them stood and saluted when the General entered, Belyev smartly, Rossky more slowly.
Orlov returned the salute and asked Valentina to excuse them. When the door clicked shut Orlov regarded the Colonel.
"Has anything happened in the last day that I should know about?" Orlov asked.
Rossky sat slowly. "A great deal has happened. As to whether you should know— General, our nation's satellites, field agents, cryptography, and radio surveillance all become our responsibility later today. You have a lot to attend to."
"I'm a general," Orlov said. "My subordinates do all the work. What I'm asking, Colonel, is whether you've been doing more work than you should."
"Specifically what, sir?"
"What business had you with the coroner?" Orlov asked.
"We had a body to dispose of," Rossky said. "A British agent. Brave fellow— we'd been watching him for days. He took his life when our operative closed in."
"When was this?" Orlov asked.
"Yesterday."
"Why didn't you log it?"
"I did," Rossky said. "With Minister Dogin."
Orlov's features darkened. "All reports are supposed to go to the computer file with a copy to my office—"
"That's true, sir," Rossky said, "in an operational facility. But we are not that yet. We won't be securing the link from your office to the Minister's desk for another four hours. Mine has been checked and secured, and I used it."
"And the link from your office to mine?" Orlov demanded. "Is that secure?"
"You did not receive a report?"
"You know I didn't—"
"An oversight," Rossky smiled. "I'll discipline Corporal Belyev. You'll have a full report— if I may call Belyev back— in just a few minutes."
Orlov regarded the Colonel for a long moment. "You joined the Society for Cooperation with Army, Air Force, and Fleet when you were just fourteen, didn't you?" Orlov asked.
"That's right," Rossky said.
"You were an expert sniper at sixteen, and while other young men chose to leap Devil's Ditch from a running jump with a track suit and running shoes, you elected to leap the spikes at the widest point with heavy boots and a rucksack on your back. Colonel General Odinstev personally trained you and a select group in the art of terrorism and assassination, As I recall, you once executed a spy in Afghanistan with a spade thrown from fifty meters away."
"It was fifty-two." Rossky's eyes shifted toward his superior. "A record for a kill in the spetsnaz."
Orlov came around the desk and sat on the edge. "You spent three years in Afghanistan, until a member of your group was wounded on a mission to capture an Afghan leader. Your platoon commander decided to take the wounded man with you rather than administer the Blessed Death. As assistant commander, you reminded your superior that it was his duty to order the lethal injection, and when he refused you killed the commander— a hand over his mouth, a knife thrust to the throat. Then you took the wounded man's life."
"Had I done otherwise," Rossky said, "high command would have ordered the entire group executed as traitors."
"Of course," Orlov said. "But there was an inquiry afterward, a question as to whether the soldier's wound was sufficient to require death."
"It was a leg wound," Rossky said, "and he was slowing us down. The regulations are quite specific on that count. The inquiry was merely a formality."
"Nonetheless," Orlov continued, "some of your men were not happy with what you'd done. Ambition, a desire for promotion— those were some of the charges they made, I believe. There was concern for your safety, so you were recalled and became part of the special faculty at the Military-Diplomatic Academy. You taught my son and got to know Minister Dogin when he was still the Mayor of Moscow. Is that all correct?"
"Yes, sir."
Orlov moved even closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've served your country and the military vigorously for just over twenty years, risked your life and reputation. With all of this experience, Colonel, tell me: didn't you learn not to sit down in the presence of a superior officer unless given leave to do so?"
Rossky's face flushed. He rose at once, slowly, his posture rigid. "Yes, sir."
Orlov remained seated on the desk. "My career has been different than yours, Colonel. My father saw firsthand what the Luftwaffe did to the Red Army during the War. He passed his respect for airpower to me. I spent eight years in the Air Defense Forces, flying reconnaissance for four years, then helping to train other pilots in ambushes— drawing enemy aircraft into killing grounds of antiaircraft fire." Orlov stood and looked into Rossky's angry eyes. "Did you know all of this, Colonel? Did you study my dossier?"
"I did, sir."
"Then you know I've never had to formally discipline any of my subordinates. Most men are decent, even the conscripts. They only want to do their jobs and he rewarded for the work they do. Some make honest mistakes, and there's no reason to spoil their records because of that. I will always give a soldier, a patriot, the benefit of the doubt. Including you, Colonel." Orlov came closer until their faces were inches apart. "But if you try and go around me again," he said, "I'll catch you and have you returned to the academy— with a notation of insubordination on your record. Are we clear on that, Colonel?"
"We are— sir," Rossky said, nearly spitting out the word.
"Good."
The men exchanged salutes as the General turned and headed toward the door.
"Sir?" Rossky said.
Orlov looked back. The Colonel was still standing at attention. "Yes?" Orlov asked.
"What your son did in Moscow— was that an honest mistake?"
"It was stupid and irresponsible," Orlov said. "You and the Minister were more than fair with him."
"It was out of respect for your accomplishments that we were, sir," Rossky said. "And he has a great career ahead of him. Did you ever read the file on the incident?"
Orlov's eyes narrowed. "I've never had any interest in it, no. "
"I have a copy," Rossky said. "It was removed from the records in general staff headquarters. There was a recommendation attached to it. Did you know that?"
Orlov said nothing.
"Nikita's company Senior Sergeant recommended expulsion for guliganstvo. Not for defacing the Greek Orthodox church on Ulitsa Arkhipova or beating up the priest, but for breaking into the academy supply depot to get the paint, and for striking the guard when he tried to stop him." Rossky smiled. "I think your boy was frustrated after my lecture about how the Greek armed forces sold weapons to Afghanistan."
"What's your point?" Orlov asked. "That you were able to teach Nikita to attack helpless citizens?"
"Civilians are the soft underbelly of the same machine that runs the military, sir," Rossky said, "a perfectly valid target in the eyes of the spetsnaz. But you don't want to debate established military policy with me."