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President Yuri Novichkov set the black handset back down onto its base. He stared at it as the smoke from his cigarette swirled away from his desk. He felt the chill of the office surround him. No matter what, it was still an old building, and it was winter in Moscow. He sat silent as his cup of tea grew cold.

This was not the same as in the times of the Soviet Union. In those days, he could have covered nearly anything up. Those who made mistakes were simply never heard from again. Some were sent to the gulags, while others just disappeared. Siberia was always a good hiding ground. He wished he had that option now. The knock at his door brought him out of his trance.

“You have heard.” The look on the president’s face was obvious.

“Da.” He looked up as his aide walked into the room. “Any deaths?”

“We don’t know yet. All we know is a plane went down off the American coast.”

“What were they doing there? Alaska?”

“It is part of our renewed reach to show the West we are not so impotent as they might believe, that we still have the backbone to be a world, military power.”

“But to be so close. It is a provocative move, Andrey. We need to tread carefully here.” The president leaned back, feeling the plushness of his oxen-leather chair. “Is that all you came to tell me?”

“Unfortunately no.” Andrey Volkov straightened as he delivered the news. “The American ambassador made a call within the past few minutes. I put him off. He was not happy.”

“I would think not,” he smiled back. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were in a meeting with the Minister of Agriculture.”

“But you always tell him that,” Yuri laughed. “He must think that’s the only thing I ever think about.”

“Well, they are always trying to make a deal on wheat. He must think we’re starving over here. He wanted a meeting within the hour. I told him that wasn’t possible.”

“Let me know what you find out as soon as you find it.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Andrey, I need to know who ordered this foolishness.”

Andrey nodded as he turned and left the room. The Russian president leaned back into his heavy, leather chair. He knew it would be more difficult to find who ordered such a mission. In the Soviet times, his aide would have been an active general, not a retired one, and finding that information would have been so much easier. But he knew he lived in a different era, a different time. It was obviously better in many ways, not only for his people, but his country as well. The hammer that was the Soviet regime was effective at keeping the populace under control, but it did little to advance Mother Russia. He lifted the black phone again.”

“Call the American ambassador for a meeting.”

Andrey turned down the hall and then around a corner, his office not far from the president’s. He picked up the phone on his own desk, but quickly laid it back down. He looked around his office, rather spartan compared to most of the others in the building. But it was his. How could something like this happen to him? He knew why. It was his own fault. He pulled a single key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock on his drawer. Some things never change, even here. The drawer contained only a single notebook that was filled with a list of names, key people who knew how to get things done. And a pistol, in case anything went horribly wrong.

“Operator. Yes Mr. Volkov.”

“Get me General Goraya in Petropavlovsk. Call me when the connection is complete.”

Alaska 17:15 h

“How’s our friend, doc?”

“Not good right now, General, but he’ll make it. His injuries aren’t all the bad considering what he’s been through, but he’s got a bad case of hypothermia.”

“Let me know when he can talk to someone.”

“I will, General.” The doctor turned to reenter the room before stopping. “Sir? Do we really need a guard at the door?”

“Protocol Doctor Finch. Protocol.”

The doctor nodded as General Allan Foxx turned and made his way down the all-white corridor and around the nurse’s station. He was out of sight within seconds. Though he had been in the military most of his adult life, Steven Finch never quite understood the military mind. He believed most of them were stringent, limited in their thinking by the rules that they clung too. His was a different world. His was a world of ‘on the fly’ decisions that didn’t always conform to tight rules. Those decisions saved lives. He was always amused that the medical field was considered an ‘art’ field by the educational world instead of a science. But compared to the military, he understood. He looked up at the MP standing at the door and shook his head. ‘Crazy’, he thought, ‘just crazy’.

Alaska Command

General Allan Foxx, Alaskan Theater commander was back at his office trying to make sure everything had settled down. Nothing else had shown up across the Bering Sea, nor had any traces come over the poles. He had two E-3 Sentry aircraft, each with a pair of F-16C Falcons patrolling north of Barrow and Point Hope, watching the Santa routes. What else, he thought? What else? He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest as he looked at the giant map of the northern hemisphere that covered the wall opposite his desk. He followed the coast, tracing along the nautical boundary claimed by the United States. Some aspects were in dispute, as were many boundaries around the world, but most were generally respected. Maybe this was just one of those tests.

But it didn’t feel that way. What was he missing? A deep exhale allowed his eye to fall to the bottom of the map. That was it! He was only seeing part of the picture; his part. There was an entire world he was missing and his vision stopped at the State of Washington. This could only be the tip of the iceberg, as it were. His hand immediately went to his phone as he punched up a number directly to the DOD, Air Force Chief of Staff.

“General Richter’s office.”

“This is General Foxx, Alaska command. I need to speak to General Richter.”

“Yes sir. It’s kind of hectic around here, General.”

“I could have guessed that. That’s why I’m calling.”

“I’ll put you right through, General. He’s in the command room.”

“General Richter? You have a call.”

“Richter.” The command center was a beehive of activity. The Air Force Chief of Staff stuck a finger in his ear to help block out the noise.

“General Richter? Alan Foxx.”

“So this is all your fault, Foxx.”

“Afraid so, sir.” Foxx swallowed hard. He wasn’t high on the list of Richter’s favorite people, having clashed early in their careers. “I can barely hear you sir.”

“Not surprised. This place is a beehive. There’s more brass here than at an antique dealer.”

“Sir, I know the trouble started up here with the Russian incursion, but is anything happening anywhere else?”

“What’s on your mind, Foxx?”

“Sir, I was wondering if this is just a diversion; if something else was going on that I can’t see.”

“That’s what we’re looking into, Foxx. Just keep your end covered up there.”

The line went dead, and the theater commander just looked at the receiver. He should have known better. DOD. was probably looking at the same questions he had. But he needed his own answers, and he needed them quick. What did he have at his disposal to find them? There’s a broader picture here somewhere. But where?

“Yes General?” The aide turned in his chair as Foxx came out of his office.

The General looked out over the room like he was searching for something. He stepped to the large table pushed up against the far wall and summarily shoved everything on it to the floor. The sounds of lamps, plants and bric-a-brac hitting the tile stopped everyone in their place.