Blood Covenent, page 45
The Russians agreed to quit their hazardous disposal practices. It was easy for Russian leaders to sign agreements and natural for them to blithely disregard the treaty’s provisions. Inspection teams knew from their satellites and site visits the dangers incumbent to the area. The rare US inspection team tended to avoid the hot zones and concentrate on areas already known to be a mess. Andropov chose his sites well. Perhaps he even mapped out a complicated patchwork of hot zones to discourage the curious. Nothing would surprise Feognost when it came to the former KGB Chairman.
The workmen made quick work of the locked hatches. A pair of ten-pound sledges and some axle grease loosened the locks. Feognost pushed past the two men and into the moderately large underground vault. The air was stale. He flashed the torch around the room and saw the black cases with their hydraulic pumps and stainless steel hinges. Hanging on either side of the door were kerosene lamps and safety matches. Andropov counted on nothing.
Feognost lit the lamps and flipped off the torch. Ten minutes later, he had four border guards inside the vault. It was a moment of supreme triumph. Feognost had acquired Andropov’s missing weapons. Unfortunately, it was also his last moment as well. This timeSAMSON struck back at his jailers.
The star-hot flame shot up the entrance hole, vaporizing everything in its path. The frozen ground softened, then melted as the tundra erupted, sending molten chunks skyward. The secret knowledge Feognost so jealously guarded killed him and the men standing guard in the sub-zero environment. The flame flashed like a giant flare heavenwards, piercing the clouds and garnering the attention of crews manning the remaining nuclear reactor at Krasnoyarsk-26. In the instant between heaven and hell, Feognost realized Kolokol spoke the truth, but it was far too late to acknowledge the fact.
The ground trembled and cracked. Shockwaves rippled through the less-than-certain rock strata jostling other casks buried in the area. It would be weeks before anyone understood the true extent of the explosion. Immediately, phones began ringing in Moscow, Washington, and deep inside Cheyenne Mountain. Satellites soon focused on the ugly gash in Central Siberia.
EPILOGUE
January 2000
One hundred ten kilometers south of the Caspian Sea, in the foothills of the Alborz Mountains with snow capped Mount Damavand in splendid glory, the finalSAMSON weapon struck. It ripped through one of the older residential areas killing without regard to whether its victims were children, women, or old men. It shook the city with a terrible blister rising upwards on a pillar of fire. It knocked down apartment dwellings, burned gardens, and shattered windows for miles around. It melted cars and turned people into little more than shadows on the sidewalks. It rumbled and roared, and for a brief moment the sun lived in their midst.
The roar subsided and the white-yellow fire rising from a small storage shed retreated back to its scabbard. The dead were faceless and nameless. Whole families instantly wiped out, and a terrible three-hundred-meter crater stomped into the ground by the angry atom. David Kudrik struck at the enemies of his beloved Israel from the grave. Of course, the Israel he knew came from the descriptions of his father who could only imagine what the land of milk and honey was.
Tehran, a city of twelve million, shuddered under the abomination that erupted in her streets. Sirens sounded and fire engines raced towards the scene of the crime. The subway system ceased running and ambulances prepared to move those still living to hospitals. Not since the days when Iraqi SCUD missiles slammed into apartment blocks had Tehran witnessed the indiscriminate murder brought about by a bomb.
SAMSONcould not kill the city. It could only bloody her regal nose. The Mullahs rose from their government offices and crept from their Mosques to stare in wonder and horror at the black shrike.
It is difficult to assess who should take responsibility for this crime. Was it the fault of mad David Kudrik whose hate for his jailers drove him to create a weapon within a weapon? Should General Secretary Andropov come under history’s scrutiny for ordering the weapon’s creation and deployment? Were Reagan and Thatcher responsible because they chose to meet the growing threat of Soviet mobile missiles with similar weapons and force the Soviets into such desperate measures? Was Yevgeny, a soldier pleading he was only following the orders of a superior, to hang by the neck until he died for the guilt of placing the weapon? What of Louis Edwards’ culpability for quietly removing the location of the Tehran weapon from the list he used to hunt down the other weapons? Did the bloodshed in Connecticut warrant the bloodshed in Tehran? Finally, did the Mullahs themselves bear responsibility for prosecuting a terror campaign against civilian populations in Boston, New York, Washington, Chicago, and St. Louis?
* * * *
White House, Washington, D.C.
Louis Edwards found himself in the National Security Advisor’s office. The NSA was angrily displaying video, satellite, and news footage. He tossed the reports on the desk between them. “How’d this happen, Louis?” he snarled.
Louis pulled the reports towards him and replied quietly, “Apparently, we missed some?” He remembered Kolokol explaining the secret protocol between the Russian Federation and the NSA regarding theSAMSON weapons. Both governments knew about the weapons before any of this began and chose to ignore the threat. Was it criminal or incompetent?
“Apparently,” the NSA sneered as he rubbed his hands together.
Louis checked the casualty figures: over seven thousand dead, another fifteen thousand missing, and the wounded numbered above thirty thousand. Blindness, heavy burns, and radiation sickness overwhelmed the medical infrastructure. A modern city had never had to handle the emergency of a nuclear detonation within its own boundaries before. Louis reminded himself that this is what the Iranian leadership intended for American cities.
“The spectral analysis says this is one of yourSAMSON weapons,” explained the NSA as he stopped next to a Frederick Remington sculpture.
Louis rubbed his eyes. He was on dangerous ground. The administration did not know the origin ofHarlequin. Louis and George buried the knowledge deep. “Then isn’t this a Russian problem?”
The NSA scowled. He spun and stuck a pudgy finger towards Louis. “Yes, a Russian problem. You know they say they told you about the Tehran weapon. They say they told you!”
Louis flipped the report back to the desk. “I see. Did they explain to you why they did not pass this on to the Iranians?”
The NSA opened his mouth, and shut it again. “No.”
“So we have a situation here, don’t we, sir?” he suggested quietly.
The NSA stopped pacing and spun his chair around so he could settle his bulk. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“I think this is a piece of knowledge that should simply disappear, sir,” he continued. “The Russians planted the bomb, now the Russians want to sign a huge pipeline deal for access to the Caspian oil fields. Wouldn’t it be better to get something for Connecticut?”
“Blackmail.”
Louis nodded. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”
The NSA stared into space. “Louis, was there a Tehran location?”
Louis snorted. “Sir, who do you think sentHarlequin? ”
Their eyes met and understanding blossomed on the NSA’s features—a rare event.
“Like I said, this is something that should quietly disappear. The Russians have an interest and we have an interest in letting this quietly die.”
“There are thousands dead,” he protested.
Louis gathered his belongings and stood up. “When didthis administration start worrying about killing people?”
The NSA spluttered.
“Why should you start now?” concluded Louis and he walked out the office.
* * * *
New York City
Larry Wheeler found a package the size of a thick postcard waiting for him. The item was insured and plastered with Jamaican stamps. There was no return address on the package. He shook it and heard nothing. He took his penknife and slit the strapping tape. The cardboard carrier unfolded revealing a postcard showing a beautiful white sand beach and startling blue waters.
Larry settled back in his desk chair and turned the card over. It read:
Larry,
The keys are for a safety deposit box in your name. There’s enough inside to handle the kid’s college and a comfortable retirement. So, if you decided to stay on with the wizards, it’s your choice. Give my love to Cindy.
Harvey
Larry flipped the card over and shook the package. Two keys tagged with a bank name and address dropped into his palm. He started to laugh.
* * * *
Tehran, Iran
Ayatollah Kambiz Abbasi flew across the blackened crater. His jaw was set and his visage grim. Instead of being clad in his normal robes, he was in a protective radioactive suit and the idle time over target was limited to a few minutes. He understood this final message written in blood on the walls of his city. He comprehended the death count and the suffering overflowing from his hospitals. The eventual starving and disease would kill more than the bomb accomplished.
Only the wind could walk across the blackened tomb. He chose to jerk the Yankee beard, and today the Yankee demon struck back. He contented himself with the knowledge there would be other opportunities. His government had refused all help offered by the American and Russian Governments. Some believed the Russians were responsible for the atrocity. It was an open secret that a Russian weapon had caused the damage. Abbasi believed differently. He thought about the man on the windswept hill in Cyprus. The messenger’s last words came to him again: “Remember my words, Mullah. Iamdeath and I will find you.”
The whirlwinds spun in the unnatural heat over the death spot. Abassi replied softly, “And I will findyou .”
AFTERWORD
I want to thank Sharon and Randy Mueller, Beth Peterson, Brian St. George, Andy and Mark Koschmann, my son Ben, my mom Lu De Bono, and my lovely wife Cathy, all of who gave me comments and encouragement onBlood Covenant. Any inaccuracies with regard to historical or technical data are mine alone.
The existence of suitcase weapons remains an open question. The best number I came up with is 132, although some sources place the number as high as 300. If they do exist, then they were built for the KGB in the late seventies and early eighties. The most likely location for their creation would be Arzamas-16. For story purposes, I set the weapon’s yield in the 2 to 5 kiloton range. Actually, a suitcase bomb is probably a sub-kiloton weapon.
The blast effects of theSAMSON weapon are based on descriptions culled from translated Russian and United States Army field manuals. I extrapolated distance and blast effect for the purposes of the novel.
The various Russian facilities, like Arzamas-16 and Krasnoyarsk-26 referenced inBlood Covenant, exist. These closed cities are only recently coming to light as the Soviet Empire fades into history.
The historical framework surrounding the Babi Yar Massacre, the shoot-down of Korean Airline’s flight 007, and the succession of Soviet leaders are, to the best of my knowledge, accurate depictions.
I especially want to thank Brian for helping me work through the fight sequences, although I did not always tell him we were working on something for a book. It was a discussion with Brian that caused me to realize I needed to include the military response to a nuclear event by both sides in the manuscript. The Russian and American military responses are my speculation, and based on public sources.
The deployment of theUSS Theodore Roosevelt and her sister ships is accurate for time and place.
The various surveillance technologies described are “best guess” extrapolations based on current capabilities. Do they exist? Probably. Are they used as depicted? You be the judge.
The complete and accurate story of Samson can be found in the Book of Judges, Chapters 13 to 16.
Finally, in Chapter 28, there is a reference to a biking group called Randy’s Rough Riders. It is an informal group that takes advantage of the beautiful biking trails in Minnesota and Wisconsin.
Minnetonka, Minnesota
August 1999
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