Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

strong suspicion is that level of determination is itself evidence that Moscow knows something we don’t about the area their Tu-142 was searching,” Reynolds continued. “The Russians must have solid intelligence indicating their missing stealth bomber is hidden somewhere in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.”

From her position at the far end of the table, the Pentagon’s operations staff chief, Rear Admiral Kristin Chao, nodded. “Isee your point. ANWR checks off all the boxes as a good place for this Colonel Petrov to conceal the PAK-DA prototype he stole.”

“Which is why I want our go team on the scene, ready to move in fast if it turns out I’m right,” Reynolds said firmly. “Asbad as it was to suddenly lose all those aircraft, it may just have given us the chance we needed to beat Moscow to the prize.”

Neary stared coldly at her. “Maybe so, Ms. Reynolds. Assuming, of course, that we don’t find ourselves in a shooting war withthe Russians over what just happened out there. In which case, there won’t be much of a prize left for your experts to pick over.”

Sharapovo Command Bunker, outside Moscow

Thirty Minutes Later

Piotr Zhdanov listened to Lieutenant General Rogozin’s grim report in stony silence. Although controllers at air bases alongthe Arctic coast and eastern Siberia were still trying to raise Colonel Zinchuk’s Tu-142 and its two Su-35 fighter escortsby radio, there seemed little doubt that all three aircraft had crashed—and within just a few minutes of the colonel transmittinga coded phrase suggesting his crew might have found the PAK-DA stealth bomber’s hiding place.

“This tells all we need to know,” the Russian president said when Rogozin finished. “That sighting report was genuine. Andnow the Americans have the same information.”

Rogozin looked puzzled. “Sir?”

Zhdanov stubbed his cigarette out in irritation. “Come now, Yvgeny. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Why else would the Americans ordertheir fighters to shoot down our planes?”

“Except that we are not yet certain of exactly what happened to our aircraft,” the general reminded him carefully.

Zhdanov raised an eyebrow. “The pilots you assigned to this mission had strict orders not to fire first, correct?”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Rogozin said.

“And were they reliable, disciplined officers?” the president asked pointedly.

Too late, Rogozin saw the trap into which he’d just walked. “Yes, sir,” he agreed reluctantly, obviously knowing there was only one acceptable answer. “Aggressive, of course, as the best fighter pilots must be. But Major Kuryokhin and Captain Troitsky were both loyal, trustworthy men.”

Zhdanov nodded in vindication. “There you are, then. The Americans had to have started this mess by firing on our planes.It’s the only logical conclusion. Washington wants to make sure it seizes Petrov and the PAK-DA bomber first.”

On his side of the conference table, Aleksandr Ivashin nodded vigorously. Ordinarily dour and undemonstrative, the head ofthe GRU suddenly appeared unusually animated. “I may be able to confirm your hypothesis, Mr. President.”

“How?”

“We’ve just received an emergency signal from one of our two-man, deep-cover Spetsnaz teams,” the spymaster said. Given enoughtime during any major crisis, it was Russian practice to deploy small covert commando units into rival nations—tiny groupsof highly trained operatives who were expected to provide intelligence in the runup to open hostilities, and to conduct sabotagemissions and targeted assassinations once war broke out. “These agents are stationed outside the large American military basenear Anchorage, the one they call Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson. They’ve reported signs that the Americans are readyinghelicopters for immediate deployment to northern Alaska. And they believe this force includes elements of the CIA black opsteam recently flown to the base.”

Zhdanov stared at him. “They’re sure of this?”

Ivashin nodded. “Their report indicates a high level of confidence in this assessment.”

“Can you contact this Spetsnaz team directly?” the president demanded. “Without wasting time going through cutouts or yourother usual security procedures?”

A trace of worry appeared on the GRU director’s face. “Yes, but doing so would significantly increase the risk of American intelligence detecting their presence.”

“I don’t give a shit about the risks,” Zhdanov said coldly. “We’ve gone far beyond the point where individual lives matter.”He lit another cigarette and then stabbed it at Ivashin. “Your team is to take immediate, preemptive action against thoseAmerican helicopters. I don’t care how they do it, but they are to stop this CIA operation before it gets off the ground.Is that clear?”

Ivashin’s mouth opened in surprise.

“I will not listen to any objections,” Zhdanov warned him. He glared around the table at his senior advisers and militarycommanders. “We have one overriding objective right now: the Americans must not be allowed to get their hands on our stealth bomber and its weapons payload. While I still want to avoid open war if at allpossible, no one here can deny that this situation has already escalated dangerously, thanks to the Americans’ own warlikeactions against our reconnaissance aircraft!”

Slowly, they nodded.

Now Zhdanov’s mouth compressed into a tight, thin line—as though he were being forced to swallow something extraordinarilyunpleasant. “One thing more. We’re going to have to agree to meet the traitor Petrov’s demands, while still assembling airunits and commando forces to retake or destroy the stolen bomber if the opportunity arises.” He saw their astonishment andscowled. “Don’t act so surprised! What other choice do we have? Now that we know the aircraft is already on American soil,it’s essential that we get it safely back to Russia . . . even if it means temporarily yielding to blackmail.”

The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

That Same Time

In a deserted subterranean corridor outside the ECR, Jonas Murphy signaled Miranda Reynolds over. “I just heard from the presidentdirectly,” he said quietly, without any preamble.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“The aggressive actions of those Russian aircraft searching for their stealth bomber have convinced him, and his whole WhiteHouse team, that this Colonel Petrov’s offer is not a scam or one of Moscow’s disinformation operations,” Murphy told her.

Reynolds nodded. It seemed a little late to draw that fairly obvious conclusion, she thought wryly, though she supposed almostevery politician had an ingrained instinct to play it safe—especially with so many influential voices in the Pentagon