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  Borodin thought about that one. He concerned himself with ground wars and not as much as what may happen at sea. But he too had heard about the use of the American battleships. After a moment of thought he nodded at Sovolov. “Admiral, you and your staff are correct in being cautious. Will this hamper our other attacks?”

  Sovolov smiled. “Not at all. We had built in a contingency of more weapons just for this purpose. Everything else will go as planned.”

  “Then it is approved. We must do whatever we can to make sure the Americans cannot respond. That will leave our troops free to complete the task rapidly. That is the key. The quicker we can take Europe, the better off the Russian people shall be,” he pontificated. “Now what other items must we discuss?”

  The meeting lasted just ten more minutes. When the men left, all were glad to get things underway.

  Chapter 7

  Opening Stages

  The crowd was growing rapidly into a mob. On the platform in a small center city park was Ileana Gorski, a mother of four who had lost her husband in what the company had called an unavoidable accident when his rail car was struck by a motorist. It had forced the tram off its rails and over an embankment. Unfortunately, the car had been driven by a Polish nationalist who had been very outspoken against the old Soviet regime. The organizers were using this as meaning ‘anti-Russian.’ The worst part had been that because of a paperwork glitch, it had taken almost a year for her husband’s benefits to kick in and a pension check issued. The family had been forced to move to a shack outside of town for a period of time.

  Now she stood angrily denouncing the government for allowing people to discriminate against ethnic Russians. With each sentence, the crowd cheered and screamed for change. Gorski held up her two year old daughter pleading that such things never happen to her children. This built up the crowd to a fever pitch.

  Bugayev sat behind a black screen at a partially opened window. He took careful aim with the western made rifle used by the government’s elite state police. Just as Gorski raised her fist in the air to close her remarks, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle was silenced. Barely giving a report, he watched as the bullet tore through Gorski’s chest, splattering blood over her children and the people behind her. One of those behind her slumped over as well and the misshapen round tore into his leg.

  Someone screamed, then the whole crowd panicked. In a wild melee everyone tried to escape the confines of the park, pushing people out of the way or down to the ground to be trampled by those behind them. Bugayev squeezed off four more rounds before he quickly tossed the rifle into a state police carrying case and rushed to the stairwell. He didn’t look back to see what his actions had done. Instead, he went down four flights of stairs and entered another floor where he had rented a small room on the opposite side of the building.

  It was a close call. The sounds of heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the stairwell and going through the halls. Bugayev removed his shirt and the long plastic gloves he had worn. Placing them both in a sink, he scrubbed them thoroughly, then after wringing the water out of the shirt, hung it up to dry. The gloves he took to the toilet. After shredding them with a knife, he flushed them down the drain. Outside, the screams were still in the air and the sounds of police and ambulance vehicles pierced the late afternoon air.

  Bugayev, took his shoes off and lay on his bed. When anyone came, he wanted to be asleep, or at least appear to be so. He lay back and thought about how his job was now essentially complete. The rest would be easy compared to what he had been doing. In a few minutes, he dozed off.

  Erich Bolin had been the one to find the rifle. Upon arrival at the scene, and looking at where the victims had been standing, it hadn’t taken long to determine which building the shot had come from. After only ten minutes of looking he found the silenced rifle lying partially inside an open case. The fact it had been a state police case made him cringe. This wouldn’t be pretty. Although it had been a good thirty minutes since the shooting he ordered a search of the buildings. Squads of four officers began going from door to door to see who was there and if someone might have seen something. With the first three floors from the scene covered, Bolin and three officers went to the fourth floor down. A housekeeper was sent up to assist and open any doors that were locked. Most of the rooms were empty, however some had occupants. One room had an elderly couple who had the television turned up loudly so they could hear it. They had only seen what was on the news.

  Two more rooms had people in them with none having paid any attention until they heard the screaming. Bolin knocked on a door at the rear of the building. These people probably wouldn’t have heard anything anyway, but it had to be checked. No one answered the door. The housekeeper opened the door and Bolin and the officers stepped inside. At first the place looked empty, but a light snoring came from the bedroom. The officers began to grin. The smile stopped on Bolin’s face when he saw Anton Bugayev lying on the bed in front of him.

  Pouncing on the bed, Bolin quickly jerked Bugayev over and cuffed him, much to the surprise of the other officers. “Call the others! I want this man taken in immediately and placed in isolation!” he nearly screamed. Bolin also grabbed a leather strap and shoved it into Bugayev’s mouth. “This son of a bitch might have a capsule. Get a doctor or dentist to search his mouth. He isn’t going to kill himself on my watch”

  Bugayev struggled, but having been asleep, his reactions were not as fast as usual.

  He started to kick desperately to try and get away, but all that did was call for another officer to bind his legs with a belt. Within minutes, Bugayev had a cloth bag placed over his head and he was carried out the back entrance to an awaiting van.

  Bolin returned to the room. “Tear this place apart. There’s a wet shirt on the window. Get it. Remove the drains and all that. Also get someone to check the sewer line. I want to make sure he didn’t flush something down.”

  “But that would be long gone from here,” said one of the officers.

  “Not necessarily. This is the back of the building. It may still be somewhere near the basement. Have them tell everyone not to use the toilets for a while.” Bolin pointed to the shoes by the bed. “Take those and the sheets. I want everything tested in the lab for gunpowder residue. I also need someone to talk to the landlord. I want to know when he checked in and if they have noticed when he came and went. Check everything. This may be one of the most important cases we ever had,” he said to the people in the room.

  Everyone went to work. Within an hour, teams of people were going in and out, taking samples from the sink, carpets, walls and every other surface. The big break came when they found a piece of torn box in one of the drawers of a dresser. It matched perfectly with a box of ammunition found beside the rifle. The second break came when they found shards of plastic glove stuck inside one of the drain pipes. Embedded in it were tiny grains of burned gunpowder which hadn’t washed out. When they found the same residue on Bugayev’s pants and shoes and on the rifle, it was an open and shut case.

  Washington, DC

  Little Steve pulled away from his Mom and ran into his Daddy’s arms. Roger Hammond scooped his son up and then hugged his wife. Despite it being in a very crowded and busy Reagan National Airport, the moment seemed almost private as they met in the terminal baggage area. In a few minutes, the three of them had retrieved their luggage and had walked to Roger’s latest purchase, a 1965 Chevrolet Impala convertible. The car was red with a white top and interior. At first sight of it, Little Steve could only say, “Wow.”

  Pulling away from the parking deck, Hammond pointed the car toward downtown DC. Patricia was talking, letting him know all the things that had been going on while Steve sat in his child seat staring at all the lights. As they passed the Washington Monument, he began to ask questions about what it was and what some of the other buildings were. Patricia was happily answering everything until Hammond made a right turn onto the White House grounds. He stopped at the gate where his
friend, Jack, gave a wave. “This must be the Misses, he said with a grin.”

  “Yep, and the one in the back is Steven James Hammond. I believe you are expecting us,” Hammond said happily.

  “Yes sir, we’ve been looking for you. Glad to have you here for the holiday,” Jack said as he lowered the gate.

  Hammond began to enter the grounds. “You didn’t tell me we were staying here,” Patricia said cautiously.

  “Well, Steve insisted. Besides, I understand they have child proofed most of the house already. We couldn’t say no,” he said as they pulled up to the front of the house.

  Patricia turned to Steve. “Young man, we are going to be in a very nice place. You need to remember to keep your hands off of things and mind your manners,” she scolded him.

  Steve looked up at his mother. “Yes, Mommy. I promise,” he said. Both Patricia and Roger knew there would be no way for him to keep that promise.

  A member of the staff came down and opened the door while another walked round to the driver’s side to park the car. Another took the bags from the trunk and, after waiting for Roger to get Steve out of his car seat, followed the family up to the door.

  Janie O’Bannon welcomed the family at the door, giving both Roger and Patricia a big hug. She then turned to Steve. “Well! You are much bigger than I thought you would be. I have a special room set aside just for you,” she said while shaking his little hand.

  “Mom told me not to touch anything,” he said.

  Janie laughed. “You don’t need to worry too much. There have been boys like you in the White House before,” she said. “Now come on in to dinner. We held it until you got here,” she said.

  Everyone walked through the entrance hall off the north portico, then turned right. Steve’s eyes opened wide at how grand and spacious everything looked. He could see into the blue room and red room as they walked along. “Look at the colors!” he exclaimed as they walked by. He got even more excited to see the giant chandelier in the state dining room before they turned right again into the family dining room. The pale yellow walls and ornate woodwork was breathtaking. Right beneath the crystal chandelier was a smaller round table with just seven chairs. One of the chairs had a booster seat in it.

  They talked for a minute until Steve O’Bannon and their two children came into the room. He gave Patricia a big hug. “Patricia, I am so proud of you. I can’t believe all the good work you are doing back home,” he said.

  “You were the one who told me to always look out for your people. Besides, I kind of got upset for a while,” she said. “Your remarks at the funeral were very kind. I don’t think the man deserved it, but then again, he didn’t deserve to get shot either,” she said.

  “Yes, I agree. At least now things can get back to somewhat normal,” the President said. He turned to the young man standing beside his father. “Steven James Hammond. I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he said extending his hand.

  Little Steve shook the President’s hand. “Are you the one who gave me your name?” he asked.

  The President chuckled. “I am. I hope you like it,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, it’s mine now,” Little Steve said.

  The President and his wife laughed. “Well, tomorrow you may get to meet the guy who gave you the other name,” the President said.

  “I don’t like that name as much,” Steve said. They all laughed at that one.

  “Let’s eat,” said the President.

  Little Steve crawled into his booster seat and an usher slid him into the table. A fine napkin was placed in his lap. Watching the others, he decided that in a place like this, one didn’t use a bib. He took great care to use his fork like he had been taught. In the end, there was almost no mess at all.

  Later that evening, Little Steve went to bed in a big double bed with crisp sheets. It was directly across from his Mom and Dad. He lay and wondered at all the fine things in the house. He had never seen anything like it before, but he liked his trailer home better. It had bunk beds that were just his size. Tomorrow was a day they called Thanksgiving. He fell asleep wondering if he would like turkey.

  Warsaw, Poland

  The interrogation had already lasted over eight hours. Bugayev had been transported to the capital for interrogation just two hours before. Now, he was in an enclosed, stuffy, room with smoke from the detective’s cigarettes hanging in the air. Sitting at a small table, Bugayev seemed to sit calmly as five officers in the room grilled him. In the eight hours Bugayev had remained silent except to ask for water or to use the facilities. He had a smugness about him that had infuriated the officers.

  One of the officers looked at the man. “Obviously you fail to grasp what we are telling you. You have been caught in the act. We have the evidence to convict you and send you to a hangman. Does this not bother you?” he asked.

  Bugayev simply smiled at the man and said nothing. His training had prepared for this and he had steeled himself for the possibility of being captured. He kept telling himself that escape could come at any time and that his silence was his best option.

  The door opened and another man entered. He whispered something to two of the officers and then left the room.

  “You are one cool character,” said one of the other officers. “But now things shall change. I’m not sure what you know about Poland, but we have certain laws which, upon court approval, allow us to gather information deemed necessary for state security. I now have a court order allowing us to do just that. Before we are done with you, we will know everything you know, and we shall use that information against both you and your homeland,” he said with a sneer.

  Bugayev glanced up at the clock on the wall. Noting it was five a.m., he smiled at the men in the room and said, “I’m afraid you are too late.”

  Medyka, Poland

  Medyka was a small community near the Polish border with the Ukraine. It had grown from the border crossing for both a major highway and trains coming and going from the Ukraine. Over the past year, the army had deployed thousands of tank traps along the border with Ukraine and Russia and had begun stepped up patrols to make sure they were left undisturbed. The patrols had become routine, with a truck dropping off patrols every 200 yards to make sure there were no activities left undetected on the Russian side.

  The sky was becoming a little lighter as the morning crept in. Within an hour, most of the guards would be changed out and a fresh set of eyes and ears would come in. Everyone was looking forward to getting out of the cold of the evening and getting a hot shower and good meal. Each patrol of two men joked and talked as they patrolled their sector.

  The air was torn apart by the sounds of incoming artillery. The shells began plastering the high fences of the border and the tank traps just beyond. The patrols along a twenty mile front began calling frantically into their radios to let everyone know that the border was under attack.

  The radars at the Deblin and Minsk Mazowiecki air bases began showing large numbers of incoming aircraft approaching from the Ukraine. Controllers sounded the alert and within seconds, pilots throughout Poland raced for their planes to counter the assault. The first in the air were the American made F-16s and older Soviet Mig-29s. In all, over 80 Polish fighters scrambled to meet the invaders. Unfortunately, the controllers were counting over 300 aircraft rapidly approaching the Polish border.

  Almost immediately, all army units were alerted. General Pol, initiated the defense plan that the NATO leaders had agreed upon. Across Poland, men and women manned their tanks, guns, and missile batteries. Troops began taking up the defensive positions planned and waited for the troops to cross the border.

  The Russian SU-24s and SU-34s cleared the borders and began engaging their designated targets – mostly army tank and heavy equipment compounds. They raced in to drop their weapons almost unopposed since the Polish fighters had not had the time to get within range. That was when the first surprise came. Missiles streaked skyward from the mobile anti-aircraft missile l
aunchers that were tracking using infra-red sensors. The Russian pilots suddenly saw several of their comrades fall from the sky in flames. Several in the squadron wheeled back to engage the batteries only to find that the ground was dark and there were no radars to lock onto. Switching to their own thermal sensors, they scanned the ground in the area but found nothing. Frustrated, the attack aircraft turned back to join the others, only to find that, once turned, they came under attack again. Four more aircraft fell.

  The remaining attack force dropped their weapons on several tank farms identified by intelligence from just a few days before. The pilots were elated when several sets of flames sprung skyward after their bomb release. By the time they left, the fires were seen all round the target area. They had no time to give their targets a hard look. The Polish air force was almost there and the attack aircraft scurried back across the border to safety.

  At the border, the artillery continued to pound the tank traps, often flinging the steel structure off the ground, only to come back down almost intact in another position. Just beyond the traps, the mines in a mine field were occasionally detonated during the bombardment. The patrols were now firmly huddled into slit trenches previously set along the borderline beyond the mine field.