Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📗

left a few degrees. Straining, he reversed the process to level off again on the correct heading.

Carefully, the Su-34 pilots and weapons officers coaxed the stricken PAK-DA prototype back toward the test center’s Akhtubinskfield. Their constant commentary on altitude, attitude, airspeed, and the observed positions of the bomber’s wing ruddersand elevons blurred through Petrov’s mind as he fought to keep the inherently unstable aircraft in control. Without the fly-by-wiresystem, even small adjustments required enormous effort.

Under the strain, time seemed to stretch out almost unbearably for most of the return flight. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutesdragged like hours. But then, as they came in on final approach, with the airfield’s bright lights blazing ahead of them throughthe cockpit canopy, everything sped up. And Petrov’s whole world narrowed down to a tight cone directly ahead of the aircraft.

“I confirm that your landing gear is down, Shadow One,” one of the Su-34 pilots radioed.

“Copy that,” Petrov replied tightly.

“Two hundred meters, descending at ten meters per second. You’re coming in a little hot. Airspeed is three hundred ten kph.” The Su-34s were sticking to the bomber’s flanks as if they were glued there, gliding down out of the sky beside it as thoughthey planned to land, too.

Petrov blinked away a droplet of sweat. The double strand of runway lights seemed to be rushing at him like a runaway freighttrain. Reacting instantly, he reduced his throttles and heaved back on the stick to raise the bomber’s nose a degree or two.His rigid neck and shoulder muscles felt as though they were on fire.

“One hundred meters, down at eight meters per second. Angle of attack looks good, Shadow One. Split drag rudders full open. Airspeed two-ninety kph,” he heard a chase plane report through his headset.

And then they were over the runway itself. Parallel white bars painted along the concrete strip loomed up and then vanished beneath the cockpit, growing ever bigger as the PAK-DA lost altitude. Abruptly, the heavy bomber dropped the last couple of meters and touched down with a sharp jolt. Instantly, the Su-34 chase planes on either side hit their afterburners and climbed away at high speed.

Petrov chopped back on his throttles to reverse thrust and then braked hard to shed their remaining speed. With its turbofanengines howling, the big aircraft rolled down the runway. Slowing fast, the PAK-DA prototype came to a complete stop aboutfifteen hundred meters from its touchdown point. Through the cockpit canopy, he could see flashing red and white lights asseveral emergency vehicles converged on their stationary bomber.

With a sigh, he shut down their engines and sat back.

Beside him, Bunin stripped off his flight helmet. The younger man’s thick mop of hair was soaked with sweat. His teeth gleamedbriefly in the darkness. “That was some seriously shit-hot flying, Colonel,” he said in unfeigned admiration. “I think youjust saved the whole stealth bomber program—not to mention a twenty-billion-ruble experimental aircraft. Oh, and our lives,too, for whatever they’re worth. I suspect our masters in Moscow are going to be very, very happy with you.”

Wordlessly, Petrov nodded. Inside, he smiled. Without realizing it, his copilot had just managed to put his finger on thewhole point of tonight’s little exercise.

Seven

Mercury City Tower, Moscow, Russia

The Next Day

Mercury City Tower’s glowing, bronze-tinted reflective glass made it stand out among the five other ultramodern skyscrapersthat formed Moscow’s International Business Center. Slanting, steplike recesses along one side of the building gave the nearly340-meter-high tower a unique, tapered look that only added to its apparent height. And inside its reinforced concrete-and-steelexterior, high-end restaurants, stores selling luxury goods, business offices, and opulent apartments filled the seventy-fivefloors soaring above the ground.

Two hundred meters and forty-four stories above street level, the corporate headquarters for one of Russia’s largest and mostsuccessful industrial and financial conglomerates, Severnaya Zvezda Stolitsa, or North Star Capital, occupied three full floors. In theory, North Star was a shareholder-owned corporation. In practice,it was completely controlled by its chairman and CEO, Dmitri Grishin.

Grishin maintained a palatial private office on the topmost of those three floors. Floor-to-ceiling, east-facing windows offeredhim an unobstructed view of a loop of the Moskva River, the centuries-old Arbat District, the Kremlin’s redbrick walls, andmuch of the sprawling metropolis beyond. On good days, he savored the view.

Today was not such a day.

Grishin glowered down at the report he’d just finished reading. Irritably, he scrawled his signature across the last page,closed the folder, and tossed it onto a growing stack of similar documents. Early on in his quest to amass wealth and power,he’d learned the importance of closely monitoring the decisions made by his subordinates. Staying near the top of the heapin Russia’s chaotic, ever-churning business and political climate required an almost infinite capacity for hard work and carefulattention to even the smallest details. As a result, senior managers across his far-flung corporate empire were expected toprovide weekly summaries of their operations—production costs and profit figures, personnel moves, interactions with federal,local, and foreign officials, consumer feedback, and a host of other useful data.

Unfortunately, none of the reports he was studying now made pleasant reading. For months now, persistently low world oil andnatural gas prices had been wreaking havoc with Russia’s economy, which depended heavily on the energy sector. More than asixth of the nation’s GDP came from oil and gas, along with half its government revenues, and more than two-thirds of itsexport income. Because of depressed prices affecting those industries, incomes were down, unemployment was sharply up, andthe broader economy was sliding fast toward a severe recession. And aware of the growing strains on government finances, foreigncreditors were increasingly reluctant to lend money to Moscow except at exorbitant interest rates.

Grishin’s frown deepened. The worsening slump threatened both his own personal wealth and Russia’s political stability. In the past, his fellow countrymen had proved willing to surrender their freedoms in return for a measure of prosperity and security. The current government’s increasingly obvious failure to live up to its end of that bargain was dangerous. Already, there were protests