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

as he quoted from memory, “‘Train hard. Plan thoroughly. Act fast. Those are the keys to victory.’”

Petrov hid a grimace. Would he never escape his father’s shadow? Even now, years after the old man’s final heart attack finishedhim, devoted acolytes of Hero of the Soviet Union, Major General Vladimir Petrov, seemed to turn up wherever he went. It wasmaddening, even if understandable. As a young lieutenant, the older Petrov had won his spurs and his medals as a “volunteer”flying secret combat missions against the Americans over North Vietnam and then again against the Israelis during the OctoberWar in 1973. Credited with several kills, he was renowned as the top-scoring Russian fighter pilot since the Korean War. Inlater years, he’d risen rapidly in rank, leading ever-larger frontline Air Force units equipped with the best aircraft. Ifhis heart hadn’t given out, the famous Major General Petrov could easily have someday commanded all of Russia’s aerospaceforces.

In sharp contrast, Alexei Petrov knew with some bitterness that his own career, though marked by praise, promotion, and medals for peacetime flying exploits, would never match that of his father. At his age, this assignment to lead the PAK-DA stealth bomber flight test program represented his last real chance to shine. But once he finished vetting the new aircraft and its systems, he would undoubtedly be shunted off to a desk and relative obscurity somewhere inside the Ministry of Defense bureaucracy. After that, he could look forward to wasting years dealing with dull reports before finally being put out to pasture on a wholly inadequate state pension.

Oblivion and poverty—not exactly attractive prospects, he thought coldly as he made his farewell to Remizov and left the vast Tupolev factory. Which made it much easier to contemplatetaking a very different path in life. And imagining how the course of action he was now considering would have horrified hisfather—always so rigidly attentive to his duty—made it even more appealing.

 

A couple of hours outside Kazan, Petrov swung his IRBIS touring motorbike off the crowded highway and onto a narrow, tree-linedroad. He opened the throttle, smoothly accelerating as the track curved back to the west. The sensation of speed as treesflashed past, more blurs than distinct shapes, was exhilarating. Through openings in the woods on his right, he caught glimpsesof an enormous stretch of dark blue water, the vast Cheboksary Reservoir created by damming the Volga River. Off on the left,wheat and barley fields surrounded small farming villages. Apart from a couple of old tractors trundling across the fieldsand faded clothes drying outside rundown cottages, there were few signs of people.

A few kilometers farther on, he slowed and pulled in behind a silver-gray late model Mercedes sedan parked just off the road.Dismounting, he stripped off his helmet and unzipped his jacket. Even in the shade provided by the trees, the summer heatwas oppressive.

At his approach, the driver of the Mercedes slid out from behind the wheel. With a silent nod, he opened the sedan’s rear door. A slight bulge in the man’s dark business jacket revealed the presence of a shoulder holster.

Petrov raised an eyebrow. So even here in this rural backwater, his host felt the need for a bodyguard. Perhaps such vigilancewas an inevitable by-product of the acquisition of great wealth. If so, he thought with satisfaction, he might someday soonlearn the value of caution himself.

He slid into the back of the air-conditioned Mercedes and nodded politely to the older, heavier-set man waiting there. “Everythingis on track,” he said confidently.

“There were no problems at the factory?”

Petrov shrugged. “The Tupolev guys are pissed, but no one’s willing to stick his neck out to protest openly.”

“They are wise,” the older man said, with the hint of an icy smile of his own. Dmitri Grishin was one of Russia’s most powerfuloligarchs, a man who had made his fortune through close ties to Moscow’s political, industrial, and defense elites. Eitheron his own or through intermediaries, he owned significant stakes in many of the nation’s most successful and profitable enterprises.“Our president does not appreciate having his decisions questioned.”

“Fortunately for us,” Petrov agreed, matching the oligarch’s wry expression. His eyes narrowed. “What about the other elementsof our special project? Are they moving ahead?”

Grishin nodded smoothly. “My people have everything well in hand. They’ve found a valley deep in the wilderness in Alaskathat’s perfect for our purposes. All will be ready when you are.”

“What about the Americans?” Petrov asked. “Is there a chance they could stumble across your team at work?”

The oligarch shook his head. “Relax, Colonel. The Alaskan wilderness is enormous and almost entirely uninhabited. I doubt anyone’s even visited the site we’ve found since the end of the last Ice Age, more than twelve thousand years ago. The Americans won’t see a thing.”

Reassured, Petrov slid back out of the Mercedes and then leaned back in. “Until the snows fall, then.”

“And the icy winds blow,” Grishin agreed. He glanced up at the younger man. “Fly safe, Colonel. We both have a lot at stakehere.”

Petrov shot him a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the PAK-DA prototype like it was my very own.”

Moments later, as he stood watching the limousine pull away, Petrov felt a sudden stab of pain lance through his left temple.“Fuck,” he muttered. He’d been resolutely ignoring a mild headache since leaving the Tupolev plant. But now it was gettingworse. Frowning, he fumbled out a couple of aspirin tablets from a packet in one of his pockets and then pulled out a stainlesssteel hip flask. Embossed with the badge of the Soviet Union’s Red Air Force, it was the one item he’d inherited from hisfather that he genuinely valued.

Impatiently, he downed the aspirin with a swig of vodka and then recapped the flask. This was no time for illness. Not whenhe was so close to making sure that he would be the one everyone remembered in the future.

One

Wizard One-One, over Southern Libya

August

Its shadow lost among jagged black peaks and spires of hardened lava, the dark gray U.S. Air