Red Hammer 1994 by Robert Ratcliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

in the package? Open it,” he demanded accusingly.
    Antonovich squirmed. “That’s impossible—General Surikov’s orders,” he gasped.
    Antonovich was stunned when the impertinent bastard actually hesitated. “Take a seat,” he finally ordered after much thought, waving toward a nearby wooden bench.
    The Interior Ministry officer picked up the receiver of a rotary-dial phone. Within seconds, his smug expression turned ashen. His head bobbed repeatedly, and a series of groveling “yes, sirs”, spewed from his lips.
    “I will bring him up immediately.” The general had answered the phone, leaving the major mortified. His circled friends refrained from any outward show of pleasure.
    He recovered gracefully, the mark of a true bureaucrat. “Come with me, Doctor; General Surikov will see you now.” Antonovich fell in behind the major, following closely through the dimly lit, narrow halls, glancing from side to side. Every time he passed an officer or civilian, Antonovich was greeted with a cold, hard stare that reminded him of so many robots on parade.
    They found the general’s office. The major knocked and entered after receiving a grunt from behind the door. The general was a big man, powerfully built, and heavy around the middle. His freshly pressed dress uniform was complemented with rows of brightly colored ribbons, most earned as a much younger officer in the wilds of Afghanistan, capturing freedom fighters and administrating special interrogations. His ruddy complexion and square jaw elicited images of the airborne troops, not the intelligence community.
    General Surikov was head of the GRU, the military’s intelligence arm, rising to the top position after his predecessor had been sacked in the recent reorganization, which had swept through the military power structure like a scythe. Antonovich had never met him before but had heard stories—especially about his violent temper.
    “That will be all, Major,” Surikov said curtly. Surikov rose with an unexpected grace and extended his large, rough-hewn hand.
    “Good morning, Dr. Antonovich, a pleasure to meet you. We must hurry. Unfortunately, I have not had time to thoroughly review your most recent findings. A pointing-and-tracking experiment, correct?”
    He said it all so fast that Antonovich didn’t know where to begin and started to panic. “Yes, sir, but there is more. The…”
    “I see,” the general replied, cutting the doctor off in mid-sentence. He was already heading out the door, signaling the stammering doctor to follow.
    Antonovich shadowed Surikov to an elevator a few meters from his office. The two entered, the doctor after the general. Surikov inserted a blunt key into one of three locks, forcing the elevator to sink at a rapid rate. When the door abruptly opened, they were faced by four security guards in crisp uniforms, all heavily armed. The doctor’s eyes widened.
    “Take the doctor to the briefing center, and tell Colonel Menshikov that I will inform the Defense Council he has arrived,” Surikov ordered.
    The armed escort saluted then hurried Antonovich into a large, ornate conference room down the hall. The richly paneled walls were complemented by a vaulted stucco ceiling adorned with crystal chandeliers and luxurious, full-length drapes. The round table was beautifully polished hardwood, and the accompanying chairs were covered with brushed velvet. Along one wall was a row of austere wooden chairs, purposely placed for guests. Drawn drapes at one end revealed a large screen for presentations, while a small table with a viewgraph projector stood nearby. The conference table had a pad of paper and a leaded crystal glass strategically placed at each seat, along with bottles of fruit juice and mineral water—typical Russian fare.
    “Take a seat,” one of the officers instructed sternly from behind.
    The frightening reality began to hit home. Quietly, at the far end of the room, a door opened. The doctor had overlooked this