Covert One 6 - The Moscow Vector Read Online Free PDF Page A

General Marchuk’s present condition?” Tymoshenko demanded.
    “The general is still unconscious, sir,” Polyakov reported reluctantly. “And according to the doctors, his vital signs are deteriorating rapidly. So far, he is
    not responding to any’ treatment.”
    “I see.” Tymoshenko sniffed, turning his head to stare contemptuously at the drearv surroundings. After a moment, he looked back at the younger man.
    “And the cause of this unfortunate illness? I heard some nonsense about radiation poisoning just before leaving Kiev.”
    “No one knows yet,” Polvakov admitted. “The hospital is running a complete battery of tests, but the results may not come back for hours, perhaps even days.”
    Tymoshenko arched a single gray eyebroyv. “In that case, Major, may I suggest there is no longer any purpose to be served by haunting these corridors like some little lost lapdog? General Marchuk will live —or he will die. And I am quite confident that he will do so with or yvithout your presence.” He smiled thinly. “In the meantime, it seems that I need an aide myself, at least until I can locate a more efficient and deserving young officer.”
    Polyakov did his best to ignore the insult. Instead, he simply nodded expressionlessly. “Yes, sir. I will do my best.”
    “Good.” Tymoshenko nodded toward the exit. “My staff car is waiting outside. You can ride back to headquarters with me. And once yve’re there, I want you to arrange temporary quarters for me. Something comfortable, I trust.
    You can clear out Marchuk’s billet bright and early tomorrow morning.”
    “But—” Polyakov began.
    The dour little general stared up at him. “Yes?” he snapped. “What is it, Major?”
    “W hat about the Russians? And the border situation?” Polyakov asked, not bothering to conceal his surprise. “General Marchuk intended to deploy the Command’s fighting formations to their maneuver areas at first light tomorrow.”
    Tymoshenko frowned. “So I understand.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘Naturally, I canceled those orders as soon as I arrived.” He shook his head derisively. “Full-scale maneuvers in the dead of yvinter? With all the wear and tear on expensive equipment that entails? And all because of a few paranoid whispers about the Russians? Utter madness. I really cannot imagine what Marchuk thought he was doing. The fever must have addled his brain.
    Why, the fuel bills alone would be entirely prohibitive.”
    With that, the new leader of the Ukrainian army’s Northern Operational Command spun crisply on his heel and strutted off, leaving Major Dmitry Polyakov staring after him in growing dismay.
    The Pentagon
    Corporal Matthew Dempsey of the Pentagon’s police force whistled softly under his breath as he walked his night beat along the massive building’s quiet, labyrinthine corridors. This was his favorite shift. The Pentagon never really shut down and lights still glowed under some office doors, but much of the grinding daytime hustle and bustle faded in the hours right around midnight.
    The small radio receiver fitted in his ear squawked suddenly. “Dempsey, this is Milliken.”
    Dempsey spoke into his handheld radio. “Co ahead, Sarge.”
    “Dispatch reports an emergency call from an office inside the DIA’s JCS
    Support Directorate. Somebody in there just punched in 911, and then left the phone off the hook. The operator thinks she can hear someone breathing, but she can’t get anyone to respond. I want you to go check it out.”
    Dempsey frowned. The Defense Intelligence Agency’s several Pentagon office suites were incredibly sensitive areas—ordinarily completely off-limits to anyone without at least a Top Secret clearance. He was authorized to override those restrictions if necessary, but doing so was going to raise one hell of
    a hornet’s nest. Even if this was just a false alarm, he’d be spending the next several hours filling out non-disclosure forms and being