Novel 1986 - Last Of The Breed (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nationalist Chinese army at a time when the Nationalist Chinese were inviting help from Russia. Along with Michael Borodin he was thrown out of China, but later, in an undeclared war against the Japanese, he defeated them in one of the greatest tank battles ever fought.
    General Zamatev, hoping to stay as far from Stalin’s attention as possible, had volunteered to serve in Siberia and remained there. He had, however, kept many old friendships, and not a few of them had aided the rise of Arkady Zamatev.
    Colonel Zamatev was under no delusion. He knew peace was an illusory thing, something that hovered on a distant horizon, for which all men wished but which had only a small chance of realization as long as men remained what they were. There was now no declared war between the Soviet Union and anyone else, but there was war nonetheless, a bitter, ruthless war for military and communication advantages, and he was in the front line of that war and planned to remain there.
    That he had already been considered for promotion, he knew. If he failed with Pennington and Makatozi, that promotion would never come about, or not for many years. He was thirty-five and hoped to be a field marshal by the time he was fifty. What else remained to be seen.
    Pennington might never come over to the Soviets. That whatever he knew about chemical warfare would be his, Zamatev was sure. Pennington could not be forced to join the Soviets, but he could be made to talk. There were drugs that would take care of that, as well as a few time-worn and less gentle methods.
    Pennington, however, was of much less importance than the American. Makatozi could not be allowed to escape.
    Zamatev reviewed what had been done. The troops along the border had been alerted, as had police officials throughout the Trans-Baikal, especially in Chita, Nerchinsk, and such villages as Romanovka, Bagdarin, Vitimkon, and Vershina.
    Airfields had been alerted as well, for the escaped prisoner was a flyer who might attempt to steal a plane.
    Now he could do little but await the American’s capture.
    Zamatev walked outside. It was one of those bright, clear days so common in the Trans-Baikal. He looked eastward toward the mountains, where one peak was almost a mile high. That was rough country, not an easy way to travel, and so far as he was aware no paths crossed those mountains, but he had never explored widely outside the compound. He scowled impatiently, irritably. He should know the country better.
    The telephone sounded and he turned quickly. Maybe they had him! Maybe—
    It was Shepilov. KGB. “Is it true? There has been an escape?”
    “From Siberia? That’s a joke.”
    “But I heard—?”
    So, already the word was out! Were there no secrets in this land?
    “It is nothing,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “A minor difficulty, no more.”
    Shepilov was in a sense his superior, but in another department. And Shepilov did not like him. He resented Zamatev’s friendships in Moscow, his influence in the higher reaches of command.
    “If you need help—?”
    “Thank you, but we will manage nicely.” He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. He swore then, softly, bitterly. To have this happen now! Now, when all was going so well!
    Who would dream that a man could go
over
the wire?
    Tomorrow they would have him, tomorrow without fail.
    For a moment he sat thinking, and then he lifted the phone again. He made three calls, mobilizing still stronger searching parties.
    The bastard! Where
had
he gotten to? Why was he not already caught?
    Tomorrow night there was a meeting he must attend, and surely he would be questioned, if only casually. His activities were little known, and talk about them was not welcomed, but there was a lively curiosity, and some, such as Shepilov, knew a little. Such a search as he had now instituted was sure to excite comment.
    Irritably, Zamatev walked to the window, staring out at the low mountains. Despite his ambitions, which if