Tom Clancy's op-centre_ mirror image - Tom Clancy [94]
"Corporal, bring the lantern."
Fodor hurried over, and as the orange light fell on the crate they saw the bundles of American hundred-dollar bills, tied with white paper bands and stacked in neat piles.
Nikita pushed the lid back down with his boot. He told Fodor to open another crate, then walked across the rattling car to the table and picked up the phone.
"The crates contain money, Father," he shouted. "American currency--"
"Here too, sir!" yelled Fodor. "American dollars."
"That's probably what all the crates contain," Nikita said.
"Money for a new revolution," General Orlov said.
Nikita covered his open ear with his palm. "Excuse me, sir?"
The General spoke up. "Has Korsakov informed you about Ukraine?"
"No, sir, they haven't."
As General Orlov briefed him on the movement of General Kosigan's armies, Nikita found himself growing irate. It wasn't just that he felt cut off from the real military action. Nikita didn't know if his father and General Kosigan had had any contact in the past, though he could tell they were on opposite sides of the incursion. And that presented a problem, for he would rather be working alongside the dynamic and ambitious General Kosigan than with a highly decorated test pilot one who remembered he had a son only when Nikita embarrassed him.
When his father finished, the young officer said, "May I speak openly, sir?"
The request was extremely irregular. In the Russian Army, even speaking informally to a komandir or nachal'nik-- a commander or chief-- was unacceptable. The answer to any question was not da or nyet, yes or no, but tak tochno or nikak nyet-- exactly so or in no way.
"Yes, of course," General Orlov replied.
"Is this why you sent me to chaperon this shipment?" Nikita asked. "To keep me from the front?"
"When I first contacted you, son, there was no front."
"But you knew it was coming," Nikita said, "you had to. At the base, we've heard that where you are now there can be no surprises."
"What you're hearing are the death throes of the propaganda machine," General Orlov said. "The operation took many high-ranking officials by surprise, myself included. And until I find out more about it, I don't want the money leaving the train."
"What if General Kosigan plans to use it to buy cooperation from local Ukranian officials?" Nikita asked. "Delaying the money may cost Russian lives."
"Or save them," General Orlov pointed out. "It costs money to wage a war."
"But is it wise to second-guess him?" Nikita asked. "I've heard he's been a soldier since he was a boy--"
"And in many ways," General Orlov said sternly, "he is still a boy. You'll deploy your troops with round-the-clock watches in the train so that none of the cars can be approached, and admit no one without clearing it through me."
"Yes, sir," said Nikita. "When will I hear from you again?"
"I'll let you know more about the money or the Il-76T when I do," Orlov said. "Nikki, I have a feeling you're closer to the front than either of us realizes. Be careful."
"I will, sir," said Nikita.
The lieutenant pressed the button to the left of the mouthpiece and clicked off. He asked Fodor to clean the snow from the dish, then turned to the map on the computer. His eyes drifted along the route on the map, from Ippolitovka to Sibirchevo to Muchnaya and northward. Then checked his watch.
"Corporal Fodor," he said, "we should be arriving in Ozernaya Pad in approximately a half hour. Tell our engineer to stop when we do."
"Yes, sir," said Fodor, who went to the front of the car to use the intercom they'd rigged from the locomotive.
Nikita would see to it that the train was safe. This was for the future of Russia, and no one-- not even his father, the General-- was going to stop it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Monday, 7:10 P.M.,
Washington, D.C.
"Got