years had learned not to cross this hawk-faced, power-mad ruler. He was one of the three or four most powerful men in the world. And within months, if things went according to plan, he would become the most powerful man in the world.
The sun crept up slowly, inching its way above the pointed peaks that surrounded Denver like spears pointing the way to the stars. They were starkly beautiful now, turning red, purple, and orange as the sky grudgingly lost its panoply of stars. Silently he stared out at them. How could he defeat Rockson? How? And how could he wrest the empire from the dying Grandfather back in Mother Russia before Zhabnov took its reins. He had been pondering this for months and he had been toying with an elusive thought all night—slipping from his grasp as he was groggy from the pills. He’d have to cut back a little. There was a limit to everything, even for those who could get anything they desired. But he had an idea. A glimmer that burned stronger with each moment. What was that archaic American expression—kill two birds with one stone? Yes—that was it. Smash Rockson and use the captured deathray weapons he possessed against Zhabnov and the regular Red Army forces—quickly accomplish this before—
The phone rang with the force of a bomb blast in the quiet solitude of his eightieth floor office, jarring Killov from his murderous musings.
“Yes?” Killov said curtly. “What the hell is it?”
“Colonel, we have a report on the super weapons that were used on the convoy to President Zhabnov’s Pavlov City, wiping the entire fleet out. The damage is the same as the sample wreckage you gave us to analyze. If I might ask where did those samples of burnt helicopter metal com—”
“None of your damn business,” Killov retorted sharply. “What is the nature of the weapon that was used?”
“Sir, that’s what’s puzzling us. It’s definitely not an explosive device. Although some mortar fragments were found, they did not contribute to the complete destruction of the armored vehicles and trucks of the convoy. Frankly sir, we’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve arranged to send some samples to the Central Metallurgic Institute in Moscow for ana—”
“You what? You fool!” Killov exploded into the phone. “What is your name and rank, idiot?”
“Petrin, sir. Lieutenant Petrin,” the voice on the other end replied meekly.
“Listen Petrin,” Killov said with ice in his voice. “Get those samples back or you’re a dead man. You understand?”
“Yes sir,” the voice gulped almost inaudibly. “They haven’t been shipped out yet, sir. I’m sure I—”
“And call me as soon as they’re retrieved. And in the future, idiot, if you have a future, don’t send anything anywhere without asking me first. Is that clear?”
“Clear, sir.”
Killov slammed the phone down so hard that it bounced up in the air several inches before settling back down into its cradle.
Why did he always have to deal with idiots? Here, he had the facilities, the armaments to destroy half the world and he couldn’t capture one stinking American bandit. Meanwhile his own men didn’t seem to know their ass from their elbows. This Petrin would have to be eliminated. The man was too much of a fool to work for him any longer. Besides he knew too much. Killov wrote the lieutenant’s name down in a small notebook and popped another pill.
By now Rockson would have found out about Zhabnov’s new brainchild of Pavlov City. The man always seemed to know what the Reds were up to almost as soon as they did. And since Pavlov City had been going up for nearly three months now and had begun bringing in workers from surrounding Russian fortress cities for brainwashing, Rockson would undoubtedly plan some kind of attack. Rescue the poor downtrodden workers whom Zhabnov wanted to turn into brainwashed soldiers to send out against their own countrymen—the freefighters. But this time Killov was one step ahead
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