Thunderghost

Thunderghost

By

Jean-Luc Roy

Thunderghost

Copyright © 2012 by Jean-Luc Roy

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Cover drawing by: J.L. Roy

Contents

Prelude

The trip

The chairman

The launch

The caper

The plane

The mission

The rendez-vous

Journey back

The return

Times of turmoil

Are times of change and hope;

But never knowing but expecting,

Must end with sorrow and joy;

For that is the nature of our being.

So, think loud and be heard,

And the sorrow will have been worth it;

Otherwise, all was in vain!

Chapter 1 / Prelude

Moscow 1:37 AM, Intelligence Headquarters.

As Isaev closed the file and glanced at his watch, he realized that time had flown by. As he looked around his drab little office, his thoughts overrode his feelings and a pleasant smile came to his lips; for he was certain that this very morning, he would be given the go ahead for what he thought to be the most original, if not the most daring plan since Pearl Harbour.

He’d worked on the concept for months and toyed with the idea even longer; but now it would be part of a reality that should propel him to prominence, or failing this, to Siberia never to be heard of again.

He knew he wouldn’t fail, for even though his plan was highly complex by having to rely on interrelating factors, it was bold and well thought out while the fine tuning of the KGB machine, would ensure to see it through.

He should know, for as an officer of the KGB, he had been part of numerous operations so successful, as to secure him the rank of Colonel.

Thinking back, he realized how right he had been in joining the party and putting up with the fundamentalists; for as stagnant as he knew them to be in their social outlook, they held the real power that he wanted and needed to accomplish his goals.

He had gone to great lengths to get were he was; even as far as having murdered his last Commandant. His time had arrived; his destiny was in the making.

They had worked on a very sensitive and important assignment that involved locating and identifying the men and women who have that special function and responsibility of having the system revolve around them. They included not only the key computer operators in the American security and defence system, but also those in the civilian telecommunication industry.

The idea was twofold. Firstly: One being that in the prelude to hostility, agents could be mobilized to kidnap or eliminate operators. Secondly: If some codes could be had from some of the operators, then tremendous havoc could be created by the unauthorized entries of their computers.

The whole thing needed to be synchronized to the existing time zones and the list of names and addresses kept up to date; in that way, all could happen within a few hours. Or at least, that’s what they’d hope.

That plan had taken almost two years of his life to implement, as most of the details had been left for him to handle. He’d been the Gofer, in a typical chain of command.

He did not like the idea that much. In fact, he did not like it at all and thought the whole thing a waste of time. Maybe because it was an offshoot of one of his many ideas that had been rejected, then changed by what he considered to be dead wood in the upper echelon. He thought that more often than not, the only plan they liked was one that could be rather than would be implemented; this way, it made them look good while presenting few risks. Sometimes it just seemed that the whole system was really based on looking busy, and covering their common ass.

As for himself, he was a more practical man. Instead of wasting time and moles on a lot of maybes; he had wanted to kidnap the handful of men who are considered the top computer designers and programmers in the state.

They had narrowed the list down to nine. And under the influence of a new drug that renders one totally docile to suggestion, but which does not impair you otherwise. The victims were to be shipped out through Vancouver and put on what would have looked like a fishing charter, so that they could rendezvous on the high sea with a submarine; since all the Russian merchant vessels are too well watched while in port or coastal waters, to be able to attempt such a transfer.

With the help of cloud cover to shelter them from the spy satellites, they would have literally embarked on their last journey to have their brains picked by experts in that field. A voyage of discovery, that would have unlocked the keys of their minds.

The trip would have been well worth tripping the sub detectors, and waking the Canadian Navy. However, the part that would have amused him the most was the thought of having the American Intelligence Service in a tizzy when they realized days later, that so many important people had disappeared at about the same time.

As his mind dove deeper into thought, Isaev found himself reliving that time period in all but in deeds; for since it was a memory that he couldn’t share with anyone, he sometimes would relive it as if he was there presently, thus sharing it with himself.

He had such a devilish mind that sometimes, he even surprised himself with his ideas. As a matter of fact, he sometimes thought of himself as having an imagination that bordered on the insane; yet so far it had served him well, like in that particular instance. To him, it had been poetry in action; for what could be more fitting to a General than having his passion be his death.

He had done a good job, so when the plan was nearly ready to be implemented, and not wanting his superior to take all the credits as he knew he would; he had decided to write the final report thus ensuring his standing.

As if fate played his hand, the Commandant had recently acquired an old Ross action match rifle, and he’d been restoring it for a coming weekend shoot. It was his favourite ritualistic annual event.

Since he had planned to attend the event and knowing that General Ligachev did his own loading, plus the fact that this rifle has a weak bolt action; he’d thought of using the occasion to his advantage.

He remembered how he set to work moulding a bullet that was two thousand of an inch bigger than should be, so that once inside the chamber, it would jam thus causing a blow-back.

Then using a high-power spherical load so that there would be no sharp edges; he had tightly packed the load around two gelatine capsules that contained .7 ml. of Nitro-glycerine each.

Because of the nitrocellulose base of the powder, he knew that the nitro would prove inconspicuous, and that coupled with the fact that the General was known to load on the hot side; had made the whole thing looked totally accidental.

By now his recollections were so vivid, that he felt he was there presently. It had been such a beautiful sunny afternoon when he drove to the range that he’d felt cheerful; so much so in fact that he couldn’t help but whistle along; moreover, as he got nearer to his destination, he’d subconsciously changed the tune to a death march while thinking how appropriate it all was.

He’d wasted no time in locating General Likhachev, and offering him his best wishes while inspecting and complementing him on his latest acquisition. It was charisma at work.

While looking at the ammunition, he’d taken one of the cartridges and then very subtly replaced it with his own special load. The stage was set.

Since he knew that most but not all the cartridges would get used, he’d put his in the centre of the upright container, so that no matter which end the general would start loading from, his would get used.

Some more pleasantries had been exchanged, and off he went to the spectator gallery with nobody the wiser. And as the match progressed, he’d listened more intensely for that one shot that would tell its tale.

No one really heard it but him; for unless you were listening for it, it would not have registered amid all the shooting. But there was no mistaking the red flag going up amidst some kind of commotion.

He waited awhile before making his way back to the General, but when he got there, he gave a superb performance. Asking if the ambulance had been called, he hurriedly approached General Ligachev as if he cared.

The scene was gross. Not that there was that much blood, but the sight of a rifle bolt sticking out of an eye socket with bodily fluid and gray matter oozing out affected many; yet for him all it was, was a job well done.

The General died before the ambulance ever got there. And as he covered him with a blanket, he thought of the irony of submitting his report along with the one concerning the General’s death.

As his mind came back to reality; he felt mildly disorientated, for he had gone into the past akin to a virtual reality, it bordered on a trance.

He’d thought of it as his success; and the advantages? Well, he would find out in the morning. For now, he would go home and get a few hours sleep if he could, since his mind was racing and it didn’t feel like it was about to stop.

It was very early when he decided that he had enough of this laying around. Hence after making a cup of coffee, he showered and forced himself to eat breakfast, for this was the day of recognition and he simply had to be at his best. He then left for work in a clean and carefully pressed uniform. He looked sharp.

As he walked up the steps to his office, he wondered how come everything to do with the government—which was almost everything—was so drab; it was as if the colours had gone out with the Czar. As he went on his thoughts soon changed as he entered his office to pickup the plan from the safe. He had come early, for he wanted to be in the General’s office when he came in, so he soon went off.

It was a large room at the top of the building; sort of like a penthouse, and as he was looking at the décor, or rather the lack of it, the doors burst open which prompted his secretary to snap-up, click his heel and salute all at once as if he had seen the devil himself.

With his briefcase in hand, Isaev came to attention and saluted only to be given a sly smile and an order to come in.

Once in, he was told to sit down; and as the two men looked at each other a smile came over General Popov’s face as he said, I like your plan, in fact I like it very much; it’s highly risky but it’s worth it. If we succeed the benefits will be great; however, if you fail, it will be your head.

Nothing more needed to be said, for now he knew that General Popov had only backed his plan indirectly, by bringing him and the plan to the attention of certain members of the Politbureau, and the Chief of Staff.

A short while later, as he traveled to the Kremlin in General Popov’s car, he thought how it was now up to himself to sell his idea. But somehow, he had no apprehension, no fear, for the logic was flawless and surely, they would see that.

They came in by the back door, and their papers were checked out thoroughly. They then proceeded with an armed escort through what seemed like endless corridors that seemed to lead nowhere.

When they arrived at the conference room, they were checked out once more and then led into a sitting room where yet another guard acted as a receptionist.

At the appointed time, the intercom buzzed and an order was given to bring them in. As they entered, they could feel the spaciousness; and yet they felt confined, for all eyes were upon them, weighing and analyzing their every move.

As he looked around, he could see that quite a few of the inner high-ranking members were absent. But that didn’t surprise him since one of the common jokes is that, due to the age of the inner bureau’s members, only half can attend while the other half takes a nap.

However, the thought soon left his mind as he stood rigidly waiting to be addressed while his eyes scanned the faces of all present. He could see a few civilians he did not know much about, but beside those and some Politbureau Members, General Nikandrov; the head of the KGB for Foreign Operation was present, along with Marshal Grishchenko, Chief of Military Intelligence or GRU, as they are generally known.

After a short silence that seemed quite long, Marshal Grishchenko looked at Isaev and asked point blank, can you do it? To which Isaev answered promptly with an affirmative, yes sir.

With a facial expression and a nod Marshal Grishchenko acknowledge Isaev’s confidence. He then turned to all present and asked their opinions as if it mattered, for all of them knew that as a Chief of Staff in charge of Military Intelligence, he was in favour. So, the majority simply nodded as he looked at them while a few others asked questions that the plan really answered only to look as if they were their own man; for they’d learned a long time ago that to stay in power, you not only threaded lightly, but you also picked and backed your friends carefully.

After all, had agreed, Marshal Grishchenko said that since the plan seemed to take care of all possibilities including failures at different stages, that it should go ahead, and that a directive would be issued giving Colonel Semyonov the power for its implementation. And that from now on, it should only be referred to by the code name of Falcon.

The General and Isaev were then dismissed and told that within the hour, the proper papers would be put into their hands.

As they walked out, Isaev’s face was beaming, for this was the moment in his life when he would hold as much power as a Chief of Staff. He would be in charge of a project, which would change their nation’s space endeavours.

When Isaev entered his office, the first thing he did was to call Military Intelligence to double check on the American space schedule, and to ask them to inform him of any changes, no matter how small they were.

It wasn’t long before General Popov called Isaev up to his office to give him a Carte Blanche signed by Marshal Grishchenko, and to inform him that a plane and a helicopter had been put at his disposal.

As he was leaving the General called out, good luck. Isaev paused, turned with a smile, and said, We will make our own luck. Then he saluted and left.

When he got back to his office, Isaev phoned the Space Port at Baikonur to inform them of his coming; he then arranged to have his plane readied.

Returning to his apartment; it wasn’t very long before he was packed and ready to go; and yet, by being so anxious to get there, it merely ensured that the ride to the airport and the ensuing flight would seem to never end.

Shortly after as he sat on the plane, he thought back on how this whole scheme started. He had been in Intelligence Operation watching the American shuttle takeoff when to the horror of most, tragedy had struck.

However, being part of a new unit formed to slow down the American shuttle program, he had regarded the lost of a shuttle as a notch with only so many to go. For their order was clear: Stop or impair the American shuttle program for as long as possible. But for now, he reasoned that this accident would automatically set them back at least a year or two.

This new directive had come about because of the Star War plan being proposed by the American. For it was argued in certain quarters that because of their lack of sophisticated computer technology to counter such a threat, that they needed time; at least a few years if not more to balance the equation.

They had to forgo going to the Moon for this reason, but they were not about to fall behind in the balance of terror, for their paranoia of war had to be fulfilled.

Meanwhile if time could be gained, they knew they would reach a level of computer know-how that would suffice, even though to their surprise the American seemed to miss the concept that once a computer is good, it is good enough to do the job; and that having one that is twice as fast really does not matter; so needless to say, that it brought a smile to many, every time they heard the Americans brag about being ten years ahead.

They had other problems to be sure, like their shuttle which seemed to be developing into a first-class Albatross with one thing after another going wrong, as if it was never met to fly. Mind you that is actually how he had come to his plan. He’d simply combined their need to their lost, in a way that would kill two birds with one stone.

At first the plan had been to sabotage one or maybe two shuttle as time went on; so that they would be grounded for a few years after each accident for an investigation and re-evaluation.

The sabotage had to look totally accidental, so to that end they had obtained as many of the engineering details including reports of potential trouble spots, which were to be the targets of their long-term Moles.

The Plants had been well paid for years, and it was now time to collect by awaking them for the work to be done. It was something that had taken them years to accomplish, for they’d had to find financially troubled individuals, or others consumed by vices such as gambling, and sexual needs or preferences.

On the other hand, with the change of plan due to the American disaster, probably only one shuttle would need to be blown and even then, at a much later date, for the lost of the first one had given them time; fate had played into their hands.

It was with these thoughts in mind that he saw the no smoking and seat belt lights come on, thus making him realize that they would be starting their decent.

He had enjoyed the flight. It had been smooth and quiet and he felt great, akin to a river of adrenaline instead of blood flowing through his veins.

It was a real high being in charge and with a plane of his own; a two-motor executive jet usually reserved for the top politicians, Generals and Marshals. Him Isaev Semyonov, the son of an ordinary Russian who had to work his way up with sheer determination and cunning if not ruthlessness; for as loving as he was with his women, he was a cold son of a bitch; and yet for him, that was to be regarded as a compliment.

He was a product of the KGB in body and soul. Well educated and trained, he could fit in any circle and feel at home. He had five years of training behind him at the most elaborate intelligence school in the world.

He was a Special Agent and he liked the status. But somehow thinking of that school brought back a thought of a special team of psychopaths that were being trained for the express purpose of eliminating certain individuals around the world. He had thought the idea original with interesting possibilities, just as his own. For to focus a criminal mind with political propaganda or religious intolerance, creates an ominous threat.

With that thought in mind he felt the wheels hit the runway, thus bringing him back to the reality of the moment. As he straitened out his clothes, the plane came to a halt on the tarmac of a hanger. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself, for he had a General to face who he was sure would not appreciate a Colonel giving him orders.

As he walked off the plane, he could feel the look of puzzlement in their eyes; he could practically hear their brains ticking—who the hell is he and what does he want? And so, he kept a cold face and a very stiff stance as he walked directly towards the General. They shook hands and then Isaev acknowledged the entourage, before being whisked by car to the General’s office.

When they got in, the General sat down and Isaev presented his papers. Even though General Kalugin tried to keep a poker face, he was so taken aback by the broad powers of the letter that it showed. But if the credentials had been a shock, the General was even more taken aback as Isaev unveiled his plan.

The man just sat there with a blank stare totally unbelieving of what he was hearing. Finally, after Isaev had finished his explanation, the General closed his eyes and gave a sigh. He then got up and looked at Isaev and said, I wish this was a dream, but it is not, so let’s get on with it.

As Isaev took in the words a very pleasant smile overtook him, for instead of resentment, he had found a man of action.

General Kalugin then said, I assume you want to meet all the department heads as soon as possible; so, shall we make it for the next hour?

Isaev nodded, got up and said that he would be in his quarters while the General arranged the meeting. He then put on his hat, saluted, and left with an attendant that had been provided for the duration of his stay.

The complex had been impressive from the air, but now as he looked through the car window, it was Baikonur’s history that impressed him; it made it stand out as a first-class space port. There had been no boom or bust type of programs here; they’d left that entirely to the Americans; thank God for that.

As his smirk disappeared, they arrived at his quarter and he thought of all the places he had to go to in order to make Falcon work. It seemed like an awful lot of traveling in a short time. But soon after freshening up, he was back with the General in a conference room with a bunch of inquisitive eyes focused on him.

As he sat upright, he looked around the table directly into their eyes for a few moments and then said, gentlemen, what I am about to ask of you is classified, and no matter what the outcome or what your thoughts are, you may not comment or talk about this particular mission to anyone, at anytime. He now had their full attention.

"The object of this exercise is to have a four-man crew ready to go into orbit by May first. Now I realize that this is not a problem in itself since we have a couple of rockets available at any one point. The problem is that from that date on, they have to be ready to takeoff along with a back-up within a few days notice or less. In other words, they have to sit on the pad ready to be fuelled or de-fuel a number of times in a period that could last months.

"The Cosmonauts will not be known to you as they will be flown in just prior to the flight. The only contact you will have with them will be audio when the time comes.

"This flight has to be successful, and it will be. Moreover, since you are all wondering what this could be about, I would strongly suggest that each of you only wonder to yourselves.

In closing, I would like to say that General Kalugin has seen my orders and that he has assured me that the time frame is acceptable. It is a priority one project, so please take the appropriate steps. Thank-you gentlemen, and good luck! With that statement Isaev stood up which the men took as their cue to leave.

Once they were alone, Isaev informed General Kalugin that after looking around in the morning, he would be departing and that from then on, he expected a brief status report to be sent to him weekly at Intelligence Headquarters.

Isaev then went on, the code for launch will be ‘Let the Falcon fly’, and if any questions are raised about this operation, it will have to pass as a test to check our space-time reaction under varying conditions. With that said, Colonel Semyonov departed. He rejoined General Kalugin later on for diner and an interesting discussion about space.

It was just past noon when Isaev found himself back on his plane Siberian bound. Where he was going was a place that few people knew, except as a radar base. For unknown to most, Krasnoyarsk was also a high-tech complex for Laser and Particle Beam weapon development. Its power requirement was so high, that it was directly on line to an atomic reactor.

The flight promised to be long, but it was one that was totally necessary in order for his plan to succeed. Things had to be coordinated.

As Isaev looked through the window of the plane, he enjoyed the view and thought of the vastness of the land. It was precisely what his plan needed, for it would be like finding a flea in a hay stack.

Hours later as the plane came in for a landing, his thoughts were about upsetting the potato cart; but they would have to get used to that and more, for later on he really planned to tip the cart.

Once again, the scene that would become familiar to him was repeated; the meeting of the Commandant and then with the heads of departments.

When Isaev came into the room, he immediately sat down with everyone following suit.

After about a ten second pause of total silence he spoke, gentlemen, as you know Particle Beam weapon test impairs radio transmission, radar detection and some even say that it affects the weather and possibly human behaviour. All depending on the intensity of course. He then paused to clear his throat.

"Since it is quite an elaborate procedure to set up a massive test sequence, we would like to have that capacity available well ahead of time, just to be on the safe side. The reason being that a test of the entire radar system with actual fighter penetration and electronic jamming will be carried out and analyzed.

"The exact date is not known; however, we would like to be able to put the system on line at a moment’s notice. Therefore, in order that all the equipment is ready to go on standby from May first on, all current testing will be cancelled, since we can not risk having this equipment inoperative, for it is simply crucial to this test.

"During the alert, a direct line of communication will be maintained, and the high energy discharges will begin and be as continuous as the equipment will permit. The beam will be directed towards the coordinates that will be provided, till told to stop.

I realize that this will put a severe strain on the system; however, it has to be done at all cost. The high command thanks you for your support and I must say I look forward to seeing your establishment.

Of course, the idea of a general test was a sham; at least for the reason mentioned. There would be a nation wide jamming of all the radar frequencies by a large number of planes trying to evade the systems, but the ulterior motive was to neutralize or at least impair the NATO’s long-range radars, especially the Americans.

What they really wanted to achieve were false and erratic readings of what was happening in their country, for a particular short period of time. Since deceit has to be hidden, to be successful.

It was to be an electronic smoke screen of a magnitude that had never been done. However, there were other steps that were just as important; like a number of planes to be put on standby in the area of the happening for the seeding of the upper and lower atmosphere with chemicals to help provide the formation of clouds while Falcon flew.

As if this was not enough, ASIL which went under the acronym ASAT, the anti-satellite infrared lasers would be fired at the American spy satellites from their many different locations thus impairing their sensing of that spectrum. However, their intensity would be regulated as not to destroy the satellites. The lasers were part of the so-called quiet system of defence—never used but always there.

The base chosen to carry out the caper was the Military Launch and Flight Centre at Plesetsk. The place was well suited for the job. It possessed long runways, large hangars and above all, the necessary technical staff for the work that lay ahead.

This was the place where all the cosmonauts originated from. It was equivalent to an Edward Air Force base and Cape Canaveral combined; it was a place where men used to fly by the seat of their pants with a feeling of daring. Not that it’s not daring anymore; it’s just that it now feels more like a technical operation since for all practical purpose, the instruments fly the plane by having you react to their specs within set guidelines.

That night as he sat and reviewed the day’s events; Isaev knew that the countdown had really begun, and since all was going so well, he felt very relax with himself. He then fell asleep.

The morning was soon upon him, and when he looked out the window, he could actually feel the crispness in the stillness of the air; even the smoke out of the chimneys seemed to hang there. One had the impression that if you’d hit anything with a hammer, that it would shatter. A true Siberian dawn.

The coincidence of that thought to the knock on the door was amusing to him. He opened the door to find his pilot with an envelope containing a coded message from Intelligence Headquarters.

Isaev said good morning and then thank you to the lieutenant; he closed the door and then proceeded to decipher the dispatch. It was good news; the Americans had finely set a firm date for their next shuttle launch. So, he now had a target date of May fifth.

Isaev had breakfast as his plane was being de-iced for his return flight to Military Headquarters, whence the steps for the military exercise would have to be implemented in synchronous order.

Everything had been worked out, every detail for every military base in the country. And except for the fact that he, a Colonel, had to deal with a very annoyed General Staff, all was well; but then it was to be expected, for he was a cock out of pecking order. Moreover, before he got back to headquarters to face some of the pompous asses as he thought of them, he had to check on a film making operation that was due to start fairly soon.

This base was a veritable nest of capabilities. They had in their possession what anybody could possibly need to do anything, or at least it’s the way it looked. You could compare it to a production making apparatus that ran the gamut.

One of the things required for operation Falcon to work was a film production of a scattered crash site. Pieces of metal burned and twisted with many imbedded into the ground, shaped and cut to pass as possible pieces of a fatal crash.

The production crew was KGB. They had been brought in to minimize the exposure of the goings-on, for this was an operation that had to remain only in the minds of the ones involved.

The technicians had just arrived a few days ago. Nonetheless, they already had the machine shops humming, so he was pleased as he inspected their handy work and met with the officer in charge.

Shortly after that, Isaev was back on his plane bound for Moscow, where he would have to look up a few noses, but then he thought that it beat kissing ass. Actually, it didn’t turn out as bad as that. For his credentials—his Carte Blanche—seemed to turn a lot of so-called tigers into pussycats. He mused how one could really get to like this; it made his ego feel good.

As Isaev addressed the Marshals, Generals and Admirals, he spoke with confidence and savoir-faire. For he made them feel as if they would be running the show while he dabbled in a few things here and there. Yet one thing stood out, there were no doves here, the faces at this meeting were definitely those of hawks.

They were impressed with the details. Of course, they had been informed of his plan, but only in broad terms, for this was a child of Intelligence and approval had come from the real power behind the Kremlin.

As Isaev walked out of the place, he felt like he could count on their support; they would do more than go through the motions. He was very pleased with the outcome and told them so.

His next stop was Kaliningrad, the Soviet Flight Centre. It was located in the suburb about fifteen miles or so Northeast of Moscow. Besides serving as Mission Control for space flights, this centre also controlled all the satellite positioning.

He was interested in a particular satellite that was parked in gyro-synchronous orbit over Russia. It was classified and operated as a communication satellite; however unknown to most, it had a dormant capability to send powerful jamming signals at the frequencies used by the American spy satellites thus neutralizing them. Moreover, as if this was not enough, they had a number of satellites that could be manoeuvred at a moment notice into the vicinity of Americans satellites for the purpose of mutual destruction.

Of course, none of these had ever been used, for they were suppose to be activated only in case of war or just prior to it. It was one of those little secret weapons in their arsenal that made them feel more secured, and as such it had taken a lot of