By Dawn's Early Light by Grant R. Jeffrey

Author:Grant R. Jeffrey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Moscow

2400 hours

VLADIMIR GOGOL SWIVELED HIS OFFICE CHAIR AS SOMEONE RAPPED ON THE door. A thrill of anticipation touched his spine as he called out: “Come.”

Petrov entered, his eyes flat and expressionless as he crossed the Oriental carpet that stretched between the double doors and the carved desk. The colonel saluted. “General.”

Vladimir returned the salute, half-wishing his aide were not so intent on formalities. He wanted news, and he wanted it now, but Petrov would observe every jot and tittle of military order.

“What news?” He leaned over the desk and pressed his hand to its flat surface. “Tell me, Colonel—what news have you from Dyakonov?”

Petrov went stiffer, if possible, and seemed to stare at a spot on the wall behind Vladimir’s head. There was a long, brittle silence, then the man finally spoke: “Dyakonov is dead.”

Vladimir sat still, breathing in shallow, quick gasps. The man couldn’t be dead. Dyakonov was the best; he and his team had been training for months. They had practiced the assault on a scale model of the Knesset; Vladimir himself had visited the place, noting that the spetsnaz captain had correctly located every doorway, every window, even noting the electrical outlets on the walls.

His gaze rose and locked on Petrov’s, then focused with deadly intensity. “How?”

A scarlet flush rose on the colonel’s cheekbones. “A series of mistakes. The assembly dismissed early, and many of the government members left before Dyakonov’s people were in position. We might have still inflicted extensive damage, for the Israelis were operating by the book, but an American intruded. A captain named Michael Reed placed a series of calls, and soon a helicopter with other American special warfare operators arrived on the scene. They inserted from the rooftop and somehow managed to creep up behind Dyakonov.”

Vladimir uttered a curse. Romulus had promised that the Americans would not interfere. As influential and powerful as the European Union president was, apparently not even he could control the situation in Israel.

Seething with anger and humiliation, Vladimir ran his hand over his head, then let his palm rest at the back of his neck. It could have been over in a day, on a lucky Friday the thirteenth, but again fate had intervened. Israel had more lives than a cursed cat.

He drew a long, quivering breath, mastering the anger that shook him. If not today, he would destroy Israel tomorrow. In the interim, he would continue to seek out their cursed kind in Russia. He would find them, put them on trial for wrongs committed by them and their ancestors, and put an end to the blighted race that had troubled the earth since the dawn of time.

He glanced up at Petrov. “Survivors?”

“Four, sir. All prisoners of the Israelis.”

Vladimir drew a deep breath, then exhaled it in an audible rush. “Such a waste. So much money spent on their training, so many hours of work.”

Petrov said nothing, but his eyes darkened with resignation.

“Write their families.” Vladimir waved the unpleasant matter away. “Tell them that these men gave their lives in defense of glorious Mother Russia.

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