Free War Plan Red by Peter Sasgen Page A

Other than a coffeemaker and box of sealed premeasured packets of coffee, the kitchenette was bare.
    Alex said, “Frank took all of his meals at the embassy mess.”
    “He always used government mess whenever he could,” Scott said.
    “He kept his papers here,” Alex said. “Each apartment is equipped with a safe. Sensitive materials are held at the chancery, but then, he and I didn’t handle top-grade material.”
    She led Scott past a small bedroom that held Drummond’s personal effects to an even smaller room off the hallway that had doubled as his office.
    A laptop computer, neatly stacked file folders, a laser printer, and reams of packaged copy paper took up all the space on a trestle table. Pens and pencils, points carefully aligned, stood at attention in a ceramic cup with a smiley face on its side next to a pair of radiation monitors equipped with belt clips.
    To the left of the table a paper shredder on a stand hung over an empty wastebasket. More files and papers had been left neatly stacked on the floor. Drummond had squared everything away before going to Murmansk. Even his caster chair had been parked just so under the table.
    Scott sat down and turned on the desk lamp. He selected a thick file from the stack on the floor and opened it. A rough draft of a report had blue-penciled corrections scribbled over the pages and margins.
    Scott skimmed the first page of a report on the threat posed by loose fissile materials in Russia.
    “Tell me what you’re looking for,” Alex said. “Maybe I can help. This stuff is pretty technical.”
    “I don’t know what I’m looking for, and that’s the problem. Maybe there’s something here that might give us a hint.”
    “Jake, the only thing I know for sure is that Radchenko was assigned to the K-363. We went aboard the sub and did a walk-through and met the crew, but I don’t specifically remember meeting him. I mean, they are all young and look alike with their short haircuts. Frank interviewed some but not all of the K-363’s sailors in private ashore to see if any would be suitable to work with Earth Safe securing materials. We had some problems with that, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

    Scott’s senses came alert. “What kind of trouble?”
    “The captain of the K-363 made it clear that he didn’t want us on his boat and that he definitely didn’t want us talking to his men ashore—or anywhere else for that matter.”
    “What was his name—can you remember?”
    “How can I forget? Kapitan Third Rank Georgi Litvanov. A prick.”
    “Kapitan third rank—a full commander. What did he do?”
    Alex frowned. “He flat-out told us to get the hell off his ship. He even ordered one of his—what do you call them?—michman—”
    “Warrant officers.”
    “Right—to escort us off the boat.”
    “So what happened?”
    “Well, you know Frank. He used that charm of his to defuse the situation, and the next thing he and the michman were swapping sea stories.”
    “What did Litvanov do about that?”
    “What could he do? We had permission from the commander of the Russian Northern Fleet as well as the Interior Ministry to do our work. Litvanov sure as hell didn’t like it but he had to go along with it. I know that the captain of a naval vessel is God, but he had to relinquish his kingdom to a higher authority.”
    “This Radchenko was a krasnoflotets—an able seaman. What did he tell Drummond?”
    “I don’t know, because I didn’t sit in on the interview.”
    “But Frank rejected him.”
    “Yes. Radchenko had hardly any experience in nuclear power. He was just a striker getting on-the-job training. I think he doubled as a mess cook.”
    Scott raked fingers through his hair. His eyes roamed Frank’s desk, darting from object to object. “It doesn’t make sense. Frank was always looking out for the welfare of his crew, especially the enlisted men. He understood their problems and knew that a ship and CO is only as good as its crew.