Dale Brown - Act of War

“What is it, Manuel?” Ruiz asked. “What are you saying? Why does it matter how Yegor pulled it off? It is a great victory for our cause! A major refinery and shipment facility right in the United States—striking at the heart of the global multinational corporation’s organization has always been our biggest objective. He has…”

“Do you not see what Zakharov has done, sir?” Pereira asked incredulously. “He has ensured that the wrath of the entire American law-enforcement machine and probably their military as well will rain down on us!”

“I’m not afraid of them, Manuel,” Ruiz said confidently, although casting a puzzled glance between his two closest comrades. “The more they fight, the more attention will be drawn to our cause. They will know that…”

“You do not understand, Jorge,” Pereira said in a low, fearful voice. “Zakharov used some sort of a weapon of mass destruction in Kingman City.” He stared accusingly at Zakharov. “What was it? A firebomb? A tanker truck loaded with explosives? A…?” He saw Zakharov’s eyes glitter, and his eyes widened in shock. “Nao…you used a nuclear weapon?”

“Is…is this true, Yegor?” Ruiz asked, after turning a stunned expression toward the Russian.

“You are being a bit overdramatic, aren’t you, Manuel?” Zakharov asked with a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Overdramatic? You destroy an American petroleum complex with a nuclear weapon, and you accuse me of being ‘overdramatic’?”

“We have discussed this many, many times in the past,” Zakharov said, his voice becoming a bit edgier. He poured himself another shot of vodka. “We explored the use of weapons of mass destruction—weapons developed and produced by the very companies we are seeking to hold accountable!—in our attacks. I told you I might be able to get one or more of these weapons and that I would do so, at my own expense, if the opportunity presented itself and if it was operationally safe to do so. I believe the reason you accepted my offer to assist you in your struggle was precisely because I know how to procure and use such devices.”

“We never spoke about using one in the United States of America…!”

“We most certainly did, Manuel, and precisely for the reasons you just outlined—it would be impossible to attack any facilities in the United States and do any significant damage without high-yield weapons of mass destruction,” Zakharov argued. “Now, whether you actually did not believe that we would ever accomplish such an attack is your failing, not mine. Do not punish me because I took the initiative, based on our discussions and goals. The cause is just, the reasons adequate, the opportunity clear, and the losses and consequences acceptable; so, I acted. That is what a good soldier does. Is that not correct, Sergeant?”

“Stop calling me that, Zakharov!” Pereira snapped. “And stop trying to include me in this insane scheme of yours! I had nothing to do with it.”

“Wait, Manuel, just wait a minute!” Ruiz interjected. His head was still swirling in confusion. “We have got to think about this. We need to…”

“Comrades, the deed is done, the enemy engaged,” Zakharov said casually. “You wanted the fight taken to the doorstep of the enemy—I have seen to it. In the end, the method doesn’t matter one bit. Yes, the Americans and perhaps the world will shriek and hide with horror and call us monsters, but it will also call attention to our cause.” Pereira remained defiant, angrily staring at Zakharov; Ruiz still looked confused and frightened. “Is this not what you wanted, Jorge? Do you want to strike out at the company that murdered your wife and children, or not?”

“Zakharov, do not…”

“Yes…yes, I do,” Ruiz said weakly. “I have dedicated my life to seeing that corporate murderers like Kingman and TransGlobal Energy are destroyed. But to use a nuclear weapon…my God, I never believed it would ever happen. The devastation must be horrible, absolutely horrible…”

“Trust me, Jorge, the devastation is the same with a high-explosive device as with a small nuclear device,” Zakharov assured him with a fatherly pat on the shoulder that Pereira thought completely emotionless and insincere. “Look at the effects of American firebombing campaigns in Germany and Japan and their napalm attacks in Southeast Asia: millions killed or maimed by nothing but gasoline and incendiary devices. A cluster bomb the size of a baseball, or a bullet the size of a pea, kills just as surely and just as gruesomely as a nuclear device. Are we going to cease our campaign and surrender because we happen to use a weapon that creates ‘more bang for the buck’? I think not.” He looked at Pereira and added smugly, “Or maybe I am wrong, Manuel? Do you think I was wrong?”

“All of our attacks have always been discussed, planned, and coordinated in advance,” Pereira said. He had to grudgingly admit that Zakharov was making a good point here: what exactly was the difference? Dead is dead, no matter how it happens. But it infuriated him to see Zakharov’s smug expression as the Russian realized that Pereira was weakening. Zakharov was just too clever and too…efficient was the only word. Pereira went on. “We prepare leaflets and broadcasts to warn innocent civilians to leave the area; we try to minimize the impact of our attacks to the environment and the land. We are not murderers, Zakharov—at least we were not until today! We are supposed to be defenders of the oppressed, not slayers of them!”

“Come down from your heavenly perch in the clouds and join the real world, Manuel,” Zakharov said. “All of our attacks have killed innocent persons—the only way not to do so would be to expose members of our group to capture. But I will have you know that the brave patriot who executed the operation in Texas did send a warning message to a local radio station and did in fact try to warn men and women around the TransGlobal facility away—he even tried to warn a TransGlobal security officer of the attack.”

“How in hell do you know that, Zakharov?”

“I kept in constant communication with our man and monitored his movements at all times,” Zakharov responded. “After all, he was carrying a very valuable weapon, one not easy to replace, and I wanted to make sure he carried out his assignment exactly as planned. He did a superb job. He had befriended several security personnel at the facility and got to know them personally, so before he set off his device he tried to warn them to get away from the area. They did not, of course—Harold Kingman would have had the man skinned and boiled alive if he had left his post and survived when others left behind perished. Our man was under orders not to try to give such a warning if he felt it would jeopardize the mission, but I left it up to him. He both issued a warning and accomplished his mission. As for the taped radio message, I do not know. He was supposed to have delivered it the same day as the attack, but it was a weekend and perhaps the lazy Americans didn’t bother to open it.”

“All right, all right, everyone relaxe,” Ruiz said. He was obviously relieved that his two comrades were starting to find a middle ground here, which allowed Ruiz to focus on the ramifications of this very unexpected, horrifying news. “There’s nothing we can do right now. We’re all tired, and we need to rest and think.” Zakharov didn’t look tired in the least, and his rather exasperated expression confirmed it, but he said nothing. “I suggest we all go to safe houses as planned while our camp is broken down and moved, then meet in a few days’ time after we get a chance to assess the American reaction to the attack and decide how it will affect our future operations.”

“Let’s make it one day,” Zakharov said. “We need to best decide on how to capitalize on this successful event.”