Kuchma's Dictum

By Jacques Evans

A Russian paratroop commander, Colonel Yuri Vitrenko, attempts to terrorize the United States into withdrawing its troops from Europe so Russia can have a free hand in bringing the break-away republics back into the fold. Vitrenko is part of a clique that includes Colonel General Alexi Kuchma.

The general has a large following and is running in the presidential election. Vitrenko is convinced that getting American troops out of Europe will ensure Kuchma's election. To this end, he devises a series of terrorist plots but does not involve any members of the clique for fear of retaliation against Russia.

Vitrenko anonymously notifies the Americans of his intentions if they do not withdraw their troops from Europe. The Americans do not heed his warning. As a result, Vitrenko launches a series of terrorist attacks—one has an eerie resemblance to TWA Flight 800. When the Americans blow him off, Vitrenko plans his next strike on an American city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacques Evans
• Release date: Oct 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452307305

Jacques Evans

Jacques Evans retired from the U.S. Air Force and is a life member of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. He has worked on numerous aerospace projects and spent years at Cape Kennedy as a member of the Apollo team. He is the author of action/adventure novels. His favorite novelists are Nevil Shute and Patrick O'Brian.

Book preview

Kuchma's Dictum

by

Jacques Evans

For the crew and passengers of TWA Flight 800.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2000 Jacques Evans

All rights reserved.

Also by Jacques Evans

Scammed

Fraser's Run

Mizrahi's Prison

South of Cayenne

Kuchma's Dictum

Flight to Dungavel

The Betty G's Gold

The Mannerheim Line

The Czar's Last Soldier

Von Weizsacker's Diary

Last Bridge to Baghdad

Last Flight of the Blue Goose

This book is for personal use only. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a newspaper, magazine or journal article.

This is a work of fiction. All similarities between characters and persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 ~ New York

Chapter 2 ~ Maryland, Washington, D.C., Virginia

Chapter 3 ~ Washington, D.C.

Chapter 4 ~ Moscow

Chapter 5 ~ Maryland, New York

Chapter 6 ~ New York, Maryland

Chapter 7 ~ Maryland

Chapter 8 ~ Washington, D.C.

Chapter 9 ~ Maryland

Chapter 10 ~ Moscow

Chapter 11 ~ Maryland, New York

Chapter 12 ~ Maryland, Washington, D.C.

Chapter 13 ~ Moscow

Chapter 14 ~ Maryland, Washington, D.C.

Chapter 15 ~ Moscow, Tokyo, Vancouver, Bellingham, Los Angeles

Epilogue

Chapter 1 ~ New York City

December 28 started out like every other day at John F. Kennedy International Airport for Clint Jackson. He parked his ten-year-old car in the employee parking lot then punched in at 1:58 a.m., two minutes early. Clint put his gloves on and headed for a yellow pickup truck. He laid his sack of donuts, a newspaper and thermos on the passenger seat. As soon as he started the engine, he turned the heater on and waited for it to spew warm air. After a quick radio check with the tower, Clint turned his headlights on then drove alongside the runways checking for patches of ice, loonies and debris. As he drove by the runways, he spotted a coworker's truck checking the taxiways.

Satisfied the runways were in good shape, and there were no loonies around, Clint parked at the end of the runway and poured himself a cup of coffee laced with a touch of bourbon. This was his second year with security at JFK and he was lucky to get the job. An ex-policeman, Clint was fired from the Los Angeles Police Department for excessive use of force. He missed Los Angeles. When asked by his coworkers why he liked LA he always replied, At least you don't freeze your ass off there. After Clint's picture was prominently displayed in the Los Angeles newspapers he decided it was time to leave. For the next year he tried to get a police job to no avail. While staying with his brother in Queens, he answered an ad for a security guard and was finally hired.

Clint knew he was washed up and was just putting in time until he could collect Social Security. When he got his first paycheck, Clint moved out of his brother's house and rented a furnished room. After three months on the job, his boss found he was reliable and Clint was promoted to the runway detail. Night after night Clint checked the runways. Although his pickup truck wasn't a squad car, Clint thought it was better than walking around the terminal with the other Keystone Cops; besides, it gave him time to think—not that he had a lot to think about.

Clint's fourteen years in the Army and his sixteen year career as a cop were rather ordinary. During both careers he received half a dozen medals and one citation for bravery. He never married and intended to make the Army his career but as division after division was phased out, or downsized, so was Clint. He was a good cop and did his best to protect the citizens of LA. When the time came that he needed help from his superiors, it wasn't there.

Clint was out of uniform getting ready to draw money from an automated bank teller when a young punk stuck a knife in his back. Clint's reflexes kicked in and he struggled with his opponent finally pumping two shots into him. It turned out the politician's son, a sixteen-year-old honor student, only had a pocketknife. The good citizens couldn't believe a 120-pound honor student was dumb enough to hold up a 200-pound off-duty cop. Instead of shooting the boy, reporters thought Clint should have subdued him—never mind the boy was high on drugs and his knife was poised to puncture Clint's body. Two witnesses to the incident and the boy's drug test couldn't be located. It was an election year and Clint was hung out to dry.

Clint finished his coffee then made a routine sweep of the airport perimeter. He thought he saw something in the distance and trained his spotlight on it. Clint drove alongside the object then got out of his truck. He picked up a large, metal panel and threw it in the bed of his pickup. Every so often Clint found an inspection panel that fell from an airplane so he wasn't surprised. He wondered what the traveling public would think if they knew parts fell off the airplanes they were flying. Clint got on the radio and was told to bring the part in. He reached in his pocket for a pack of Life Savers and stuck one in his mouth.

As soon as Clint parked his truck inside the Aeroexpress hangar, half a dozen men descended on the pickup. Two mechanics removed the part and laid it on the hangar floor. The other men, in suits, inspected the panel. No one paid any attention to Clint. Peering through the crowd, Clint saw some numbers on the underside of the inspection panel. He heard one man say, This came off an outboard 747 nacelle. Another man got on his cellular phone and read off the serial number on the inboard side of the panel. A minute later he overheard the man say, It came from Flight 120. Clint nudged a mechanic and asked him what the big deal was. These guys are from the FAA. Flight 120 blew up a while ago with a couple of hundred people aboard.

Two FAA inspectors approached Clint with open notebooks. Ten minutes later they finished questioning him and he got back in his truck. Clint parked at the end of the runway and poured himself another cup of coffee then tuned his radio to a twenty-four hour news station. After he finished his shift, Clint kept his car radio on as he drove to his furnished room. He got out of uniform, showered, then walked to a nearby diner. Sitting at the counter, he ordered supper while the other customers ate lunch. Clint kept one eye on the television set as he ate and learned what remained of Flight 120 was sitting under 70 feet of water in Long Island Sound.

At one o'clock the next morning, the alarm clock went off and Clint got out of bed. By the time he shaved, the coffee was made. He decided against adding his usual two jiggers of bourbon and filled the thermos with coffee. On the drive to work, he stopped and picked up a newspaper and four donuts. Clint punched in at 1:59 a.m. and started his rounds. After he checked the runways, Clint drove to the spot where he found the panel that fell off of Flight 120 when it took off from JFK. He got out of his truck, and scoured the area but found nothing else of value. Clint wondered what would have happened if he found the panel sooner. For some reason he couldn't understand, Clint felt partially responsible for the downing of Flight 120.

Clint parked his truck alongside the Aeroexpress hangar. He got out of his truck and spoke to one of the mechanics he handed the panel to. The mechanic assured him the panel that fell off had nothing to do with the explosion. Together they walked to a nearby Boeing 747. The mechanic pointed out both outboard nacelles and the location of the panel that fell off but didn't know if the panel came from the left or right nacelle. Clint felt better after talking to the mechanic but still wasn't satisfied. According to the radio and television, over a hundred witnesses saw a streak of light heading toward Flight 120. Some talk show callers thought a missile downed the 747 and killed the 230 passengers and crew. Others thought a bomb brought the airplane down.

When his shift ended, Clint drove