Dreamland: Revolution Part 33

2320.

WITH THE DETAILS WORKED OUT, STONER STAYED NORTH, waiting for word from Washington on whether his plan would be approved. A small part of him-an insignificant, tiny slice-hoped it wouldn't be, at least not immediately. He wanted a few more days with Sorina Viorica.

He wanted more than that.

As soon as Fairchild relayed the OK-and the conditions-Stoner shut that part of himself away and called General Locusta at his corps headquarters. Locusta's aide was reluctant to even bother getting the general-until Stoner said he had definitive information on the location of the guerrilla camps in Moldova.

"Where are they?" Locusta snapped when he came on the line.

"I'll be at your headquarters in an hour. We'll talk," said Stoner. He killed the transmission, giving Locusta no time to respond.

Stoner had read everything the Agency had on General Locusta, but like most CIA briefs on military officers in Eastern Europe, it offered little beyond his resume, lacking insight into the man. Locusta was an infantryman by training; among his military honors was a marksmanship badge, earned as a lieutenant. He was well-regarded as a general officer, though considered abrasive by the defense minister and the president.

Locusta seemed to have been marked for greater things from the time he joined the army as a twenty-one-year-old lieutenant, fresh out of university. He'd received training in Russia as a young man and had been posted there for about a year in the early 1980s. He'd also toured Great Britain, Spain, and Italy as part of Romania's initiative to join NATO.

His family had connections to Ceausescu, the former dictator. That had hurt them in the years following Ceausescu's fall, but not so severely that the family wasn't well off now. Locusta himself had some property, though not great wealth.

Nothing in the report told Stoner what he wanted to know: the odds that Locusta would put a knife in his back just for the fun of it.

They were about fifty-fifty, Stoner guessed, after he finished telling the general about the guerrilla camps in Moldova. Average.

Locusta sat silently for nearly a minute after Stoner finished. Most of his aides had left for home hours ago; it was so quiet in the corps HQ that Stoner could hear the clock ticking on Locusta's desk.

"How did you find this information out?" said the general finally.

"I can't get into the exact methods we use," replied Stoner. He pulled over one of the seats-a metal folding chair-and sat down.

"Then how can I judge how accurate the information is?"

Stoner shrugged. "I guess we'll have to find out together."

"Together?"

"I want to go on the raid."

"Why?"

"I think the Russians are helping the guerrillas. I think they may have been responsible for killing some of our people, and this will help me find out."

Another man might have asked if Stoner didn't trust him, but the general accepted the explanation without comment. That told Stoner that the general understood the value of seeing things for yourself, that he was a man who liked to act, rather than have others act for him.

Interesting pieces of information, though not immediately helpful.

"So you have a spy?" asked Locusta.

"I can't get into specifics."

"Where are the camps?"

"I don't have that information yet. There are two, and they're within fifty miles of the border."

"Practically half of the country is within fifty miles of the border."

The two men locked gazes. Stoner held it for half a second, then blinked and looked down, wanting the general to feel that he was his superior. He glanced back, then away, underlining his submission.

"I cannot commit troops to move across the border on vague hints," said the general.

"I'll have the information when the operation starts, not before."

"Nonsense."

Stoner smiled in spite of himself. Locusta was right; Stoner could get the information from Sorina as soon as she was safely out of the country. But Stoner wanted to verify that it was correct before letting her go, and she wouldn't agree to any delay.

Not that he didn't trust her.

"This is of no use to me," said Locusta. "Get out of my office."

Stoner rose silently and walked out, turning down the hall. He went out to his motorcycle. He had his helmet on when one of the general's aides ran from the building, flagging his arms.

"Perhaps the general was, acted, hastily," said the man, a major. "Not hastily but in anger. The criminals have caused us, have killed many people. Sometimes it is difficult to act rationally when dealing with them."

"Sure."

"Your information comes from a criminal?"

"I believe my information is good information," said Stoner. "But the only way to actually find out is to test it."

"You cannot use your planes to verify it?"

"The planes are not allowed over the border."

"Satellites?"

"If we knew where it was, we could get pictures," said Stoner. "But we've looked at sat photos before without finding anything. I imagine that's happened to you."

"If an attack were to be launched, would the aircraft a.s.sist then?"

Stoner shook his head. "The Dreamland aircraft cannot violate Moldovan airs.p.a.ce."

"Give me a phone number." the man said, "and I will call you in a few hours."

Bacau, Romania

2234.

GENERAL LOCUSTA WATCHED FROM HIS WINDOW AS THE American started his motorbike and drove away.

Locusta had no doubt the American's information would prove to be correct. Two of his soldiers had smuggled an American spy over the border a few days ago; this was obviously the fruits of his labor.

And their blood.

Fifty miles from the border. Much farther than the information their own spies had obtained, and at least a partial answer to the question of why his men had failed to find out themselves.

Though another part of the answer was that the rebels had been useful to Locusta, an excuse to build up his force. Now he no longer needed them.

Or the Russians.

Or the Americans, for that matter.

This was his opportunity: the perfect diversion. It supplied a ready-made excuse for mobilizing his units and commandeering the few helicopters available outside the capital.

And he couldn't wait much longer.

There was a knock at the door. The major he had sent after Stoner, Anton Ozera, appeared in the threshold.

"In," said Locusta, gesturing.

Ozera closed the door behind him.

"What did he say?" asked Locusta.

"His source is one of the criminals. There will be no help across the border."

"But the information is good," said Locusta. "He's convinced of that or he wouldn't want to go along."

"The problem is, the Americans do not know the criminals as we do."

Locusta smirked. "I think they know them well enough."

The fact that a turncoat was willing to give the Americans information showed the terrible state the movement was in. They had failed to win the support of the people, and would now wither and die.

With a little help, of course. And as long as the Russians were removed.

"We could use the attack as a diversion," said Ozera. "It would explain the mobilization of forces."

"Always, Ozera, we think alike," said Locusta.

"Thank you, General."

"Your men?"

"We could strike in an hour. If the target was the president's northern home. The capital, as I said-"

Locusta raised his finger, and Ozera stopped talking. They had discussed the difficulties of striking Voda in the capital many times; the a.s.sa.s.sination itself would be easy, but the contingencies that would necessarily follow would be difficult to manage.

The general picked up his phone. "Connect me to the president's personal residence. It is a matter of great urgency."

He leaned back in his seat, waiting. He knew Voda's personal habits from experience; the president would be up even though the hour was late.

Sure enough, Voda came on the line within a few minutes.

"Mr. President, I have very important news," said Locusta.

He explained what Stoner had told him. As always, the president listened without comment or interruption. Only when Locusta fell silent did he speak.

"If there is a definitive location, I will review the plans and make my decision," he said.

"I will bring the plans personally to you," said Locusta. "Only..."

"Finish your sentence."

"I have two thoughts. One is that I would like the a.s.sault to proceed rapidly, so that word of this turncoat does not leak out. And two, if I were to come to the capital, it is possible spies would alert the guerrillas. The Russians have been very busy."

"Yes." Voda paused a moment, thinking. "You suggest I come to your headquarters?"

"That too might generate some unwanted rumors." Locusta pretended to be thinking. "If you were at your estate in the mountains..."

"It's hardly an estate, Tomma. Merely an old farm."

And one that you love to visit, Locusta thought. He had met the president there many times, and had his own unit of troops nearby to provide additional protection.

"When would we meet?"

"If you were there tomorrow afternoon?"

"My aide will call you with the arrangements in the morning," said Voda.

Locusta gave Major Ozera a broad smile as he hung up, then rose and went to the door. In the hallway, he bellowed for his chief of staff.

"I want plans for an a.s.sault inside Moldova," he told him when he appeared. "Two sites to be hit as hard as we can."

"Where, General?"

"We won't know the precise locations until a few minutes before the a.s.saults themselves. Plan for a large action against several buildings. Expect several hundred guerrillas."

"But the president-"