The Fall of Night Read Online Free Page B

danger.  The integrated European defence industry had taken a major drop in sales.
     
    Nekrasov tapped the table.  “Margarita?”
     
    Shalenko found his eyes turning to Margarita Sergeyevna Pushkina, the FSB Director of External Operations, with interest.  She was pretty, but dangerous; she was known as the ‘Black Widow’ behind her back.  There were rumours that Nekrasov and Margarita were lovers, but informed opinion tended to disregard the possibility; the idea of the Black Widow having anything to do with anything as soft as love…
     
    “We have established penetration of all of the countries within Europe, some of them through the use of long-term FSB sleeper agents, others with the assistance of the Algerians,” Margarita said.  Her voice was soft and very musical, but there was a hard edge that undercut her dark-haired appearance and soft skin.  “This has the added advantage that if the Europeans stumble onto some parts of our network, the Algerians and radical Islam will get the blame.  The Algerian plan for a major uprising can, with our help, succeed to a certain extent.”
     
    She smiled.  There was no humour in the smile.  “The Islamic Government of Algeria has been plotting its war for a long time,” she said.  “Their problem was that they would get their arse kicked if they tried it alone; with our help, they have a fair chance at pulling it off long enough for us to make our gains permanent.  Afterwards…well, it’s not as if we owe them anything.  They have been smuggling in weapons and preparing terror cells for years; we took advantage of the opportunity to move some of our own people into the region.”
     
    She paused.  “I should stress that this part of the plan could fail,” she admitted.  “I have every confidence that our own people will carry out their missions or die trying, but I don’t trust the fanatics the Algerians have been sending in, or the Palestinians who took up residence in France.  Some of them probably suspect that we intend to stab them in the back as soon as we secure all of the vital targets, others will intend personal revenge, rather than anything that might help us.  As long as they keep the French and Spanish busy…”
     
    It went on and on; Shalenko found his head getting heavy as every last part of the plan was reviewed, examined, hacked apart and rebuilt and finally approved.  The planners had built friction into the plan; Shalenko was too old a dog to expect that everything would go perfectly, even if the first steps of the plan were played to perfection.  Over a million soldiers, sailors and airmen, some of them Kontraktniki officers, had been prepared for their mission; thousands of tanks, aircraft, missiles and warships had been produced for the greatest military attack that the world had ever seen.  Nothing would ever be the same again…
     
    “I think that we have taken care of every detail that we can control,” Nekrasov said finally, after the details of the diplomatic offensive had been examined.  “Are there any final issues we must cover?”
     
    There was a pause.  Stalin would never have said anything like that, or at least he would never have meant it. 
     
    “There is a point,” Shalenko said.  “We must avoid causing atrocities, at least until we are firmly in control, that involve the general population.  If they believe that they have a future under our rule, sir, they will be less inclined to fight to the death.”
     
    Nekrasov looked briefly at him, and then at FSB General Vasiliy Alekseyevich Rybak.  Rybak was known, not without reason, as the ‘Butcher of Chechnya;’ he had brought peace to the region, the peace of the grave.  He had also been mocked mercilessly because of his name.  The International Criminal Court had tried to indict him; the Russian Government had told them to go to hell.
     
    “We will have to establish control as quickly as possible,” Rybak protested.  He met