Page 94 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"Your destination is classified information," Dimka said. "Do not speak of it." In Dimka's pocket was a sealed envelope that the captain was to open after he had sailed from the Black Sea into the Mediterranean. At that point he would learn he was going to Cuba.

"I need cold-weather lubricating oil, antifreeze, deicing equipment--"

Dimka said: "Shut the fuck up."

"But I have to protest. Siberian conditions--"

Dimka said to Lieutenant Meyer: "Punch him in the mouth."

Meyer was a big man and he hit hard. The captain fell back, his lips bleeding.

Dimka said: "Go back aboard your ship, wait for orders, and keep your stupid mouth shut."

The captain left, and the men on the quay turned their attention back to the approaching train.

Operation Anadyr was huge. The approaching train was the first of nineteen similar, all required to bring just this first missile regiment to Sevastopol. Altogether, Dimka was sending fifty thousand men and two hundred thirty thousand tons of equipment to Cuba. He had a fleet of eighty-five ships.

He still did not see how he was to keep the whole thing secret.

Many of the men in authority in the Soviet Union were careless, lazy, drunk, and just plain stupid. They misunderstood their instructions, they forgot, they approached challenging tasks halfheartedly and then gave up, and sometimes they just decided they knew better. Reasoning with them was useless; charm was worse. Being nice to them made them think you were a fool who could be ignored.

The train inched alongside the ship, its steel-on-steel brakes squealing. Each purpose-built railcar carried just one wooden crate eighty feet long and

nine feet square. A crane operator mounted the gantry and entered its control cabin. Stevedores leaped onto the railcars and began readying the crates for loading. A company of soldiers had traveled with the train, and now they began to help the stevedores. Dimka was relieved to see that the missile regiment flashes had been removed from their uniforms, in accordance with his instructions.

A man in a civilian suit jumped down off a car, and Dimka was irritated to see that it was Yevgeny Filipov, his opposite number at the Defense Ministry. Filipov approached Pankov, as the captain had, but Pankov said: "Comrade Dvorkin is in command here."

Filipov shrugged. "Just a few minutes late," he said with a satisfied air. "We were delayed--"

Dimka noticed something. "Oh, no," he said. "Fuck it."

Filipov said: "Something wrong?"

Dimka stamped his foot on the concrete quay. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"What is it?"

Dimka looked at him in fury. "Who's in charge on the train?"

"Colonel Kats is with us."

"Bring the dumb bastard here to me right away."

Filipov did not like to do Dimka's bidding, but he could hardly refuse such a request, and he went away.

Pankov looked an inquiry at Dimka.

Dimka said with weary rage: "Do you see what is stenciled on the side of each crate?"

Pankov nodded. "It's an army code number."

"Exactly," Dimka said bitterly. "It means: 'R-12 ballistic missile.'"

"Oh, shit," said Pankov.

Dimka shook his head in impotent fury. "Torture is too good for some people."

He had feared that sooner or later he would have a showdown with the army, and on balance it suited him to have it now, over the very first shipment. And he was prepared for it.

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