Deadly Savage Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Author’s Post Script

  About the Author

  The Peter Savage Series

  Title Page

  Deadly

  Savage

  a Peter Savage novel

  Dave Edlund

  This is an uncorrected proof and text may change before final publication. Please verify with author or publisher before quoting directly from this text.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016, by Dave Edlund

  Deadly Savage (Peter Savage, #3)

  Dave Edlund

  www.petersavagenovels.com

  [email protected]

  Published 2016, by Light Messages

  www.lightmessages.com

  Durham, NC 27713

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-161-9

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61153-160-2

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  To the men and women who have served our country tirelessly and selflessly. We are forever in your debt.

  Acknowledgements

  FROM CONCEPT TO COMPLETION, there are many to acknowledge and thank for their contributions to this project.

  First, I want to thank Sargent Seth Lombardi for analyzing the tactics imagined in Deadly Savage. Your feedback and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Also, I want to acknowledge that Sargent Lombardi has made a career serving in the United States Army, and is a veteran of two tours in Iraq and two tours in Afghanistan. Oh, by the way Sargent, next time you’re invited to the President’s Inaugural Ball, may I tag along?

  I also want to acknowledge Siggy Buckley and her novel (based on factual events) There is No Going Back. This short story retells how Russian soldiers abused, raped, and murdered German civilians, driving them from their homes in Eastern Europe as the Red Army advanced on Nazi Germany. It is a sad tale of ethnic hatred and cleansing, a tale which shaped the way I created some of the characters in Deadly Savage.

  Sometimes it takes only a suggestion and spark of imagination to lay the foundation for a novel. I want to thank my editor, Elizabeth, for that suggestion—two years ago, if memory serves me well. It was right after we completed and launched Crossing Savage, and the Russian invasion of Crimea was news. I hope you enjoy what has grown from that conversation.

  So, I go from concept to completion. Finishing a book involves editors—people with very special and indispensable talents. A huge thank you, Elizabeth, for your contributions to make this novel better.

  I will quickly point out that the job of rooting out and correcting errors in the manuscript prior to publication is a daunting task. And although many have contributed magnificently to finding and correcting spelling, punctuation, and other grammatical errors, in the final analysis it must be said that I am the one who put them there in the first place.

  Last, but hardly least, I want to offer my heart-felt thanks to you, the fans of Peter Savage, James Nicolaou, and the rest of the crew. And a special shout-out to my friends from Hiram Johnson High School who have been so generous in your support of this crazy dream I’m committed to pursuing. I write these novels for your enjoyment, and would love to hear your comments and questions on my web site www.PeterSavageNovels.com.

  Author’s Note

  If you attended elementary school in the United States prior to 1973, you were, in all likelihood, vaccinated against smallpox. The last naturally-occurring case of smallpox was diagnosed in 1977 and on May 8, 1980, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared smallpox eradicated globally.

  Smallpox is a deadly viral disease for which there is no medical cure. There are several recognized, naturally occurring strains of smallpox, including hemorrhagic, flat type, variola minor, and variola major. The hemorrhagic and flat type have nearly 100% mortality rates, variola major has a mortality rate of about 30% to 50%, and for variola minor the mortality rate is <10%. Perhaps for these reasons smallpox is the only disease to have been completely eradicated worldwide.

  A global vaccination program to rid humanity of smallpox was proposed by the Soviet Union in 1958, and the leadership pledged to provide 25 million doses of vaccine each year to the program. The program began in earnest in 1967 under the direction of the WHO. Historians have stated that without this large contribution of vaccine from the Soviet government, the program would not have succeeded. But this apparent act of generosity took new meaning when, in 1992, a high-level Soviet defector (Dr. Ken Alibek) revealed the depth of bioweapons research and development in his former country.

  According to Dr. Alibek, the Kremlin ordered the development of a genetically modified smallpox virus, derived from the India-67 strain, as well as means to disperse the active virus from ballistic missiles and bombs. And Alibek was certainly in a position to know—from 1987 until he defected in 1992, Dr. Alibek was the Deputy Director of Biopreparat, a pharmaceutical company that fronted for the Soviet bioweapons program.

  At the height of the Cold War, the main Russian bioweapons testing range was Vozrozhdeniye Island in the Aral Sea. In 1971, a civilian boat sailed too close to the island, the prevailing wind blowing from the test range to the ill-fated boat. At least one of the crew, and possibly more, were infected with smallpox. The crew went on to spread the disease to the port town of Aralsk. Three people died and the entire populate of 50,000 was vaccinated to stop the spread of the disease.

  This is all a matter of public record, some sources are listed here:

  New Scientist, 17 June 2002, by Debora MacKenzie, www.newscientist.com/article/dn2415-soviet-smallpox-outbreak-confirmed.html

  Science, 18 June 2002, by Martin Enserink, news.sciencemag.org/2002/06/bioweapons-test-fingered-smallpox-outbreak

  GlobalSecurity.org

  Chapter 1

  Sary-Shagan, Kazakhstan

  BUNDLED IN A WOOL SWEATER, scarf wrapped around his ne
ck, and wearing fingerless knitted gloves, Ulan Bayzhanov prepared his workstation. The space was utilitarian with walls constructed of concrete blocks and painted a pale mint green. A few small square windows and one chart, listing the ampacity of copper and aluminum wire pasted to a wall, broke up the expanse of green. Scuffs and rub marks around the doorjambs hinted at the age of the facility. Natural light, forcing its way in through the small windows, was supplemented by overhead fluorescent fixtures that buzzed softly.

  Ulan’s workbench was cluttered with pliers and wire cutters, screwdrivers, electrical test equipment including several hand-held multimeters and two oscilloscopes. Scraps of wire were scattered across the surface in no apparent order. Located in a stand above the workstation was a long, horizontal metal rod that held spools of electrical wire, the multicolored insulation offering welcome relief from the otherwise monotone environment.

  Summer was still a month away, and without adequate heating the research facility would remain cool until the outside temperature warmed. The thick block walls and small windows helped against the bitterly cold winter weather and the furnace-like summer temperatures. For now, Ulan layered his clothing to stay warm. The fingerless gloves were the only compromise he made, dexterity a necessity for his work.

  Ulan Bayzhanov was born in a small house not far from Sary-Shagan. The son of sheep ranchers, he was raised an only child, two other younger brothers having died in their first year. The arid land and sparse vegetation made for a hard life, with a small relief found in the ground water that allowed his mother to grow some vegetables during the hot summer months.

  Driven by ambition, Ulan had no interest in following in the footsteps of his father. As a child, his schoolteacher recognized the drive and instinctive intellect behind Ulan’s sparkling brown eyes. He always had questions: how the machines worked; why the sun and stars moved as they did across the sky; why water existed as a solid, liquid, and a gas. But mostly, Ulan was fascinated by electricity.

  One day, when Ulan was only seven years old, the schoolteacher brought a simple generator to share with the students. It was made using three large horseshoe magnets and a coil of copper wire that was turned within the magnetic field using a hand crank. A light bulb was connected to the generator, and then the children took turns cranking the handle to make the light bulb illuminate.

  Ulan was immediately surprised by how hard it was to turn the crank to make the light bulb shine, but when the light bulb was disconnected from the generator, it was much easier to crank.

  “I don’t understand. Why does this happen?” Ulan asked.

  The teacher, who had been educated in Moscow, explained that when the light bulb completed the electric circuit, cranking the generator handle caused electricity to flow through the circuit. Since electricity is energy, it requires energy to make it. “That is you, turning the handle. You supply the energy. It is hard, because it is work.”

  Ulan thought, allowing a few moments for understanding to take root. “Ah. So, if the light is not connected to the generator, there is no path for the electricity to flow. That’s why it is easier to turn the handle.” Ulan beamed with pride having learned this new lesson.

  Whereas other classmates wished they could be doing almost anything other than school, Ulan looked forward to lessons every day. He read books borrowed from his teacher, and continued to excel in all his studies, but especially in science and mathematics.

  The day Ulan completed school, his teacher met him with a rare opportunity. Facing no hope of further education, and desperate to pursue a path other than tending sheep, Ulan accepted an apprenticeship at the research facility in Sary-Shagan. He was only 14 years old.

  That was the beginning of Ulan Bayzhanov’s career as an electrical technician at the Russian research complex not far from the shore of Lake Balkhash. For the first three years, Ulan walked to and from work six days of every week. Fortunately, his family home was not too far away, and in good weather Ulan could make the walk in about an hour. When he turned 17, the director of the electrical and electronics lab gave Ulan a car. It wasn’t much—with peeling paint, dented quarter panels, and torn and stained upholstery—but the engine ran, most of the time anyway. Still, it was the most beautiful gift Ulan had ever received.

  Eight years later Ulan was still driving that same car. It required regular maintenance, but he learned to be a good mechanic and parts were always available, even if he did have to remove them from junked vehicles.

  Today, Ulan was working alone to complete the quality assurance testing on two batteries, a test he’d started a week ago. Already he had completely discharged the batteries at the prescribed rate of five amps, and then fully charged the batteries to 13.2 volts. With the batteries fully charged, he carried out a series of tests to ensure they would provide more than the minimum rated power at three different discharge rates. Finally, the batteries had been left unattended for three days, and now he was about to measure the degree of self-discharge.

  First, Ulan measured to voltage of the batteries and then he sampled the liquid acid electrolyte within the batteries and measured its density. Satisfied that the electrical and chemical characteristics of the batteries were correct, and passing all other minimum acceptance criteria, Ulan placed a self-adhesive seal on each battery housing with his initials and date.

  Ulan slapped his hands together and rubbed them, the friction warming his fingers. He glanced out the window, and in the distance he saw a tan amorphous mass at what should have been the intersection of the ground and sky.

  “Another dust storm,” he muttered. At age 25, Ulan had never traveled more than 150 kilometers from his family home, the place of his birth. His world was dirt and sand and dust––frigid winters and hot, dry summers. He’d never experienced a large, bustling city, although he had read about Moscow, Paris, New York, Berlin, and other popular metropolitan centers.

  Someday he thought for the thousandth time.

  With the two batteries tested, his next task was to complete the electrical assembly on the two black plastic cases. He moved to a second workstation on the opposite side of the small room. Here he had bright overhead lights and an illuminated magnifying lens mounted to an adjustable arm, especially handy for detailed soldering.

  With one of the cases open, Ulan began to assemble the various electrical components. His job was to install the power supply and electrical system, plus an air blower and an electrically driven auger; a helical shaft that he thought served the purpose of moving a powder or granular material to the blower. For what purpose he had no idea; the work instruction did not identify the device by name or function, but this was not new to Ulan. Much of the work he performed was secretive.

  Once the batteries were fixed within a mounting box, he installed the wiring harness and then inserted the three printed circuit boards—these were the brains of the device. Portions of the wire harness plugged into the circuit boards, as did several sensors that were already in place. Ulan firmly tugged the wires to ensure secure connection.

  Finally, he referred to his work instructions on a sheet of white paper within a clear plastic cover. Along with the instruction was the quality assurance report for the three circuit boards, also manufactured at a neighboring location in the complex. It was the job of the design engineers to provide the assembly instructions Ulan was now reading.

  With the various parts in place inside the black case, Ulan used special test equipment to ensure the electrical connections were correct. Then, using a signal generator and test leads that he pressed to small metal pads on the circuit boards, Ulan completed the final quality assurance tests.

  Satisfied that all was correct, he signed off the work instruction sheet and inserted it along with the battery test report into the plastic sheet protector. Being a technician, Ulan did not have authority to pass the two cases on to the next department. In fact, the work instructions did not mention where the cases were to go next, presumably for final assembly. So, Ulan used the
wall-mounted rotary phone to call his supervisor, Nartay Karimov.

  “Doctor Karimov, I have completed my work on the two black cases, as you instructed.”

  “Excellent, I will be there right away,” Karimov answered.

  Two minutes later Karimov strode into the electrical lab. He was more than twice Ulan’s age, with gray hair and deep creases furrowing his face. Ulan was leaning over one of the cases with his hands folded behind his back, conducting a thorough visual inspection. His expression was studious and intense, eyebrows squeezed together creating a series of parallel wrinkles in his forehead.

  “Is something wrong?” Doctor Karimov asked, startling Ulan.

  “Uh, no,” he said, shaking his head as he stepped back. “I was just thinking. I installed a barometric pressure sensor, airflow sensor, and humidity meter. Plus, the air blower I installed there,” he pointed with his index finger, “will draw ambient air inside the case. I think this is an automatic air-sampling device. But I don’t understand what it does that common-place air sampling stations are not already doing?”

  Nartay Karimov considered Ulan’s questions. His thin face was severe with a sharp angular nose, chiseled chin, and obvious cheekbones. He squinted his eyes and stared directly at Ulan for an uncomfortable minute.

  “You have always been someone I can count on, Ulan.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  “You do good work, and you get your tasks done on time. You have a future here, provided you continue to do as you have done.”

  “Yes sir.” Ulan dipped his head, uncomfortably holding Karimov’s gaze.

  The mentor placed a hand on Ulan’s shoulder and spoke gently. “Do not let your curiosity get the better of you. Some questions are best left unspoken.”

  Ulan nodded, and shifted his gaze to the floor.

  “Now, I have a question for you. I have heard that you have affections for a certain young lady. Is this true?”