Edge of Honor by Richard Herman

police,” Vashin said. Again, the general nodded in acknowledgment of the obvious. Vashin fixed him with a cold look, wanting to humiliate and crush the man. He was everything Vashin was not: from a prominent family, protected and pampered as a youth, educated, and then given the inside track to career and promotion. Prudnokov was a child of the nomenklatura , the elite of the Communist Party who had ruled the Soviet Union for their own benefit. But times had changedand the nomenklatura were a relic of the past, like the Bolsheviks and czars.
    Now it was Vashin’s turn. The grinding poverty of his childhood, the endless deprivations in the name of Soviet socialism, the early death of his mother from overwork and abuse, the refuge his father found in vodka, were all behind him. But there was no satisfaction for Vashin, there was no redemption, there was no cure. The brutal system that had degraded and scorned humanity had left a darkness in his soul, a vague quest for “more” that was rooted in hate, paranoia, and the desire for revenge. It was the stuff that gave birth to a Hitler or a Stalin.
    “Peter Davydovich,” Vashin said, opening negotiations, “I understand you have recently been given a new command.”
    Again, the irritating nod. “Your information is correct. I am now the commander of Transport Aviation.”
    “Is Transport Aviation still flying paid cargoes?”
    A snort from the general. “It is how we pay for fuel, maintenance, and pilot proficiency. A commercial venture.”
    “But you do have landing rights in other countries not available to normal civilian aircraft?”
    Prudnokov fully understood what they were negotiating. “We have many residual rights left over from our Warsaw Pact and peacekeeping commitments.” He decided it was time to sweeten the negotiations. “Because of our treaties, Transport Aviation aircraft are not subject to customs inspections or import duties. Of course, we are willing to allow, shall we say, special friends to use our services.”
    “I have interests that will pay extra to use these services,” Vashin said.
    “We are more than glad to accommodate our friends, provided they help us and pay on time.”
    “Of course,” Vashin replied. He needed the security only Transport Aviation could provide and the general wanted his daughter back. It was a done deal. “Perhaps some of my people can help in the search for your daughter. Do you have a picture?” The general handed him a photo and Vashin studied it, his features as bland and noncommittal as the general’s. “A beautiful girl. I canunderstand why you are so worried. She could be a movie star.” He forced a sigh. “Children. They have no respect these days.”
    “She’s a good girl,” the general said. “But her head is filled with trash about love and romance from watching LTV and the movies.”
    Vashin buzzed for his assistant and she was standing in front of him within seconds. “Geraldine, I want to help Peter Davydovich find his daughter.” He handed her the photo.
    “A very pretty girl,” Geraldine said. She thought for a moment. “Perhaps Tom would be the best one to handle this.” Tom Johnson was Vashin’s chief of security. Geraldine punched at her personal telecommunicator and within seconds, the former Secret Service agent came through the door. Johnson was a big man who could have played defensive guard on a pro football team. His hair was cut short, Marine style, and he had a classic Prussian bulge on the back of his neck. Vashin explained what he wanted and Geraldine handed him the photograph. Johnson asked a few questions in a deep guttural Russian.
    “Peter Davydovich,” Vashin said, bringing the meeting to a close, “we will be glad to help. But perhaps you can do another small service for us. A service we’ll be glad to pay for.”
    “Certainly,” Prudnokov replied. “Anything that is reasonable.”
    “I don’t know the right words, but you have fake devices you use