767-300 ER engine mounting bolts – he instructed Stein to get the counterfeiter ready.
The somber gray press was a hybrid industrial stamper with multiple dials and settings, a masterpiece of German precision tool making from the pre-computer days. It could flawlessly reproduce the manufacturer’s serial number on any of the 322 modified parts his operation had assembled over its 30-year life span.
The counterfeiter had been built in the early 1960s, but it was designed to accommodate new print faces, characters and number-letter combinations so that it would not become obsolete with the introduction of new aircraft models.
Volkov had sent Dr. Stahlwetter, the man who conceived the device, to Seattle every year until 1990. Working with Stein, he had checked and serviced the machine, then used the tool and die shop to make any new plates needed to keep up with changes in the industry.
Since Stahlwetter’s last visit, there had been no changes in Boeing’s numbering practices. The counterfeiter was thus able to deal with parts for all of the company’s commercial aircraft now in service except the 777, introduced after the collapse of the USSR. Volkov had never activated the sabotage capabilities of Operation Litvyak, so the stamper, while maintained in perfect condition, had not been used until the Atlanta demonstration. Nor would it ever be used again after tonight. What they were doing right now had historical significance. It showed conclusively what might have been if the United States and Soviet Union had ever fought a land war in Europe. For Claussen, this made it an experience worth savoring.
“Ready,” Stein said. “Give me the serial number, then the date code, in that order. We’ll triple check before we imprint.”
Claussen read from the computer screen, jotting down the long numbers as he spoke. He passed the paper to Stein and stood up briskly. “I’ll find the corresponding part.”
The bolts were on the shelf where they had been stored undisturbed for the past 12 years, packaged in groups of four. Claussen carried one package to the workbench. He watched Stein finish up with the settings, check the numbers against those he had jotted down on his sheet of paper and place the first bolt onto the stamping platform. The muscles in his forearms rippled with effort, his veins stood out, the skin over his cheeks drew taut as drum leather.
He aligned the bolt, clamped it in position, then ran a trial by inking the plate and applying feather light pressure to the arm. He rechecked the accuracy of his numbers yet another time against those on the paper and on the computer screen, then pulled down the long handle of the press for the permanent imprint.
Stein removed the bolt, blew on it and examined his handiwork. He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. “Well, Walter?”
Claussen bent over and studied the serial number. “I would say, Karl, that it is flawless.”
Stein chuckled. “The investigators will be on a wild goose chase for years trying to find out who fucked the metallurgy. If you come across the reports I’d like to see them.”
“Of course, Karl.”
“By the way, you haven’t explained warped Volkov’s reasoning. Why is he doing this now? Operation Litvyak is obviously dead. What’s in it for him?”
“I didn’t come to here to chat, Karl. He has his reasons. As usual, they are convoluted and complex. Something to do with Russia wanting better relations with the US.”
Stein said, “I guess I’m not interested, Walter. When the DDR was involved, that was one thing. I don’t give a damn about Russia. That’s Volkov’s domain. What about you? Do you really care what happens to those bastards?”
“I work for myself now, just as you do. Get going, please.”
Stein stamped the remaining bolts, then began work on the more sophisticated electrical and hydraulic items. Last came the modified GE, Pratt
The somber gray press was a hybrid industrial stamper with multiple dials and settings, a masterpiece of German precision tool making from the pre-computer days. It could flawlessly reproduce the manufacturer’s serial number on any of the 322 modified parts his operation had assembled over its 30-year life span.
The counterfeiter had been built in the early 1960s, but it was designed to accommodate new print faces, characters and number-letter combinations so that it would not become obsolete with the introduction of new aircraft models.
Volkov had sent Dr. Stahlwetter, the man who conceived the device, to Seattle every year until 1990. Working with Stein, he had checked and serviced the machine, then used the tool and die shop to make any new plates needed to keep up with changes in the industry.
Since Stahlwetter’s last visit, there had been no changes in Boeing’s numbering practices. The counterfeiter was thus able to deal with parts for all of the company’s commercial aircraft now in service except the 777, introduced after the collapse of the USSR. Volkov had never activated the sabotage capabilities of Operation Litvyak, so the stamper, while maintained in perfect condition, had not been used until the Atlanta demonstration. Nor would it ever be used again after tonight. What they were doing right now had historical significance. It showed conclusively what might have been if the United States and Soviet Union had ever fought a land war in Europe. For Claussen, this made it an experience worth savoring.
“Ready,” Stein said. “Give me the serial number, then the date code, in that order. We’ll triple check before we imprint.”
Claussen read from the computer screen, jotting down the long numbers as he spoke. He passed the paper to Stein and stood up briskly. “I’ll find the corresponding part.”
The bolts were on the shelf where they had been stored undisturbed for the past 12 years, packaged in groups of four. Claussen carried one package to the workbench. He watched Stein finish up with the settings, check the numbers against those he had jotted down on his sheet of paper and place the first bolt onto the stamping platform. The muscles in his forearms rippled with effort, his veins stood out, the skin over his cheeks drew taut as drum leather.
He aligned the bolt, clamped it in position, then ran a trial by inking the plate and applying feather light pressure to the arm. He rechecked the accuracy of his numbers yet another time against those on the paper and on the computer screen, then pulled down the long handle of the press for the permanent imprint.
Stein removed the bolt, blew on it and examined his handiwork. He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. “Well, Walter?”
Claussen bent over and studied the serial number. “I would say, Karl, that it is flawless.”
Stein chuckled. “The investigators will be on a wild goose chase for years trying to find out who fucked the metallurgy. If you come across the reports I’d like to see them.”
“Of course, Karl.”
“By the way, you haven’t explained warped Volkov’s reasoning. Why is he doing this now? Operation Litvyak is obviously dead. What’s in it for him?”
“I didn’t come to here to chat, Karl. He has his reasons. As usual, they are convoluted and complex. Something to do with Russia wanting better relations with the US.”
Stein said, “I guess I’m not interested, Walter. When the DDR was involved, that was one thing. I don’t give a damn about Russia. That’s Volkov’s domain. What about you? Do you really care what happens to those bastards?”
“I work for myself now, just as you do. Get going, please.”
Stein stamped the remaining bolts, then began work on the more sophisticated electrical and hydraulic items. Last came the modified GE, Pratt
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