The War in 2020

'And how are things?'

Usually, the two men worked in English, which Savitsky spoke reasonably well. For highly technical exchanges, they switched to Japanese, but Savitsky was less comfortable in that language than was Ryder.

'Horrasho,' Ryder replied, using one of his half-dozen words of Russian. He had been told that the word meant 'very good.' It was a very popular word with the officers of the Tenth Cavalry, who liked to pronounce it 'whore-show,' and regularly applied it to the nightly follies in the hotel bar.

'Today will be a big day,' Savitsky said, helping himself to the coffee, 'an important day.' Ryder had learned that the coffee was put there each morning especially for him, and its presence was a treat for Savitsky, who never made a move toward the interrogation chamber until they had finished each last sip. Ryder had also noted that Savitsky would quietly wrap the used grounds in newspaper and slip them into his briefcase.

Ryder watched for a moment as the Russian thickened his coffee with teaspoon after teaspoon of sugar.

'Nick,' he said, trying to sound nonchalant, 'I had an idea last night about how to approach this case. I think I've got an angle—'

'Don't worry, don't worry,' Savitsky interrupted. 'Today — everything is the Russian way. I will show you something. A thing you have not seen.' Savitsky smiled, either at the thought of the interrogation or at the piercing warmth of the coffee. 'You will like it, I know.' The Russian cradled his chipped cup in red hands, and nodded his head happily. 'You must trust me.'

Oh, shit, Ryder thought.

But Nick was in high spirits. 'I have learned so much from you, my friend. You Americans… you Americans… always with such technology perfection. But today, I am showing you something splendid. Something I know you have not seen.' The Russian laughed slightly into the steam from his cup. 'All of your American comrades will have a great interest.'

Ryder let it go for the moment. He did not want to do anything to spoil the cooperation between the two of them. But neither did he wish to waste a subject of such incredible possibilities. He decided to wait, at least until things threatened to get out of hand. If nothing else, he was anxious just to see the subject. Until now, the Soviets had played this one close to the chest.

Nick drained the last of his coffee, his facial expression moving from near ecstasy to regret.

'Everything is very good,' he told Ryder. 'Now we will go to work.'

Ryder followed the Soviet through the cramped maze of hallways and security barriers that was slowly becoming familiar. Corridors as decayed and dank as an inner-city school after hours, stinking of disinfectant and age. Standard locking systems, not all of which worked the first time Savitsky tried them. Sometimes the vault doors were simply propped open, or minded by an inside guard. Framed photographs on the walls showed mostly unimportant men, since the years of infighting had stripped the walls of the readily recognizable faces. Bad air, poor light. An old woman mopping the floor with formidable slowness.

The last security door slammed shut behind the two men.

They followed a short hallway that was cluttered with electronics in various stages of disassembly, then turned into a small room that resembled the inside of a recording studio's control booth. The walls and counters were covered with racks of artificial-intelligence terminals, direct-function computers, environmental controls, recording and auto-translating devices — the tools of the contemporary interrogator's trade. Only these were all a bit nicked or chipped. There was a smell of old burned-out wires, and not all of the monitor lights worked. Much of the equipment was a generation out of date, while the most modem gear was of European or even U.S. manufacture. The Soviets had specialized in the areas of electronic translation, inferential patterning, and specialized software, and one of Ryder's superiors had compared them to brilliant tacticians who were forced to rely on foreign weaponry.

A long glass window covered most of one wall. To anyone out in the interrogation chamber, the window appeared to be a mirror, but from Ryder's position in the musty booth he could look out on the shadowy forms of the 'application room.' The design was a holdover from the old days, and the room remained so dark that he could not yet see the subject. He waited impatiently for Savitsky to turn up the lighting.

'The subject is already wired into our system,' Savitsky said, as he touched over the control panel in the bad light. 'We'll double-check, as you Americans like to say. But you will see. Everything is fine. Today, everyone is anxious to see how our performance will be.' Savitsky turned his shadowy face toward Ryder. 'Today, for the first time, I have received a direct call from the Kremlin. There is very much interest.'

'I hope they're not too impatient,' Ryder said. 'This could take time.'

Savitsky laughed slightly. It was a friendly laugh, that of a confident man. 'But that is the surprise,' he said. 'Soon you will see. A very big surprise for our American friends.'

Ryder did not know how to respond. This was so important. If any sort of foolishness were allowed to destroy the utility of the subject, an enormous opportunity would go to waste.

Turn up the damned lights, Ryder thought. Let me see. As if responding to Ryder's thoughts, Savitsky flipped a row of switches. Beyond the big window, spotlights came up to scour an electronic operating room with a sterile white glare. Despite the complicated disorder of the interrogation chamber, with its cascades of wires that connected one clutter of electronics to the next, Ryder focused immediately on the subject.

'Christ,' he said to Savitsky, in honest surprise. 'I expected…'

Savitsky laughed. 'Amazing, isn't it?'

'Smaller than I thought, for one thing. Much smaller.'

Savitsky stood with his arms folded across his chest in satisfaction. 'Remarkable, I think. You know, such… inconspicuity — is that what you say?'

'Inconspicuousness.'

'Yes. Inconspicuousness. How easily overlooked. It was only pure luck that a specialist was on the scene.'

Ryder shook his head. It really was amazing.

'Well, my friend,' Savitsky said, 'shall we go out and have a closer look?'

Ryder followed the Soviet out of the control booth, almost stepping on the man's heels in his excitement. His sole interest now was the subject, and he almost tripped over a coil of wires.

Savitsky made straight for the central operating table, and he hovered over the subject for a moment, waiting for Ryder to come up beside him. Ryder remained so astonished that he felt almost as though he were out of breath. It truly was amazing. Unless the Soviets had made some sort of mistake, unless this wasn't the great brain after all.

But all of Ryder's professional instincts told him that this was the genuine article, that there had been no mistake, and that the Japanese were still the best at some things, no matter how broadly U.S. technology had struggled to come back. The electronic intelligence brain that processed and stored all of the data necessary to command and control vast stretches of the front fit into a solid black brick little larger than a man's wallet.

'My God,' Ryder said. 'I thought… it would be at least the size of a suitcase.'

'Yes,' Savitsky agreed. 'It's frightening. Had you been able to combine the power of every supercomputer in the world at the turn of the century, the power would not have approached… such a power as resides in this device.'

Ryder possessed access to the latest classified research in the States, as well as to intelligence files on foreign developments. But no one had anticipated that the process of miniaturization had gone this far. The Japanese had pulled off another surprise, and it worried Ryder. What else might they have in store?

'It was really pure luck,' Savitsky stressed, as though he still could not quite believe it himself. 'Perhaps the only luck we have had in this war. Not only did we not shoot down the enemy, our systems did not even detect him. The enemy command ship experienced the simplest of mechanical malfunctions. Imagine, my friend. One of the most sophisticated tactical-operational airborne command centers in the Japanese inventory… dropping from the sky because a bolt came loose or a washer disintegrated. Such wonderful luck. Had the aircraft experienced an electronic problem, the brain would have destroyed itself to prevent capture. Computer suicide.'

'There may still be active self-destruct mechanisms built into it,' Ryder said, in warning.

Savitsky shrugged. 'Of course it is possible. But the electronic cradle in which we have placed the subject is