Plague War

“Yes. It’s too hard to do everything on the radio and there’s no way we’re going to keep †ying planes back and forth. It’s just smart. It’s win-win.”

“Then you are making progress with R—” He didn’t want to say Ruth’s work. “With the nanotech.”

“Yes. I think I can tell you we’re getting close to something that’ll protect us all — us and our allies. I mean below the barrier. We can change the whole planet.”

“A weapon?” Ulinov looked at Schraeder, but the general’s expression betrayed nothing.

Kendricks frowned before making his face smile again. “People have been talking, I guess,” he said. “I know you’re in the radio room a lot.”

Did he expect names? Someone to punish? Ulinov would give him that, if he wanted. “A new plague is what they say.” Ulinov shrugged. “Talk on the street. Everywhere. They say it’s a new plague that works above ten thousand feet, but controlled, like a gas.”

Kendricks just shook his head.

“They say it goes away and the land is good,” Ulinov said, shifting cautiously in his chair. He did not want to play his next card…to take this gamble…but it felt good to show strength. “We know it exists,” he said. “We know you used it on the White River.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We still control a few satellites,” Ulinov said. When he imagined them, it was always with pride and hurt — his countrymen in dirt holes and ice caves, using laptops and a ragtag collection of transmitters to control impossibly complex machines beyond the sky, machines that were now beyond their ability to replace. “We have high-gain video of the assault,” he said. “We have analysis of how the nanotech…how it consumes.” The Americans called their weapon the snow†ake, perhaps because of the way it reacted to living tissue, swirling and clotting. “We know its dispersal rate. The heat it gives off. We have even been able to determine its shape.”

“The assault was necessary,” Schraeder said.

“Yes.” Ulinov would not argue that. “But we wonder if the Chinese also had a satellite in position. There has been some speculation if they could use that information to advance their own nanotech.”

The rest didn’t need to be said out loud, the array of threats within those words, not if Kendricks understood that the Russians could choose not to protect India after all. Kendricks had to realize that the Russians still had the option of making a very different deal to save themselves, trading their muscle for real estate as shock troops against India instead of for it. They could sell their satellite videos to the Chinese as a good part of that bargain.

Ulinov knew this proposal had already been made. Envoys had gone not only to the Indian Himalayas but also to the southern range to bow before the Chinese premier.

Kendricks responded easily. “I’ve got my doubts that anyone could learn much from a few pictures,” he said with a shrug. “Either way, that’s just all the more reason for India to help us out. Our side’s got to keep the upper hand if everyone doesn’t want their babies to grow up talking Chinese.”

“Before we ‚ght them we want the snow†ake,” Ulinov said, and he smiled at the small shock in their eyes. Orbital analysis was one thing. That he also knew the name of the nano weapon revealed a much deeper level of espionage, and that he would be so bold about it should indicate something even more worrisome to them: a willingness to ‚ght.

Kendricks remained cagey. He scowled at Ulinov, but his voice was steady. So were his eyes. Nothing would shake the man. “Well, the problem there is we’re having a hard time manufacturing enough of the nanotech,” Kendricks said. “That’s another reason we need India’s gear.”

Ulinov nodded slowly, bitterly, measuring his own position and knowing that it was weak. But his orders were clear. “We want the snow†ake,” he said.

9

It was a feint, of course. His government must know the Americans would never hand over a weapon of such magnitude, although before the end of their meeting Schraeder made a few noises about possibly sending over a few Special Forces advisors in control of the snow†ake.

What were his people truly after?

Ulinov grimaced in the wind and darkness, squinting up at the rash of stars. Tonight his old friends felt very far away and he tried to summon the memory of their real beauty. Even at ten thousand feet there were a great many miles of atmosphere between him and space, altering and dimming the starlight.

From the viewports of the ISS, those distant suns had never wavered, and Ulinov missed their bright, steady perfection because he didn’t dare allow himself to miss it in himself.

He was a tool. He accepted that. There was a great deal more at stake than his personal well-being, but this new gambit was worrisome. By pushing Kendricks for the nanotech, Ulinov had revealed that he had a secret channel of communication, because his conversations with the Russian leadership were always closely monitored. Without question, the tapes were replayed again and again by NSA analysts. There had never been any charade of diplomatic privilege. Each time a talk was scheduled, Ulinov sat among a gaggle of American personnel. For him to disclose new information was a surprise.

By now, the Americans would have triple-checked their radio room for bugs and viruses, searching everywhere until they cut him off. He didn’t like it. He was already so isolated. Worse, it felt very ‚nal, and Ulinov rubbed his thumb against the hard shape of the 9mm Glock inside his jacket pocket.

The night was frigid, especially on this third-†oor balcony. Ulinov was exposed to the breeze, but the main doors of the hotel were locked and he hadn’t even considered trying to get into the courtyard. Hardly anyone was allowed outside after curfew. Leadville had hunkered down until sunrise, with only a few windows glowing here and there.

“No signal,” whispered the shadow beside him, holding a cell phone in the dim light. “Still no signal.”

Ulinov nodded curtly, wondering at the white slash of teeth on Gustavo’s face. Some of that grin was fear, he thought, and yet there were also equal amounts of de‚ance and self-con‚dence. Gus had tricked the Americans before. He swore he could do it again.

Gustavo Proano was a thin man and no more than average height, but Ulinov was still learning to remember their size difference. In zero gravity, it hadn’t been so obvious, and Gustavo had been his communications of‚cer during their long exile in space, left aboard the ISS to appease the Europeans.

Gus had a big mouth and busy hands. Ulinov had warned him twice to stay quiet and yet Gus still commented on the obvious as he tapped at his phone. His free hand rustled and scratched at the back of his wool cap. Beneath it, he had a bald spot that he liked to rub as he worked.

Ulinov was calmer, even melancholy, motionless except for his thumb on his pistol. The sidearm had not been hard to come by in this war zone. Four days ago in the mess hall, the pistol had found its way from the gun belt of a weary Marine into the folds of Ulinov’s sweater.

“This damn thing,” Gustavo muttered, holding himself awkwardly to re†ect what light there was onto his keypad.

Acquiring a phone and a PDA was easier. The Americans seemed to have saved many, many millions more of their fun little gadgets than they had of their own people. Nearly everyone was connected to their grid by cell phone, iPhone, Bluetooth, or Blackberry. Again, Ulinov had stolen a phone, while

Gustavo traded outright for several more.

“Shall we stop?” Ulinov asked, almost smiling himself.

“I can get in,” Gus said.

“If they shut down the entire network—”

“Let me try another phone.”

Ulinov shrugged and nodded and made certain his smile did not show. It seemed to him that the Americans had missed a good bet with Gus. If they’d trusted the man, he could have been a signi‚cant asset. If nothing else,