proposed flight path. It then sends instructions to the autopilot to fly a set altitude over the terrain. Radar is only used intermittently as a back-up to the syst.e.m. so electronic emissions that could expose the plane's position are almost eliminated.'
They half-walked, half-crawled aft of the cockpit to the defensive crew compartment. 'Not many changes at the electronic warfare officer's station, either,' Elliott asked. 'His equipment is more specialized and a bit more automatic. The gunner's station is quite different. He has an eight-inch firecontrol radar, the controls and indicators for the defensive missile launcher, and the controls for the air mine cannons and forward-firing missiles.
He'll be one busy man back here.'
'All off-the-shelf, General?' Curtis asked, finding his tongue.
'If it wasn't, sir, you'd know about it. You didn't.'
Elliott led Curtis back down the entrance way ladder. A pair of security guards climbed inside and did a quick inspection of the bomber interior while Curtis and Elliott were watched.
After the guards reemerged, the two men were free to leave.
Elliott escorted Curtis toward the exit.
'You realize, Brad,' Curtis said as they headed for the security gate, 'that this whole trip was just a friendly visit. I wasn't asking about any special project or piece of equipment.
Just a friendly visit, that's all.'
'Perfectly clear, General,' Elliott said.
'Good. Now that we understand each other, I want to know-' 'My test bed B-1B arrives in three weeks,' Elliott interrupted him. 'It's been on the books for months, far earlier than your meeting with the President. No connection could ever be made.
Curtis smiled. Then: 'Only one B-1T' Elliott thought for a moment.
'I'm having lunch with the commander of the test and evaluation unit at Edwards in a few days. Colonel Jim Anderson, a real fireball but a great stick. I wanted to invite him in on some of the new Old Dog weapons tests I'm conducting. I think he can supply us with a B-1
A-model the contractors aren't using. We won't be able to bring it here to Dreamland without raising some curiosity, but I think he can arrange to have it….. at our immediate disposal. We can get it here when….. the time comes.'
Curtis shook his head in disbelief. 'And I thought I had influence.'
He smiled — 'If I didn't know better, Brad, I'd say you knew what I was thinking all along.'
'After Andy Wyatt got hold of me, sir,' Elliott said, 'I didn't spend time shining my latrines up for your visit. 'He thought for a moment, then said, 'it just so happens that those Old Dog tests will coincide perfectly with the refit of those B-1s. Most of the equipment you've seen here tonight can be put in those B-1s in no time at all.'
'All right, all right, Brad.
This is starting to get spooky,' Curtis asked. 'Remember, I never asked you for anything, you never saw those intelligence notes, and 'I understand completely, General. 'He looked sideways at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and said, 'Two months.
Curtis shook his head in disbelief. 'You mean-?'
'The tests will be completed in two months, sir,' Elliott asked. 'For… whatever reason.
'I may need a plane sooner… for whatever,' Curtis said.
Elliott thought for a moment-but only a moment.
'Then I'll send the Old Dog.'
Curtis started to laugh but choked back the urge when he saw that Elliott was serious.
'You're crazy, Elliott Curtis asked. 'A thirty-year-old B-52?You've been wandering around this desert for too long.
Elliott smiled. 'Just a thought, General,' he asked. 'Just a thought Dowwowlv MANHAnAN Andrina Asserni, confidential secretary and aide to Ambassador Dmitri Karmarov, Soviet Ambassador to the United Nations, could scarcely believe it when she was informed by security that Secretary of State Marshall Brent was waiting in the outer reception area of the Ambassador's private residence.
'Show him in immediately,' she told the guard. And a minute later he appeared.
'Secretary Brent…
'Zdrastwayti. Good evening, Miss Asserni,' Marshall Brent said in fluent Russian. Asserni's eyes twinkled. How strange and wonderful her language sounded, coming from such a tall, distinguished American.
'May I speak with the Ambassador, please?'
Asserni stammered. 'Why, uh, yes… of course. My apologies, Mr. Secretary. Please, please come in. 'She stood in awe as Brent strode into the outer apartment. She had never seen the American Secretary travel like this, alone.
'My sincerest apologies, Mr. Secretary,' Asserni asked. 'I had no idea you would call on us — ' 'This is a very informal and impromptu visit, Miss Asserni, I assure-' At that instant, Ambassador Karmarov entered the outer apartment. He wore a simple blue robe in place of a coat, and carrying a can of beer, looked exactly the opposite of his stiff, official persona. 'Comrade Asserni, get me the file on-' 'Comrade Ambassador!'
Karmarov looked up from his papers and took a step back.
'Marshall… Brent… I mean, Mr. Secretary.'
'I hope I am not intruding, Ambassador Karrnarov 'No… no, of course not. 'He turned to Asserni and handed her the documents he was carrying. 'Take the Secretary's coat, Asserni, what possesses you?
Why wasn't I notified?' Brent removed his long dark coat with slippery ease, and Asserni took it in her arms like a newborn baby.
'This is an unexpected surprise 'Ochin zhal. I do apologize for any inconvenience this visit has caused, Ambassador,' Brent asked. 'But I was hoping to speak with you on an urgent matter.
'Of… of course. 'Karmarov motioned to his inner apartment. 'Do come in. 'He turned to Asserni. 'Bring coffee and brandy immediately.
And I will strangle anyone who interrupts us. Is that understood?'
Asserni was too astonished to reply. As she hurried off to the kitchen, Karmarov followed the tall, lean, impeccably dressed American into his inner apartment and closed the door behind him.
The Russian ambassador's apartment resembled a large study, with walls covered mostly with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books of all kinds The most imposing item in the room was Karmarov's massive desk, a huge, ornately carved antique, well over half the width of the apartment itself. Brent ran a hand over plush leather chairs, noticing that the coffee table in the center of the apartment was genuine Chippendale.
'A most exquisite room, Ambassador Karmarov,' Brent said without turning around. Karmarov wrung his hands with impatience as he waved Asserni into the apartment. She set the tray with a silver urn, a long fluted decanter of brandy, china cups, and large snifters onto the Chippendale table and hurried out.
'Balshoye spasibe. Thank you,' Karmarov said.
'Mr. Secretary, we may speak English if you prefer. You need not-' 'I am in Russia now, Mr. Ambassador,' Brent said, continuing in urban Muscovite Russian. 'It would be a presumption to speak anything but your native tongue.'
Brent turned, his hands folded behind his back. The two men observed each other for a moment. Karmarov saw a tall, elegant frame; a silver-maned head; a firm chin thrust defiantly up and outward; a thin silver mustache perfectly symmetrical.
The suit was conservative, tailored to razor-sharp perfection, the shoes were polished to a gleaming shine despite the harsh Manhattan streets.
Brent saw a shorter but powerful man, with a full head of gray hair atop broad shoulders. The years of plush living in the most fashionable section of New York had begun to tell on the Ambassador's waistline and chin, but Karmarov's eyes were still as fiery and bright as in his revolutionary youth.
Karmarov finally motioned Brent forward. 'Pazhaloosta saditis. Please sit down, Mr. Secretary.'
Brent took the wide-armed leather chair offered him by the Russian and lightly seated himself. He kept his knees, legs and back perfectly straight as Karmarov joined him. Karmarov reached for the coffee urn but, correctly interpreting a sly grin in Brent's eyes, his hand slipped over to the decanter. He poured a generous amount of brandy for both of them and offered one to the American Secretary of State.
'To your health, Mr. Secretary,' Karmarov said in English.
