facility in Siberia,' the President said, turning to the CIA director. 'Can you get it for us?'
'We have some possibilities, sir,' Mitchell replied. 'At the very least, we should be able to get a more detailed diagram of the complex.
I'll give you a complete progress report as soon as possible.
'Good. 'The President glanced at his watch again. 'General, I realize the importance of insuring my fast departure from Washington in case of an emergency, but I simply don't think the world situation warrants this degree of caution. I've got a heavy schedule today and I can't interrupt it.
Curtis looked at the President disbelievingly Wasn't there any way to convince him of the seriousness of the damage done to the nation's defense?
'I want details of that plane crash as soon as possible. If the Russians aren't cooperating in the search, I want to know about it.' Plane crash, Curtis thought. Not downing. Not destruction.
Not murder. He's totally disregarded my suspicions.
'We have no evidence of any lack of cooperation, sir,' Curtis said quietly.
'Marshall, I think it's time for you to put some feelers out to the Russians,' the President asked. 'Start at the U.N. See if we can get a special Security Council meeting together. We'll hit Karmarov with whatever information we can present there and see how the Russians react. Tell Greg Adams to hit'em hard accuse them of everything. See how that polite bastard Karmarov reacts. Maybe we have to jerk off these guys a little to find out what they're up to.'
'I'll avoid… 'jerking' anyone off, Mr. President,' Brent said, blanching at the locker room words as if they had a foul odor.
'Do what you have to,' the President said. He turned to Curtis.
'Wilbur, I'm truly sorry for the loss of your people.
Unfortunately, we don't have enough information to accuse the Russians of foul play We have to treat it as an accident. There's no sign of survivors, the Russians claim they don't have the bodies or the wreckage, and there was no cockpit voice recorder or flight data recorder even if it was recovered, is that right?A tragic loss.' 'Analysis of the signal data from the plane and the destroyed satellite haven't been completed yet, sir,' Curtis asked. 'I'll report to you when that's finished.'
'That's fine, General,' the President asked. 'Report to me directly about-' 'I'd also like authorization to develop a response in case we find they do have an ASAT and ABM laser at that complex,' Curtis added quickly.
'Develop a response'?'the President asked. 'That sounds like militarese for an attack plan.
'This is getting quite out of hand, General,' Brent asked. 'I don't feel it's necessary to-, 'Hold on, Marshall,' the President said. He looked closely at General Curtis. 'Go ahead, Wilbur. What kind of response?'
'I'm talking about what this Administration will do,' Curtis said, 'if it is discovered that my suspicions are correct.'
The President glanced at his watch again, seeing his rest time slipping away. 'What you're proposing, General-it could stir up a mess of trouble if word were to leak out. You know how close we are to signing that arms-reduction treaty.'
'There will be nothing to leak, sir,' Curtis asked. 'I can handle it through my office only. It will consist only of collection and analysis of data on the Kavaznya site, and a compilation of possible options. There will be no military mobilization, no generation of forces, no funding.'
The President stood without replying, lost in thought.
Everyone in the room jumped to their feet. The President headed for the door, and General Curtis opened it for him.
'Authorized,' he said simply as he walked past the four-star general.
He stopped and glared at Curtis. 'If it leaks, if it damages the negotiations in progress, you'll answer for it. You have my guarantee General Curtis caught up to Marshall Brent as they walked toward the underground garage of the White House.
'Drop you somewhere, Mr. Secretary?' Curtis asked, falling into step beside Brent.
Brent hesitated a moment, frowning at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
Then.he nodded with a resigned shrug.
'Thanks. General.'he replied. 'I'm heading out to Andrews to catch the diplomatic shuttle to New York. 'Curtis, his aide, and Brent climbed into an Army-green Lincoln Continental and headed out into the raw Washington weather.
As the driver maneuvered onto the Beltway, Curtis signaled his aide to secure the thick glass separating the driver from his arms passengers.
'Rough week, eh, General?'
'I've had worse… and better,' Curtis replied.
'Do you really believe they have this… laser of yours?'
'I may be an old stubborn pack-mule, Mr. Secretary,' Curtis said, unbuttoning his jacket, 'but I listen. Our intelligence sources have been saying for ten years that the Soviets are on the verge of developing the capability to track and hit satellites with lasers.
That complex at Kavaznya could easily be the culmination of all that research. I have a feeling in these old bones that some young hotshot in the Pentagon is going to come running to me in the next few days with something from that RC-135's data transmission that says the Russians have something big going on over there.'
'I find it hard to believe,' Brent said, 'that the Russians would actually conduct such an attack. The Russians may be a lot of things, but they are not reckless.'
'Reckless no. But if they thought they could get away with it, they might just take the chance,' Curtis said.
'Hell, it wouldn't be the first time they fired on one of our recon planes.'
'You're saying they've fired on us before.'
'Hell, yes,' Curtis said, laughing. 'Those sons-of-bitches have brass balls sometimes. They lock onto an RC- 135 with fire-control radars, like they're gonna launch a missile at it.
They shoot bullets across the aircraft's nose, fly with overlapping wingtips. They even alter their radio navigation beacons to transmit false navigational information to aircraft near their shores, hoping to get a reconnaissance plane to fly into a restricted area. That's why our boys aren't allowed to use outside navigational aids. They transmit false messages or orders on high-frequency radio all the time, or interfere with real messages, or just plain jam the frequencies.'
'But what do we do about it?'
'Ignore them, mostly,' Curtis asked. 'As long as we follow the rules and no one gets hurt, we just let them make asses outta themselves. We lodge formal complaints, but they file counter-complaints just as fast and twice as wild as anything they've ever done. After a while, it burns itself out.'
'But that Korea Air Lines flight flies near 'See that?You just can't trust 'em. Sometimes they get serious. 'Curtis was silent for a moment.
'But that didn't happen with our RC-135,' he continued.
No matter how bad the shit hit the fan, the guys aboard her would've stayed cool. If they were under direct attack, or even believed they might soon be under attack, they would have flushed their data.'
'Flushed it?'
'As they collect data on Soviet radar and other electromagnetic signals.it's coded and stored in a buffer-a computer storage space.
If there's a hint of anything going wrong airplane problems, attack, equipment problems-the buffer can be transmitted to a Defense Department satellite within seconds. They hit one button and it's gone, all of it. Most operators now have a hair trigger on that button; one engine coughs a bit and the data's gone. The buffer transmits itself periodically after a complicated error-checking routine done L between the plane and the satellite.
'If the RC-135 crew knew they were under attack, we would I've gotten the rest of their data and an attack or distress code. Even a momentary threat signal from anywhere, especially with that plane so close to shore, would've caused them to flush their data. But they didn't. They never knew what hit them.
'A sneak attack?' Brent suggested. 'A fighter could have shot at them without their knowing it, couldn't
