The Seventh Angel

indoors, in their own homes where possible. But how many people would actually follow the guidelines? And how many would run to their cars and bolt for the nearest highway out of town?

The interstates would be jammed, and a lot of people were going to get hurt in the mad rush to get away from the cities, even in areas far removed from the actual target sites. There would be looting, rioting, and crimes of opportunity.

The loss of life due to ill-conceived panic reactions would probably exceed the casualty counts from the bombs, wherever they happened to strike. That made for a compelling argument against warning the civilian populace of an impending attack.

But the citizenry had to trust its leaders in times of crisis. If the Russian warheads fell on civilian targets without warning, the country would come apart at the seams the instant the public realized that the government had known the truth and chosen to hide it. After that, no amount of good intent would be able to stop the slide into chaos.

The problem was complicated by the fact that they didn’t yet know where the warheads were going to fall. If they could narrow down the list of potential targets, they could confine the emergency warnings to only the areas that were likely to be hit. That would presumably reduce the scope of the panic, which should help limit the resulting injuries. Fewer people stampeding away from target zones should translate into fewer traffic accidents, fewer heart attacks, fewer suicides … fewer instances of all the myriad ways that frightened humans could find to hurt themselves.

But that was part of the terrible beauty of the MIRV design. The warheads would not be locked into their final trajectories until just minutes before they re-entered the atmosphere. By then, it would be too late to warn anyone.

Despite the predictable consequences, there was no real choice. The people had to be told, even if the act of warning them sent some of them to their deaths.

On the geographic display, the curving red line flashed again and grew longer.

A Marine captain walked to General Gilmore’s side, stopped, and spoke softly.

The general nodded, and turned to the president. “Sir, the hotline is up. We’ve got it patched through to your secure telephone, and President Turgenev is on the line.”

The president reached for the phone. “Thank you.”

In movies, the famed hotline between Washington and Moscow is usually depicted as a futuristic-looking red telephone, often decorated with flickering lights and strange mechanical reinforcements intended to convey the impression that the phone is somehow armored or bombproof. In at least one popular action film, the handset of the famous red phone was locked to the cradle by a formidable-looking steel clamp that could only be released by a key worn on a chain around the neck of the president.

But the Secure Terminal Equipment phone sitting on the briefing table looked like any other black multi-line telephone — the kind you might find on a desk in any office building. Only the narrow horizontal slot in the front of the base suggested that the STE phone might be something out of the ordinary.

The Marine captain leaned across the table and inserted a Fortezza-Hyper series encryption card into the slot. The phone beeped once softly, and the word ‘SECURE’ appeared in the rectangular LCD call display.

The young officer slid the phone across the table top until it rested directly in front of the president. “Ready, sir.”

President Chandler lifted the handset.

His Russian counterpart, President Anatoliy Petrovitch Turgenev, spoke almost immediately.

“Mr. President … Frank … Are you on the line?”

The Russian president’s voice sounded hollow and metallic, a side-effect of digital compression, and the encryption/decryption process that scrambled and unscrambled the signal. His English was accented, but very fluent.

“Yes, Anatoliy,” the president said. “I’m on the line.”

“It’s a pleasure to hear your voice,” the Russian leader said. “I only wish we were speaking under better circumstances.”

“So do I,” the president said. “So do I.”

“This attack is not the work of my country,” Turgenev said. “Zhukov is a maniac. He is operating without the support, or the consent of my Government. You must believe that, Frank.”

“I do believe it,” the president said. “I’m well aware of your efforts to put down Mr. Zhukov’s coup. But those efforts have failed, and the situation is now beyond your control. Frankly, Anatoliy, it may have gone beyond anyone’s control.”

There was a pause before the Russian president spoke again. “Frank … Mr. President, I know that this crisis requires your full concentration, and I don’t want to delay you or distract you. But I must ask for your assurance that the United States will not retaliate with nuclear weapons.”

President Chandler felt his grip on the telephone receiver tighten. “Pardon me?”

“The government of the Russian Federation would like your personal guarantee that the United States will not attack targets in Russian territory with nuclear weapons.”

It was President Chandler’s turn to pause.

“I’m, sorry,” he said slowly, “I do not believe I can make that guarantee.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. On the big display screen, the red arc grew longer as the Russian missile continued its trajectory toward California.

After several seconds, the Russian leader spoke again. “Mr. President, if we cannot reach some agreement, this situation can easily get out of hand.”

“My country is under nuclear attack,” the president said. “The situation has already gotten out of hand.”

“I am attempting to prevent an escalation,” Turgenev said softly.

“I understand that,” the president said. “And the United States has no intention of escalating this conflict, if that can be prevented. We’re preparing to intercept the warheads now. If we’re successful, and there are no further attacks, your government and mine can consider how to proceed. But if nuclear warheads fall on American soil, the United States will retaliate in kind.”

“I see,” the Russian president said. “May I at least ask that you confine your counterstrikes to targets in Kamchatka?”

“Of course,” President Chandler said. “Our retaliation will be directed against the rogue element who launched this attack, not against your country. Will that be satisfactory?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the Russian president said. “I will convey your message to my government. Let us hope for the best.”

“Yes,” said the president. “Let’s do that.”

He replaced the telephone receiver gently in its cradle, and looked up at Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Give me a status update, General. Where are we with this?”

General Gilmore checked the latest printouts in his striped folder. “Mr. President, our ground-based Midcourse Defenses at Fort Greely and Vandenberg are preparing to launch EKVs,” he said. “We’re going to try to intercept the incoming missile over the Pacific.”

From earlier briefings, the president knew that an EKV was an Exoatmospheric Kill Vehicle: a ground-launched missile designed to intercept a ballistic warhead in flight, and destroy it before it could reenter the atmosphere.

“Understood,” he said. “What are our chances of successfully intercepting the warheads in space?”

General Gilmore adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. “Frankly, Mr. President, the odds are not great. Our Ballistic Missile Defense System is still only partially operational. Some of the significant technologies are either still under development, or not fully tested. The system has demonstrated fairly good results against single-warhead test missiles that closely simulate the type likely to be employed by Iran or North Korea. But multiple warheads … MIRVs are a different matter. They’re significantly more difficult to intercept.”

“Because it’s harder to hit three targets than it is to hit one?”

“Not three targets, sir,” the general said. “Seven.”