Overkill

Modin shrugged. ‘There are safety features,’ he replied.

Richter sat silent for a minute or two. ‘Would you really press the button?’ he said, finally. ‘Would you really reduce America to a smoking ruin?’

A shadow seemed to cross Modin’s face. ‘That would not have been my decision, Mr Beatty. I have explained, I hope, why I took the actions that I did to try to stop it. This operation,’ he continued, ‘is an abomination. When that lorry slid sideways across the road in front of us I actually felt relieved, because I knew then that someone had finally worked it out, and that meant it could be stopped.’

‘Oh, we’ll stop it,’ Richter said. ‘That’s a promise.’

‘You mentioned safety features on the satellite,’ Westwood said, his voice still angry. ‘Are you prepared to explain what they are?’

‘Yes. I am not a technician, so I can only describe in broad terms how they work. First, there are two satellites, not one, co-located in the same orbital position. This will reduce the chance of system failure, due to external or internal causes. Both radiate the same signal from the uplink station, and we have calculated that the chances of both becoming unserviceable at the same time are virtually nil. The satellite signal has to be interrupted for some time – over forty-eight hours – before the firing circuits on the weapons are armed. That delay is intended to allow time for emergency action to be taken should both satellites fail simultaneously.

‘Finally,’ he said, ‘we have over-ride systems that can be enabled to temporarily or permanently disarm the weapons. These systems can be actuated either by signals from the satellites or manually, on the ground. That is all I can tell you.’

Richter thought about this for a few moments, then changed the subject again. ‘Comrade Modin, we have to decide what to do with you, with Bykov and your Spetsnaz colleagues. You are all – even the drivers – carrying diplomatic passports, so holding you captive is going to get more embarrassing for everyone with every hour that passes. Besides, we don’t want to hold you. We have the weapon, and that was what this whole operation was designed to achieve. My own inclination is to simply let you all climb back into your cars and leave, but in this matter my wishes are subordinate to those of the DST, and the DST, in turn, will have to be guided by the Minister of the Interior and, ultimately, by the French government. What I will do, though, is make representations to my DST colleagues and recommend that we just let you all slip away quietly.’

‘Thank you,’ Modin replied.

Richter looked at his watch, then turned to Westwood. ‘We’re expecting the French Minister of the Interior any time now,’ he said. ‘John, could you check and see what time he’s due to arrive?’ When Westwood had closed the van door behind him, Richter turned back to Modin. ‘General, there is one other small matter that I would like to clear up now.’ Richter told him what he wanted to know, and then he told the Russian why he wanted to find out. After a moment’s hesitation Modin gave Richter the answer he needed.

‘I think I know what you intend to do,’ Modin added, ‘and I have no objection.’

‘Would you assist me?’ Richter asked. ‘A letter would be a help.’

Modin looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, Mr Beatty,’ he said. ‘I will write you a letter.’

The assault team had collected and examined all the bags from the Russian vehicles earlier, and Modin’s briefcase was standing with the others just beside the Transit. Richter jumped out and collected it, and passed it to the general. Modin opened it and selected a sheet of paper headed with his office details. He took a fountain pen from his pocket and wrote rapidly. When he had finished, he read through what he had written, then passed the sheet over to Richter. ‘I think that will suffice,’ he said.

Richter read it. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘that should do very well.’

Richter passed it back to him. Modin signed the page, then placed the letter in an envelope, which he sealed. He referred to a small black book, then wrote an address on the front of the envelope, added ‘By Hand’ underneath it, and handed it over. ‘I don’t like unfinished business, Mr Beatty. Good luck.’

Richter put the envelope in his pocket, and as he rose to leave he heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. ‘That will probably be the Minister now, General,’ Richter said. ‘Please stay here while I talk to my colleagues.’

The Walnut Room, the Kremlin, Krasnaya ploshchad, Moscow

When Sokolov completed his detailed explanation of Operation Podstava, there was an appalled silence in the room. The Russian President passed a weary hand over his brow and looked down the table at the SVR general. ‘You may be interested to learn, General, that America will be increasing its military alert state from DEFCON THREE to DEFCON TWO any time now, and to DEFCON ONE in—’ he glanced up at the wall clock ‘—just under four hours. I have also been told that the entire American strategic bomber force will be airborne and on station, fully armed and with support tankers and fighter escorts, no later than twenty-three hundred Moscow time today.’ He paused. ‘The bombers, of course, are only a part of the American response to this operation that Minister Trushenko decided to instigate. I don’t even want to think about the silo-based ballistic missiles or those in their nuclear submarines which are no doubt already in position.’

Sokolov had turned pale, and was sitting down again. ‘Well, General,’ Baratov said, ‘you obviously know far more about Operation Podstava than anyone else in this room. What do you suggest we do about this situation?’

Sokolov shook his head. How had the Americans found out? He roused himself. ‘Operation Podstava, Comrade Baratov,’ he replied, ‘was specifically designed to eliminate America from any future conflict. I can only assume that the warning to them has not yet been delivered, because the plan called for Minister Trushenko to contact the Americans only after placement of the last weapon in London. Once the ultimatum has been delivered, I am confident that the Americans will stand down their forces.’

There was another prolonged silence, then Baratov spoke again. ‘You may be confident, General, but I am not. Nor are any of us. I do not believe that America will stand its forces down. I think – we all think – that the American President will do exactly what he has threatened, and will not just tamely surrender as Minister Trushenko apparently expects.’

‘So, General,’ Anatoli Lomonosov spoke for the first time, ‘we have to stop this ill-conceived operation, and stop it right now.’

Sokolov shook his head helplessly. ‘I don’t think,’ he said slowly, ‘that we can.’

Oval Office, White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

‘I still think it’s a mistake,’ the Vice-President said, standing obstinately in front of the desk.

The President passed a hand wearily over his face. ‘I don’t care what you think, John. I’m not prepared to take any chances. The two National Command Authorities are myself and the Secretary of Defense. By sending you up in one of the Nightwatch planes I’m creating a reserve Commander-in-Chief and an additional NCA. I hope it’s just a precaution,’ he added.

John Mitchell looked levelly at him. ‘And where will you be? And where are you sending the Secretary of Defense, for that matter?’

‘I’m staying here,’ the President said, and held up a hand to forestall the protest he could see forming in Mitchell’s mind. ‘I’m staying here in case Karasin or the Kremlin come up trumps.’ He paused and glanced at his watch. ‘The Secretary of Defense will be leaving from the Pentagon for SITE R in about three hours. That will give you adequate time to get established aboard the Nightwatch aircraft.’

John Mitchell shook his head. ‘Very well, Mr President. If that’s the way you want it.’ He extended his hand across the desk, and the President shook it. ‘I still think you’re wrong,’ Mitchell said.

‘I hope I am, John. More than anything I’ve ever wished for, I really hope I’m wrong.’

Twenty minutes later, the white-topped Marine Corps helicopter from the Quantico base – about thirty miles from the White House – settled gently on to the grass of the White House lawn. The pilot signalled to the group of men standing some fifty metres away, and they walked briskly towards the aircraft.

When the cabin crew reported that all the passengers were properly strapped in, the pilot pulled up on the collective and the big Sikorsky climbed into the afternoon sky. Once airborne and well clear of the buildings, the pilot swung the helicopter south for the flight to Andrews Air Force base, twenty miles and eleven minutes away, where the Nightwatch Boeing 747 waited. Unofficially known as the ‘Doomsday Plane’ or ‘Kneecap’, an acronym