beautiful, decorated with gold and silver threads. The floor of the room is made of stone and in the middle of the room is an old wooden box, like a crate, sitting on a table. I can't explain why, but in the dream I feel like I need to look in the box.'
'What's in the box?' Decker asked.
'I don't know. In the dream it seems like there's something inside that I need to see, but at the same time, somehow I know that whatever it is, it's terrifying.'
Decker read the terror in his eyes and was glad he had insisted that Christopher tell him about the dream. This was not the sort of thing a fifteen-year-old should have to face on his own.
'In the dream, when I approach the box and I'm just a few feet away, I look down and somehow the floor has disappeared. I start to fall, but I grab onto the table that the box is sitting on.' Christopher stopped.
'Go on,' Decker urged.
'That's as far as the dream ever went until tonight.'
'So, what happened tonight?' Decker prodded, anxious to hear the conclusion to the strange dream.
'Well, usually I wake up at that point, but this time there was something else: a voice. It was a very deep, rich voice and it was saying, 'Behold the hand of God; Behold the hand of God!''
Decker had no idea what the dream might mean but it certainly had his attention.
'And then there was another voice,' Christopher continued. 'Well, it wasn't exactly a voice: it was a laugh.'
'A laugh?'
'Yes, sir. But it wasn't a friendly laugh. I can't really explain it except to say it was cold and cruel and terribly inhuman.'
Moscow (12:37 p.m. Moscow/Israel, 5:37 a.m. New York)
Lieutenant Yuri Dolginov hurried down the long hall of the Kremlin toward the office of the Defense Minister. Despite the importance of his message he knew well that he had better take the time to knock before entering. 'Sir,' he said, when he was permitted to enter, 'we have regained control of the Israeli strategic defense.'
This was good news, indeed. 'Excellent,' Khromchenkov said to himself, 'then the time has come to strike.' Khromchenkov made a quick call to Foreign Minister Cherov before notifying President Perelyakin of the change in status in Israel. The President called for an immediate meeting of the Security Council.
When the meeting convened a few minutes later, President Perelyakin immediately turned the floor over to Khromchenkov. He had no idea of the intrigue that was brewing, and simply felt it was good politics to allow the Defense Minister to have the pleasure of informing the Security Council of the good news from Israel.
Khromchenkov read the words of the communique from General Serov in the Israeli Strategic Defense Control Facility:
Have regained control of Israeli strategic defense. Unable to achieve same for offensive missile forces. Recommend immediate action as condition could change without warning.
The members of the Security Council applauded General Serov's accomplishment. Several of the men in the meeting had already been notified of the situation and were obliged to act as though this was the first time they had heard it.
'Thank you,' President Perelyakin told Khromchenkov. 'Now, I suggest we comply with the General's recommendation and respond immediately.'
'One moment,' Foreign Minister Cherov interrupted.
'Yes,' responded Perelyakin, who had already risen from his seat. Perelyakin's face showed only the slightest hint of concern as Cherov began. Inside, however, his stomach muscles tightened as if in preparation for a physical blow.
'It has occurred to me that we face a remarkable opportunity to restore Russia to its rightful position as a great world power. At this moment the American forces are in virtual disarray. Now, certainly I will acknowledge that similar conditions exist for the Russian Federation. The Disaster, as the Americans call it, has struck both sides with severe losses. But the measure of superiority is not what is, but how one uses what is, to his final advantage.'
Perelyakin listened to Cherov's words with his ears but his eyes studied the faces of those around him. He didn't like what he saw anymore than he liked what he heard.
New York (7:30 a.m. New York, 2:30 p.m. Moscow/Israel)
'I appreciate you meeting me for breakfast, Yuri,' Jon Hansen said as he greeted the Soviet Ambassador.
'Good morning, Jon,' Kruszkegin responded. 'That's all right, I'm on a diet,' he added in jest, anticipating the distasteful nature of the conversation that was about to follow. Kruszkegin's eyes were red from having to operate in two different time zones. He had been awakened early that morning to be apprised of the situation in Israel. His nephew, Yuri Dolginov, who worked for the Defense Minister, had sent him an encrypted e-mail from Moscow that Russia had regained control of the Israeli strategic defense, and Kruszkegin had stayed up expecting official notification from the Foreign Minister of what action was intended. None came. This was not the first time he had to depend on his nephew for word of what was going on. The Foreign Minister, under whose direction all Russian ambassadors functioned, was not comfortable with men like Kruszkegin whom he considered far too 'internationally-minded' to be very useful to the Russian Federation.
Hansen and Kruszkegin continued to exchange small talk for a while as their breakfast was served, and then Hansen attempted to elicit some information. 'You seem worried,' Hansen said. He was lying. Kruszkegin's face showed no emotion at all except possibly enjoyment of his breakfast. Hansen had said it solely to observe Kruszkegin's response.
'Not at all,' he answered.
Hansen tried a different tact: 'You don't have any more idea what's going on than I do, do you?' But Kruszkegin only smiled and continued chewing. Hansen tried a few more times, but to no avail. Kruszkegin just continued eating his breakfast.
'I thought you were on a diet,' Hansen said, in frustration. 'Why the hell did you even accept my invitation to breakfast if you weren't going to talk?'
Kruszkegin put down his fork. 'Because,' he began, 'one day I will want you to come to breakfast as my guest and / will be the one asking all the questions.'
'When that happens,' Hansen responded, 'I shall endeavor to be as tight-lipped as you.'
'I'm sure you will be,' Kruszkegin said. 'And then I will notify my government that we met but that I was unable to learn anything new, just as you shall do today.'
Hansen gave a brief chuckle and went back to his nearly untouched breakfast. A few moments later, however, the gravity of the current situation resurfaced and Hansen began to push the food around on his plate rather than eat it.
'You look worried,' Kruszkegin said, echoing Hansen's earlier statement.
'I am,' Hansen answered. 'Yuri, things have changed. I can't tell what's going on in Russia anymore. The men in power are unpredictable. Men like Yeltzin and Gorbachev would never have taken chances like these men have. I just don't know what we can expect from them.'
Kruszkegin stopped eating and unlike before, it was obvious he was not thinking about his food. Hansen had struck a nerve. In truth, Kruszkegin was as concerned as Hansen, probably more so. Still, he offered no comment.
After breakfast Hansen and Kruszkegin left for their separate missions. When Kruszkegin arrived at the Mission of the Russian Federation on 67th Avenue, his personal secretary handed him a message.
'It came while you were at breakfast,' she reported.
Kruszkegin looked at the note. It was from his nephew at the Ministry of Defense. The message was simple but unusual. 'Uncle Yuri,' it began. That was unusual in itself: in the past his nephew had always addressed his correspondence, 'Dear Mr. Ambassador.' Kruszkegin did not pause long to notice the informality, though; his mind was on the message that followed. 'Say your prayers' it said.
