affair. Mr. President, there is undoubtedly information in those books that would be considered priceless for defense matters under ordinary circumstances. We are not concerned with that now, nor can you afford to be.
“Mr. President,” the Russian’s voice turned cold and hard, “you have delivered a mortal blow to my country, your country, the very planet itself. There is the merest wisp of hope that the peril can be removed. The Soviet Union is prepared to take any steps that may rescue us from the monumental insanity that you have visited upon us.
“First,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “we must understand the problem in minute detail. That means knowing what is in those books and other records, and in the mind of Paul Krone. We have Krone, you have the records and the sophisticated medical techniques that may restore Krone’s health. We will swap.”
“You must return Krone,” the President said firmly, “but we do not need your spy; you can keep the woman.”
“Spy?” Zamyatin cracked a small smile. “Yes, she is one of us, an illegal escapee, but no spy. Let us say she was merely susceptible to persuasion, a family in the old country, you understand? And you do need her. She is the only contact with the man. Yes, we could keep her, exact the usual punishment, but we believe her presence will hasten the day that Krone becomes rational and useful. You see we are trying to be reasonable.
“Of course,” the Russian shrugged, “we will also send a more reliable representative to monitor your progress with Krone. We expect you to relay to us every scrap you learn from him.”
“That’s outrageous,” the President said, “you can’t expect us to put one of our citizens under a microscope for your pleasure.”
“The outrage has already been committed,” Zamyatin replied, coolly. “You will put Krone under that microscope to serve your own ends. We are merely asking you to share the proceeds.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, his voice suddenly friendly, “I think you do not adequately appreciate the spirit of the offer we are making. There is no shrinking from your ultimate responsibility here, but the problem is immense and complex. We do not demand Krone and his records. You will have Krone and his machine, and, of course, you will keep a copy of the records. We must share this information and seek a common solution to our common peril.
“The seeds of cooperation on this problem have already been planted.” The Russian glanced for the first time at Isaacs. Although no one else seemed to notice, Isaacs felt as if a spotlight had just been turned on him. His heart raced, and he could feel his face flush.
“To further this spirit,” Zamyatin continued, “we will make the following additional offer. Mr. President, you know Academician Korolev, our distinguished scientist?”
“Yes, of course I do,” the President replied tentatively.
“Academician Korolev took an early and active interest in this problem. You know that he is crucial to our defense effort and has never been allowed to travel to the West. Mr. President, as a gesture of good will and of our intention to hasten the day when a solution may be devised, we are prepared to place Korolev at your disposal as our scientific ambassador.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, cordial and reasonable, “I do not expect a reply to our offers just now. I deduce you have only just learned of the problem. You will need some time to fully appreciate the situation, and the generosity of the proposals I have presented. I would remind you that there are factions in my government that are not amenable to such a cooperative approach. There are some who would advocate immediate public exposure, an attempt to wrest full propaganda value from your predicament. Others would contemplate far more serious and direct reprisals.
“Before I go, there is one other thing. I stress that we have proposed a cooperative approach to the problem at hand. We presume that you do not want the situation and your role in it to become widely known. We will follow your lead in such matters if you will but cooperate with us in one other regard. The problem with which we are now faced arose from a certain line of investigation.”
The Russian paused, holding the eyes of the President.
“We ask that you immediately cease all research and development on beam weapons and related technology.”
The room filled with a crescendo of outrage. General Whitehead was among the loudest, shouting, “I knew it, I knew they’d turn this against us.”
Zamyatin rose and departed, as if oblivious to the uproar his demand had caused.
“Mr. President,” General Whitehead continued to shout, “we cannot even think of responding to that crap. If we make the slightest concession there, they’ll come after our nuclear arms.”
The President cracked a loud palm down on the table, resulting in a rapid, strained silence.
“It’s nearly one a.m.,” the President said. “I’m going to adjourn this meeting. I want you all on call by six. In the meantime,” he addressed his National Security Advisor, “I want to know precisely the line of authority Zamyatin represents and the makeup of the other factions he mentioned.” He turned toward Drefke. “Howard, I want you, Isaacs and Professor Phillips to stay. I need a little more perspective on this.”
The President led them to an upstairs study and poured brandy all around. They sat in silence for awhile, each man trying to assimilate the rush of events in his own perspective. For Isaacs, the shock of Zamyatin’s announcements had waned, and he could feel the deep fatigue again, but he carried a burden he knew he must unload. He appreciated Drefke’s attempt, not completely altruistic, to avoid mention of Isaacs’ communications with Korolev. For that matter, Zamyatin could have roasted him, but chose not to. He knew, though, that the President could not reach a cogent decision without knowing all the background. From a strictly personal point of view, he would be better off confessing his involvement with the Russians rather than having the President discover it, as he surely would. He broke the silence.
“Mr. President.” The eyes of the three men swiveled to him. “I have been in on this affair from the beginning. There are some things about Zamyatin and Korolev you need to know.”
Drefke lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.
“Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” the President said.
“I have been aware for some time,” said Isaacs, searching for the right words, “that there is a contingent in the Soviet Union that has some sympathy for our situation. I believe Academician Korolev is a key person in that contingent. I think that he has led them to the understanding that we are dealing with a black hole and that it was made here, but I think he recognizes the true nature of the problem, that it transcends geopolitics. Korolev is under pressure; he had to tell them what he knew. But he is sympathetic to us, and he had influence there. I believe the offer to have him work with us is highly significant, both scientifically and politically. Mr. President, I think it is crucial that we reach out to the people Korolev represents.”
“Even though they demand we abandon our research on beam weapons, giving them full head to develop an antimissile technology unilaterally?”
Isaacs had no reply to that.
The President looked sharply at Isaacs. “How can you be so sure that this one man can and will be of help to us?”
Isaacs knew what was coming. He looked at the floor and then back at the President. “I’ve been in touch with him,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” the President demanded.
“I said, I’ve been in touch with him,” Isaacs replied.
Phillips stared at Isaacs in surprise. Isaacs vividly recalled his private conversation with the physicist in La Jolla, his suppressed desire to confess his communications with Korolev.
“You mean the Agency has?” the President asked.
“No sir, it was a personal correspondence.”
“Personal?” the President blurted. “You mean to say you’ve been communicating with Korolev directly? On the most sensitive issue of the decade? Goddamnit, Howard,” he turned to Drefke, “don’t your people know what channels are for? I’ve got black holes in my back yard, laser cannons in the front, and hired hands sending post cards back and forth discussing policy!”
“At the time there were extenuating circumstances,” Isaacs attempted to explain.
“Extenuating?” the President exclaimed. “May I ask just what you and Korolev were discussing behind my back, that you didn’t care to have me know?”
“I knew that Korolev was in charge of the Novorossiisk investigation, that he was puzzled and frustrated by
