mechanism as well as the weapon itself.
'Automatic target acquisition and destruction on my mark-six, five, four, three, ready, one. Mark!'
He closed his eyes, his hands fanned in front of them a moment. Then, ignoring the dials and gauges and digital computer readouts on the console, he fixed his eyes on the monitor. Target alpha, the nearest of the low-flying bomber aircraft, exploded in a burst of light and vaporized. Almost in the blink of an eye, target beta, the second drone aircraft, vaporized. Vorovoi started to search out the first missile, third target in the firing sequence, but before he could locate it, there was a bright flash. Quickly, he spotted target theta, the last of the four. The angle was right, and he could see the knife edge of the particle beam-it looked like something from an American space movie, he thought. He had seen several American films in Stockholm years earlier when he was there for a scientific conference.
'Deathray,' he murmured. The second missile vaporized in a bright flash, the camera whiting out a moment from the light.
There was total silence in the firing control center, except for the incessant whirling and buzzing of the computers and the climate control system which latter was needed for the proper working of the machines. Vorovoi stood up, looked toward the mezzanine, and saw Elizabeta beaming at him. Her smile was something Mikhail could never forget. Locking his fists together over his head, he jumped into the air, screaming, laughing. And, suddenly, the technicians, the military guards-everyone around him-were applauding, shouting, laughing.
'We have entered the new age!' he cried. 'Peace''
Chapter Thirteen
'As you were, gentlemen,' Rear Admiral Roger Corbin said absently as he entered the tiny briefing room. The dozen or so naval officers crowded together had started to rise.
'Admiral Corbin''
Corbin turned around, pushed a bony hand through his graying blond hair, and said, 'Yes, Commander,' then, squinting to read the name plate, added, 'Abramson.'
'We've just had confirmation, sir, that-'
'I know, Commander. I'm the one who confirmed it.' Then, raising his voice Corbin started toward the platform at the front of the room, saying, 'All right, gentlemen, let's get this thing underway. I'm due at the White House'- and he glanced at his digital watch-'in fifteen minutes.'
He lit a cigarette and waited as the room quieted. The gathering of high-ranking Naval intelligence personnel knew him, except for a few faces, like that of Commander Abramson. Corbin began, 'The Nuclear Regulatory Commission just confirmed what our own satellite infrareds and other sensing devices already showed. A large- sized nuclear device was exploded just a few miles beyond the estimated perimeter of the polar icecap-just about where the Benjamin Franklin's position should have been, according to its last radio beacon relay via satellite. Also, there's a Soviet sub-what the hell's the name of that?' He turned to the lieutenant.
The young man consulted his notes, knit his brow a moment, then looked up. 'The Volga, sir-it's a Potemkin class nuclear sub.'
'Right,' Corbin continued. 'The Potemkin-I mean the Volga-well, it's off our tracking plots and missing. Could have been a collision, could have been the Russians attacking. There's no way to confirm without pulling another sub off position and going in to take a look-see. Can't do that now. I'll officially label it a nuclear accident, a collision, confer with the Russians, what-have-you. But my personal assessment-and it's just a gut level reaction-is that one of them lost their nerve and opened fire, then the other one returned. I knew Wilmer, commander of the Franklin. A little edgy about his job, but a good man. He wouldn't have opened fire first. I bet on the Ruskie commander. Intelligence put him down as a David-pronounce it Dahveed-Antonyevich Kosnuyevski. Kind of a new man, on his first line command. Could be the sort of thing a guy like that would do. They're on alert status, too.'
'Sir,' a lieutenant commander from the rear of the room shouted.
'I know your questions before you ask 'em-tell me if I'm wrong.' Coughing and stomping out his cigarette, then pausing to light another, Corbin said, 'About seventy megatons-means at least one of the reactors went up along with nearly all the warheads on both boats. U.S. Geological Survey, our own people, Oceanographic and Atmospheric Admin people-nobody knows what's going to happen. Should hike the tides, might loose a lot of ice into shipping lanes, could make some minor short-term climatic changes. Not too much crap in the atmosphere as best as we can tell at this time. Answer your question, Commander?' Admiral Corbin smiled, glancing back at the man.
The man only nodded.
Chapter Fourteen
'All right, guys, take off your coats, whatever. The president's on the hot line with the Soviet premier. Told me to get the briefing started.'
'Thurston, what the hell I hear about the Navy blowin' up a submarine?'
Thurston Potter glared at Secretary Meeker. What the Commerce Department was doing at the intelligence briefing was beyond him, except for the fact that the president and Commerce Secretary Meeker were lifelong friends.
'Mr. Secretary, I'll come to that.' At times like this, Thurston Potter realized, he painfully felt his twenty-eight years. Two Ph.D.s didn't make any difference to the Pentagon people, or to most of the rest of the inner circle of presidential advisors. Potter looked at his watch. In twenty-five minutes he had a press briefing, and by then had to brief all the men assembled in the conference room and get everyone straight on the stories for the media people.
'Maybe I can answer Secretary Meeker's question,' Admiral Corbin said from the opposite end of the table, a cigarette waving in his left hand.
'Why don't I?' Potter said. 'But, thank you, Admiral.' Then, turning toward Meeker and the others, Potter began, 'The Navy didn't blow up a submarine, Mr. Secretary, gentlemen. They happened to meet a Soviet submarine. Our U.S.S. Benjamin Franklin apparently came in close proximity of the Soviet craft Volga. The Volga is of their top-of-
