“I think perhaps we understand each other, general,” Hawke said, making his decision even as he said the words, raising his glass. Putin was far from perfect, but he was vastly preferable to the vainglorious psychopath who represented the status quo.
The pawn now saw the whole board as if from above and found he was more than willing to make the next move.
“To world peace,” Kuragin said, raising his own glass.
“To world peace,” the other two echoed, and then all three of them downed their drinks in a single draught.
“General,” Hawke said, glancing at his watch, “tell me more about your lovely bracelet and the object attached to it.”
“Certainly,” Kuragin said, pushing the detonator closer to Hawke. “What do you wish to know?”
“How does it work, for starters?” Hawke asked, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He eyed the detonator carefully, contemplating the enormous power of it. It was simply a smaller version of the brain-shaped Zeta computer but without the brain-stem stalk to support it. Polished to a mirror finish. Quite heavy, with a hairline crack around the exterior, where it opened.
“The two extant detonators, called Beta machines, are connected by Bluetooth and other sophisticated wireless servers to every Zeta machine on the planet. I can easily program this Beta to blow up a single Zeta or, say, a hundred million of them. Individually or simultaneously. Only at the Tsar’s command, of course.”
“You actually can blow up the whole world with this thing,” Hawke said, eyeing Halter again. “Right here. Right now.”
“Basically, yes, I can, but I won’t. I am not insane. Not yet, anyway. The Tsar, on the other hand, would be perfectly happy to do so if someone on the other side either miscalculates or underestimates and gets in his way.”
“Amazing,” Hawke said, placing the Beta machine carefully on the table. He took the carafe from where it stood in front of Kuragin, poured himself a fresh drink, and looked at the two men with something akin to admiration.
Hawke said, “You don’t stockpile bombs or spend billions on reactors, delivery systems, nuclear subs, ICBMs. No, you distribute your bombs among your enemies! Better yet, you make a fortune by
“Thank you,” General Kuragin said.
“This was
“Yes, I’m to blame for this madness, I’m afraid. The military strategy of seeding the bombs, at any rate. Korsakov was the scientific genius behind designing and creating the actual Zeta machine. My grievous error was in letting my military strategy for Russian dominance fall into the wrong hands.”
“The Tsar’s.”
“Of course. I should have seen this coming. I did not. Now, I will pay for my mistake and correct it at a single stroke.”
“Still, the Zeta-network idea is brilliant in its simplicity,” Hawke said. “I’ll give you that much.”
“Simplicity is a cornerstone of genius. Tell me, Lord Hawke, have you ever heard anyone exclaim, ‘I love this idea. It’s so damn complicated!’”
Hawke smiled. Here he was, sharing a bottle with a man who’d hatched an evil scheme for world domination, and he found he rather liked him.
“General,” Halter said, “you were telling me earlier that each of the two Beta detonators also contains Hexagon explosives, correct? Like the explosives inside the Zeta computers.”
“Yes, but each Beta is packed with twice the explosive power. This one can explode the one in the Tsar’s possession, and vice versa.”
“Why?” Hawke asked.
“In case one or the other ever fell into the wrong hands, of course. The Tsar wanted to be able to eliminate that person instantly. He’s not comfortable sharing such power.”
“Except with you.”
Kuragin nodded his head, “Except with me, the only man on earth he trusts.”
Hawke ignored the implicit irony in this and said, “You’re saying you could use it now, to kill the Tsar?”
“I could. There is a code, known only to me. I enter it, arm this machine, press Detonate, and it will instantly explode the other Beta. If the Tsar is anywhere within, say, a radius of five hundred yards, he dies. But I never murder people, Lord Hawke. I have people murdered. It’s why I’m still alive.”
“The Tsar presumably has the Beta with him at all times?” Hawke asked.
“Of course. His nuclear football. Chained to the wrist of his bodyguard, named Kuba, a highly trained assassin who doubles as his driver. Kuba is never more than a few hundred yards away from his lord and master.”
Kuragin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, extracted one, and lit it with a paper match. The same brand Putin smoked, Hawke noticed, Sobranie Black Russians from the Ukraine.
Hawke pushed his chair back from the table and smiled at the general.
“General Kuragin, when was the last time you checked your account in Geneva?”
“I don’t really know. Some months ago, I suppose.”
“And what was the balance at the time?”
“Five million, I believe. American dollars.”
Hawke pulled his sat phone from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table in front of the Russian.
“You might want to give your Swiss bankers a call, general. Just to confirm your current balance. According to Dr. Halter, it should now be twenty-five million.”
“Twenty million dollars to save the whole world? It hardly seems enough,” Kuragin said, gazing at them from beneath his heavily lidded eyes.
“Shall we say thirty million?”
“Say it and find out.”
“Thirty million.”
“Not enough.”
“All right. We are prepared to pay you forty million dollars for that machine, General Kuragin. And the code that goes with it, of course. Effective immediately. Dr. Halter will call the bank in Geneva with wiring instructions for an additional twenty million dollars.”
“Can you say fifty?”
Hawke glanced at Halter, who nodded his head. Stefan had held the sat phone to his ear, speaking French to an anonymous banker in Geneva as the negotiation progressed.
“Fifty million dollars,” Hawke said. “Final offer.”
“I accept.”
Halter spoke a few more words into the phone, handed it to Kuragin, and said, “This gentleman will confirm that an additional thirty million dollars has been electronically placed in your account, general.”
“This is Kuragin. My account number is 4413789-A. May I have my balance, please? I see. Well, thank you very much.
He handed the phone back to Halter and pulled a gold pen from inside his uniform jacket.
“Here, I’ll write the code down for you inside this matchbook cover. Now, I must ask you both to leave the room. But first, please bring me some clean towels and a large bowl of ice. Also, that meat cleaver hanging by the stove, if you’d be so kind. It looks reasonably sharp.”
Hawke and Halter looked at each other, stunned, as the Cambridge don pocketed the matchbook with the detonator code printed inside.
“Surely you’re not planning to do anything foolish, general.”
“On the contrary. If it appears in any way that I have given up this damn thing voluntarily, I won’t last five minutes. Every KGB agent in the world will be lining up to assassinate me.”
“Wait,” Hawke said. “I’m sure we can get that damn bracelet off with a hacksaw. We’ll think of some way to make it look as if you were abducted, and then-”
“No. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve been drinking vodka all day in anticipation of what’s coming,
