scarves, and gloves for protection against a brisk north wind.
Joseph Ross Huntington III took a deep breath, inwardly rejoicing in the morning air’s cold, clean taste. He’d spent too much time lately in small, stuffy meeting rooms or breathing recirculated air in pressurized plane cabins. “It’s good of you to see me on such short notice, sir.”
“Not at all, Ross.” The Prime Minister shook his head. His bright blue eyes gleamed behind thick lenses. “It’s simple self-interest, really. I’ve always found it a wise policy to cultivate friends in high places. Even when they don’t come swathed in fancy job titles.”
Huntington grinned at that. Britain’s top politician had a well-earned reputation for charm and calculated candor. Both traits had helped him ride out a tidal wave of bad economic news that would have long since sunk other British governments.
“Besides, I’ve been looking for the chance to sort a few things out before next month’s conference with your President.” The Prime Minister glanced at the shorter, stouter man walking to his left. “Isn’t that right, Andy?”
“Definitely, Prime Minister.” Like his leader, Andrew Bryce, the Minister of Defence, had come up through Conservative Party politics the hard way — by merit and not by birth. When he spoke, his voice still bore traces of the broad Yorkshire accent of his youth. “We don’t have time to waste in Foreign Office chitchat and mummery. Not with things going from bad to worse across the bloody Channel.”
Huntington nodded. Meetings between heads of state were only rarely more than formalities — settings for state dinners and photo opportunities. The real work was usually handled on the telephone or behind closed doors and between trusted subordinates. The planned November summit between Britain’s Prime Minister and America’s President would be no exception. If anything, it was now more important than ever that the two allies spoke with one voice and acted with a common purpose.
They turned down a gravel path and walked in silence for several moments. Finally the Prime Minister spoke again. “I suppose your senior officials are especially worried by the Russian situation?”
“Yes, sir. Most of them anyway.” Huntington eyed the Prime Minister carefully. The President had told him not to hold anything back. “The Joint Chiefs have been pushing for permission to retarget our remaining ICBMs and to put Air Combat Command’s bomber force on alert.”
Both Englishmen whistled softly. America’s earlier decision to take its strategic nuclear forces off continuous alert had been one of the strongest signals that the cold war really was over. Reversing course now would send shock waves around the world.
“So far the President’s refused to okay their requests. He doesn’t want to start another dangerous, expensive nuclear buildup. Not until he’s got a clearer picture of what’s happening inside Russia. And in France and Germany, for that matter.” Huntington shook his head. “But he’s under a lot of pressure. A lot.”
He frowned. “Most of the people he trusts are telling him to man the battlements — that the Russian generals will turn their missiles west any day now.”
“I take it you’re not one of them?”
“Not exactly.” Huntington nodded toward the woods surrounding the estate’s gardens and lawns. “I’d trust Kaminov and his crowd about as far as I could throw one of those trees over there. But I don’t think they’re in any shape right now to seriously threaten us. Besides, we’ve still got enough nukes to blow Russia to hell and gone. They know it. And we know it. Plus, the President
The Prime Minister looked surprised by that piece of news. America’s plans for a limited defense against ballistic missiles had been delayed year after year — the victim of a skeptical Congress and tight budgets. As the old Soviet Union crumbled, only the continuing proliferation of long-range missile technology around the globe had kept the program alive. Challenged to find ways to destroy ICBMs before they could hit their targets, the West’s scientists and engineers had come through with flying colors. But Washington had lacked both the political will and the resources needed to field a working ABM system. Now it appeared the President was ready to supply both.
“When?”
“I’ve been told we can launch a first group of space-based interceptors by early next year. The rest of the system will take a lot longer to put in place.” Huntington shrugged. “Still, any defense is better than none.”
The Prime Minister nodded. Coupling America’s remaining offensive weapons with even limited space-based defenses would create a powerful deterrent to nuclear attack. With a screen of missile killers orbiting the globe, no enemy nation would ever know how many of its warheads would reach their targets. That would help make sure that not even Kaminov and his fellow marshals were mad enough to risk a direct confrontation with the United States or its allies.
“What about conventional war? Moscow’s still got masses of tanks and artillery parked round the countryside.” Andrew Bryce broke back into the conversation. Britain’s Minister of Defence sounded more interested than skeptical. Huntington had the feeling he was simply curious about how far Washington’s fears went. “Since NATO’s pulled a vanishing act, what would stop them from pushing back into Poland or the other old Warsaw Pact states? Say, to distract the Russian people from troubles at home? You can’t expect strategic weapons to deter that. No one would believe we’ll go nuclear in a fight for the Poles.”
“Still too risky for them, Andy.” The Prime Minister was quietly confident. “The Russians must know anything like that would unite the whole West against them all over again. And quite possibly pull Ukraine and the other republics in on our side. I seriously doubt they’re that stupid.”
“They’re too busy anyway.” Huntington remembered the intelligence reports he’d been shown. “CIA says they’re conducting a massive purge throughout their armed forces. Show trials. Predetermined verdicts. The works.”
“Our SIS confirms that.”
“Uh-huh. And everything I’ve ever read about Russian history tells me that will tie their armies up in knots for months — maybe even longer. Anyhow, Kaminov and his pals have some popular support for a crackdown at home. They don’t have much backing for expensive military adventures abroad.” Huntington stuck his hands in his pockets. Gloves or not, they were still getting damned cold. He looked at the two Englishmen and shook his head again. “No, I’m not that worried by Russia. Not right now anyway. I think we’ve got worse problems a lot closer to home.”
He hesitated. What he was about to say might strike these men as foolish or pig-ignorant. Several of the State Department’s European affairs experts had already told him as much. But they were schooled in a more comfortable, more predictable Europe, one whose nations fell on one side or the other of a neat dividing line. Allies on one side. Enemies on the other.
The problem was, that Europe no longer existed.
“Go on, Ross.” Both the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defence were watching him closely.
Right. It was time to put his cards on the table. He squared his shoulders and spoke plainly. “Frankly I’m a lot more worried by what’s happening in France and Germany. In the short run, I’m afraid they’re far more likely to cause trouble — in Europe or somewhere else around the world.”
“Why?”
Huntington breathed out. The Prime Minister hadn’t laughed at him or told him he’d gone mad. Had the British already come to the same conclusions? He felt his confidence rising as he outlined the analysis surrounding what had started out as a pure gut feeling.
With its economy collapsing and chaos growing inside its own borders, Russia’s martial law declaration made some sense. It still wasn’t justified, but it was understandable. Democratic government had been a new and fragile experiment for the heartland of the old Soviet empire — one without the strength to withstand prolonged crisis.
The French and German moves to emergency rule made a lot less sense — on the surface. Their economic and political troubles were mostly self-inflicted, and though serious, they were nowhere near a level that could justify dictatorial rule by decree. True, the general strike threatened by their trade unions could have been devastating. But neither government had made any real effort to avoid it through negotiation. They hadn’t even tried to just tough it out — waiting for the strike to collapse under its own weight and increasing public anger.
Instead, both Paris and Berlin had resorted to the most extreme measures imaginable. Both governments claimed they were acting only to maintain public order. Huntington suspected far less noble motives. Governing through military means to save a nation was one thing. Imposing martial law to preserve a particular political party’s grip on power was quite another. Men who would do that were shortsighted, greedy, and completely
