counted for more than anything else, he told himself, and he could still count on Defense Minister Yazov.
'I think you will like it here,' General Pokryshkin said as they walked the perimeter fence. The KGB guards saluted as they passed, and both men returned the halfhearted gestures. The dogs were gone now, and Gennady thought that a mistake, food problems or no.
'My wife will not,' Bondarenko replied. 'She's followed me from one camp to another for almost twenty years, and finally to Moscow. She likes it there.' He turned to look outside the fence and smiled. Could a man ever tire of this view? But what will my wife say when I tell her this? But it was not often that a Soviet soldier had the chance to make this sort of choice, and she would understand that, wouldn't she?
'Perhaps general's stars will change her mind-and we are working to make the place more hospitable. Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight for that? Finally I told them that my engineers were like dancers, and that they had to be happy to perform. I think that Central Committeeman is a devotee of the Bolshoy, and that finally made him understand. That's when the theater was authorized, and that's when we started getting decent food trucked in. By next summer the school will be finished, and all the children will be here. Of course'-he laughed-'we'll have to put up another block of apartments, and the next Bright Star commander will also have to be a schoolmaster.'
'In five years we may not have room for the lasers. Well, you left the highest point for them, I see.'
'Yes, that argument lasted nine months. Just to convince them that we might eventually want to build something more powerful than the one we already have.'
'The real Bright Star,' Bondarenko noted.
'You will build it, Gennady Iosifovich.'
'Yes, Comrade General, I will build it. I will accept the appointment if you still want me.' He turned to survey the terrain again. Someday this will all be mine
'Allah's will,' the Major said with a shrug.
He was getting tired of hearing that. The Archer's patience and even his faith were being tested by the forced change in plans, The Soviets had been running troops along the valley road on and off for the last thirty-six hours. He'd gotten half his force across when it had begun, then suffered while his men had been divided, each side watching the rolling trucks and personnel carriers and wondering if the Russians would halt and hop out, and climb the hills to find their visitors. There would be a bloody fight if they tried that, and many Russians would die-but he wasn't here merely to kill Russians. He was here to hurt them in a way that the simple loss of soldiers could never do.
But there was a mountain to climb, and he was now grossly behind schedule, and all the consolation anyone could offer was Allah's will. Where was Allah when the bombs fell on my wife and daughter? Where was Allah when they took my son away? Where was Allah when the Russians bombed our refugee camp?? Why must life be so cruel?
'It is hard to wait, isn't it?' the Major observed. 'Waiting is the hardest thing. The mind has nothing to occupy it, and the questions come.'
'And your questions?'
'When will the war end? There is talk? but there has been talk for years. I am tired of this war.'
'You spent much of it on the other-' The Major's head snapped around. 'Do not say that. I have been giving your band information for years! Didn't your leader tell you this?'
'No. We knew that he was getting something, but-' 'Yes, he was a good man, and he knew that he had to protect me. Do you know how many times I sent my troops on useless patrols so that they'd miss you, how many times I was shot at by my own people-knowing that they wanted to kill me, knowing how they cursed my name?' The sudden flood of emotion amazed both men. 'Finally I could bear it no more. Those of my troops who wanted to work for the Russians-well, it was not hard to send them into your ambushes, but I couldn't merely send those, could I? Do you know, my friend, how many of my troops-my good men-I consigned to death at your hands? Those I had left were loyal to me, and loyal to Allah, and it was time to join the freedom fighters once and for all. May God forgive me for all those who did not live long enough for this.' Each man had his tale to tell, the Archer reflected, and the only consistent thread made but a single sentence: 'Life is hard.'
'It will be harder still for those atop this mountain.' The Major looked around. 'The weather is changing. The wind blows from the south now. The clouds will bring moisture with them. Perhaps Allah has not deserted us after all. Perhaps He will let us continue this mission. Perhaps we are His instrument, and He wilt show them through us that they should leave our country lest we come to visit them.' The Archer grunted and looked up the mountain. He could no longer see the objective, but that didn't matter because, unlike the Major, he couldn't see the end to the war either. 'We'll bring the rest across tonight.'
'Yes. They will all be well rested, my friend.'
'Mr. Clark?' He'd been on the treadmill for nearly an hour. Mancuso could tell from the sweat when he flipped the off switch.
'Yes, Captain?' Clark took off the headphones.
'What sort of music?'
'That sonar kid, Jones, lent me his machine. All he has is Bach, but it does keep the brain occupied.'
'Message for you.' Mancuso handed it over. The slip of paper merely had six words. They were code words, had to be, since they didn't actually mean anything.
'It's a go.'
'When?'
'It doesn't say that. That'll be the next message.'
'I think it's time you tell me how this thing goes,' the Captain observed.
'Not here,' Clark said quietly.
'My stateroom is this way.' Mancuso waved. They went forward past the submarine turbine engines, then through the reactor compartment with its annoyingly noisy door, and finally through the Attack Center and into Mancuso's cabin. It was about as far as anyone could walk on a submarine. The Captain tossed Clark a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.
'I hope you didn't wear yourself out,' he said.
'It's the boredom. All your people have jobs to do. Me, I just sit around and wait. Waiting is a bitch. Where's Captain Ramius?'
'Asleep, He doesn't have to be in on the thing this soon, does he?'
'No,' Clark agreed.
'What exactly is the job? Can you teJl me now?'
'I'm bringing two people out,' Clark replied simply.
'Two Russians? You're not picking up a thing? Two people?'
'That's right.'
'And you're going to say that you do it all the time?' Mancuso asked.
'Not exactly all the time,' Clark admitted. 'I did one three years ago, another one a year before that. Two others never came off, and I never found out why. 'Need-to-know', you know.'
'I've heard the phrase before.'
'It's funny,' Clark mused. 'I bet the people who make those decisions have never had their ass hanging out in the breeze?'
'The people you're picking up-do they know?'
'Nope. They know to be at a certain place at a certain time. My worry is that they're going to be surrounded by the KGB version of a SWAT team.' Clark lifted a radio. 'Your end is real easy. I don't say the right thing in the right way, on the right schedule, you and your boat get the hell out of here.'
'Leave you behind.' It wasn't a question.
'Unless you'd prefer to join me at Lefortovo Prison. Along with the rest of the crew, of course. It might look bad in the papers, Captain.'
'You struck me as a sensible man, too,'
Clark laughed. 'It's a real long story.'
'Colonel Eich?'
'Von Eich,' the pilot corrected Jack. 'My ancestors were Prussians. You're Dr. Ryan, right? What can I do for you?' Jack took a seat. They were sitting in the Defense Attache's office. The attache, an Air Force general, was
