'Did you really think that Gerasimov could remove me?'
'Sir, I don't know what you are talking about. My mission was to save the life of one of our agents. To do this meant compromising Chairman Gerasimov. It was just a matter of fishing with the proper bait.'
'And fishing for the proper fish,' Narmonov commented. The amusement in his voice did not show on his face. 'And your agent was Colonel Filitov?'
'Yes, sir. You know that.'
'I just learned it.'
Then you know that Yazov was compromised also. Just how close might they have come, Comrade General Secretary? Ryan did not say. Probably Narmonov didn't know either.
'Do you know why he turned traitor?'
'No, I don't. I was briefed only on what I needed to know.'
'And therefore you do not know about the attack on our Project Bright Star?'
'What?' Jack was very surprised, and showed it. 'Don't insult me, Ryan. You do know the name.'
'It's southeast of Dushanbe. I know it. Attacked?' he asked.
'As I thought. You know that was an act of war,' Narmonov observed.
'Sir, KGB officers kidnapped an American SDI scientist several days ago. That was ordered by Gerasimov himself. His name is Alan Gregory. He's a major in the U.S. Army, and he was rescued.'
'I don't believe it,' Golovko said before translating. Narmonov was annoyed by the interruption, but shocked by the substance of Ryan's statement.
'One of your officers was captured. He's alive. It is true, sir,' Jack assured him.
Narmonov shook his head and rose to toss another log on the fire. He maneuvered it into place with a poker. 'It's madness, you know,' he said at the hearth. 'We have a perfectly satisfactory situation now.'
'Excuse me? I don't understand,' Ryan asked.
'The world is stable, is it not? Yet your country wishes to change this, and forces us to pursue the same goal.' That the ABM test site at Sary Shagan had been operating for over thirty years was, for the moment, beside the point.
'Mr. Secretary, if you think the ability to turn every city, every home in my country into a fire like the one you have right there-'
'My country, too, Ryan,' Narmonov said.
'Yes, sir, your country, too, and a bunch of others. You can kill most every civilian in my country, and we can murder almost every person in your country, in sixty minutes or less from the time you pick up the phone-or my President does. And what do we call that? We call it 'stability.' '
'It is stability, Ryan,' Narmonov said.
'No, sir, the technical name we use is MAD: Mutual Assured Destruction, which isn't even good grammar, but it's accurate enough. The situation we have now is mad, all right, and the fact that supposedly intelligent people have thought it up doesn't make it any more sensible.'
'It works, doesn't it?'
'Sir, why is it stabilizing to have several hundred million people less than an hour away from death? Why do we view weapons that might protect those people to be dangerous? Isn't that backwards?'
'But if we never use them? Do you think that I could live with such a crime on my conscience?'
'No, I don't think that any man could, but someone might screw up. He'd probably blow his brains out a week after the fact, but that might be a little late for the rest of us. The damned things are just too easy to use. You push a button, and they go, and they'll work, probably, because there's nothing to stop them. Unless something stands in their way, there's no reason to think that they won't work. And as long as somebody thinks they might work, it's too easy to use them.'
'Be realistic, Ryan. Do you think that we'll ever rid ourselves of atomic arms?' Narmonov asked.
'No, we'll never get rid of all the weapons. I know that. We'll both always have the ability to hurt each other badly, but we can make that process more complicated than it is now. We can give everybody one more reason not to push the button. That's not destabilizing, sir. That's just good sense. That's just something more to protect your conscience.'
'You sound like your President.' This was delivered with a smile.
'He's right.' Ryan returned it.
'It is bad enough that I must argue with one American. I will not do so with another. What will you do with Gerasimov?' the General Secretary asked.
'It will be handled very quietly, for the obvious reason,' Jack said, hoping that he was right.
'It would be very damaging to my government if his defection became public. I suggest that he died in a plane crash?'
'I will convey that to my government if I am permitted to do so. We can also keep Filitov's name out of the news. We have nothing to gain by publicity. That would just complicate things for your country and mine. We both want the arms treaty to go forward-all that money to save, for both of us.'
'Not so much,' Narmonov said. 'A few percentage points of the defense budgets on both sides.'
'There is a saying in our government, sir. A billion here and a billion there, pretty soon you're talking about some real money.' That earned Jack a laugh. 'May I ask a question, sir?'
'Go on.'
'What will you do with the money on your side? I'm supposed to figure that one out.'
'Then perhaps you can offer me suggestions. What makes you think that I know?' Narmonov asked. He rose, and Ryan did the same. 'Back to your embassy. Tell your people that it is better for both sides if this never becomes public.'
Half an hour later Ryan was dropped off at the front door of the embassy. The first one to see him was a Marine sergeant. The second was Candela.
The VC-137 landed at Shannon ten minutes late, due to headwinds over the North Sea. The crew chief and another sergeant herded the passengers out the front way, and when all had left the aircraft, came back to open the rear door. While cameras flashed in the main terminal, steps were rolled to the Boeing's tail and four men left wearing the uniform parkas of U.S. Air Force sergeants. They entered a car and were driven to a far end of the terminal, where they boarded another plane of the 89th Military Airlift Wing, a VC-20A, the military version of the Gulfstream-III executive jet.
'Hello, Misha.' Mary Pat Foley met him at the door and took him forward. She hadn't kissed him before. She made up for it now. 'We have food and drink, and another plane ride home. Come, Misha.' She took his arm and led him to his seat.
A few feet away, Robert Ritter greeted Gerasimov.
'My family?' the latter asked.
'Safe. We'll have them in Washington in two days. At this moment they are aboard a U.S. Navy ship in international waters.'
'I am supposed to thank you?'
'We expect you to cooperate.'
'You were very lucky,' Gerasimov observed.
'Yes,' Ritter agreed. 'We were.'
The embassy car drove Ryan to Sheremetyevo the following day to catch the regular Pan Am 727 flight to Frankfurt. The ticket they provided him was tourist, but Ryan upgraded it to first class. Three hours later he connected with a 747 for Dulles, also Pan Am. He slept most of the way.
Bondarenko surveyed the carnage. The Afghans had left forty-seven bodies behind, with evidence of plenty more. Only two of the site's laser assemblies had survived. All of the machine shops were wrecked, along with the theater and bachelor quarters. The hospital was largely intact, and full of wounded people. The good news was that he'd saved three-quarters of the scientific and engineering personnel and nearly all of their dependents. Four general officers were there already to tell him what a hero he was, promising medals and promotion, but he'd already gotten the only reward that mattered. As soon as the relief force had arrived, he'd seen that the people were safe. Now, he just looked from the roof of the apartment block.
'There is much work to do,' a voice noted. The Colonel, soon to be a General, turned.
'Morozov. We still have two of the lasers. We can rebuild the shops and laboratories. A year, perhaps
