was referring to. “I… Which thing, father of Dagestan?”
A thin crease of a smile spread across the old man’s lips. “You told me that you were a powerful man. That you controlled the rockets that went off into space. That you could redirect your rockets to hit Moscow.”
Safronov beamed with excitement at the same moment his mind filled with worry and consternation. He had told the old man about his many ideas for retribution against the Russians with whom he lived and worked. Changing the path of one of his space delivery vehicles so that it would not reach orbit but instead send its payload into a crowded population center was, by far, the most fanciful of his boasts to Murshidov. There were a hundred or more problems with that plan of his, but yes, it was not beyond the realm of possibilities.
Safronov knew now was not the time to show doubt. “Yes! I swear I can do it. Just give me the word and I will force the Russians to either ret tot surn our military leader or suffer for this crime.”
Murshidov began to speak, but Safronov, amped with excitement, said, “I need to say that such a strike would be best used against an oil refinery, even if it is outside of a city. The capsule itself is not explosive, so although it would hit at a high rate of speed, it will need to hit something flammable or explosive to do the greatest amount of damage.” Georgi worried the old man would be disappointed in this; he’d probably neglected to give a realistic explanation of just what a kinetic missile could accomplish when he’d made his boast the year before.
But Murshidov posed a question: “Would your weapons be more powerful if they were tipped with nuclear bombs?”
Safronov’s head cocked. He stammered briefly. “Well… yes. Of course. But that is not possible, and even without them they still can be powerful conventional weapons. I promise you that if I target fuel storage or—”
“Why is it not possible?”
“Because I
“If you did, would you still proceed? Or is your heart made heavy by the thought of the deaths of hundreds of thousands of your adopted countrymen?”
Safronov’s chin rose. This was a test. A hypothetical. “If I had bombs, I would act with even
“There is a man here that I want you to meet. A foreigner.”
Safronov had seen no foreigner. Was this a hypothetical, too? “What man?”
“I will let him tell you who he is. Talk to him. I trust him. He comes highly respected from our brothers in Chechnya.”
“Of course, Abu Dagestani. I will speak with him.”
Suleiman Murshidov motioned to one of his sons, who beckoned Safronov to follow him. Georgi stood, confused by what was happening, but he followed the man into the hall and up the staircase, and then into a large bedroom. Here three men in casual clothing stood with assault rifles hanging over their shoulders. They were not Dagestanis; not Arabs, either. One man was very tall, and he was Georgi’s age; the other two were younger.
“Lift your arms in the air, please.”
“I am sorry?”
“Please, friend.”
Safronov did so, unsure. The two young men approached him and frisked him thoroughly but with no obvious intentions of disrespect.
Once this was complete, the older man bade Safronov to sit on a worn sofa against the wall. Both men sat down, and glasses of orange soda were placed on a table in front of them.
“Mr. Safronov, you may call me General Ijaz. I am a general in the Pakistani Defense Force.”
Georgi shook the man’s hand.
Rehan asked, “You are Dagestani? And a faithful Muslim?”
“I am both of these things, General.”
“Suleiman promised me you were just exactlre ze='y the man I need to speak to.”
“I hope I can be of service.”
“You are in charge of Russian space operations?”
Safronov started to shake his head. That was a gross oversimplification of his role as president and main shareholder of Kosmos Space Flight Corporation. But he stopped himself. Now was no time to equivocate, though he did explain further. “That is almost true, General Ijaz. I am president of the company that owns and operates one of Russia’s best space launch vehicles.”
“What do you deliver into space?”
“We deliver satellites into orbits, primarily. We made twenty-one successful launches last year, and expect twenty-four next year.”
“You have access to the missiles to launch the vehicles?”
Safronov nodded, proud of himself and the company he had grown over the past fifteen years. “Our principal space delivery vehicle is the Dnepr-1 Space Launch System. It is a converted RM-36.”
Rehan just stared at the Russian. He did not like to admit that he did not know a fact. He would wait silently until this little man explained himself.
“The RM-36, General, is an intercontinental ballistic missile. Russia… I should say the Soviet Union, used this to deliver nuclear missiles. It was only in the 1990s when my company reconfigured the system into a civilian space rocket.”
Rehan nodded thoughtfully, feigning only mild interest when, in fact, this was an incredible piece of news.
“What can be put inside of this missile, Mr. Safronov?”
Georgi smiled knowingly. He understood from Murshidov’s questions what was happening here. He also understood it was his job to sell this idea to this stern-faced Pakistani in front of him.
“General, we can put in it whatever you have for us that will fit inside the payload envelope.”
“The devices I am considering are 3.83 meters by.46 meters.”
“And the weight?”
“Just over one thousand kilograms.”
The Russian nodded happily. “It can be done.”
“Excellent.”
“Are you prepared to tell me what this device is?”
The man Safronov knew as General Ijaz just looked him in the eye. “Nuclear bombs. Twenty-kiloton yield.”
“Bombs? Not the warheads of a missile?”
“No. These are air-dropped bombs. Is that a problem?”
“I know very little about bombs, more about Russian missile warheads from my time in the military. But I do know the bombs can be removed from their cases to make them smaller and lighter. This will not affect the yield of the blast. We will need to do this to put them in payload containers for our missiles.”
“I see,” Rehan said. “Tell me this. Your missiles… where can they go?”
Now Safronov took on a guarded expression. He started to speak but stopped himself. Stammered a bit.
Rehan said, “I am only curious, friend. If I decide to give these devices to your organization, then they are yours to do with as you wish.” Rehan smiled more broadly. “e bid, Although I’d prefer you did not target Islamabad.”
Safronov relaxed a little. For a moment he worried this operation was to be some sort of job for the Pakistanis. Safronov would not do this for money. He would only do this for his cause.
“General Ijaz, my missiles will go anywhere I tell them to go. But there will be no debate. One of them will land in Red Square.”
Rehan nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “Finally Moscow will beg at your feet for mercy. You and your people can have what you have long desired. An Islamic caliphate in the Caucasus.”
The thin Russian with the boyish flop of hair on his forehead smiled, the rings of his eyes reddened and moistened, and the two men embraced there in the cold attic room.
As Riaz Rehan hugged the smaller man, the Pakistani general himself smiled. He had been marshaling
