'Major? Major?' Garcia over the transceiver.
'OK, Garcia, OK.'
The great pall of sand and spray fell lazily, half translucent, half opaque, into the sea, all around him; even the pelicans were beginning to fall easily out of the pale sky, to settle gingerly on the water, farther off from the — the sandbank, jutting out from the beach, half enclosing the little bay of cool water.
The sand slid down the Plexiglas like a drawn-back curtain. It stuck to the pelican blood, was plastered in streaks by the water that had been thrown up with the sand. Light flashed through the streaked cockpit from the Galaxy's wing as the aircraft curved gently away in a climbing turn.
The pallet had landed at an angle. Gant realized he was staring into the water — transparent, mercury- veined water, smooth once more after the pall of sand's disturbance.
With a shuddering lurch, the Mil shook off the remaining sand like a dog discarding water from its coat. The horizon was more tilted, the water discernibly nearer. A cold chill gripped his heart. When he looked up, the Galaxy had altered course, heading away behind him, toward its landfall at Karachi. Its diminishing seemed like an act of desertion. The voice of the pilot and the anxious murmurs of Anders filled his headset.
'OK, OK,' he snapped. 'Get out of my head!' His voice was urgent, tinged with panic. The broken pallet beneath the helicopter groaned, then slithered. The cockpit lurched.
'Skipper—'
'Mac, stay cool. Stay still,' he warned. 'Don't move.'
'Your angle of impact,' the pilot was repeating, his words irrelevant. The cockpit seemed as close and final around him as — as the oxygen tent that had shrouded his father's last days. He shuddered, shaking off the image.
'Skipper — and you, Anders — there's nothing you can do, nothing. Get the hell out of here.'
'Gant—'
'Don't bother me now.'
He flicked off the VHF set, then reached up and drew off his helmet. The cries of pelicans like the magnified tearing of paper or cardboard. The almost still lapping of the tired, cool water. The creaking of the pallet's remnants as they moved uncertainly — downward.
Garcia's voice in the cockpit. Figures along the beach, running as if labored and laden through the sand. The glinting, retreating dot of the Galaxy. Spars and slivers and torn spears of wood littering the sandbar.
'Just stay cool,' Gant murmured, releasing his harness gently from his bruised body. Slowly, he levered himself up from his seat and reached for the pilot's door. Gripped its handle, turned it.
The Mil lurched, sliding another foot and more toward the water—
— which, he saw clearly, was not as shallow as it seemed, but was deep enough to submerge the helicopter as far as the main cabin.
He looked up. The locked rotors lay along the fuselage. The Mil could not fly; it was drowning.
There was nothing he could do. As he swung the door gently open over the water, the Mil slid again, with an accompanying groan from the broken pallet. The sea idled, deceptively innocent, less than a foot below the sill of the cockpit. When it moved again, water would begin to slop in. He looked down over the gunners cabin. Mac's face stared up at him, bemused and afraid. The water lapped against the Plexiglas, level with Mac's arm.
Gant's body felt frozen, immobile, as he waited for the next, inexorable movement of the Mil into the sea.
'He was there and yet you managed to miss him? He eluded your search?' General Lieutenant Rodin asked. Serov's admission had distracted him from the ponderous, dinosaur movement of the vast platform on which lay the booster that would carry the laser battle station into orbit aboard the
Serov studied his superior's features before he replied. They were pale and drawn into intent, grim planes by his mood. Rodin was taller than the GRU colonel, and seemed especially aware of the feet at that moment, even though both of them were dwarfed by the booster. The diesel locomotives protested outside the vast hangar as they strained to move the booster's platform from the assembly building along the first yards of the miles of double railway track to the launch pad. The noises of the platform's first movements were hideous, making Serov's teeth ache.
'Yes, he had indeed been there,' he confirmed in a neutral voice. 'My people may — or may not — have alarmed him. Anyway, there was no trace of him in the warren of tunnels and rooms. We were thorough.'
'And what are you doing now?' Rodin asked in an imperious tone. It was as if he drew something of an added authority from the scene around him; as if he had chosen a setting that displayed him to advantage. Serov had not dared keep the information regarding Kedrov a secret from Rodin. His temerity in suggesting the son be sent away from Baikonur would have earned a greater rebuke if
Rodin had found out about Kedrov's disappearance from anyone but himself. He had, of course, minimized the extent of the carelessness the telemetry officer had displayed.
Serov was aware of the scents and noises of the place, aware of the technicians swarming over the platform and the booster, whose great bunch of rocket engines had passed out of the hangar into the pale winter sunlight. The chill of the day stood next to him in the assembly hangar like a heavy body leaning against his frame. His breath clouded around his head.
'Extending the search. Surveillance on all known associates. Well get him, comrade General,' he added reassuringly, with studied deference. Rodin seemed to smile in a thin-lipped, momentary way, as if sensing the change that had occurred in their relative positions since their telephone conversation. 'I think Kedrov will head for open country now. He knows we'll be looking for him.'
'And you're certain he knows little or nothing about
'Less than the actor, I imagine,' Serov replied quietly.
Rodin turned away abruptly. Serov enjoyed the general's brief discomfiture.
A flock of technicians and members of the scientific staff walked funereally in the wake of the platform. Rodin was watching them as if — as if he owned them, Serov thought. At the far end of the hangar, where the light appeared dusty and inadequate, the shuttle craft lay on a similar, much smaller platform. Teams of people swarmed over it, bees around honey, obscuring any sight from where Serov stood of the almost assembled laser weapon. He had a minimal interest in it as a machine; its power interested him a great deal more. Mere technology wearied him. It was, ultimately, a civilian world.
Chessboard patterning decorated the stages of the booster. Gleaming metal, curving, strong lines, a sense of massiveness; power, too. Serov, with Rodin's back to him, shook his head with cynical ruefulness. A gigantic badge of authority and power.
'I — have confined my son to his apartment for — the remainder of this week,' Rodin announced without turning around.
'Very well, General. As long as—'
'He will speak to no one, he will not leave the place. Is that clear? Meanwhile, warn his friends to stay away from him.'
'Yes, comrade General,' Serov murmured. It had to be accepted. Rodin was using the advantage of Kedrov's disappearance to ensure that his decision was accepted.
As if pressing home his reasserted authority, Rodin asked: 'What of the KGB's interest in this Kedrov?'
'Pure accident — drugs, we believe.'
'Perhaps. But what consequences might follow?'
A group of senior officers was moving toward them. The third stage, the smallest, of the booster passed their position like a slow, submarine creature, out into the sunlight. There was sufficient clear sky for the American spy satellites to observe the moving of the booster. But then, a Soviet shuttle flight had already been announced to the world by Nikitin as a gesture. A rendezvous with the American shuttle in a mission of peace to symbolize the implementation of the treaty. Rodin merely flicked one hand toward the approaching group, and they halted, still some distance away.
'No consequences, comrade General. Unless they find him first — which they will not.'
'Make sure of that, Serov. You know, I cannot help the suspicion that your—
'I beg to disagree, comrade General. It was entirely necessary.'
