we should.”
Perovskaya surprised Kurakin by saying nothing. The president had not expected that. He had thought — hoped, assumed — that Perovskaya’s native animosity toward the Americans would result in something suitably bombastic. Standing no taller than five-six, Perovskaya made up for his slight stature by blustering and talking the bully. But whether because he was caught so completely by surprise or genuinely thought the idea of blinding the Americans too belligerent even for him to suggest, he said nothing.
“We have discussed the ABM system many times,” continued Kurakin. “The problem is well-known. But until now the idea has been to attack it directly, which of course would be suicidal. An indirect attack on only those satellites that can detect our launches — that is safer and more feasible. Without those satellites, the Americans could not warn the Chinese, much less stop an attack. Once the Chinese realize that, they will stop helping the rebels. They will realize this is aimed at them.”
“The Americans won’t — they’ll interpret this as an act of war,” said Perovskaya.
“Why?”
“Because it
“We couldn’t,” noted Kurakin. “Not with the ABM system in place. With it blinded, well, such things then might be possible — they would have to take that into account. We would have more leverage with them.”
“You’re thinking of the
“Of course.”
“To strike the satellites, even in their parked orbits — the lasers are untested. It would be difficult.”
No tests had been conducted, since doing so would tip the Americans off. But Kurakin had seen the results of four different computer simulations; it would work.
Perovskaya was not privy to the simulations, which Kurakin had ordered using his envoys. So rather than citing them, the president merely said he was confident the weapons would work — and then asked pointedly if the troops manning the weapons were incompetent.
Perovskaya’s face turned red, and finally he reacted the way Kurakin had foreseen.
“There are no more potent weapons,” said the defense minister. “They could destroy the American satellites — they could eliminate missiles, aircraft — they are as effective as the Americans’ own system. More effective.”
Perovskaya caught himself. He was proving considerably more mature than Kurakin had believed he was. “Using them would be provocative. And of course, we would have to succeed.”
“They would destroy their targets in seconds.”
“From the time the order was given, three minutes. Four or five minutes between salvos. But no. It is far too risky.”
“You feel an attack would be suicidal?” said Kurakin.
“Against our interests. Not suicidal. No, it would succeed. But the consequences.”
“We need to stop the rebels, and the Chinese from helping them.”
“Yes. But this — no.”
Kurakin got up from the long table where he’d been sitting and walked across the room. He paused near the window. Through its glass he could see a line of tourists in the distance near Trinity Tower.
“No. I was rash,” he told Perovskaya finally. “The rebels have me frustrated, and the Americans block us from dealing with them properly.”
Perovskaya eyed him warily, clearly sensing that this had been a performance but not sure to what end. It was possible, Kurakin thought, that the defense minister would question others in the government about Kurakin’s sanity. Hopefully those conversations would take their usual belligerent tone — and be remembered.
“I’m feeling very out of sorts,” added the president. “The election is only a few months off. Democracy is a stressful thing.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“That was it?” asked Perovskaya.
“Should there be more?”
When Perovskaya was gone, Kurakin picked up the phone set and dialed into the private line of his security chief.
“So?” he asked.
“We can use it. He seemed reluctant at first.”
“That can be edited out.”
“In a sneeze.”
“Make it happen,” said Kurakin. “We will need the tape in a few days.”
36
While they waited for Karr at the helicopter, Lia propped herself against the pile of metal in the hold and tried to take a nap. She had her legs tucked up against the helicopter’s sidewall and her jacket beneath her head as a pillow. Her right breast drooped ever so slightly, and Dean could easily imagine it bare.
Karr sailed into view, a big smile on his face. Dean and Fashona took a few steps away from the helicopter to meet him.
“Where’s the Princess?” Karr asked.
“In the Hind sleeping.”
“Ah, leave her a minute. She needs all the beauty rest she can get.” Karr turned to Fashona. “Raymond, you and the Princess cart the wreckage down to the railroad head as planned. Paul Smith is on his way out to meet you. You know him?”
“CIA.”
“The same. Come back with an S-1 pack. We’ll be up checking out the Marines or whatever the hell they are. Did they tell you it’s called Arf?”
“I think it’s more like Veharkurth,” said Lia, emerging from the Hind.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.
“Really? No shit.”
“I wouldn’t shit you. You’re my favorite turd.”
“You’re both so clever,” said Lia.
Within a half hour, the helo had clattered off the runway. Dean and Karr were back in the truck, heading toward Veharkurth, or Arf, as Karr insisted on calling it.
“What’s an S-1 pack?” Dean asked.
“Kind of a standard surveillance set of tools kind of thing,” said Karr. “A lot of good toys; you’ll like ’em. Even if you are a Luddite, baby-sitter.”
“I’m not against technology,” said Dean. “How are they going to get the helicopter close to the air base without being detected?”
“They’ll figure it out. Stuff kind of comes to you. You know what I mean?”
“No,” said Dean.
Karr looked at him and laughed. “You’re a real ball-buster, Charlie Dean.”
They were still about five miles from Arf on the main road when Karr suddenly pulled off it. He cupped his hand over his ear, obviously listening to a transmission from the Art Room. As he waited, Dean saw a small puff of dust on the horizon.
Karr said nothing but threw the truck into reverse. He did a one-eighty and headed back south.
