Keith Douglass
First Strike
ONE
There had been a time when Andrei Korsov would have been one of the most powerful men in the world. As commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, he owned every long-range ballistic missile in the Soviet Union’s inventory, as well as thousands of maintenance technicians, operators, and testing and development facilities. His forces comprised more men and more equipment than many small nations.
Korsov’s power had not been limited to strictly military matters. The nuclear arsenal was the centerpiece of the USSR’s mutual assured destruction policy, or MAD. Korsov consulted daily with the premier — and, later, the president — and advised the Politburo on the readiness posture and responded to political changes in alert status. His circle of influence spilled over into domestic policy, as more and more resources were diverted to support the nuclear forces. He knew the key players in every scientific community as well, as the USSR explored its option in mass destruction. No one in the then-USSR ever failed to return his phone calls.
Privately, Korsov had mixed feelings about MAD. The policy originated in the United States. At the dawn of the nuclear age, as mass destruction and long-range weapons became a reality, a think tank in the United States had explored the possibility of detecting and destroying incoming nuclear missiles. Technologically, it was impossible. Casting about for solutions, the team had finally arrived at the conclusion that the only way to deter a nuclear attack from another nation — specifically, from the Soviet Union — was to make the consequences so deadly and complete that no nation would ever attempt it. Ensuring that America retained the capacity to retaliate under all conditions led to the development of the nuclear triad, with weapons deployed on alert aircraft, in hardened silos, and on submarines. Yes, the analysts concluded, the Evil Empire could devastate the United States, but she would pay with her own life.
While the policy seemed to have worked, at least to the extent of avoiding a nuclear holocaust, Korsov had never completely been able to accept the entire insanity of it. After all, the only nation to use nuclear weapons against another had been the United States herself, at the end of World War II. It seemed to him that that was what led the Americans to live in fear of such an attack. Having made the decision to use them herself, America knew what nations were capable of.
Still, the insanity of MAD had its perks. With America committed to the doctrine, the Soviet Union followed suit, and service in the nuclear weapons forces became the most prestigious of career paths. Rubles poured in to every program, funding submarines and more submarines, mobile land-based launch systems, and scores of bombers. What the nation gave up in domestic prosperity was Korsov’s gain.
At the time of the demise of the Soviet Union, Korsov had been deputy commander. When the inevitable search for scapegoats reached his department, he was ready. The commander was urged to retire and Korsov, who had aligned himself with the new powers ruling Russia, stepped in to his billet.
Unfortunately, world reaction to the status of nuclear weapons in former Soviet States brought extreme pressure to bear. Faced with a declining and unstable ruble and a harsh winter pending, Russia and the Commonwealth of Independent States agreed to massive disarmament as a condition of increased aid from America and the rest of the world. Rusting weapons were dismantled, ancient fire-control systems destroyed — or, at least, so it was reported to the rest of the world. In the chaos following the dissolution of the USSR, no one was entirely sure who was keeping records of what. Entire launch systems vanished, some simply destroyed without adequate documentation, others turning up later on the international black market in weapons.
Korsov’s connection to the Internet ran at only 9,600 baud, but even that was an impressive accomplishment, given the state of the Russian telephone system. It was sufficient to enable him to log on to AOL and other Internet providers, scan the international news, and keep up an E-mail correspondence with several missile friends.
It wasn’t access to the hard news content that really worried the political powers in Russia. It was the lifestyle section, pictures overflowing with riches far beyond the grasp of the average Russian. As long as there was no independent source of information, whoever was currently in power could convince the population that their standard of living was pretty much the same as it was around the rest of the world, particularly in the United States.
But it was the news that interested Korsov most. He had not been expecting to find such a gem in his daily news traffic, not at all. But something inside him told him that he must keep up with it, must, if he was to improve his current situation.
Something about the story in front of him held promise, although he could not say exactly what it was at first glance. He read it again.
It was a short, heartwarming human-interest story about a young boy who needed a bone marrow transplant to combat his leukemia. An international charity had flown him to the United States, but his doctor was not hopeful about finding a donor match. DNA profiling had revealed that the child’s frail body held the genes of a small band of indigenous people and there was little hope that a match could be found for the lifesaving transplant. In a short paragraph at the end of the article, the writer explained that the child’s doctor had worked on the human genome project and had been part of the team working in the United States that had finally broken the genetic code.
Supercomputers had analyzed every last DNA sequence and now knew exactly which patterns represented which manifestations in the human genome. Research showed that 99.8 percent of the genes found in any human being were identical to those of every other person. It was that.2 percent that accounted for all the individual variations in color, build, stature, and susceptibility to hereditary diseases. While the report did not go into detail, Korsov could easily read between the lines, and fear surged through him.
Up until now, a large amount of the data was classified, and Korsov could see why. If the genetic differences were common knowledge, biological weapons could be engineered to attack particular genetic sequences.
Granted, there were problems with designer viri targeted to particular sequences of genes. Most of America and Europe were melting pots of different races. Even Russia had her mongrels, ranging from ancient Tartar blood to the most recent infusion of immigrants from East Germany and Ukraine.
Yet, there were possibilities in this. Astounding possibilities. And Korsov intended to act on them.
His first telephone call was to an old friend, now a genetic researcher at the University of Moscow. Korsov only vaguely understood his friend’s research, but knew that he was paralleling the work being done in the United States on the human genome code. His friend’s focus was hereditary diseases, with particular emphasis on determining whether or not the ravages of alcoholism in Russians were indeed genetic or environmental. While that might not be exactly on point, if anyone he knew could explain this news to him, it was his friend.
Five minutes later, Korsov had his answer. Russian scientists had taken a different approach to the problem. Instead of analyzing the entire genetic code, they had focused solely on that.2 percent. There were not only answers to the question of identifying race, the weaponeers had solutions as well.
Even in September, Moscow was already in the grip of winter. Old snow coated the streets, masking ancient buildings and covered crumbling concrete of the newer buildings with an all-concealing white blanket. This morning, the city’s few snowplows traced their carefully planned routes between the areas where the rich and powerful lived and their probable destinations. The rest of the city was left covered with snow, with the inhabitants left to their own devices in making their way through the roads.
Aside from the elite, few people owned cars. The shops and stores they used were within walking distance, or could be accessed by the public transit system.
Not that there was anything to buy. And leaving their apartments would simply contribute to heat loss, since opening the door would let in ice-cold air. Fuel was expensive, far out of the reach of many. Most apartments relied on a single electric blower or cooking plate, and that only during hours when electricity was supplied. The average
