I shook my head. "I don't think so. Too close to their own soil.
The Russians have a real thing about ever risking exposure to radiation within their own population. Not after Chernobyl."
"Chernobyl is exactly my point." Batman pointed at the large-screen display. "And their history in submarine operations. The Russians have been none too careful to make sure that their crews weren't exposed to serious radiation hazards from their own nuclear reactors onboard. And that's the only way that I can think of that they'd be able to hurt us.
Same argument," he continued, "against a chemical or biological attack.
We're not that far out ― too much danger of any biohazard drifting in and affecting their own population."
"Then what are they trying to do? Send a message of some sort?"
Batman nodded. "Probably. But like they say in the movies, ' you want to send a message, use Western Union.'" He slid into the brown leatherette chair mounted in the center of TFCC. "My bet is they're not gonna wait around for a reply to it, either. Not with what I'm about to hit them with.
"Now, get over to SCIF and get me some warnings and indications. I want to know two seconds before those bastards light off any fire-control radar."
I darted next door into the SCIF and pulled on the rest of my General Quarters gear. I was the last one to arrive at my General Quarters station, and the watch officer dogged down the hatch after me. So far, nothing. The sensitive electronic spy gear and national asset receivers we had were silent. The MiGs were inbound without radar, without jamming, without any electronic indication that they were doing anything besides conducting routine training operations.
Except for the submarines. And except for the fact that they were inbound on our location.
I picked up the white phone and punched in the number for TFCC.
Although they were just next door, we stayed closed up during General Quarters.
"Admiral, I think I might have it," I offered. "It's just an idea, but ― well, given that we're running the flying competition on the mainland with our people and theirs, maybe they're going to claim that this is just an expansion of that. There was that paragraph, you know. The one about other opportunities for training as they arise? Well, I think that's going to be their explanation for both launches."
"So what happens when I light off a fire-control radar on the Aegis?" Batman asked when I was finished. "We lose this game of chicken?"
"And if we don't-" I glanced forward at our own tactical display, and saw the MiGs closing to within weapons range. "And if we don't, we're sitting ducks." technicians shouted. The screen in the forward part of our compartment was identical to that in TFCC, and I still had the admiral on the line.
"You see that, Lab Rat?" Batman demanded. "Talk about a game of chicken ― Jesus, I hope these people know what they're doing. Unless I have a Russian flag officer on the horn in the next two seconds, I'm giving my aircrews weapons free."
I stared in horror and disbelief at the battle unfolding before me on the screen. The Russian submarines had increased their speed to flank, and were rapidly closing the location of our own. The MiGs were just at the edge of their firing envelope, although they were still radiating no hostile emissions. Our own Tomcats and Hornets were poised midway between the carrier and the MiGs, in combat spread, waiting and ready. They had their normal air-search radars lit off, but were not yet in targeting mode.
"Aegis has a firing solution, sir," my electronics technician announced. "Is the admiral going weapons free on them as well?"
I turned to face him. "I don't know."
"All units in the battle group, this is the Alpha Bravo." I heard Batman speaking simultaneously over the radio-circuit speaker and the telephone. The two seconds were up. He was going to go weapons free.
But before the admiral could get the words out, the MiGs did what they'd done before ― turned away from the battle group and headed back toward Russia. Captain Smith shot me a knowing look.
11
Vladimir and his friends came for me at midnight. They wore the dark black-and-gray patterned nighttime camouflage uniform, all rank and unit insignia removed, feet snug in dull black crepe-soled boots. Even without their collar devices, I could sort them out by ranks. One officer, Vladimir, and three enlisted men, the latter all battle-toughened veterans.
The final man in the group was a civilian. He was smaller than the rest, with the pale, unhealthy look of a man who spends too much time inside drinking vodka. He was wearing the same outfit as the others, but his bearing told me he was something besides military ― KGB, GRU, or whatever the modern equivalent for internal security was. Vladimir nodded a greeting, then motioned to the civilian.
There was an air of nervousness about the civilian ― nervousness, yet determination. I saw the others following his lead, standing slightly back.
They moved into my room without invitation, taking up corners and crowding it by their very presence. The civilian walked over and stood before me, studying me for a few minutes. Finally, he held out his hand.
"It is very nice to meet you finally."
Now that threw me for a loop. In my studies of the history of Russia's internal security measures, that was not a normal approach. "Have we met? Should I know you?"
He shook his head. "No, there's no reason you should." He considered me for a moment, as though assessing how far to go. "But I know you. And I knew your father. You weren't fooled today, were you?"
"About what?" "With the man they said was your father. I told them it wouldn't work. But you know how they are ― they think themselves so clever." He shrugged, an oddly casual gesture that one would make when talking to an old friend. "Even without Vladimir's warning, it would not have convinced you, I suspect. And they are convinced they succeeded. Too willing to believe their own brilliance, I suspect. A common military failing." He studied me for a moment longer. "But I know better. I know who you are, Admiral Magruder."
"Then you have me at a disadvantage, sir."
He laughed softly. "And one that won't be remedied anytime soon, I assure you."
His accent was slight, the words a bit stilted but spoken with near native proficiency. He had to have been educated abroad, or in one of the Russian camps that had been constructed during the Cold War to mimic American cities and towns. Either way, his accent spoke of connections further into the intricate web of Russian intelligence and counterintelligence than anyone I'd encountered so far. "You have no reason to trust me, Admiral Magruder," he continued. "I realize that. But if you are ever going to know the truth, if you are ever going to answer for once and for all those questions, then you must come with me. This is your only chance. I dare not take this one again."
"But why?" I burst out. "Why the elaborate charade today?"
"Why do you think?"
Now it was my turn to examine him, as though the answers to that very question would be written somewhere on his face. "I can think of no reason," I said finally. But I could. Millions of them. If the Russians believed they had convinced me my father was alive, he then became a bargaining chip. Perhaps it would weaken my resolve, make me hesitate to act when- When what? Russian counterintelligence plans were often intricate works of art, each piece gently moved into place in perfect sequence to effect an overall result. These invitations to mock war games, the bad information we'd been fed about the previous missions, the charade with my supposed father ― to what purpose? Even if I knew, I was not about to admit to this man, a man whose name I did not even know, what I suspected. "Well? Have you made your decision?" he asked.