“I don’t know, yet, Vitaly. We’re going to propose the Rapid Deployment Force.”
“This may be the start of another Great War,” Sheremetevo said.
“I don’t like it, either. Now, you called me. Have you got something new?”
“Yes. Disturbing developments.”
“Uh-oh. Should I be sitting down?”
“Well, Marvin, I am sitting down.”
“Let me have it.”
“This morning, I met with a major of the GRU who had just returned from reconnaissance mission to Peenemünde. The Germans not only have constructed a copy of our rocket, it is all but finished. The major thinks that it will be operational within the week.”
“Damn. From the specs I read, it’s intercontinental.”
“It can also be utilized as a space vehicle.”
“What about a warhead, Vitaly?”
“Using the American joke, Marvin, I just told you the good news. The bad news is that the Germans have acquired nuclear warheads.”
“Oh, shit! What kind?”
“Multiple Individually Retargeted. I do not know the size or how many warheads each, but according to the major, there are five MIRVs in a deep bunker near Peenemünde.”
“That puts a new spin on the ball,” Brackman said.
Sheremetevo almost missed the analogy. “Yes.”
“We’re not going to attack the mainland.”
“Nor are we, Marvin.”
“But we’re going to have to do something dramatic.”
“And quite soon,” the commander of the PVO Strany agreed.
Frank Dimatta was disappointed at the decision to cancel the torpedo runs. Since his downing of the two Germans over the ice, and especially since Conover and Abrams were zapped, he had been looking forward to his chance at the cable. And maybe another Tornado or two.
Instead, Pearson and McKenna stuck him with a milk run over the wells at 60,000 feet, taking update pictures. One pass to the east, and one to the west.
“That’s it, Cancha. Let’s go home.”
“What do you think, Nitro, of taking a practice run against the Hamburg? Scare shit out of that admiral.”
“I like it, but sure as hell, I’d want to pop a Wasp at him. Then, too, McKenna would have us scraping grease off the hangar floors at Nellis.”
“Might be worth it.”
“Might be, but let’s hang loose. The boss will come up with something soon.”
“And you can bet the brass at Cheyenne Mountain will turn him down.”
“Maybe, and maybe not,” Williams said. “Come around to one-seven-one, and let’s get her up to Mach five. Josie says we have a window in sixteen minutes.”
“Will Josie let us stop off in Paris? I’m hungry.”
“Josie says, ‘later.’ ”
Amy Pearson and Donna Amber developed the photos and transferred them to video. Arguento showed up in the photo lab in the hub as they were finishing.
“Nice timing, Val,” Amber said.
“You don’t get to be a master sergeant in the air force, Donna, without knowing how to avoid work. Hey, Colonel, I’ve got a problem.”
“Wonderful,” Pearson said.
“The Washington guy?”
“The President or Monte?”
“Dr. Monte. Overton confined him to Spoke Three and the communications compartment until we get a chance to transport him. Well, my monitoring computer sounded off, and when I checked his message traffic, I found some schematics of our radar computers and a complete personnel listing for the station.”
“Damn it. Any of it get out?”
“No. When I saw him log on to the system, I put him on five-minute delay.”
“Okay, good. You can tell him he’s now confined to quarters. My order. I’ll take it up with the general, if I need to, but Washington’s leaving the station later this afternoon, anyway.”
Arguento had been watching the screen as Amber double-checked the video. He said, “They’re getting ready for a siege, aren’t they?”
“What do you mean, Val?” Pearson asked.
“AA and SAM on all but three of the platforms now. And a fifth group of ships.”
Pearson had missed that. “Where do you see the ships?”
“Back up three or four frames, Donna. There.”
Pearson squinted her eyes, poring over the photo. It was a large-scale shot, taking in all of the wells. Besides several individual ships — the tugboats and supply tenders, she counted four groups of three ships each, almost at each corner of the offshore wells. The northern groups were splitting the distance between the offshore platforms and those on the ice. She did not see the… yes, she did. Clear at the bottom of the photograph. Another three ships standing guard over the area where they had attempted to bomb the cable.
“You’ve got good eyes, Val.”
“That, and timing.”
“How do you read this?”
“I think some German is getting worried about us.”
“I hope he’s got something to worry about,” she said.
“Oh, he does,” Amber said. “If I thought the Germans were better than us, I’d have joined the Luftwaffe.”
McKenna didn’t awaken until almost two in the afternoon. Themis time.
After several days of one-and two-hour snatches of sleep, he felt fully refreshed.
Ready to go.
And he had a plan.
Still strapped against the padded wall of his sleeping cubicle, he reached for the communications panel and tapped in the number for the Command Center.
Colonel Avery answered the call.
“Is Amy around there, Milt?”
“No. She was up most of the night and early morning and said she was going to take a nap.”
“I’ll run into her somewhere,” he said and unstrapped himself.
Unzipping his curtain, McKenna pushed out into the corridor, crossing it, and stopped next to the one labeled, “Pearson.”
He tapped on the wall.
Then he tapped again.
“Go away.”
“I need to talk to you, Amy.”
She unzipped the curtain part-way and stuck her head out, only inches from his face. She didn’t have the head-band on, and her heavy red hair was tangled and weightless. Her eyes were sleepy, her head tilted back as she peered beneath half-lowered lids.
McKenna lacked willpower in some areas, and he couldn’t resist. He kissed her.
A short, light kiss on the lips.
Pearson almost responded, her lips soft and warm. She nodded sleepily once, then her eyes opened wide in realization.
Before she could get into a protest mode, McKenna said, “I’ve got it.”
“Got what?”
“The answer.”
“The answer to what?”
“It’s time to stop playing cat and mouse. That’s what Eisenach wants, because he can stonewall and get the time he needs.”
“The time for what?”
“To strengthen his defensive position and get that rocket off the ground.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” she asked.
“We’re going to load up everything we’ve got, and take out those wells.”
Alarmed, she said, “We can’t do that! There’s too much risk, Kevin.”
“Just watch us,” he said, while noting her use of his name.
Fifteen
“The Americans used it in Vietnam,” Mac Zeigman said. “They called it Wild Weasel.”
With the loss of Metzenbaum, Zeigman was now the operations officer of the Zwanzigste Speziell Aeronautisch Gruppe. He was a hungover operations officer, after a late night of carousing in Bremerhaven. It had been his first free night in weeks, and he had used it well, if not too wisely.
Memory of some woman yelling at him. Had to be slapped around a little.