And I will strangle anyone who interrupts us. Is that understood?"
Asserni was too astonished to reply. As she hurried off to the kitchen, Karmarov followed the tall, lean, impeccably dressed American into his inner apartment and closed the door behind him.
The Russian ambassador's apartment resembled a large study, with walls covered mostly with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books of all kinds The most imposing item in the room was Karmarov's massive desk, a huge, ornately carved antique, well over half the width of the apartment itself. Brent ran a hand over plush leather chairs, noticing that the coffee table in the center of the apartment was genuine Chippendale.
"A most exquisite room, Ambassador Karmarov," Brent said without turning around. Karmarov wrung his hands with impatience as he waved Asserni into the apartment. She set the tray with a silver urn, a long fluted decanter of brandy, china cups, and large snifters onto the Chippendale table and hurried out.
"Balshoye spasibe. Thank you," Karmarov said.
"Mr. Secretary, we may speak English if you prefer. You need not-" "I am in Russia now, Mr. Ambassador," Brent said, continuing in urban Muscovite Russian. "It would be a presumption to speak anything but your native tongue."
Brent turned, his hands folded behind his back. The two men observed each other for a moment. Karmarov saw a tall, elegant frame; a silver-maned head; a firm chin thrust defiantly up and outward; a thin silver mustache perfectly symmetrical.
The suit was conservative, tailored to razor-sharp perfection, the shoes were polished to a gleaming shine despite the harsh Manhattan streets.
Brent saw a shorter but powerful man, with a full head of gray hair atop broad shoulders. The years of plush living in the most fashionable section of New York had begun to tell on the Ambassador's waistline and chin, but Karmarov's eyes were still as fiery and bright as in his revolutionary youth.
Karmarov finally motioned Brent forward. "Pazhaloosta saditis. Please sit down, Mr. Secretary."
Brent took the wide-armed leather chair offered him by the Russian and lightly seated himself. He kept his knees, legs and back perfectly straight as Karmarov joined him. Karmarov reached for the coffee urn but, correctly interpreting a sly grin in Brent's eyes, his hand slipped over to the decanter. He poured a generous amount of brandy for both of them and offered one to the American Secretary of State.
"To your health, Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said in English.
Brent raised his glass. "Za vasha zdarovye!And to you and yours, Ambassador," Brent replied.
They let the strong spirits flood their insides, then Brent set his glass down on the table.
Karmarov spoke first. "I am totally embarrassed, Mr. Secretary," he asked. "I had no idea "It is I who should apologize, sir," Brent said.
"This may seem most inappropriate, but I simply felt that I must speak with you immediately."
"By all means," Karmarov said. He took a bigger sip of brandy.
"It concerns the fears some in my government have of the research being done at the Kavaznya complex," Brent began.
"They feel-" "Please. Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said, his eyes serious.
"I am not permitted to discuss Kavaznya. It is more than a classified facility, sir. It is a forbidden subject."
"Then permit me to speak," Brent asked. "Consider this a message from my government to yours-you need not reply."
Brent interlaced his fingers and let his arms rest on the chair's wide armrests. "The Pentagon is convinced on what I feel is sketchy " information, that your government is responsible for the destruction of an American reconnaissance satellite and an American RC-135 aircraft."
Kannarov said immediately, "My government has already categorically denied any involvement-" '.Yes, Ambassador. I know," Brent interrupted. He picked up his brandy snifter, passed his nose over it, letting the palm of his left hand warm the liqueur. He settled back into his chair.
"Allow me to be frank with you, Ambassador," Brent said.
Karmarov's eyes widened. "I am not a friend of my country's military hierarchy. I believe it was Montesquieu who once said 'if our world should ever be ruined, it will be by the warriors.
"He referred to Europe, I believe," Karmarov said, his eyes narrowing.
Brent nodded.
"It applies to affairs between our nations as well," Brent continued.
"Ambassador, we are on the threshold of an historic arms-control agreement. In the two years since those negotiations have been conducted, both sides have mainaged to keep the uniformed military out of the negotiations. We have dealt on a level never before attempted-instead of throwing our bloody swords on the table and staring into each other's faces to see who will blink first, like some medieval combat, we have sat down like men and talked true disarmament.
"Ambassador, in our lifetime we can see nuclear weapons eliminated.
Not just a phony controlled escalation, not even a numerical reduction.
No, I talk of true disarmament."
Brent swirled the brandy in his glass and stared into it. "But there are those who see disarmament as a weakness. They seek to disrupt our efforts at every turn. It is the actions of these 'disrupters' that I wish to warn your government about, Ambassador.
"What… actions, Mr. Secretary?" Karmarov asked.
"As I said, there are many in my government who are convinced of your culpability in the loss of our aircraft," Brent asked. "They have conjured up a magical laser device, straight out of one of our Hollywood films, and planted it on UstKamchatkskiy, at your research center at Kavaznya. Evidence or.not, they have all but convinced the President that this laser exists and that it threatens the security of the United States."
Karmarov could not keep his eyes focused on Brent's.
Brent's fingers curled a bit tighter around the brandy snifter as he noticed Karmarov's uneasiness.
Dammit, Brent thought. Could it be true?Is it possible…?
"You must convince them. Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said quickly, forcing his eyes back toward Brent's. "I plead with you, my government is deeply and firmly committed to lasting peace and the total elimination of all nuclear weapons from the face of the globe. Nothing must interfere."
"I have come to offer you my guarantee," Brent continued, "that I will make every effort to achieve a workable arms greement. But I must tell you what is afoot. There is talk of matching the so-called killer laser with a construct of our own.
I'm not at liberty to give details, but-" "Ice Fortress."' Karmarov said suddenly. "The armed space platform!That's what your military means to deploy, isn't it?"
Brent sighed. "Again, I'm not at liberty to discuss-" "But that's it, isn't it?" Karrnarov's face was flushed with anger. "Marshall, you know that deployment of Ice Fortress is a clear violation of the 1972
Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty. It is a violation of the 1982 Space DeMilitarization Agreement. It flies in the face of our entire arms elimination negotiations. It is madness.
"Key elements in our military are convinced of the existence of a killer laser," Brent asked. "That is also a violation "Such a device-should it ever exist in our lifetime-is not a violation of the ABM Treaty," Karmarov interrupted. "The Treaty clearly never mentioned such exotic devices because they exist only in the imagination of a few excitable scientists and physicists. Why write a treaty forbidding something that does not exist?"
Karmarov's rising tone of voice, with the strained chuckle punctuating his last sentence, rang like an echo from the walls of a canyon in Brent's ears. Karmarov continued: "The Space DeMilitarization Agreement does not apply, of course, to a ground-based defensive device. It was specifically written to eliminate the placement of weapons of any kind in orbit over the Earth. It was supposed to have averted a madness that swept both our countries. It cannot be possible for your country to deploy Ice Fortress. It cannot."