"What if our people need to defend themselves?" Chastain asked.
"I wouldn't give Colonel Bastian that big a loophole," said Secretary of State Hartman. "We've seen what he's done with that in the past."
Martindale folded his arms and sat back in his chair.
"Colonel Bastian is not in charge of Dreamland anymore," said Chastain.
"No, but he's their point man. He's the one on the scene," said Secretary Hartman. "And he has an itchy trigger finger."
"No more than any of us do," said Chastain. "They have to have the right to defend themselves."
"They can defend themselves only if attacked in Romanian territory," said the President. "They cannot fire or attack over the border. They can't even fly over it. Understood?"
Chastain hesitated. "I can see circumstances where that might put them in grave danger."
"Which would you rather have?" asked Hartman. "A dead Megafortress crew, or world war?"
"It wouldn't come to that," said Chastain.
"No," Hartman agreed, "but Russia could go ahead and bomb the pipeline directly. Then we'll have a worldwide depression and the end of NATO."
"I hope that's not our choice," said the President.
With the details worked out,Stoner stayed north, waiting for word from Washington on whether his plan would be approved.
A small part of him — an insignificant, tiny slice — hoped it wouldn't be, at least not immediately. He wanted a few more days with Sorina Viorica.
He wanted more than that.
As soon as Fairchild relayed the OK — and the conditions— Stoner shut that part of himself away and called General Locusta at his corps headquarters. Locusta's aide was reluctant to even bother getting the general — until Stoner said he had definitive information on the location of the guerrilla camps in Moldova.
"Where are they?" Locusta snapped when he came on the line.
"I'll be at your headquarters in an hour. We'll talk," said Stoner. He killed the transmission, giving Locusta no time to respond.
Stoner had read everything the Agency had on General Locusta, but like most CIA briefs on military officers in Eastern Europe, it offered little beyond his resume, lacking insight into the man. Locusta was an infantryman by training; among his military honors was a marksmanship badge, earned as a lieutenant. He was well-regarded as a general officer, though considered abrasive by the defense minister and the president.
Locusta seemed to have been marked for greater things from the time he joined the army as a twenty-one-year-old lieutenant, fresh out of university. He'd received training in Russia as a young man and had been posted there for about a year in the early 1980s. He'd also toured Great Britain, Spain, and Italy as part of Romania's initiative to join NATO.
His family had connections to Ceausescu, the former dictator. That had hurt them in the years following Ceau-sescu's fall, but not so severely that the family wasn't well off now. Locusta himself had some property, though not great wealth.
Nothing in the report told Stoner what he wanted to know: the odds that Locusta would put a knife in his back just for the fun of it.
They were about fifty-fifty, Stoner guessed, after he finished telling the general about the guerrilla camps in Moldova. Average.
Locusta sat silently for nearly a minute after Stoner finished. Most of his aides had left for home hours ago; it was so quiet in the corps HQ that Stoner could hear the clock ticking on Locusta's desk.
"How did you find this information out?" said the general finally.
"I can't get into the exact methods we use," replied Stoner. He pulled over one of the seats — a metal folding chair — and sat down.
"Then how can I judge how accurate the information is?" Stoner shrugged. "I guess we'll have to find out together." "Together?"
"I want to go on the raid."
"Why?"
"I think the Russians are helping the guerrillas. I think they may have been responsible for killing some of our people, and this will help me find out."
Another man might have asked if Stoner didn't trust him, but the general accepted the explanation without comment. That told Stoner that the general understood the value of seeing things for yourself, that he was a man who liked to act, rather than have others act for him.
Interesting pieces of information, though not immediately helpful.
"So you have a spy?" asked Locusta.
"I can't get into specifics." "Where are the camps?"
"I don't have that information yet. There are two, and they're within fifty miles of the border."
"Practically half of the country is within fifty miles of the border."
The two men locked gazes. Stoner held it for half a second, then blinked and looked down, wanting the general to feel that he was his superior. He glanced back, then away, underlining his submission.
"I cannot commit troops to move across the border on vague hints," said the general.
"I'll have the information when the operation starts, not before."
"Nonsense."
Stoner smiled in spite of himself. Locusta was right; Stoner could get the information from Sorina as soon as she was safely out of the country. But Stoner wanted to verify that it was correct before letting her go, and she wouldn't agree to any delay.
Not that he didn't trust her.
"This is of no use to me," said Locusta. "Get out of my office."
Stoner rose silently and walked out, turning down the hall. He went out to his motorcycle. He had his helmet on when one of the general's aides ran from the building, flagging his arms.
"Perhaps the general was, acted, hastily," said the man, a major. "Not hastily but in anger. The criminals have caused us, have killed many people. Sometimes it is difficult to act rationally when dealing with them."
"Sure."
"Your information comes from a criminal?" "I believe my information is good information," said Stoner. "But the only way to actually find out is to test it." "You cannot use your planes to verify it?"
"The planes are not allowed over the border." "Satellites?"
"If we knew where it was, we could get pictures," said Stoner. "But we've looked at sat photos before without finding anything. I imagine that's happened to you."
"If an attack were to be launched, would the aircraft assist then?"
Stoner shook his head. "The Dreamland aircraft cannot violate Moldovan airspace."
"Give me a phone number." the man said, "and I will call you in a few hours."
General Locusta watched from his window as the American started his motorbike and drove away.
Locusta had no doubt the American's information would prove to be correct. Two of his soldiers had smuggled an American spy over the border a few days ago; this was obviously the fruits of his labor.
And their blood.
Fifty miles from the border. Much farther than the information their own spies had obtained, and at least a partial answer to the question of why his men had failed to find out themselves.
Though another part of the answer was that the rebels had been useful to Locusta, an excuse to build up his force. Now he no longer needed them.
Or the Russians.
Or the Americans, for that matter.
This was his opportunity: the perfect diversion. It supplied a ready-made excuse for mobilizing his units and commandeering the few helicopters available outside the capital.
And he couldn't wait much longer.
There was a knock at the door. The major he had sent after Stoner, Anton Ozera, appeared in the threshold.
"In," said Locusta, gesturing.
Ozera closed the door behind him.
"What did he say?" asked Locusta.
"His source is one of the criminals. There will be no help across the border."