Tonight there was no difference in the show, but there should have been. If Collier had worn his uniform, which he did only for official functions, the K.G.B., who he knew were following, would have asked him to return to the embassy. Actually, the Americans were close to being in a state of siege now, but it hadn't been made official. The ambassador had already received notification about' the trouble, and the familiar faceless people waited motionlessly outside in case they were needed. Collier had really been challenging what was soon to be a reality, but they also knew his habits and knew where he was going and why, and since they took it as a compliment, they left him alone.
He knew of the Chairman's speech to be given in a few hours. He even knew more than most of the Russian leaders about why that speech was being given, and what would happen afterward. He knew it was time to get back to the office and call Sam Carter on the scrambler. He needed instructions, for things were going to get very hot shortly. Even the U.S. Ambassador did not have all the military facts about Islas Piedras nor was he even aware of the new weapon to silence the Russian spy satellites. The Russians had no idea what had destroyed the one that had been taking pictures over the island. Collier was also now in charge of security at the embassy since Colonel Hamlet had disappeared. They all knew what had happened, but they didn't know if he was alive. It was an old Russian trick. They didn't want the most important people — not one that would cause too much commotion — just an intermediate who was responsible for an important segment of the embassy, the Marine detachment. If Hamlet was alive, he thought, he'd probably never be much good for anything again.
He turned after a lingering glance at the onion domes of the Cathedral of St. Basil, nodding to one of the silent men who he knew would follow him. It was now after midnight, and in a short time the satellite would be in position. This was the most secure method of contact with Washington and the only way he could converse openly with Carter. The microphone he would talk into had a built-in scrambler, and his voice was beamed to a satellite that supposedly was just for picture-taking. His words would then be beamed to another satellite thousands of miles through space that would relay it to the ground unit in the Pentagon, where it was unscrambled. The Navy had designed it specifically for a time such as now. It was almost like a telephone, with little time delay from transmission to reception. The only units in existence were at the embassy and in Sam Carter's office.
The fire that had started so mysteriously on the eighth floor had destroyed almost all communications with the outside world. The American Embassy had been effectively neutralized as far as totally secure communications were concerned. Normal business could be relayed through other friendly embassies. For some reason, all members of the staff who might have been in a position to notice or prevent the fire had been involved somewhere else. Access to the spaces where the fires had begun were so limited that there was no doubt agents were responsible, working on the staff and unknown to the Americans. They had managed to get everyone away from their responsibilities at the appropriate time — no more than five minutes — and then started a series of small, quick blazes with incendiary devices. Each place the fire had started was designed to incapacitate a valuable unit, an irreplaceable one that could only be repaired over an extended period of time or with parts from the States, which obviously wouldn't appear once the Chairman's speech was finished. Ambassador Simpson definitely had a need to know at this juncture how serious the military situation would become, and Collier needed permission to update him.
As he rounded the corner from Kalinina Prospect onto Tschaikowskistrasse, he noticed the number of figures waiting outside had increased. They weren't hiding their faces, for it was simply their job to secure embassy personnel at this time. Collier recognized some faces, some very senior ones. He nodded to a few he passed since they had met socially before at functions, mumbled a couple of vagaries in Russian just so they would remember his capabilities. He hoped it might make some of them a bit uneasy.
The Marine guard at the door came to attention but did not salute, though tempted at this point. Specific orders to the Marine detachment included no salutes, to minimize the fact that military personnel were attached to the embassy. While everyone in both countries was aware of this, protocol made it easier to accept if a civilian approach was maintained. There were many employees up at this late hour, tidying up as much as possible, although the Moscow Fire Brigade couldn't have been nicer or more efficient. It was almost as if they had planned how to put out the fire on the eighth floor, even before it had begun. After discovery of the fire, they had waited until the. right amount of damage had been accomplished, no more than a few extra moments. The incendiary devices had been most efficient. The firemen arrived with the right equipment, extinguished the flames rapidly, took care not to interfere with anything that might upset the Americans, and left shortly after cleaning up after themselves and ensuring that the embassy wanted them to leave. A very neat operation… well planned!
Collier exchanged pleasantries with the staff members he saw. They were becoming increasingly nervous and didn't yet know they probably wouldn't be going home for some time. You can't keep an operation I'M this secret from a handpicked staff of their caliber. Yet he wondered which ones he talked with on his way to the elevator were also on another payroll.
He got off at his floor and was greeted immediately by the two marines on duty. Their smiles, after formalities, acknowledged that they considered him their officer-in-charge now that Hamlet was missing. Collier looked every inch a naval officer, right out of the recruiting posters. He was tall and slender, well over six feet and almost the same weight as the day he had been commissioned. His short dark crew cut had turned white, adding to the distinguished appearance emphasized by dark eyes, white teeth, and fairly square jaw. He looked the part of the heroic captain astride the bridge of a fighting ship, though he had rarely been at sea since his early days on the Bagley. His intelligence and quick mind, coupled with his wife's antipathy to sea duty, had brought him seniority through staff channels along with knowledge of the power structure that came with those assignments. The major now in command was an excellent officer, but he simply did not have the charisma to dominate these specially selected men that both Hamlet and Collier had.
"Has anyone else been on this floor, or attempted to get off the elevator, other than authorized personnel?" he asked.
"No, sir," the shorter one answered. "Just the change of the watch at midnight. All signatures and badges checked per your orders."
Collier had insisted that his marines be extra careful. It was just an added precaution with the confusion caused by the fire, to ensure as much as possible that the right people showed, that each one could match his signature to that on the card. Even more important, it was also to be sure no one else was missing.
He went through the motions of signing the book for the marines, showed his own badge, and then went across to the heavy metal door on the other side of the small room. He inserted his badge into the chest-high slot in the door. He then placed his right hand, palm forward, just to the right of the slot. A light glowed briefly under his palm, then the badge reappeared from the slot. He stepped back and the door opened slowly, Reattaching the badge to the lapel clip, he stepped inside, nodding to the marines who were on guard beyond the door. There were four people inside the room seated before the variety of electronic gear that glowed and blinked in the half light.