"My God," Yakolev muttered. Then, "How bad is it?"
"I don't know, Mister President. They have flown him to their Bethesda Naval Hospital, the same place they take their own presi-"
"Yes, yes! I know that. When will we know more, Aleksandr Ivanovich?"
"I can't say, Mister President. Soon, I hope."
"I, too." Yakolev had few close personal friends, and Nikolai was one of them. He didn't want to lose him. "Is his wife with him?" he asked.
"I understand so," Turchin said.
"Deliver my personal sympathy to her," Yakolev directed.
"I will, Mister President. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, but I thought you would wish to know immediately."
"You thought correctly, Aleksandr Ivanovich. Thank you. Good night."
"Good night, Mister President."
Yakolev hung up slowly and lay back in his lonely bed. It was at moments like this he missed the supportive presence of his dead Marina. Poor Nikolai. He'd been working him too hard-he must have been. But Nikolai had always been so healthy. Like a kulak, he used to joke. Who would have thought Nikolai, of all people, would suffer a heart attack? And in the middle of a meeting at the White House?
Daniel Abernathy shook his head doggedly and glanced at Alvin Horton. The sergeant major appeared irritatingly composed, and the major was inclined to resent it until he saw the wonder hiding in Horton's eyes.
"So where do we come in, Admiral?" he asked finally.
"Where do you think, Major?" Aston replied, watching him closely.
"Well, Sir, it sounds like you've picked us to put together your strike team," Abernathy said slowly.
"Right the first time, Major. We'll discuss the details later, but basically what we have in mind is the creation of a provisional company for 'experimental' purposes." He grinned. "I know it's not quite the same as getting your battalion, but I hope you won't be too bored."
"No, Sir, I don't imagine I will," Abernathy said with an answering grin. "I was a mighty pissed Marine this morning, Sir, but I think I'm getting over it."
"Good. Then you and the sar-major and I will go sit down and talk hardware. I'm afraid 'Captain Ross' and Commander Morris have another appointment."
"Yes, Sir."
"Oh, and Major-"
"Sir?"
"Certain people will have to know some of the truth about 'Captain Ross,' but I decide who needs to know and what they need to be told. Not you, not Commander Morris, not even Admiral McLain. Me. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Sar-major?"
"Understood, Admiral."
"Good. Now, if you gentlemen will come with me?"
Nikolai Nekrasov opened his eyes slowly. He was lying on his back, he decided. In a bed. He rolled his head and took in the bright, cheerful airiness of a well-appointed private hospital room. What-?
His thoughts cleared suddenly and he sat up. The President! He'd been speaking with the President, and then-
"Hello, Nikolai."
He turned and looked into Jared Armbruster's eyes. There was amusement in them, and a touch of wariness, as well. He shook his head slowly, trying to understand. He'd collapsed, but he felt fine. So what ... ?
"I owe you an apology, Mister Ambassador," Armbruster said calmly. "I'm afraid we slipped you a Mickey." Nekrasov blinked at him. "We drugged your coffee," Armbruster explained.
Drugged his coffee? It was unheard of! And if they had, why should Armbruster admit it? The ambassador stared around the room, fighting a flicker of panic. Surely the President had not run that far mad!
"I'm sorry," Armbruster sounded genuinely contrite, "but I believe we can explain why it was necessary."
"Indeed, Mister President?" Nekrasov was pleased that he managed to sound calm. "I should be interested to hear that explanation."
"Of course." Armbruster sat beside the bed. "First, I must also apologize for the cover story we put together. Your government has been informed that you suffered a severe heart attack. That-" he added quickly "-was unfortunately necessary to explain why we rushed you to Bethesda." Nekrasov started to speak, but Armbruster raised a hand.
"Please, Mister Ambassador. Time is short. Your Embassy's security people are not at all pleased that the doctors have refused to allow them into your room because of your 'serious condition.' We'll let them in very shortly, but first I must explain some things."
"Very well," Nekrasov said, and settled back on his pillows, regarding the American suspicously.
"Thank you. Mister Ambassador, you asked me why I involved my country in the South Atlantic War. My answer was, I fear, facetious. The truth, sir, is that I needed a diversion."
"I beg your pardon?"
"In large part, Mister Ambassador, my reasons concern yourself. Oh, my original thought was to create a cover for certain military moves I must make, but then I realized it could also be used as a pretext for special diplomatic exchanges-like the information I'm about to share with you.
"I must tell you, Ambassador, that while we had you here-indeed, it was the entire reason we went to all this trouble to get you here-we ran an electroencephalogram on you." Nekrasov looked mystified, and Armbruster continued smoothly. "It was necessary to determine whether or not your brain waves contained a certain distinctive pattern. Fortunately, they do-and it is my sincere hope that President Yakolev's share it. Unhappily, the only way I have been able to think of to check his is to convince someone he knows and trusts-in short, a close personal friend-to find out for me."
"Mister President," Nekrasov said stiffly, "this is ridiculous. I-"
"No, Mister Ambassador, it is not ridiculous," Armbruster interrupted, and the cold determination-the ruthlessness-in his iron voice startled the Russian. "I believe you will agree with me on that point, and, if you do, I will ask you to return home-officially for health reasons and consultations regarding the situation in the South Atlantic-to tell President Yakolev that."
"I can conceive of no reason why I should," Nekrasov said flatly.
"We'll give you one," Armbruster said, his tone equally flat, "and to that end, I would like you to meet someone. If I may?" He rose and started for the door, and Nekrasov shrugged. The entire situation was patently absurd, but this madman was the President of the United States.
A naval commander and a ridiculously young captain of Marines entered the room, and Nekrasov wondered what possible bearing such junior officers could have on this affair.
"Ambassador, I'd like you to meet Commander Morris, Admiral Anson McLain's senior intelligence officer, and Captain Ross. Commander, Captain-Ambassador Nikolai Stepanovich Nekrasov." Nekrasov nodded to the newcomers, then looked impatiently back to the President.
"Mister Ambassador, Captain Ross is not precisely what she appears," Armbruster said, seating himself once more. "In point of fact, she's the reason you're here." Nekrasov frowned at the striking young girl. That seemed crazier than all the rest! Armbruster saw his frown and grinned.
"I assure you, you can't be more surprised than I was when I first met the captain, Ambassador. You see ..."
subversion n. The act of subverting or the condition of being subverted.
subvert tr.v. -verted, -verting, verts. 1. To ruin; to destroy utterly. 2. To undermine character or allegiance; to corrupt. 3. To overthrow completely. [Middle English subverten, from Latin subvertere, to turn upside down: sub-, from below, up + vertere, to turn.]
-Webster-Wangchi Unabridged Dictionary of Standard English Tomas y Hijos, Publishers
2465, Terran Standard Reckoning
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"She did what?" Anson McLain demanded, and Mordecai Morris went off in a fresh peal of mirth. His ribs hurt, and he wondered how much his laughter owed to hysterical reaction.
"S-she almost shot ... shot up t-the Saint Petersburg zoo!" he repeated, gasping the words between hoots.