“That seems a rather tenuous form of loyalty,” Leonov said wryly.
“When one’s life is at stake, all loyalty is tenuous, is it not?” the head of the FSB’s Q Directorate said with equal irony. He shrugged. “Perhaps more so now than in the recent past.” Leonov let that pass.
They walked on in silence for a few more moments. At last, Leonov stopped and turned to face his smaller companion. “Arkady, I need your guarantee that the fail-safe protocols you’ve planted in various Mars One station operating systems have not been compromised.”
“They remain undetected,” Koshkin told him confidently. “Attempts to pry into those codes would trip a large number of cybersecurity alarms. We would be alerted within seconds.”
Leonov stared at him. “Even with the station modules already in orbit?”
Koshkin nodded. “We’ve buried a secret and highly secure back channel of our own among the routine telemetry feeds from Mars One.” Behind his thick spectacles, his dark brown eyes revealed a small measure of the smug self-satisfaction of a magician astonishing his audience by pulling a rabbit out of an apparently empty hat. “We can monitor the station systems in real time, Mikhail. And communicate with them, as needed.”
“Is there any chance that the fail-safe protocols could be triggered accidentally?”
Koshkin shook his head authoritatively. “None whatsoever. The protocols can only be activated by deliberate command — through encrypted signals from the ground using the codes I’ve already given you.” For a second, he hesitated. “Perhaps I should secretly alert Colonel Strelkov to their existence… as a further precaution. Then, if the Americans successfully attack Mars One, he could input the necessary commands directly.”
“No,” Leonov said flatly. “In such a case, Strelkov and his men would already be either dead or taken prisoner.” He turned his hard-eyed gaze fully on the shorter man. “The knowledge of these hidden safeguards must remain between ourselves, Arkady. Ourselves only. You understand?”
“Yes, of course,” Koshkin said slowly. He cleared his throat nervously. “There are others in Moscow who, I believe, share our concerns about the risks the president is running. If we could just brief them—”
“That would be foolish beyond measure,” Leonov interrupted. His voice was harsh. “You forget, Koshkin. Three men can keep a secret. But only if two of them are dead.”
Eighteen
Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs building was one of the Seven Sisters dotting Moscow’s skyline — seven large skyscrapers built around the city on the express orders of Joseph Stalin. Intended to glorify the Soviet state in the waning days of the dictator’s brutal reign, they were also an unintentional monument to Soviet inefficiency, since each building was squatter, heavier, and costlier to construct than those erected in the West at the same period.
Foreign Minister Daria Titeneva saw another irony in this vast slab of concrete and steel. For all of the size and prominence of its Moscow headquarters, Russia’s diplomatic service was the poor stepsister in Gennadiy Gryzlov’s government, an afterthought in the president’s mind compared to the armed forces. He viewed negotiations and the ordinary give-and-take of day-to-day diplomacy with scarcely concealed contempt. At best, as far as he was concerned, they were useful only as a means of deceiving foreign enemies about his true intentions until it was too late.
Like now.
Squaring her shoulders resolutely, she strode out onto the stage of the ministry’s press briefing room. Compared to the cramped press quarters in America’s White House, the large chamber was almost luxurious, with elegant wood paneling, a backdrop featuring Russia’s double-headed-eagle coat of arms, and plush red seats for journalists. Perhaps lies are easier to swallow in comfort, she thought cynically.
The chamber was full of television news crews and reporters from around the world. They had been summoned here with the promise of an official statement on the incredible developments currently taking place in orbit around the earth.
With a gracious smile plastered across her still-attractive face, Titeneva stopped behind a polished wood lectern topped by microphones. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming.” Her words were in thickly accented English, a not-so-subtle indication of the intended audience. “My remarks this afternoon will be brief and to the point.” She looked out across the sea of faces and cameras. “By now you have all heard reports that Russia has successfully launched several large rockets and their payloads into space. You have also been told that one of those space vehicles may have carried a manned Federation orbiter with Russian cosmonauts aboard. And finally, you have heard claims from several other nations that these orbiting spacecraft are currently assembling a large structure far above the earth’s atmosphere.”
She paused there, letting the tension build awhile, before uttering a short, simple declarative sentence. “Those reports are all true.”
That got their attention, Titeneva thought with inner amusement, listening to the sudden excited buzz from the assembled journalists. Again, she waited a second longer, letting the noise die down a bit before continuing. “The Russian Federation today announces the construction of a long-planned replacement for the abandoned International Space Station. This orbital facility has been named Mars One — symbolizing my country’s fervent hope that it will serve as a stepping-stone in the peaceful exploration of our solar system.”
She made a show of checking her watch. “And now I have time for questions, but only one or two. This, as you may imagine, is a very busy day.”
The clamor rose higher as individual journalists rose in their places, waving and calling out to gain her attention.
Titeneva pointed to one, the correspondent for a large German newspaper with noted pro-Moscow leanings. “Yes, Erich?”
“Madam Foreign Minister, you have described this new space station as a replacement for the ISS,” he said deferentially. “Will it then be open to scientists from many nations? As was the ISS?”
She nodded. “So I understand. Even though Mars One, unlike the ISS, is entirely the creation of advanced Russian engineering and space technology, we do not intend to be selfish. Once initial construction is complete, and the orbital facility is certified as safe for human occupation, I am sure Russia will invite scientists from friendly nations to make use of its extensive research capabilities.”
“There’s been a lot of speculation in some informed circles that this Mars One space station of yours might actually be a weapons platform,” a voice called out from the middle of the press corps. Simon Turner, the BBC’s veteran Moscow correspondent, never hid his deep skepticism about the official statements issued by any government — including his own. “What is your response to the rumors that Russia is building a military outpost in space?”
Titeneva smiled pityingly. “Ah, Mr. Turner,” she said, with a playful tone. “I assume these rumormongering circles you speak of are American?”
“Some of them.”
She shook her head in mock sorrow. “I am truly surprised that you give any credibility to this kind of outdated Cold War propaganda. Russia honors its treaty commitments.” Her eyes flashed with sudden righteous anger. “All of its treaty commitments, including those which prohibit the deployment of offensive weapons in outer space. You would do well to remember that only one nation on Earth has ever established a permanent military presence in orbit. And that was the United States itself, not Russia!”