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Leonov shook his head. “Thank you, but no. Unfortunately, I find caffeine this late in the day is too hard on my stomach.”

“Ulcers?”

“The doctors say no,” Leonov said with a shrug. “Merely stress and worry.”

Koshkin smiled sympathetically. “An occupational hazard of our respective professions, I fear.” He looked over at Popov. “You may go, Dmitry. Colonel General Leonov and I can look after ourselves.” Silently, the elegant young aide left, firmly closing the door behind him.

“Now, General,” Koshkin said carefully. “What brings you to the Lubyanka?”

“First, how tight is your security?” Leonov asked, with equal care.

“In this office itself? Airtight,” Koshkin assured him. “Nothing we say can be overheard or recorded in any way by foreign agents.”

“Or by your colleagues in the FSB’s counterintelligence department?”

Caught off guard, Koshkin blinked in surprise. Plainly buying time to think, he took off his glasses and swiped distractedly at them with a handkerchief. Then he put them back on and cleared his throat. “Is there some reason you are worried about possible surveillance by loyal forces of the state?”

Leonov’s thin, answering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Only because none of your service’s spy hunters hold high-level Mars Project clearances, Arkady,” he said coolly. “So before you panic about being implicated as a possible traitor, get it through your head that my sole focus is safeguarding our Motherland’s most vital secrets.”

Relieved, Koshkin nodded his understanding. Information about the full scope of Gryzlov’s new plan was restricted to a tight inner circle within the Russian government. Besides the president, Leonov, and Koshkin himself, no more than a tiny handful of others were cleared for full briefings on the project. Otherwise, individual government departments, research labs, and production facilities were told only what they needed to know to complete their own particular assignments.

“The antibugging measures I employ are effective against all forms of surveillance, whether by foreign spies or our own counterintelligence agents,” he admitted.

“Good,” Leonov said quietly. “Because we must be able to speak frankly to each other. To share ideas without the slightest constraint or reservation.”

Koshkin looked on edge again. “Ideas about what?”

Here we go, Leonov told himself. This was where he found out if the other man understood the difference between sensible caution and crippling passivity. Or if he grasped that taking personal initiative was sometimes necessary — and might even be safer than clinging rigidly to set procedure and regulation. Careful to sound calm, almost bored, he shrugged. “About the possibility of making certain modifications to command and control programs for some of the Mars Project’s components.”

Koshkin stared back at him for several long seconds. “What kind of modifications?” he asked at last.

Leonov held up a hand. “First, let me make sure that I have a clear sense of how the system works, eh?” It was important not to rush this. He leaned forward. “As I understand it, your Q Directorate experts aren’t actually writing any of the project’s operational software themselves. Correct?”

Slowly, Koshkin nodded. “The research and development teams working on different weapons, power generation, maneuvering, and life-support systems are responsible for writing and validating their own code.”

“And when they’re finished?”

“My people go through each piece of software line by line — checking for anything suspicious or out of place. Once the programs have been thoroughly scrubbed, we subject them to stringent testing to make sure they work as promised — both on their own and in tandem with other crucial systems.”

Leonov cocked his head. “And after that, your team embeds every piece of software in layer upon layer of high-grade cybersecurity protocols? So that no further alterations can be made… except by your directorate?”

Koshkin frowned, obviously not quite happy with this crude summary of a complex process. “More or less.”

“In effect, then, no one else has access to the inner working elements of Mars Project software once your work is finished,” Leonov continued, with a confident smile. “That’s perfect. Exactly what we need.”

“But I don’t see what—”

“It’s quite simple,” Leonov explained. “Your directorate’s procedures make it possible for us to do what must be done, without tipping our hand to our enemies — or unnecessarily worrying those here at home who might otherwise misinterpret our actions.”

Tiny droplets of sweat suddenly beaded the other man’s high forehead. “I will not do anything to compromise the integrity of the computer programs created for the Mars Project,” he stammered.

“Don’t be a fool, Arkady.” Leonov shook his head impatiently. “That’s the last thing I would expect.” He looked Koshkin straight in the eye, choosing his words with care and precision. “I only want your programmers to create buried subroutines that will strengthen our security… and protect the Motherland in a worst-case scenario. Secret programs we can activate, in an emergency, to regain control over critical systems. To stop the enemy from turning our own new weapons against us.”

“Fail-safe protocols, you mean?” Koshkin wondered.

“Exactly. I want a series of fail-safe protocols inserted into the project’s operating software,” Leonov agreed.

“On whose authority? Yours?”

Leonov nodded. “Yes.”

“Not the president’s?” Koshkin asked softly.

Leonov shrugged. “Gennadiy always expects his plans to unfold perfectly, without a hitch or snag.”

“But you are afraid that the Mars Project will fail?”

“On the contrary, I think the president’s confidence is fully justified,” Leonov said flatly. “If we proceed wisely, our powerful new weapons and other technologies should give us an overwhelming advantage against the Americans and their allies. Once our space platforms are in orbit and operational, we will be free to attack targets in orbit or even on the ground without fear of serious retaliation.” Then, coolly, he met Koshkin’s troubled gaze. “But you and I also know — and only too well — that even the best-laid plans don’t always survive contact with the enemy. Victory is never assured. Defeat is always possible. And sometimes it carries terrible consequences. Both for Russia itself… and for those who can be blamed for any failure.”

Koshkin swallowed hard, clearly remembering the dreary procession of fellow officers, scientists, and other government officials who’d suffered the consequences of Gryzlov’s wrath over the past several years. “You want an insurance policy,” he realized.

“It is our duty to strive for complete success. But it is also our duty to prepare for the worst,” Leonov said pointedly. “We’ve just spent considerably more than a trillion rubles developing some of the world’s most advanced weapons and space hardware. So tell me, Arkady, are you willing to take even the slightest chance of letting the Americans waltz in and snatch them away from under our noses?”

“My God, no,” Koshkin murmured, turning pale at the thought of what Gennadiy Gryzlov would do to anyone he held responsible for such a catastrophe. Tight-lipped now, he looked back across his desk at Leonov. “Very well, General. My programmers will do as you request. We’ll create the fail-safe protocols you require.”

Four

Hangar Three, McLanahan Industrial Airport, Sky Masters Aerospace, Inc., Battle Mountain, Nevada
Early Summer 2021

Brad McLanahan let the security door swing shut behind him. Then he slid his sunglasses into the pocket of his Sky Masters flight suit and stood still for a few seconds, waiting for his eyes to adjust. After the brilliant sunshine and typical scorching high-desert summer temperatures outside, something about entering the enormous hangar reminded him of the time Nadia had showed him Kraków’s beautiful, centuries-old Gothic cathedral. Standing here in this equally vast, cool, and dimly lit space, he felt a touch of the same awe that had overwhelmed him then.