Although the question was directed at all the team members, it was obvious to everyone that Colonel Yevgeni would answer. He and Dimitri had been working on a joint plan, and Yevgeni, although lower in rand than the Brigadier General, had the ear of the Defense Minister.
But it was Dimitri who rose to his feet, tapping Yevgeni’s shoulder as if to say, “Leave this to me. I know how to handle the Marshal.” He looked directly at Defense Minister Budarenko.
Brigadier General Dimitri was the epitome of the fit, active Soviet junior general. His jet black hair was thick and precisely cropped. A handsome man of average height, his physique was athletic and he walked with a springy gait. The beige turtleneck sweater he wore indicated his branch of service — the Navy. He had only recently received his rank of Brigadier General, after being transferred from his long service in the navy to general military intelligence.
Marshal Budarenko pointed at him like a schoolteacher. “Brigadier
General Dimitri, speak!”
“Mr. Minister”, began Dimitri. “We have so far conducted a preliminary examination of two options. One we have already deemed too difficult to execute. The second, we need to test in the field.”
Dimitri paused, looking nervously at the minister.
“Go on. I’m listening”, coaxed the marshal.
“We’ve checked how a ballistic missile is launched from an American submarine. Namely, the chain of command to approve such a launch and whether the missile can be aimed at a specific target that is less sensitive, from our point of view, or whether the target is pre- programmed and locked into the missile’s navigation system.”
The Brigadier General paused, waiting for the Minister to respond, but the Minister motioned to him to continue.
“We’ve checked with naval intelligence here, and with our KGB people in Washington. The Americans’ most advanced submarine is operated by a crew of 15 officers and 140 men. As the Americans have 91 such submarines, their total submarine force is 14,000 seamen and officers.
“We requested information from our Washington staff and, just as we thought, they have good intelligence and real-time data on some of the officers and seamen in the submarine fleet. We checked the feasibility of bribing or using some means of coercion to compel some crew members to cooperate with us and launch a missile. It quickly became obvious that this course would be complicated, even impossible, as both the submarine captain and the first officer wear the keys to the safe box, where the launch codes are stored, around their necks 24 hours a day. The safe box can only be opened with both keys simultaneously. Because we concluded that this option requires a hostile action and a violent takeover of the vessel, we rejected it.”
Beginning to lose his patience, Marshal Budarenko was about to erupt at any moment. He hated being told what could not be done, especially in detail. He glanced at his watch.
“Good, Brigadier General”, he said. “Now that I know what is not possible, could you kindly tell me what is possible and how it can be done?”
Dimitri was taken aback, but soon recovered, and continued his presentation in an even voice.
“We continued our inquiry. If not the Navy, then the Army, the tactical field units, where we assume the procedures and rules of engagement are not as strict.”
“What do you mean by tactical units, Brigadier General?” Marshal Budarenko interrupted.
“I mean the Pershing missile batteries deployed in West Germany. These are relatively small missiles placed on mobile platforms, not in underground fortified bunkers. They are very much like our own SS-20 missile batteries, except that the Pershing is even lighter and more mobile.”
“I know the Pershing”, the Marshal snapped. “Go on, Dimitri.”
“Using the Pershing, a violent takeover could be successful, although it could leave traces. But we have found a better option.
“I spoke with our staff in the Federal Republic last night, and received some useful intelligence from them. The American soldiers manning the Pershing batteries are not as disciplined as the ones in the submarine fleet. They are bored. They leave their bases in the evenings and go out drinking, passing their time in bars and discotheques in the surrounding towns. Our men, and especially our women, know what to do with them. They have marked several men who can be captured, isolated and interrogated to tell us how their batteries function up to the stage of pressing the launch button.”
“Very well”, interjected Marshal Budarenko, lighting a cigarette. “This is getting interesting, but hurry up. Our time is short.”
“Our most qualified personnel in this matter are stationed in the Cologne area”, Dimitri explained. “A Pershing battery is deployed near a small town east of Cologne, called Siegen, in an isolated and mountainous area. Our people recommend that we concentrate on this battery. They even say they can bring one of its senior operators here.”
“Bring him here? No!” countered Budarenko. “You go there yourself and squeeze all the information you need from that operator. Then, based on this information, you will decide if we can take over the battery and execute a launch, or convince the American to perform the launch himself. I know that our people there have the means to get people to do things.”
Marshal Budarenko now turned to Gregory, sitting to his right, who had not spoken since entering. Budarenko pointed at Dimitri.
“Gregory, prepare a west European passport for Dimitri. I see no reason why he cannot leave within two hours, to … Bieden? What’s the name of the town again?”
“Siegen, Mr. Minister of Defense”, said Dimitri.
“All right, Siegen”, repeated Marshal Budarenko. “Is that clear, Gregory?”
Gregory rose to his feet. “Yes, Minister. Dimitri will be there within a few hours.”
Marshal Budarenko folded his arms on his chest. “I am not pleased that you have presented me with only one plan so far. If Brigadier General Dimitri returns with answers that rule out the Pershing option, then what? We start again? I want you to use this time until Dimitri returns to create even smarter alternatives that may be easier and safer to execute. Is this clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Minister”, the team members chorused.
All the officers rose to their feet when the marshal stood and walked out the door, followed by Gregory. There was relief at his exit, and Dimitri’s five colleagues looked at him with appreciation. Would he be the one to come up with a winning plan that would relieve them of the burden of satisfying Marshal Budarenko’s whims?
A uniformed soldier entered the room and instructed Dimitri to follow him outside.
The wheels of the Aeroflot Tupolev 154 airliner had just detached from the concrete runway at Moscow’s Domodedovo Airport. The plane shot up to the skies with a deafening noise while banking right in a wide circle to the west. Within four hours, it would land at Geneva International Airport in Switzerland.
Brigadier General Dimitri scanned the faces of the passengers on the plane, which was largely empty; only about a third of the seats were taken. How many of these passengers were heading for a ski vacation in the Alps, he wondered. Probably none. He speculated as to how many of the passengers were on a state mission. He recognized none of the faces.
I must try to remember each and every face, he thought. One of them must be following me, and he or she will probably board the connecting flight to Germany as well. He reclined his seat, let go of his thoughts and was soon fast asleep. He had not slept for 36 hours.
Three hours later, he was already seated in a Lufthansa Boeing 727 for the short flight to Cologne’s Bonn Airport. This flight was to last less than an hour, and Dimitri unbuckled his seat belt and walked to the restroom in the back of the plane, all the while scanning the faces of each passenger. He could not recognize any from his earlier flight from Moscow. But when he returned to his seat, he could not help noticing the face of a woman in her thirties. There was nothing distinctive about her features, and when he returned to his seat, he wondered why she, of all people on the plane, had attracted his attention.