“That looks like bullshit.”
“Okay, fine, it's bullshit, but does it hurt anything?” Ryan demanded.
“Send it.”
“What the hell is this?” Fowler shouted. “Who's doing this—”
“Sir, we have an incoming from the President. He's ordering us to—”
“Ignore it,” Jack said coldly.
“God damn it, I can't!”
“Captain, the President has lost control. If you allow him to shut me off, your family, my family, a whole lot of people are going to die. Captain, your oath is to the Constitution, not to the President. Now, you look over those messages again and tell me that I'm wrong!”
“From Moscow,” the translator said. “'Ryan, what is happening?'”
P RESIDENT NARMONOV:
WE HAVE BEEN THE VICTIMS OF A TERRORIST ACT. THERE WAS MUCH CONFUSION HERE, BUT WE NOW HAVE POSITIVE EVIDENCE AS TO THE ORIGIN OF THE WEAPON.
WE ARE CERTAIN THAT THE WEAPON WAS NOT SOVIET. I REPEAT WE ARE CERTAIN THE WEAPON WAS NOT SOVIET.
WE ARE NOW ATTEMPTING TO APPREHEND THE TERRORISTS. WE MAY HAVE THEM WITHIN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES.
“Send back, 'Why has your president accused us of this?'” There was another pause of two minutes.
PRESIDENT NARMONOV:
WE HAVE BEEN THE VICTIMS OF GREAT CONFUSION HERE. WE HAVE HAD SOME INTELLIGENCE REPORTS OF POLITICAL TURMOIL IN THE SOVIET UNION. THESE REPORTS WERE FALSE, BUT THEY CONFUSED US GREATLY. IN ADDITION, THE OTHER INCIDENTS HAVE HAD AN INCENDIARY EFFECT ON BOTH SIDES.
“That's true enough.”
“Pete, you get people in there just as fast as you can and arrest this man!”
Connor couldn't say no to that, despite the look he received from Helen D'Agustino. He called Secret Service headquarters and relayed the message.
“He asks, 'What you — what do you suggest!'”
I ASK THAT YOU TRUST US, AND ALLOW US TO TRUST YOU. WE BOTH MUST BACK AWAY FROM THIS. I SUGGEST THAT BOTH YOU AND WE REDUCE THE ALERT LEVELS OF STRATEGIC FORCES AND GIVE ORDERS TO ALL TROOPS TO EITHER HOLD IN PLACE OR WITHDRAW AWAY FROM ANY SOVIET OR AMERICAN UNIT IN CLOSE PROXIMITY, AND IF POSSIBLE THAT ALL SHOOTING BE STOPPED IMMEDIATELY.
“Well?” Ryan asked.
“Send it.”
“Can it be a trick?” the Defense Minister asked. “Can it not be a trick?”
“Golovko?”
“I believe that it is Ryan, and I believe he is sincere — but can he persuade his President?”
President Narmonov walked away for a moment, thinking of history, thinking of Nikolay II. “If we stand our forces down…?”
“Then they can strike us, and our ability to retaliate is cut in half!”
“Is half enough?” Narmonov asked, seeing the escape hatch, leaning towards it, praying for the opening to be real. “Is half enough to destroy them?”
“Well…” Defense nodded. “Certainly, we have more than double the amount we need to destroy them. We call it over-kill.”
“Sir, the Soviet reply reads: ”Ryan:
“ 'On my order, being sent out as you read this, Soviet strategic forces are standing down. We will maintain our defensive alert for the moment, but we will stand down our offensive forces to a lower alert level which is still higher than peacetime standards. If you match our move, I propose a phased mutual stand-down over the next five hours.'”
Jack's head went down on the keyboard, actually placing some characters on the screen.
“Could I have a glass of water? My throat's a little dry.”
“Mr. President?” Fremont said.
“Yes, General.”
“Sir, however this happened, I think it's a good idea.”
Part of Bob Fowler wanted to hurl his coffee cup into the wall, but he stopped himself. It didn't matter, did it? It did, but not that way.
“What do you recommend?”
“Sir, just to make sure, we wait until we see evidence of a stand-down. When we do, we can back off ourselves. For starters — right now — we can rescind SNAPCOUNT without any real degradation of our readiness.”
“General Borstein?”
“Sir, I concur in that,” said the voice from NORAD.
“General Fremont: Approved.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. We'll get right on it.” General Peter Fremont, United States Air Force, Commander-in-Chief Strategic Air Command turned to his Deputy Chief of Staff (Operations). “Keep the alert going, posture the birds, but keep them on the ground. Let's get those missiles uncocked.”
“Contact… bearing three-five-two… range seven thousand six hundred meters.” They'd been waiting several minutes for that.
“Set it up. No wires, activation point four thousand meters out.” Dubinin looked up. He didn't know why the aircraft overhead hadn't already executed another attack.
“Set!” the weapons officer called a moment later.
“Fire!” Dubinin ordered.
“Captain, message coming in on the ELF,” the communications officer said over the squawk box.
“That's the message that announces the end of the world,” the captain sighed. “Well, we fired our shots, didn't we?” It would have been nice to think that their action would save lives, but he knew better. It would enable the Soviet forces to kill more Americans, which wasn't quite the same thing. Everything about nuclear weapons was evil, wasn't it?
“Go deep?”
Dubinin shook his head. “No, they seem to have more trouble with the surface turbulence than I expected. We may actually be safer here. Come right to zero-nine-zero. Suspend pinging. Increase speed to ten knots.”
Another squawk: “We have the message — five-letter group: 'Cease all hostilities!'”
“Antenna depth, quickly!”
The Mexican police proved to be extremely cooperative, and the literate Spanish of Clark and Chavez hadn't hurt very much. Four plainclothes detectives from the Federal Police waited with the CIA officers in the lounge while four more uniformed officers with light automatic weapons took unobtrusive positions nearby.
“We don't have enough people to do this properly,” the senior Federal worried.
“Better to do it off the airplane,” Clark said.
“Muy bien, Señor. You think they may be armed?”
“Actually, no, I don't. Guns can be dangerous when you're traveling.”
“Has this something to do with— Denver?”
Clark turned and nodded. “We think so.”
“It will be interesting to see what such men look like.” The detective meant the eyes, of course. He'd seen the photographs.
The DC-10 pulled up to the gate and cut power to its three engines. The jetway moved a few feet to mate with the forward door.
“They travel first class,” John said unnecessarily.
“Sí. The airline says there are fifteen first-class passengers, and they've been told to hold the rest. You will see, Señor Clark, we know our business.”
“I have no doubt of that. Forgive me if I gave that impression, Teniente.”
“You are CIA, no?”
“I am not permitted to say.”
“Then of course you are. What will you do with them?”
“We will speak,” Clark said simply.
The gate attendant opened the door to the jetway. Two Federal Police officers took their places left and right of the door, their jackets open. Clark prayed there would be no gunplay. The people started walking out, and the usual greetings were called from the waiting area.