President Waters narrowed his eyes. "Have the Soviets established direct contact with Tokyo on this?"
"Not yet."
"So they still have not taken any unilateral action? They're still waiting for our response?"
"Mr. President, it's merely a diplomatic courtesy. They expect us to join them in the discussions — we can still lend a certain weight, of course."
"But the Soviets still have not 'thrown in the towel,' technically speaking?"
"Well, not formally, of course. But, in spirit…"
"Then don't contradict me," Waters said. "I want to speak with the Soviet president. One on one. I want to hear his views from his lips."
"Sir, the Soviets have made it clear they're going to call it quits," the secretary of state said. His voice carried the tone of a teacher sorely disappointed with his pupil. "We stand to lose leverage if we—"
Waters turned on the secretary of state with a look so merciless that the distinguished old man broke off in midsentence.
"You can give up your efforts to educate me," Waters said. "Write me off as another black dropout. Just get President Chernikov on the line — no, first get me Colonel Taylor. I want to talk to that man one more time."
"Mr. President," the chairman of the Joint Chiefs said carefully, "Colonel Taylor's in no position to give you an objective view of the situation. You heard what his subordinate, Lieutenant Colonel Reno, said about him. And you heard the man yourself. All Colonel Taylor wants to do is to hit back at what hurt him. He's reacting emotionally. He has absolutely no grip of the new geopolitical realities involved here."
Waters looked at the chairman. To her surprise, Daisy saw a genuine smile spread across the President's face.
"Well," Waters said, "I guess that makes two of us. Anyway, I'd be a damned fool not to hear out the one man who's got the balls to tell me when he's busy." Waters snapped his head around to look at Daisy. "Do excuse my language, Miss Fitzgerald. Just pretend you weren't listening."
The American was crazy. General Ivanov could not believe what he had heard. The memory of the American colonel's scarred face was troubling enough — now it appeared that the man's mind was deformed as well.
A raid.
A raid into the enemy's operational-strategic rear.
A raid on the enemy's main command and control center.
A raid on the enemy's computer system, of all things.
It was a madman's notion, in an hour when the world was coming apart.
The long day had begun so well. With American successes that promised to decisively alter the correlation of forces. American successes so great they both frightened Ivanov and made him envious, even though the Americans were on his country's side this time.
Of course, he and a select group of Soviets had known there would be a Japanese reply. They had even had an inkling of the form the Japanese response would take. But they had not understood the dimensions of the loss they would suffer, otherwise they would not have involved themselves with the Americans in the first place. They had attempted to call the Japanese bluff.
Then the world had ended for every Soviet citizen living within a zone of tens of thousands of square kilometers. A military transport had landed at Orsk to find its entire population reduced to infantile helplessness. It was worse than the chemical attacks. Worse, in its way, than the plague years had been. The Japanese had won. And, no matter how cruel and theoretically inadmissible their methods had been, their victory could not be denied. All that remained was to salvage as much of the motherland as possible. And that was up to Moscow, where there was already turbulence enough with the attempted coup in the Kremlin.
As nearly as Ivanov could sort it out from the incoming reports, the struggle was between the state security apparatus, which wanted to continue the war at all costs, and a faction of generals intent on salvaging what was left of the motherland. Ivanov had not been asked to support his comrades in Moscow, and he wondered why. He was ready. Oh, there were so many secrets. Thank God, the Americans seemed to have missed the revolt in its entirety.
Meanwhile, Ivanov waited in his headquarters for word that the Japanese terror weapons had descended from the heavens at yet another location, perhaps devouring an entire army this time. Perhaps they would come for a worn-out Soviet general who was no longer a threat to anyone.
Ivanov wondered exactly how the weapons worked. Was their effect instantaneous, or would a man who recognized what he was dealing with have time to put a pistol to his head?
"Viktor Sergeyevich," Ivanov said to Kozlov, "you realize the sensitivity of your role?"
"Yes, sir."
"The Americans have asked for an officer with firsthand knowledge of Baku, to help with their contingency planning. So help them. Answer their questions. And pay attention. Your real mission is to ensure that this American colonel takes no unilateral action. We cannot afford further provocations. Moscow is preparing a negotiating position."
"It's over, then?" Kozlov asked.
Ivanov nodded, unable to meet Kozlov's eyes. All these years, all the hard work and dreams, only to come to this. "Yes, Viktor Sergeyevich. We will continue to defend ourselves locally. But it's over."
"And there is nothing to be done?"
Ivanov shook his head. "How can we respond to something like this? The Japanese have made it very clear that the strike on the Orsk region was merely a warning."
"And the Americans have no technological countermeasure?"
Ivanov rose wearily and paced across his office. He stopped in front of the portrait of Suvorov with its faulty color tones. "If they do, they're keeping it a secret." He shrugged. "Moscow believes the Americans are as helpless as we are. Oh, there's some nonsense about attacking Japanese computers… But, really… with such weapons at the enemy's disposal… What is to be done?" Ivanov looked fully into Kozlov's stare for the first time, and saw the reflection of his desolation. "Nothing," Ivanov answered himself. "Nothing."
"Yet, Colonel Taylor is planning a raid? He plans to continue the fight?"
"We suspect it's all on his own initiative. As far as we know, Washington has approved nothing." He turned his back on the picture of the dead hero. "Watch him, Viktor. Watch him closely."
"Yes, sir."
"Answer his questions. Keep me informed."
"And he wants to raid Baku? The Japanese headquarters?"
Ivanov smiled wistfully. "Yes. The Japanese headquarters. Of course, you and I remember when it was otherwise."
"Exactly so."
Ivanov turned from the picture of the old czarist warrior and stared across the office. "I always had a soft spot for Baku, you know. Oh, not for the Azeris. They were simply animals. But I loved the warmth. I truly did. It was still good when you and I served there together, Viktor Sergeyevich. But it was better still, far better, when I was stationed there as a young captain. With the reoccupation troops." The tiniest of smiles slipped onto the general's face. "Old Baku. It's changed hands so many times over the centuries. The Persians. Then us. And the Persians again. And so on. Even the British were there for the blink of an eye." Ivanov shook his head in wonder. "Who knows? Perhaps it will change hands again one day. It's all part of the ebb and flow that foreigners never really comprehend. Oh, things look bad enough for us at the moment. But they've looked bad before. Mongols, Tartars, Turks, Persians, Poles, Lithuanians, Germans. And all the forgotten names of the forgotten people who crossed the soil of Russia only to disappear into the pages of unread history books. Perhaps Great Russia must become a smaller Russia for a time. So that she can become a Great Russia once again." Ivanov looked down at the worn Caucasian carpet that always lay in front of his desk, no matter where his assignments took him. "We must try to keep faith, Viktor Sergeyevich. We must try to keep our faith."