"What?"
"I knew this was coming." Finally, then, as if for the first time he noticed the man beside him listening to him, Rourke turned and said, "Have you been listening to the news? The radio?"
"What? All the war talk? Just sabre rattling, my friend. I wouldn't worry over it. Not a bit."
"Oh, you wouldn't, huh? Well, I was just going to suggest that maybe you get off this damned airplane and go home and take care of your family just in case it isn't all talk."
"You really did walk through the snow just to get aboard. My God, fellow, you take this Russian stuff dreadfully seriously, don't you?"
"Yeah," Rourke said, terminating the conversation and turning back toward the window. "I guess I do."
**
"There's another communiqué from the Indian government, Mr. President. Just came in over the telex."
"Read it to me, Thurston," the president said, sitting down at his desk.
Potter whispered. "All right, sir, It says-"
"Just the essentials," the president said.
"Yes, sir. They say that at the expiration of your deadline, they'll utilize a low-yield nuclear device-tactically. It's mostly as a symbolic statement of their entrance into the conflict with the Soviets and their intention to resist their incursion into Pakistan at all costs."
"That's crazy. Get me the Indian ambassador right away."
As Potter left, the president turned to his national security advisor, Bernard Thorpe. "Bernie, what do you think?"
As Thorpe started to speak, Commerce Secretary Meeker cut in. "You'd better get out of here up to somewhere we can count on your bein' alive long enough to direct the war effort, Mr. President."
Bernard Thorpe, wire-rimmed glasses in his hands, his pipe out but still clenched hard in his teeth, said, "Much as I hate to agree with Mr. Meeker, Mr. President, he's making good sense. If India uses a nuclear device, maybe we can still avoid a war. Pakistan, though, might be tempted then-I understand they have them ready. No really effective delivery system, though. But that could start it. What if another pair of submarines collides or attacks each other? What does Mr. Antonais say about the Soviet particle beam systems?"
"Dmitri says they could be operational, but that the destruction of the communications satellite was just a planned shot-could have been working it out for hours in advance and probably were. Won't be any match for our MRVs. But I don't want to get that far. I don't think the premier wants that, either."
"Are we going to back down then?" Thorpe said.
"I'm going to call the premier again. Maybe we can work out a compromise. Bernie, tell Marian to have my special plane called up just in case I want to get over to the mountain."
Meeker, standing up, exhaling hard and tugging at his tight necktie, said, "Good move, Mr. President. If those suckers want to play poker, well then, let's play."
***
The Soviet premier sat at his desk. The lights of his office were out except for the small desk lamp and its circle of yellowish light. "You are sure of this?" he asked.
"Our intelligence realized the importance of this, Comrade Premier. It has been investigated and investigated again. There can be no doubt," the woman said. "You have been a major with Intelligence for long, Gospozha?"
"Yes, Comrade Premier," she answered uncomfortably.
"How nice for you." Then, looking back at the deciphered message in his bony hands, he said, "So the Pakistan Army has a nuclear device and will destroy a dam lying in the path of our forces. Has anyone bothered yet to inform the Pakistan Army that this will force the possibility of total war?"
"No," the woman said, thoughtfully. "No, Comrade Premier. Or, at least, I have not been so informed."
"Well, well..." The premier blew smoke into the circle of light. "The American president just tried calling me, but I was unavailable. He left word he would try again from his hardened mountain retreat-his bomb shelter. I suppose that I, too, should go to my bomb shelter. He can reach me there. You are a credit to your sex, Comrade Major. Please advise my staff that I instructed you to avail yourself of some refreshment on your way out."
The premier picked up the phone on his desk, dialed, and spoke into the receiver. "Alert the helicopter pilot that I shall be needing his services shortly, and make all other arrangements. I wish the emergency meeting of the Politburo advisors, my science advisors, and other members of my senior staff to begin in five minutes."
He hung up the phone and blew more smoke into the patch of light on his blotter.
Chapter Eighteen
"Major, excuse..."
Major Nikita Mikhailevitch Porembski turned and stared at the young female lieutenant. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.
"My good friend, Comrade Major. He is with the troops at the Pakistan front. I was wondering...?" The blonde-haired girl left her question unfinished. The man squinted as he looked down into her blue eyes. "I can tell you nothing. I know nothing. There is an alert order. The rumor is that we may launch against the American mainland and selected American allied targets. I do not know anything beyond that. The rumor is only that, Lieutenant. It is your lover for whom you worry?"
The girl looked away, her eyes cast down. The major touched her shoulder lightly. "There is a special meeting underway in the Kremlin, I have heard. Perhaps some decision will come of that. Perhaps not. Are you on duty?"
"No, Comrade Major. I went off duty an hour ago, then came here."
"To Army Headquarters?" The major's voice was filled with incredulity. Then, "You must love the young man a great deal. He is an officer?"
"Yes, Comrade Major," she said, her voice low. "We attended school together."
"Come-I have not eaten. The canteen has food. I too am off duty now. We can talk, Lieutenant. Will you come?"
The young woman looked up into the major's gray eyes. "Yes, Comrade Major."
The two officers started walking back down the hallway, in the direction from which the senior officer had just come. "You remind me of my niece," the major began.
Suddenly, there was shouting from the end of the hall. A young lieutenant was running toward them, his hair flying in his wild eyes. "There is war! There is war"'
As the young man passed them, the major put his arm around the young woman beside him. He watched her eyes stare blankly down the corridor after the rapidly disappearing young man.
"War," he said quietly, and the girl looked at him.
***
Aboard his helicopter, flying through the night, the Soviet premier shone a small pen light onto the sheet of yellow paper he held in his left hand. He preferred the flashlight to the overhead dome light. On the yellow paper, not bothering to abide with the lines there, he had written several items, all of which he had discussed with his Politburo advisors, his science team, the military staff-all in a very brief time before he had boarded the helicopter.
Item one had been the particle beam weapon. He did not trust it; neither did the military. Only the fanatic young scientist was convinced-and had pleaded-that it would mean an end to nuclear war. The premier had decided he could not trust the weapon to bring down the American ICBMs, especially those with multiple reentry vehicles-multiple warheads. He would gamble on launching Soviet missiles if the Indians or Pakistanis struck with nuclear weapons first.
Item two had been the Chinese. This had forced the nuclear option, and had amended item one. He had felt compelled to attack the United States first, for the Chinese would surely attack if the Indians or Pakistanis used a nuclear device, and intelligence indicated that the Pakistanis were ready to do so within the hour to stop the Soviet advance. The sad thing, the premier thought, was that he had already ordered the advance stopped. His troops had secured the territory they had originally intended to take, and there was no need for further advance.
Item three. He turned off the pocket flashlight. He could see the words even in the total darkness. The first missile would launch in approximately fifteen minutes, just as he reached his shelter.