"You see spies in your soup," Anna said flatly.
"Prior to the accident, the Gagarin encountered a space object of unknown origin and attempted to salvage it," Koldunov went on.
"What idiot gave that order?" said the GRU chief, looking at Koldunov accusingly.
"This idiot," said the General Secretary coolly. "The object might have been an artifact of extraterrestrial origin. It was my decision to risk the mission to obtain it. I admit I may have erred, but the risk appeared worth the prize."
"What was the Gagarin's mission?" asked the KGB head.
"I do not know," admitted Koldunov.
The General Secretary waved for the GRU chief to answer.
"To deploy a highly secret military payload," the GRU chief said reluctantly.
"What payload?" asked the KGB head, sensing an opportunity to pry into the affairs of his GRU rival.
"It is classified," the GRU chief answered resentfully. The General Secretary made a soothing gesture with his hands. "I have called the four of you here for specific reasons," he said. "Koldunov was responsible for the shuttle, our illustrious GRU comrade was in charge of the Sword of Damocles. Anna and the KGB will be in charge of recovery operations. Be good enough to put aside these tiresome interministry rivalries and let us get down to business. And sit down, Comrade Koldunov. This is not a school lesson."
Koldunov dropped into his chair so hard he passed gas from the shock.
"What is the Sword of Damocles?" Anna Chutesov asked the GRU chief.
"The ultimate insurance against an American first strike," the GRU chief said proudly.
"Oh, really," Anna replied, arching an elegant eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Let me guess. It is some kind of a doomsday device. No?"
"How did you know?" demanded the GRU chief indignantly. "It was a secret of highest order."
"I did not know," Anna said acidly. "I guessed. I know how your military minds work. If you cannot win a war, you do not want the other side to survive."
"It is not like that," the GRU chief said.
"No! Then tell me what it is like," Anna ordered.
"It is a satellite. To American sensors, it would appear as a communications satellite. In truth, it has that function. It is a microwave relay device. But that is not its primary purpose. As long as it received a countermand signal, sent each May Day, the primary function would remain dormant. If it failed to receive the countermand, it would activate, and assume a geosynchronous orbit over the continental United States. Microwave bombardment would begin immediately."
"An interesting idea," said the KGB head in spite of himself. "If the Americans ever launched a successful first strike, there would be no Russia to send the countermand signal. By winning, the Americans would initiate their own doom. What do these microwaves do-fry them all like TV dinners?"
"No," said the General Secretary. "The microwaves do not kill people. They sterilize them by raising their body temperatures ever so slightly. We have had many incidents of sterility caused by exposure to small microwave dosages among our radar technicians of both sexes. That was the inspiration. In the men, it destroys the semen-producing capabilities of the testicles. Woman cease to ovulate. You see, it is all quite humane. Our revenge from beyond the grave would be the slow extinction of the American population."
"Killing the unborn is not humane," said Anna Chutesov bitterly. "Why not just fry them and be done with it?"
"If any other nations survive a nuclear exchange, we do not want the Russians to be remembered as the extinct race who had their macabre revenge," the General Secretary explained, "but as a peace-loving people who were cut down in their prime by the warmongering Americans, who subsequently became extinct, possibly through divine retribution. It would be good P.R."
"P.R.! P.R.!" shouted Anna Chutesov, leaping to her feet. "We will all be dead anyway. Who gives a damn about P.R. All that effort for what? Revenge? Better that you place the satellite in orbit and shout its capabilities to the world. Then it would be a deterrent. As mad as nuclear weapons, but a deterrent. By keeping this so-called Sword of Damocles a secret, you accomplish nothing except to be able to congratulate yourselves in advance for a Pyrrhic victory in the event of ultimate defeat. This is insane."
The General Secretary frowned. He did not like it when Anna Chutesov yelled at him. It set a bad example. But Anna always spoke her mind without fear of consequences. She was too valuable to liquidate. And she delivered.
"It is a good idea," he said quietly.
Anna slid back into her seat, her eyes blazing.
"We'll never know now, will we? The Sword of Damocles satellite is now in American hands. Once they dissect it, they will understand its true function. They will either have an excellent propaganda gift or they will quickly and quietly deploy a Sword of Damocles of their own. Wonderful. We can have a new kind of war. You men love that. Instead of killing each other, we will sterilize one another's populations. Slow extinction. Barren couples going childless to their graves. Children growing up without younger brothers or sisters. In ten, fifteen years, there will be no more children. In twenty, we will exist in a world of adults. In eighty or so years the last doddering remnants of the human race will be living out their final years. What will they do? Will they bemoan you fools who made it all come to pass, or will they fight toothlessly to be the last living human on earth?"
Anna Chutesov's voice carried a passionate intensity that was more damning than her shouting. She looked about the room. The men avoided her eyes. Their scheme, which had seemed so magnificent, so brilliant, in the research-and-development stage, had been laid before them in all its embarrassing idiocy.
"What then?" Anna repeated.
The General Secretary broke the silence. His voice was low and disturbed. " 'What then' cannot concern us now. It may be that the Sword of Damocles was an imperfect idea. Later, we shall have that discussion. Now we must recover or destroy the Sword before its secrets are laid bare. I have sent a formal letter of protest to the United States, demanding the immediate return of the Yuri Gagarin and its crew."
"They will ignore it," said Koldunov bitterly.
"They have already answered. They admitted that the Gagarin landed at Kennedy International Airport in New York City. They insist that it took off again after picking up an unidentified person, possibly an American."
"This makes no sense," Anna said. "Who is flying that craft, if not one of the crew?"
"Three men went up on the Gagarin. A fourth has taken over. We cannot discount any possibility, no matter how incredible. It will be your task, Anna, to resolve this crisis. You have done good work in America before. I am calling on you once again to serve Mother Russia. You will have all the resources of the KGB at your disposal."
"We can land a commando team near New York, by submarine," said the KGB head confidently.
"Weren't you listening?" Anna said acidly. "The Gagarin is no longer in New York City. It flew away. And no bold military maneuvers, please. They give me a headache. I will fly to New York City. I have a contact high in the infrastructure of the American Intelligence apparatus. This contact will be the first one they will send to investigate the Gagarin's landing. I know how they work over there. I will find my contact and he will lead me to the Gagarin."
"What about my role?" demanded the KGB head.
"Your people will enter America quietly. Fly to Mexico. Dress your men-a small team, please-in peasant clothes and have them walk across the border dressed as migrant workers."
"That will not do. If they are seen, their equipment will give them away."
"They will not carry weapons, idiot. Why do you always have to do something so predictable? In America, weapons are as plentiful as rubles. They cross as unarmed workers, Assemble them in a place we will decide on later and await my contacting them. If I need KGB help-which I deeply, sincerely hope will not come to pass-I will supply the weapons. If I do not, they will sneak back over the border without the Americans ever suspecting they were in their country. Submarine landings by moonlight!"
The General Secretary nodded his implicit agreement. "Anna's plan is sound. It is quiet and I see no serious problems in its implementation. Of course, Anna, you will fly into America under diplomatic cover."
"Immediately," said Anna Chutesov.
The General Secretary looked about the room. "Any objections?" he asked.
There were none. But then, the others all understood it was a rhetorical question. Objections were seldom voiced around the General Secretary. And he so much preferred it to be that way.
Chapter 5
The guard at the entrance gate to Graystone State Prison was not being cooperative.
"Visiting hours are over," he told Remo Williams, who had just sent away the taxi which had brought him from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.
"I don't want to visit one of the regular prisoners," said Remo. "I want to see Dexter Barn."