Chapter Fourteen
The head of the KGB stared rigidly at the phone on his desk, it was almost as if it had just talked to him … by itself. It was an unhappy moment. But it wasn’t the phone that had spoken. It had been the voice of Captain Mersanka in the outer office. Her crisp, no-nonsense voice had come over the desk communicator — a shock, since his mind had been a million miles away — to report that the commandant of Lubyanka Prison, his own prison, the KGB’s dreaded Lubyanka, wished to speak with him on the phone. He’d automatically reached for the instrument before realizing that he’d left strict orders that no calls be forwarded to him, at least none from those junior to him. There was enough to be concerned over without being bothered by incidentals.
He depressed the button to open the line to her desk. “I said no calls, Captain.” He kept his voice low and the words were spoken as if he were talking to a child.
“Yes, sir.” There was no change in her voice. There never was, nor would there be if she could help it. Captain Mersanka had been chosen for this job for her lack of emotion and her ability to put off some of the most important people in the Soviet Union. “I said you were not taking calls, sir, but he interrupted me to explain how vital this was.” She paused to make it clear that she had made a decision for him. “It is vital, sir.” Still no emotion to convey the real reason that she’d violated his orders.
“Very well,” he answered wearily. He placed extreme trust in Mersanka and would continue to do so. Her judgment was faultless. It had been a lousy day so far, and a call from his own Lubyanka made the remaining hours seem even more ominous. He lifted the phone. “Yes.” This time his voice carried the irritation of someone being interrupted at something very important by a junior.
“My apologies, General.” The commandant rushed along without the niceties he normally began such a conversation with. “I have some unexpected visitors who have been placed in my custody … General Malik, for one …”
The commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces!
“… who is in the isolation section after what appears to be a drug overdose of some kind. Also General Surkov.…”
The assistant to the Minister of Defense!
The commandant paused to catch his breath. “I understand from a contact within the General Secretary’s office that there will be more.…”
What was the General Secretary doing! How could this be done without the head of the KGB? And his own prison! There were a few other names the commandant provided before he finally paused to catch his breath, though none as important as Malik or Surkov. And right under his nose, without his knowledge. But it was obvious that the older, more conservative ones were the victims of … of what? Why was this taking place when the nation was in a position of extremis? Why…?
“On whose orders?” the KGB chief growled. “Where are the orders coming from?” But he already knew the answer if the commandant had a contact in the General Secretary’s office.
“An accusation of treason,” the commandant responded with gravity, “from the General Secretary is all that is needed in a situation like this.”
The man couldn’t have known about the loss of the American submarines, or the discussions that had been taking place among that very select gathering in the General Secretary’s office. None of that group had been selected for imprisonment, but some of those who supported them had been. The commandant would, of course, be accepting of any order that came from the General Secretary. The next step would be to call around until he found out why this purge was taking place. And his own prison … without his knowledge….
The KGB head hung up the phone without another word. He wasn’t about to provide any comment that the commandant could use, and the man was obviously fishing. Let him find out from someone else. But what the hell was the General Secretary doing? Was he sending a message to the Americans? No, not in this manner. It would take too long for the U.S. underground apparatus to learn of this. He had to be solidifying his position to…to what?
He wondered who the commandant would call next. Today was probably the greatest day in the man’s career, or at least the most prestigious haul even for a prison of that stature. The man was persistent, and he would keep up his calling and questioning until he was satisfied. Something of this magnitude was a forecast of even greater things to come.
Then another thought struck the head of the KGB. How many more were going to end up in Lubyanka? And, if he hadn’t been allowed to be part of this plan, not even notified that a major change in policy was taking place under his nose, would he be selected in a future roundup, maybe today, maybe tomorrow?
He pressed the button and told Captain Mersanka, “Have my car brought around to the front. I will be ready in five minutes.” But he was careful not to tell the captain where he intended to go. She was too honest. Once he was in the car, he could use the telephone there to make his calls and find out exactly what was going on. It was much wiser to remain on the move at a time like this.
Simultaneously in another part of Moscow, the General Secretary was enjoying himself immensely for the first time in the past few days. He had done exactly what his wife had recommended — the conservative element within the Kremlin was under close control for the present. He had just given himself the gift of more time to work things out. He still had no idea what the end result would be, but he knew that the Soviet Union would not be prepared to launch a first strike in the next twelve hours. That was probably the maximum amount of time he could buy, unless the Americans allowed him the luxury of more for some unknown reason.
His military was on full alert, but they were also firmly under his control at this moment. This was one of the most important decisions he’d ever made — and it had originated with his wife! Now that he considered the situation more closely, she never had found the commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces appealing. “Too aggressive,” she said. And now he had a general much closer to him assuming command of that element of the military. If a launch became necessary, it would be under his own terms.
“Dear, I’m going to take a nap.” His wife rose to her feet a bit unsteadily. She’d drunk more of that pertsovka than he’d imagined she could. “I don’t think I could keep my eyes open another minute.”
When she left the room, he noted the level of the liquid in the bottle. It was two-thirds empty. He couldn’t believe they’d drunk that much. Luckily, there was more in the freezer in the small apartment attached to his office. And food — that’s what he really needed right now — there was food there and he was feeling very hungry. His stomach always acted up these days whenever he drank like that. A bit of food would make him feel much better, and he was sure it would help his wife when she awoke.
He couldn’t imagine he’d be getting much sleep. And he knew he’d have to call the others soon. The Lubyanka situation would soon be common knowledge around the other offices in the building. They would have to understand there had been a shift in the power structure.
There was one other aspect of the situation he’d been making a specific effort to avoid — the American boomer Florida. She was the final critical target in the Pacific, and her coordinates had been transmitted to that killer submarine before he’d had the opportunity to plan his next moves. Right this moment she could be in the sights of the hunter, unaware that another American submarine was about to send her to the bottom. He wished there was a way she could be warned, but that would be an admission of guilt and more than likely presage a first launch by the United States.