“What, for Christ’s sake?” shouted the frustrated diver.
The aid’s voice didn’t falter.
“World War III!”
Chapter Seven
General Secretary Viktor Rodin was satisfied with the progress of his trip so far. Not only did he continue right on schedule, but his meeting with the naval hierarchy in Petropavlovsk had been most unconstrained. Both his major speech and the subsequent conference were completed without incident.
An amicable banquet was followed by a welcomed, sound night’s sleep. He awoke rested and anxious to get on with the second half of his flight.
As always, Olga Tyumen’s organizational expertise allowed them to take off with a minimum of delay.
Having Admiral Sorokin aboard the flying Kremlin was a welcomed diversion. For the first two hours of the flight, as the massive IL-76 soared eastward over the blue Pacific, the two men shared tea and a revealing conversation. Rodin was proud of the fact that he had been able to get Sorokin talking about himself. His tongue loosened by the Premier’s clever probing, the whitehaired admiral gave a detailed review of his naval career. Careful to emphasize the disastrous international implications of a weak Russian Navy, Sorokin explained why command of the seas was so important today.
Currently, the admiral’s pet project was the building of the Motherland’s first fixed-wing aircraft carrier. Though past Soviet naval tacticians were reluctant to give such ships their due respect, Sorokin felt otherwise. Quick to relate incidents where American carrier groups were of instrumental importance, Sorokin justified his department’s current expense requests.
The old-timer’s arguments were cleverly presented, and the Premier understood why the man was such a success in his chosen field. Past premiers would have been extremely grateful for his expert advice.
Without having to question his motives, they would have felt confident in okaying the admiral’s requests without serious objections.
Unfortunately for Sorokin, Viktor Rodin was far from being representative of the old leaders.
As he gazed across the conference table at the ruddy-cheeked man opposite him, Rodin considered the manner in which he could most effectively express his personal goals. He knew that he would have to be respectful yet firm. He would have to make the admiral realize that aircraft carrier task forces would be of little value in a world without the constant threat of warfare. In five more hours they would be landing in Los Angeles, and the fated meeting of minds that would ensure global peace would come to pass.
Would the admiral be satisfied with his new position in the world order that was to follow? As guardian of the peacetime maritime realm, he would have tremendous responsibilities. Just as important as his wartime duties, a new front was to be drawn against humanity’s true adversaries: hunger, disease, and unrestrained pollution of the world’s fragile environment. A man with the admiral’s talents for getting things done would be greatly appreciated. Yet Rodin couldn’t help but fear that Sorokin was firmly tied to the generation that would label these aims as foolish and naive. Rodin was readying himself for the difficult task of convincing his respected guest that a new, enlightened day had dawned, when a soft electronic tone sounded. Politely, he excused himself to answer the desktop telephone.
“This is the General Secretary.”
The voice on the other end was masked by a persistent blast of throaty static.
“Sir, this is General Kirovakan at PVO headquarters. We have a satellite transmission for you coming in via the Hot Line from the United States.”
Surprised, Rodin took a seat behind his desk and said, “Very well.
General. Please be so good as to make the necessary connections.”
Over a loud burst of static, Kirovakan responded.
“At once, sir. Please hold on while the call is calibrated.”
A steady, pulse like hum replaced the crackle of static as Rodin sat back to await his unexpected caller. He had utilized this means of communications only twice before. Once, to receive President Palmer’s invitation to visit America, and a second time to accept it. Neither of these calls had been initiated while he was airborne. Rodin sat forward as the line was suddenly activated.
“General Secretary Rodin, this is President Palmer calling from Los Angeles. Can you hear me all right?”
“Yes, Comrade, I hear you fine. I hope that nothing has occurred to interfere with our meeting.”
Rodin looked up in time to see the admiral’s reaction to these cautious words. Sorokin’s eyes were locked on his own.
“That’s something that you’ll have to tell me, Comrade Rodin,” returned the strong, deep voice of the American President.
“Several minutes ago, I received a call from Admiral Miller, Commander of our Pacific Fleet. I’m afraid that he had some disturbing news.
Less than an hour ago, a Soviet IL38 relay plane ditched in the Pacific near Midway Island. A single survivor was picked up by one of our helicopters and transferred to the carrier John F. Kennedy, where he is at present.”
“I thank you for your cooperation in saving this aviator,” interrupted Rodin.
“Yet, what does this have to do with our imminent summit?”
“That is the confusing part,” the President said.
“It seems this survivor was most eager to convey to us information of a puzzling nature. The man swears that he was the innocent victim of a conspiracy that led to the death of the plane’s pilot and the abandoning of the aircraft, by parachute, of the two men responsible.”
“What kind of conspiracy is this?” quizzed the puzzled Premier.
Robert Palmer cleared his throat.
“This particular IL-38’s primary mission was to act as a communications relay station between Soviet naval command and your patrolling submarines. According to the rescued airman, minutes before those two men jumped from that plane a signal was apparently sent — informing a submarine called the Vulkan that a state of war existed between our two countries.”
The President paused for a moment, then continued.
“This message included a specific missile launch release code, which the survivor swears was received — and subsequently verified — by this very same vessel.”
Again Palmer cleared his throat.
“I don’t have to tell you, sir, that if this is indeed the case, the consequences could be quite disastrous. Please, Comrade General Secretary, I implore you to share with me all that you know of this grave incident. The future of the entire planet is at stake here.”
Rodin was speechless. When he finally gathered words for a response, his tone was tinged by disbelief.
“President Palmer, I understand your concern and beg for your patience.
As unbelievable as it may seem, this is the first that I’ve heard of any such episode having taken place. Please excuse me for a few minutes while I contact my staff and get to the heart of this matter.
You have my word of honor that I will get back to you as soon as I have a better understanding of just what is going on here.”
The American President solemnly agreed to this, and Rodin, thoroughly shaken, broke the connection.
For several seconds he merely sat there, eyes transfixed on the blue sky visible outside the plane’s windows. Sorokin broke through his confused ponderings.
“What’s the matter. Comrade Rodin? You look as if you have just gotten off the phone with the devil himself.”
Slowly, the Premier turned his head and met the admiral’s stare.
“That was none other than President Robert Palmer. I’m having trouble believing what the man has just told me. Comrade Sorokin, is it possible that one of our relay planes could have inadvertently passed on a set of launch orders to a missile-carrying sub?”