Palmer replied without taking his eyes off the IL76.
“Come off it, Pat. What else can I do with him?”
“Leave him in Los Angeles as a hostage until this crisis is resolved,” Carrigan stated firmly.
“That will give those mutineers something to think about.”
“You know that’s impossible. Pat. I’ve waited two long months for this day. I’m not about to go oft now and leave the Premier out in the cold.”
“I’d say that our current situation warrants some extra thought, Mr. President. I don’t think you planned on having a magazine full of SS-N-18s staring us down the throat. Have you given any more thought as to how we’re going to respond in the event those missiles are released?”
The President glanced to his right and caught Carrigan’s inquisitive stare.
“I don’t exactly have that many options, do I?”
“You could reconsider issuing that launch-on warning directive, sir.
Clearing our ICBMS out of their silos can save them from certain total destruction..
“Jesus, Patrick, you’re not going to start with that again! I’ve already agreed to your suggestion of bringing our strategic forces up to an alert status of DEFCON 3. With all operational subs out to sea, our B-52s dispersed and all Minuteman crews on alert, I think that’s a sufficient show of force at the moment.
Remember, this is an isolated threat we’re facing, not the whole damn Russian Army!”
Carrigan didn’t flinch.
“We still don’t know that fact for certain, Mr. President. The Russian mind works very differently from our own. Don’t forget that we’re talking about the best chess players in the world here. I still can’t help but smell a trap. Since all that the Soviets respect is a firm show of force in return for any aggression on their part, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a variety of target options. If those SS-N18s are launched, at least we’ll be able to take out an equivalent number of Soviet installations.”
“I pray to God that we’ll be able to get a handle on this situation long before we’re forced to start playing that game, Mr. Carrigan.
What’s the latest news from Pearl?”
“Admiral Miller reports that our carrier task force is closing in on the coordinates that Premier Rodin gave us. It’s spearheaded by the Triton, one of our newest attack subs. If the supposed launch position of the Vulkan is correct, we should have an intercept within two hours.”
A slight look of relief crossed Palmer’s face.
“I’ve got a feeling that the U.S. Navy is going to take care of all of our problems for us.”
When the cordon of uniformed policemen lining the exit ramp began to stir, the President backed away from the window.
“It looks like the General Secretary and his party are on their way down. Come on, Carrigan, at least try to put a neighborly smile on that Irish face. These folks came an awfully long way to see us.”
Robert Palmer followed his remark with a playful wink, and his advisor couldn’t help but grin in response. Anxiously, both men walked over to greet the group of dark-suited newcomers who were led by the handsome, nattily dressed figure of Viktor Rodin.
As the President approached his Soviet counterpart, he found himself relieved. The sincere warmth that glowed from Rodin’s dark, intense eyes couldn’t be ignored. They met with a handshake, a hug, and a kiss on each cheek.
“Welcome to America, General Secretary Rodin,” the President said.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this day.”
“The feeling is mutual. Comrade President,” Rodin replied in flawless English.
“I just wish that my arrival could have taken place under different circumstances.
The plight of the Vulkan has cast a dark shadow over this summit of peace.”
“That it has. I don’t suppose you have any updates on your efforts to reach the Vulkan’]” Rodin shook his head gravely.
“As before, our navy is still doing its best to reach them. By the way, I would like you to meet the man who is responsible for this effort, Admiral Stanislav Sorokin.”
Rodin stepped aside and beckoned into the crowd that had followed him out of the gateway. A heavyset, whitehaired officer stepped from the ranks and approached them.
“President Palmer, this is Admiral Stanislav Sorokin, Commander of the Fleet of the Soviet Union.”
The blue-suited naval officer offered the President a cold, emotionless handshake.
Immediately cognizant of Sorokin’s enmity, Palmer did his best to break the ice.
“It is an honor to meet you. Admiral. I have heard nothing but respectful comments concerning you from my own naval officers.
Your foresight and persistent vision are to be admired.”
To this, Sorokin merely nodded and did his best to merge back into the crowd from which he had emerged.
The admiral’s stubborn indifference reminded Palmer of Patrick Carrigan. Though they came from opposite ends of the political spectrum, the two advisors had much in common.
After a quick introduction to the rest of the Premier’s staff. Palmer took Rodin gently by the arm and guided him over to an empty corner.
“I’m afraid that the crisis aboard your submarine has necessitated a change in our original schedule. I believe it’s best for both of us to initiate our meeting in my personal command plane. I have already arranged to have a secured line available for you, connected directly with the PVO underground national command center outside of Moscow.”
The Premier noticed the strain visible on his host’s face, and answered as openly as possible.
“I think that, under the circumstances, this is an excellent idea, Mr. President. There is much that I’d like to share with you, but our privacy and safety must first be assured.”
“Excellent,” returned a noticeably relieved Robert Palmer.
“Because of space limitations, you will be limited to one staff person of your choice. I hope this won’t inconvenience you. General Secretary.”
“That is no trouble at all, Comrade President. I will have my personal secretary, Olga Tyumen, accompany us. And please, call me Viktor.”
Put at ease by his guest’s frankness, Palmer managed a gracious smile.
“I’ll do that only if you will also call me by my first name.”
“Robert it is.”
The man’s charm was infectious. Palmer’s instincts said that it was safe to trust the Premier.
“Well then, Viktor, I think it’s best if we begin our way over to Kneecap at once.”
“Kneecap?”
“I’m sorry, Viktor. That’s merely my plane’s nickname.”
Rodin grinned, then excused himself to inform his staff that he would be leaving them for a while.
Stanislav Sorokin took the news with some alarm, and implored the Premier to have a second with him alone. In the privacy of the jet walkway, the two men solemnly faced each other.
“Comrade General Secretary, why must you go up in the imperialist command plane? This whole mess smells more and more like a certain Yankee trap!”
Rodin answered firmly.
“I disagree with you. Admiral.
Under the circumstances, the President is making the only practical decision. Of course, I’m sorry to have to leave the rest of you in Los Angeles, but that can’t be avoided.”
“And what if I have news of the Vulkanv implored Stanislav.
“It should be easy enough to reach me. Admiral.
The facilities aboard the flying Kremlin should be more than adequate for this task.”
“But the Yankees will surely be listening in!”
“That doesn’t concern me in the least, Admiral Sorokin. This is a predicament that each side shares equally. Just think how you’d feel if the situation were reversed, and it was one of their Tridents off of our coast. So far, the Americans have been most understanding of our inept efforts to contact the Vulkan.