The Chairman sat and stared at Smith for several seconds after the Army general finished. He was about to open the floor to questions from other members of the Joint Chiefs when his aide, noting a flashing light on the phone at his side, picked up the receiver.
Turning around, the Chairman waited until the aide, receiver at his ear, looked at his boss, then put his hand over the end of the receiver. "Sir, they're ready with that update you've been waiting for."
Though Fretello had no idea of who "they" were or what the update concerned, it was obvious that it was a showstopper. This was confirmed when the Chairman turned to his fellow service chiefs. "We're going to have to finish this at a later date, gentlemen." Then he looked around the room. "I appreciate your efforts and opinions. As you know," he added after a moment's hesitation, "exercises such as this are, ah, quite useful to us here. Though we may wear all the brass, we don't hold a monopoly on all the best ideas."
While a few of the briefers and straphangers acknowledged the Chairman's stab at humor with a cursory chuckle, none paused as they prepared to clear the room. Within seconds, only the five members of the Joint Chiefs and the Chairman's aide were left. "Okay, Gus," the Chairman muttered to his aide. "Tell them we're ready."
Two officers, an Air Force major general and an Army colonel, entered, using a door opposite the one through which the participants of the exercise had filed out. The colonel carried a thin folder from which he pulled prepared briefing slides. Quickly, quietly, he laid them out before each member of the Joint Chiefs. Even before he had finished, the Air Force major general began. "We are now reasonably sure that the events of the past few days have been resolved. The assault on the command-and-control bunker of the rebellious rocket regiment was successful. The ICBM's controlled by that facility have all been secured by troops loyal to Moscow and stood down."
The Chairman looked up from the annotated satellite photo he had been looking at and stared at the Air Force general. "How sure are you?"
The major general did not respond. Instead, he glanced down at his shoes, shrugged, and waved his right hand about at his side before looking the Chairman in the eye and responding. "We are as sure as we're going to be. Both the CIA and NSA confirm our conclusions. Everything, from satellite imagery to electronic intercepts, as well as analysis of operational traffic, seems to indicate this."
The chairman thought about this for a moment before he asked his next question. "What about the CIA's man in the Kremlin?"
Caught off guard, both the major general and the colonel looked at each other. The fact that the CIA had a contact who was a high-ranking member of the Russian government was one of those secrets no one dared mention, let alone discuss, not even among such high-ranking officers as the Joint Chiefs. That the Chairman would bring this up only highlighted the concern he harbored over the events in Siberia.
Nervously, the Air Force general cleared his throat. Even as he replied to his superior's pointed question, he could not bring himself to admit to the fact that such an agent existed. "Not all CIA sources have confirmed this. sir. They are awaiting additional data before they take this to the President."
While he mulled this over, the chairman looked through the package the colonel had handed out. As he was doing so. the Air Force major general interrupted. "We have been able to confirm that one of the missiles assigned to this regiment is part of Perimeter."
This announcement caused the Chairman to stop what he was doing and look up at the Air Force officer. Slowly, he turned to face the other members of the Joint Chiefs. "It would seem, gentlemen." he announced dryly, "that the little exercise we've been running this morning n «. S justified."
As they nodded in agreement, the Chairman turned his attention back to the package before him. wondering when, and not if. he would have to give the men and women under his command the order to charge the Russian guns.
When the door of the conference room swung open, an Army colonel wailing in the brightly lit corridor snapped to attention. Unlike many of his fellow GRU officers. Colonel Demetre Orlov looked every inch a model soldier. There was no sign of flap or fat anywhere.
Even the taut skin on his freshly shaved face was tan, showing that he spent far more time outside doing, instead of hiding away in a vault theorizing. The colonel's uniform was tailored to complement the slim, muscular physique, the kind that cannot be acquired by generating intelligence reports.
Any doubts about what sort of soldier Orlov was were dispelled by the ribbons, medals, and qualification badges he wore riveted to his chest. The collection of decorations he proudly sported was an unusually robust one. A person able to decipher the special code that the colored ribbons represented could have discerned that this man had been everywhere. Everywhere, that is, where there had been "active" operations. No one, of course, could tell that he had also been involved in operations for which a medal would never be struck.
One man emerged from the room Orlov stood facing. Had the person in a rumpled, dark-blue suit been a younger man, he would have stood a good quarter meter taller than he did. But years of working in the old Communist party, and then for a dizzying rotation of Ministers of Defense, had taken their toll on this man. Both the verbal beatings he had been subjected to over his long career in Russia's byzantine system and the insoluble problems he faced day in, day out, left Yuri Anatov's head perpetually bowed between his sloping shoulders.
This morning was no different. Orlov could see that his superior's head was bowed just a bit lower as he emerged from a long meeting with the current President and the pack of jackals who served as his advisers. Anatov had been called forth, alone, to account for the incident east of the Urals that had paralyzed the Kremlin. Finished now, he was in a hurry to put as much distance between himself and the President as quickly as his short legs could carry him. Without a word being exchanged, Orlov fell in on his superior's left and accompanied him down the hall. The staff and lesser lights moving along the long corridors did not step aside out of respect or fear of the wizened old man who was supposedly one of the most powerful men in the government. Rather, they parted and let the odd pair pass because of Orlov, a man with the charm and demeanor of a trained attack dog, an analogy the GRU colonel intentionally cultivated.
Only when they were outside of the building did they exchange words. "So," Orlov stated crisply, "you have survived yet again!"
The minister of defense stopped abruptly on the steps and stared at the colonel. "Is that what you think this is all about? My personal survival?"
The colonel paused and looked back at the balding man and smiled, unapologetically. He waved his hands in the air. "That is not a bad thing, Minister. Your survival means that others, such as myself, survive."
"Since when," Anatov asked coldly, "did you depend on anyone besides yourself for survival, Colonel Orlov?"
Turning, the colonel continued down the steps, speaking over his shoulder as he did so. "These are very difficult times, Minister. We must depend upon each other if any of us are to live to see better days."
Anatov did not respond or move. Rather, he looked down at the self-assured colonel who had, just days before, "cleaned up" the unfortunate mess that a rebellious colonel in command of a regiment of ICBM's had created. It seemed to the aging bureaucrat that men like himself were always finding themselves dependent upon men like Orlov to bail them out of embarrassing situations.