Zhilinkhov started to respond, then fell silent as the president continued.
“Secretary Zhilinkhov, before we can proceed with any meaningful dialogue, I have to insist on a condition.” The president looked straight into Zhilinkhov’s eyes. “Now. Immediately, Secretary Zhilinkhov.”
“What is this, you say, condition?” Zhilinkhov was no longer smiling.
“Turn back your bomber groups. Now, Mister Secretary. The groups approaching our east and west coasts. We cannot talk under a cloud of threats and provocations.”
The president stared, unblinking, at Zhilinkhov. The Russian clamped his jaws together, looked down at his briefing notes, then back to the president.
The room grew quiet, everyone waiting for the Soviet leader’s reply.
Zhilinkhov, without speaking to the president, turned to his foreign minister, Nebozka Vuyosekiev. “Send the message. The groups are to turn back immediately.”
“Yes, Comrade Secretary,” the burly Vuyosekiev replied, rising from his chair, motioning for an aide.
“Report back,” Zhilinkhov ordered as the foreign minister and his top aide conferred at the end of the table.
The crowd was hushed while the two men spoke in low tones. The military officer snapped to attention, saluted Vuyosekiev, turned on his heel, then briskly walked out of the hangar.
The president, inwardly pleased and relieved, waited for Zhilinkhov to speak.
“It is done, Mister President, in good faith. I am a reasonable man, as you can see.” Zhilinkhov beamed a deceptive smile.
“Your quick response is sincerely appreciated, General Secretary Zhilinkhov. A step in the direction of peace.”
Zhilinkhov only nodded, smiling.
The president turned to Herb Kohlhammer, his secretary of state. “Herb, downgrade to Defense Condition-Three immediately. On my authority.”
“Yes, Mister President,” Kohlhammer replied, turning to his aide.
Zhilinkhov smiled at the president. It made no difference to him if the Americans went to their condition-three status. He already had the information he needed. The Americans were honest and gullible. They would react to the threats. The plan would work. Russia would soon rule the world.
The Kremlin boss continued smiling, genuinely this time. “Mister President, your initiative is gratifying to the people of Russia. We have made a great beginning working together.”
The president returned the smile. “Let us hope we can resolve our other differences too, General Secretary Zhilinkhov.”
“Oh, we can, Mister President. I assure you that every effort will be made to correct the current situation.”
The general secretary of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Communist party felt pride in not lying to the naive American. Deception was not regarded as lying in the Soviet government.
Chapter Ten
General Matuchek sat in the briefing room listening to the operations officer and the intelligence chief. The staff intel officer was speaking.
“General, the French Spot Earth resources satellite has photographed five Soviet Typhoon submarines leaving their secret base at Gremikha, on the Kola Peninsula. All of this activity has taken place in the past fourteen hours.”
“Go on, Colonel,” Matuchek urged.
“These subs, General, are the largest in the world. They’re five hundred fifty-eight feet long and carry twenty SS-N-20 ballistic missiles, which have a range of more than five thousand miles.”
“Where are these subs now?” Matuchek asked, writing notes on his briefing folder.
“We don’t know, sir. Probably headed for the center of the northern Atlantic. Each missile carries six to nine multiple independently targetable nuclear warheads.”
The officer paused, seeing Matuchek leafing through his folder. “General, they are capable of striking North America and Western Europe even when docked at their home port in Gremikha.”
“Please continue, Colonel,” Matuchek requested, looking at the last page of the report.
“At least eleven other subs — mostly Delta- and Yankee-class boats — have left port too. Another Typhoon, in the final stages of construction, is preparing to leave the shipyard at Severomorsk. Sir, missiles have already been loaded on that particular Typhoon and the boat has never been to sea.”
“What do you read from this?” Matuchek placed his pen on the table and folded his arms.
“Sir, the submarine bases at Polyarnyy and Petropavlovsk are empty, along with the secret base at Gremikha. The Soviets protect their fleet, especially the Typhoons, like mother hens. I believe, sir, they’re going to use these weapons on us.”
Matuchek glanced at his watch, keeping in mind his briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff in eight minutes.
“Colonel,” Matuchek hesitated, “you may be absolutely correct. However, our immediate threat is the approaching Soviet bombers. They can do a lot of damage with their nuclear cruise missiles.”
“I couldn’t agree more, General. Their long-range airborne missiles do constitute a tremendous threat to our major coast cities, especially if they’re used in conjunction with nuclear weapons launched from submarines.”
“What is your recommendation, Colonel?” Matuchek continued, not waiting for a reply. “The submarine problem is not a NORAD priority, as you well know, until the missiles break the surface of the water.”
“I recognize that, General. My recommendation is to push the Joint Chiefs to focus more ASW coverage in the North Atlantic. The Russians can sit out there, with near impunity, and blast the hell out of Europe and North America. We really need all the naval air coverage we can concentrate in the North Atlantic.”
The small briefing room remained quiet while Matuchek organized his thoughts. “Okay, Colonel, I’ll suggest a stepped-up effort. The Navy isn’t going to appreciate the Air Force recommending any …” Matuchek paused. “You get the picture?”
“Yessir. We need a more concerted naval effort, though, or we’re going to be vulnerable in the midsection.”
“Alright, Jim. I appreciate all the work you and Matt have done. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matuchek reached for the door handle leading to the private, sealed room where he would confer with the Joint Chiefs in three minutes.
As he swung the door open, a loud horn blared, startling him. The raucous sound signified a change in the Defense Condition.
Matuchek changed course, almost jogging, as he stepped onto a narrow threshold overlooking the central operations room. The two briefing officers followed closely behind.
CINCNORAD stared at the status board, then audibly sighed. A large DEFCON-Three display had replaced the Defense Condition-Two light.
“Well, things are looking up,” Matuchek said as he turned to reenter the sealed briefing room.
The two younger officers were visibly relieved, grins creasing their faces.
Dimitri stood by the row of trees, nervously glancing up and down the street. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again while he watched the parking area where the American had disappeared.
His numbed mind tried to sort out what had happened in the past two hours. It seemed like ages since he had slept in his bed, or, more importantly, had a cigarette. He had left them in Wickham’s apartment in their hasty escape.
Dimitri thought about Svetlana momentarily, then snapped back to the present when the dark Lada, bearing government markings, pulled alongside the curb.
“LET’S GO,” the American shouted in Russian, barely stopping the car.
Dimitri bolted into the automobile, catching his coat in the door. Wickham roared into traffic as Dimitri opened the door and freed his coat.