“You’re sure?”
“Well, that’s just me I’m talking about. I’ve got to get out and check out the bird yet.”
“Yeah, I think she’s going to be all right.”
Marvin Brackman called Vitaly Sheremetevo himself. They were peers in that each was responsible for a major command, and Brackman thought that, during the New Germany crisis, they had become strong acquaintances, if not good friends.
Milly Roget, Brackman’s secretary of so many years that neither of them mentioned them, announced the completion of the call on the intercom. “General Sheremetevo is on line two, General.”
“Thank you, Milly.”
He punched the blinking button and picked up the phone. “Hello, Vitaly.”
“Hello, Marvin. It is good to hear from you.”
“I’m afraid I only make a call to you when it involves business.”
“Yes, I know. Does this relate to the information we provided to Colonel Pearson?”
“It does. I won’t keep you in the dark, Vitaly, but I’d like our discussion to remain confidential.”
“For as long as we might keep it so?” Sheremetevo asked.
“Yes. That’s the way it usually works.”
“I will attempt to keep my lips sealed, as the Americans say.”
“One of our MakoSharks was stolen.”
After a short pause, Sheremetevo said, “Ah, yes. And you now have five or six suspects.”
“Plus we have some other names we’d like to know more about.”
“I will help if I can.”
Brackman pulled the yellow legal pad with Thorpe’s notes close. “General Chestnoy?”
Sheremetevo laughed. “A doddering old fool. He is retired, Marvin. A forced retirement at that. The last time I saw him, it was in a restaurant in Moscow where he was attempting to convince a waiter that he was an air marshal.”
Brackman drew a line through the name.
“General Guriev?”
“The opposite of Chestnoy. He has just received his second star, and he has the difficult position of military liaison to the Ukraine government. He is an intelligent man.” Another line.
“How about Shelepin?”
“Anatoly Guryanovich Shelepin” Sheremetevo said. “I know the man. Or rather, I knew him.”
“He is no longer on active duty?”
“No, he is not. There was speculation that he might have played a role in the… unpleasantness, or at the least, supported the position.”
“Is he being prosecuted?”
“No. I don’t believe there was sufficient evidence, Marvin, and at any rate, he is no longer with us.”
“I see,” Brackman said, drawing a line through the name on the pad.
“He disappeared while on an inspection tour.”
“Crash?”
“Who knows? The airplane, an Antonov An-72, its crew, his wife Yelena Shelepin, and several of his aides all disappeared at the same time.”
Brackman circled the name.
“I see. Without a trace?”
“Without a trace.”
“What was his job, Vitaly? If I might ask?”
“Your CIA probably has more information than I do. He was at Stavka, and to my knowledge, had something to do with clandestine projects. Beyond that, I’m afraid that I cannot help you.”
Brackman scanned down through the notes. It helped that David Thorpe had a precise handwriting, infinitely superior to his own.
“Shelepin seems to have had a strong influence in the career of Alekander Maslov.”
“Maslov. I recognize the name from the list provided by Colonel Volontov, Marvin, but I do not know the man or his connections with Shelepin. It is common, however, for persons of influence to adopt a protégé.”
“It happens here, too, Vitaly,” Brackman said, thinking about how often he had kept McKenna out of trouble. “The last name I have is Dneprovsky.”
“Igor Dneprovsky. He is currently the military attaché to the ambassador to Great Britain.”
“All right, good. Thank you, Vitaly. This is quite helpful.”
“I appreciate your not asking for it,” Sheremetevo said, “but it may be possible for me to obtain a copy of Shelepin’s file. If so, I will forward it to you. Or to your Colonel Pearson?”
Documentation on general officers would be difficult for a peer officer to obtain.
“I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way,” Brackman said, meaning take a risk. “But I’m sure it would be of some value to Pearson.”
“It might be interesting if we could resolve the mystery of his disappearance. As well as some other mysteries.”
“Others?”
“Shelepin associated with other persons of influence in the past years, many of whom also escaped the prosecutor’s examination.”
“I see.”
“There are several, but generals Sergei Pavel of the KGB and Oleg Druzhinin of the Air Force come immediately to mind. All are of the same philosophical leanings.”
Meaning political leanings, Brackman understood.
“There are some,” Vitaly Sheremetevo continued, “in our central government and in several of the republics who strongly believe that we should pick up after our own dogs, if you understand?”
“I understand”
“I would therefore appreciate knowing of anything you might learn.”
“I just made up a calling list, Vitaly. You’re at the top of it.”
Army Master Sergeant Val Arguento accompanied Amy Pearson on her first security tour of the station as deputy commander. The physical — environmental and structural — integrity of the satellite was the responsibility of Brad Mitchell, but the command officers were assigned to the once-a-day inspection duties. It was a frequently shifted roster since Kevin McKenna managed to foul it regularly by being absent when his turn came up.
Every seam, every hatch, and every fuel cell was inspected, along with the readings on the localized sensors intended to detect leakage. The orange hatchways to the specialized spokes, with entries and exits recorded by the keypad access panels, were inspected for utilization by military personnel and for attempts at unauthorized entrance.
At one time, the inspectors initialed sheets of paper placed near each inspection point. Now, however, since Polly Tang had devised the new electronic system, the inspection team members each keyed in their personal access code on a remote communications box, and the report went directly into the mainframe computer.
In the module on the end of Spoke Nine, Pearson said hello to the two technicians manning the controls of the nuclear reactor, then floated about the small space — the reactor occupied most of the sixty-foot-long module — and checked conduit, bulkhead seals, and the access log. Arguento surveyed the pertinent reactor readouts among the controls, monitors, and status lights on the complex console and went over the past day’s log with Navy Lieutenant Otis Rogers. When Pearson and Arguento had each completed their portion of the inspection, they keyed their codes into the computer system, then pressed the pad labeled “INSPECTION OKAY.”
The computer automatically assigned the date and time and recorded the information in its data banks, simultaneously updating the visual readouts in the Maintenance Office and the Command Center.
As Arguento opened the hatch into the spoke, the speaker on the communications panel on the bulkhead blared, “Colonel Pearson, are you there?”
She pulled herself close to the panel, “I’m right here, Donna.”
“We’ve got all kinds of classified data starting to come in for you.”
She looked at the clock on the panel. “It’ll be another hour before I’m finished. Anything pressing?”
“I can’t tell,” Amber said.
Arguento said, “I can finish the tour, Colonel.”