It took eight minutes for the connection to be made. “This is Vulcan Three,” he said.
“My name is Flower.”
“The aroma is that of the rose.”
“Very good,” the contact said. “It is time?”
“It is time. Deliver the tape.”
Chapter Seventeen
Marvin Brackman had not been home in a week. That wasn’t anything new in his profession, but he found himself thinking about sitting in front of a good log fire with Sheila, with the lights turned low, and with that bottle of Napoleon brandy he had bought fifteen years before finally uncorked. His Irish setter, Sparky, would be curled up at his feet, keeping a wary eye open for the possibility of a treat.
That homey scene was on his mind when he went to bed at the Mayflower at five in the morning, after leaving a wakeup call for 10:00 A.M.
The same scene was on his mind when the phone rang at 8:20 A.M.
He let it ring twice as he sat up on the edge of the bed and scratched the top of his head. Then he picked it up, knowing it was not going to be good news.
“Brackman.”
“Sir, this is Captain Johnson, duty officer, Office of the Air Force Chief of Staff.”
“Go on, Captain.”
“Sir, you have an urgent message to contact Colonel Kevin McKenna on a secure channel.”
“Damn.” It meant driving out to the Pentagon.
“Sir?”
“Send a car for me, will you, Captain?”
“Right away, sir.”
Brackman had taken a shower and had half his face shaved when the phone rang again.
“Brackman.”
“General, White House Chief of Staffs office. You’re wanted in the Situation Room in twenty minutes.”
Something was really going bad, he thought.
“I’ll be there.”
He finished shaving and dressing in a clean uniform, then grabbed his topcoat and briefcase and took the elevator to the lobby. The military sedan was waiting for him directly outside the front doors, the driver standing at attention by the open rear door.
Brackman returned the salute and said, “Change of plans, Sergeant. We’re going to the White House.”
“Yes sir”
His name had been left at the gate, and the driver whisked on through to let him off at the East Wing, right behind the car depositing Harvey Mays.
“What’s up, Harv?” he asked as he got out and joined the Chief of Staff.
“McKenna sent a message about Soyuz Fifty having potential nuclear capability.”
“Shit.”
“My thought, too. Then, I got the call to come here, so I haven’t talked to him.”
As more cars drove through the gate behind them, the two generals entered the door and were met by a Marine who led them downstairs to the Situation Room.
Technicians were coming in, firing up the consoles at the back wall. The Chief of Naval Operations and the National Security Advisor were huddled with a deputy secretary from the State Department. Military aides circled the room like vultures. The buzz of background conversations was ominous. The chairmen of the armed services committees, whom he had spent most of the previous night with, were also in attendance.
It looked like it might be a few minutes before whatever was going to take place did take place, so Brackman headed for a console tended by an Army lieutenant.
“Sir?”
“I want a secure line to Space Command, then a patch to our Tactical Two frequency.”
The connection took less than a minute.
Brackman took the handset from the lieutenant and said, “Delta Blue, Semaphore.”
“Semaphore, this is Alpha,” Pearson said. “PH get him for you.”
Brackman checked his watch. Time seemed to be running by much faster.
“Semaphore, Blue.”
“Tell me.”
McKenna related the details of the Mako wreckage as well as those of their assault on Soyus Fifty.
“Colonel Volontov?”
“We found his helmet.”
“Goddamn. FU have to call Sheremetevo. You think it’s nuclear?”
“The G-2 identified it on the video tapes as the payload and second stages of an SS-X-25,” McKenna said. “Ten MIRVs, five hundred kilotons each.”
Hannibal Cross arrived and was apprehended by the deputy from State.
“Right now, you think it’s disabled?”
“For maybe another hour, if they have a replacement cable. Tony estimates another three hours if they have to repair what we tore up.”
“Recommendation?” Brackman asked.
“I’m taking Blue and Yellow back, and we’ll see if we can’t capture it intact.”
“Themis?”
“Still covered,” McKenna said.
“Approved. Stay in contact.”
Brackman gave the phone back to the lieutenant, then turned to the big boat-shaped table that dominated the middle of the small room.
People were taking seats, security council people and service chiefs at the table and aides on chairs at the wall. Harvey Mays signalled him, and Brackman walked over and sat at the table next to Mays. He quickly and quietly recapped his conversation with McKenna.
Hannibal Cross sat across from him, next to the National Security Advisor who was at the head of the table. He called the room to order, and the buzz died away.
“The President has been at Camp David and is now on his way back, gentlemen. I will go ahead and open the meeting.”
Everyone waited patiently.
“Half an hour ago, a package was delivered to the State Department. It is, supposedly, a copy of a video tape which was to have been delivered to the General Secretary of the United Nations, but we have not yet been able to confirm that. The deputy secretary viewed the tape, then called me. Right now, I want you all to see what’s on it, then we’ll open it up to discussion. Major?”
A Marine major at a podium dimmed the room lights, then started a video tape machine. A large screen against one wall filled with the image of a man seated in a wing-backed, brown leather chair placed in front of a wall papered with a bamboo design.
Because he had only recently reviewed the dossier, Brackman knew the face. It was chunky and hard, the cheekbones padded with extra flesh. The hair was smoothed back from the forehead, and the bright blue eyes were framed by wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a severe dark gray suit, white shirt, and maroon tie.
Brackman leaned toward Mays and said, “Shelepin.”
“No lie? I’d have thought Brezhnev.”
“Same philosophy, Harv.”
The audio was a little scratchy, which detracted from the force of the words, delivered in a stiff English. But not by very much.
“My name is Anatoly Shelepin. I am the General Secretary of the New World Communist Party, and I am Chairman of the Politburo.”
Somebody’s assistant something-or-other at the side of the room laughed. And someone else hushed him.
“By way of this video tape, I address the community of nations so that you will know of our existence, our sincerity, and our resolve.
“The New World Communist Party is now assuming the leadership role for international communism that was abrogated by the traitors of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. We will serve as the rally point for our comrades everywhere in the world.
“Our geographical location should concern no one. We are as much a spirit of the word of Lenin as we are a physical presence. Believe this, however. What we have, we will defend. The New World Communist Party will not lie down in defeat as did the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. We have taken nothing which did not belong to us by right, and we will use whatever force is necessary to protect that which is ours.”
“Like a MakoShark?” Mays asked Brackman.