"Excellent," the President said again. "I commend you, Mr. Defense Minister, for your clear thought and planning of a sensible response to this incident."
When the meeting was over, Defense Minister Khromchenkov hung back to catch Foreign Minister Cherov alone. Khromchenkov felt sure he knew Cherov's feelings on what he was about to ask, but one can never be too careful. "Tell me, Comrade Cherov," he said, when he was sure no one could overhear their conversation, "what did you think of my recommendations for a limited response?"
"I think they were well planned… if your intent was to satisfy the wishes of President Perelyakin." Cherov's voice hid nothing; it was obvious that he was not satisfied with Khromchenkov's plan.
"Perhaps you would prefer a response that was a bit… stronger? One which took greater advantage of the opportunity?"
"I had hopes, yes."
"I did prepare an alternate recommendation. Perhaps you would like to have a look." Khromchenkov handed a large unmarked envelope to his fellow minister and left the room.
New York (8:00 a.m. New York, 3:00 p.m. Moscow/Israel)
By 8:00 a.m. New York time, the world was beginning to learn what had actually happened in Israel. Early reports had suggested that the bombing was an accident on the part of the Russians. Many of the Russians had even thought this was the case. Now that it was clear that the attack had been somehow engineered by the Israelis, concern at the U.N. quickly turned to calls for restraint by the Russians.
Jon Hansen had learned early in his political career that the most effective diplomacy is usually carried out in private; the speaker's dais in the hall of the General Assembly was for 'show business.' Still there were times, such as when he had called for the reorganization of the Security Council – a move that was entirely for spectacle – when the dais was indispensable. The present occasion would require both.
It was ingenious that the Israelis could engineer such a maneuver, Hansen thought; it was insane that they'd actually do it. And it was impossible for anyone to tell how the Russians were planning to respond to the attack. Hansen knew enough about Russian politics to know that there would probably be serious discussion of launching some sort of limited nuclear attack in response, but he hoped the moderates would win out. Unfortunately, he could learn nothing more from Russian Ambassador Yuri Kruszkegin, who was playing it very close to the vest.
Unknown to Hansen were the cards in the hand of the small group of men and women deep beneath the streets of Tel Aviv. They were the ones who held history in their hands, along with the control of Israel's nuclear forces and strategic defense.
Moscow (3:15 p.m. Moscow/Israel, 8:15 a.m. New York)
Defense Minister Vladimir Khromchenkov had just walked into the restroom and gone over to one of the urinals when he realized that someone had followed him in. Out of the corner of his eye he recognized Foreign Minister Cherov. Khromchenkov knew at once that this was no chance meeting – he could count on the fingers of his free hand the number of times he had seen Cherov in this wing of the building. Still, it was not wise to make assumptions. "Good afternoon," Khromchenkov said.
Cherov only nodded.
"Have you had a chance to examine my alternate proposal?"
"I have," answered Cherov. "It offers some intriguing possibilities for both the short and long term goals of our country." Cherov's voice said he was interested and Khromchenkov knew it.
"Of course," Khromchenkov said, "such a plan would depend greatly on the response from the Americans. I have made some assumptions, and of course it is all conjecture; I am not an expert in these things." There was no doubt in Cherov's mind that this was said both to fulfill Khromchenkov's obligation to defer to Cherov's position as Foreign Minister and to position himself to shift the blame later if his assumptions on the matter proved incorrect. "Perhaps you would have a different assessment," Khromchenkov suggested, as he left the urinal to wash his hands.
"No. Your assessment seems correct." Cherov said as he joined him at the sink. "Of course we shall never know for sure. It would be impossible to overrule the wishes of President Perelyakin on this matter." Cherov's voice made it clear that he was eager to hear more, if, indeed, there was more to hear.
"I suppose you are correct," Khromchenkov said with an insincere sigh, and then added, "On the other hand, were it to be proposed by the right member of the Security Council, there are doubtless others who would follow."
"The right member?" Cherov asked, wanting Khromchenkov to confirm what he seemed to be suggesting.
"Yes, someone who could offer the strong leadership required to lead the Russian Federation, should the President find it, er… impossible to support the view of the majority."
There was now no doubt about what he was suggesting. Khromchenkov's plan was obvious: Cherov was 'the right member.' President Perelyakin would obviously oppose the plan. That was the easy part. The difficult part – impossible, unless it could be prearranged – was to have the majority side with Cherov. Perelyakin was not a forgiving man. If the plan failed it would cost Cherov dearly.
"Can one be sure of the numbers?" Cherov asked cautiously.
"As sure as one may be of anything," Khromchenkov answered, drying his hands. "There are three members who supported Perelyakin in the past who have confided in me that they do not wish to see an opportunity such as this pass unanswered."
Cherov did a quick tally of the numbers. It suddenly occurred to him that, despite the accuracy of Khromchenkov's math, everything did not add up. Why had not these three members simply gone to Perelyakin to press for a stronger response to the problem?
"And have these members gone to President Perelyakin with their plea?" Cherov asked.
"Yes, of course."
"And he refuses to listen?"
"He listens. He just does not hear. His world is built on caution."
"A sound foundation," Cherov answered.
"Yes, but one that may let destiny slip past unanswered, and ignore an opportunity that would restore Russia to its rightful place as a world power."
"You speak of opportunity. But there is no such opportunity unless your General Serov is successful in regaining control of the Israeli strategic defense."
"True enough," Khromchenkov admitted. "If he does not, then the alternate recommendation will not be made and there is nothing lost. And yet, if he does succeed… we must be ready to act."
Cherov considered Khromchenkov's comment. "I will think on it," he said finally.
Tel Aviv (11:40 a.m. Israel/Moscow, 4:40 a.m. New York)
In the Off-Site Facility the members of Colonel White's team took turns sleeping. It might be days or even weeks before they would see the outside again. Joel was munching on a bag of Tapu potato chips in front of a computer console, and Scott had just stretched out on a cot to rest when something unexpected happened.
"What the hell?" Joel said under his breath. "Colonel White," he called, requesting the team leader's presence.
Colonel White downed the rest of a cup of coffee and walked over to where Joel was sitting. "What's up?" he asked.
Joel moved closer to the console and was studying the computer monitor. "A bad reading, I hope. The master icon for the defense grid just went red."
Colonel White took one look and didn't like what he saw. "Danny, get over here quick," he yelled to one of the two female members of the team.
Danielle Metzger was the one person, other than White, with the most experience in the Off-Site Facility, but unlike the Colonel her work had all been hands-on. She knew the facility inside and out. "SHIT!!" she yelled, in uncharacteristic fashion. The noise woke the three team members who were sleeping. "Quick," Metzger shouted, taking command of the situation, "everybody, we've got a problem!!"
"Tell me what's going on," White ordered.