At Burdovsky's invitation the two Americans removed their greatcoats, and all six seated themselves at the table. Madden raised his finger to the Russian captain with a pad on his knee, pen poised above it.
"There will be no official transcript of these proceedings."
He was pointing to the captain but speaking to the colonel. After a slight shrug Burdovsky nodded and waved his flabby pink hand. The captain closed the pad and placed it on the blotter.
Madden smiled inwardly. It probably made little difference. The stateroom would be wired, fust as Major Jones was wired--a microcas-sette taped underneath his armpit with a metallic-thread audio pickup woven into the green-and-gold cravat at his throat. The Russians certainly knew that Madden knew the room was bugged. They also knew that he knew that they knew that one of the Americans had a recording device concealed about his person.
The Soviets had their masters to report to, just as he had his.
"We appreciate your act of good faith," said Burdovsky, "in permitting us to see your computer predictions. They are from your facility in Colorado, yes?"
"That's right. DELFI. As we were at pains to point out, Colonel, this material has hitherto been on the Pentagon's classified list." Madden's pale blue eyes were fixed on Burdovsky's fat round moon of a face. He might have been observing an inanimate object. "The material remains highly confidential, to be divulged only to senior staff officers of our respective defense departments. I trust that is clearly understood."
Colonel Burdovsky raised his sparse eyebrows. "Of course, of course," he said jovially, though there was a harder glint in the tiny slitted eyes. "You Americans. You imagine the rest of the world is backward. We have very advanced computers also, capable of similar calculations. The information was not entirely new to us, Colonel Madden. It is not the information we appreciate, you must understand, as much as the act of releasing it."
"Is that why you decided to cancel Project Arrow?"
"Not cancel," Burdovsky amended gently, holding his hand up. "Postpone. Our policy is much like your own--I am speaking of DEPARTMENT STORE, of course. Your missiles and tankers with their bacteriological payloads are still operational, are they not?"
Madden smiled thinly. He had learned it was the best way to counter a thrust that had struck home. Also it gave him time to think. "Do you wish to review our respective defense strategies, Colonel, or shall we get closer to the ball?"
"Closer to the ball?" Burdovsky repeated with a frown. He glanced right and left at the stolid faces on either side, and then at Madden across the table. "What is that?"
"It means shall we get down to business." Madden turned his wrist to look at his watch. "We have two hours and forty-one minutes to rendezvous. I'd like to accomplish something in the time left to us."
Colonel Burdovsky said something in Russian and clicked his blunt fingers. The captain got up and brought a japanned box of Davidoff No. 1 cigars to the table. He then found four large glass ashtrays and felt mats, which he went to some pains to space equidistantly.
When Madden refused a cigar Burdovsky selected one for himself and accepted a light from the captain. He smoked the fat cigar through pursed lips, as a schoolboy might puff at his first cigarette. "Please," he waved, expansive now. "Let us get closer to the ball."
Madden said, "Major Jones is scientific liaison officer attached to ASP. He has a doctorate in climatology. I take it you have a scientific officer present."
Burdovsky gestured with the cigar to the two men on his left. "Major Ivolgin and Lieutenant-Colonel Salazkin. Both are members of the Academy of Sciences. I think that between us"--he drew on the cigar and released a curling blue ball of smoke--"we shall understand whatever you have to say."
Madden leaned forward, his nicely shaped hands clasped together on the blotter. He began to speak in a flat, clipped voice, knowing precisely what he had to say and how it should be expressed. He had rehearsed until word-perfect.
Both their countries had attained the status of potential global overkill by means of their respective environmental war strategies. In many respects this was identical to the nuclear stalemate during the latter half of the twentieth century. Then as now neither power dared inflict its own particular method on the other, not only for fear of retaliation but because the aggressor faced the same risk as the recipient. No one stood to win. Both would ultimately lose.
In the last ten years a new factor had emerged. The evidence was no longer in dispute that the earth's environment was undergoing a radical change. Even the most cautious scientists were agreed that man's activities had altered the natural dynamic forces that powered the biosphere.
Although the cause of this was a complex interaction of many diverse factors, it was clear that the principal effect was a substantial reduction in the amount of oxygen produced by photosynthesis in the oceans. The most up-to-date estimates showed that between 60 and 75 percent of phytoplankton growth had been killed off. Taking the most conservative figure, this meant that the oceans were at present supplying only 40 percent of their previous oxygen yield. Added to that, the equatorial forests, which had once supplied one quarter of the earth's oxygen requirement, were now virtually defunct. Their total contribution could be measured in fractions of a percent.
The conclusions were inescapable. The remaining 40 percent supplied by the oceans was insufficient to meet current rates of consumption. Mankind was existing on the stock of oxygen presently in the atmosphere, which wasn't being replenished quickly enough.
"Our studies have shown that there isn't an adequate supply to continue to support the present world population of six billion people," Madden concluded, his voice quiet and unemotional in the softly purring stateroom. "Someday the oxygen will run out. That day is soon."
Colonel Burdovsky had been leaning back in the chair and smoking his cigar like an aristocrat. Now he turned his head sideways so that the two Americans could see the fleshy pouch that sagged from his chin to where it was trapped by the high collar of his tunic. The fleshy pouch shook as he spoke for some time with the scientists. Madden's Russian was scant and he only managed to pick out the odd word--climate, oxygen, threat.
The rest passed him by; not that it mattered.
"Can I get you a glass of water, sir?" Major Jones asked him, reaching out. Madden shook his head. Major Jones took one of the tumblers and began to peel off the plastic wrapper.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Getting myself some water, sir."
A muscle rippled in Madden's lean cheek. "Not unless they drink first," he said through clenched teeth.
Major Jones blinked and swallowed and replaced the partly unwrapped tumbler on the tray.
Colonel Burdovsky turned back. "Our findings are in accordance with yours," he said complacently.
Like hell they are, thought Madden.
"But there is a question I should like to ask. You say in your study that DELFI predicts twenty to twenty-five years before this effect takes place--before the oxygen is finished. Yes?"
"The most accurate forecast we've been able to obtain with existing data is 2028 to 2033. That's assuming the deterioration in the climate doesn't get any worse than what we've allowed for." Madden added deliberately, "If it does, the prediction could be ten years out--on the wrong side."
"Ten years!" Colonel Burdovsky removed his cigar and stared. "You say a possible miscalculation of ten years?"
"We've had to make certain assumptions as to the rate of decline, but there's no guarantee that the rate will stay as plotted. It could become more acute--in other words speed up--or it could level out."