If Georgi wanted to push the launch button himself on the rockets — hell, if he wanted to work on the pad in the snow to mate the Space Head Modules to the launch vehicles in their silos — well, as far as Alex Verbov was concerned, that was his right.
But Alex was growing suspicious about one aspect of his boss’s focus.
The two men met daily in Georgi’s office. Here they had worked together on nearly every facet of the launch since Safronov returned from his vacation. Verbov had commented repeatedly on his boss’s lean physique after three and a half weeks at a dude ranch somewhere in the western United States. Georgi looked fitter, even if his arms and hands were covered with old cuts and bruises. Cattle roping, Georgi had confided in Aleksandr, was incredibly tough work.
Verbov had asked to see a picture of his boss in a Stetson and chaps, but Georgi had demurred.
This day, like every other, they sat at Georgi’s desk and sipped tea. Both men had high-end laptops open, and they worked both together and independently as they dealt with one aspect or another of the upcoming launches.
Alex said, “Georgi Mikhailovich, I have the last of the confirmations that the tracking stations will be online on the required dates. Two southern launches, one northern launch.”
Georgi did not look up from his laptop. “Very good.”
“We also received the updated spacecraft transit electrical link schematic, so we can troubleshoot any problems with the interface of the American satellite.”
“Okay.”
Alex cocked his head to the side. He hesitated for more than half a minute before he said, “I need to ask you a question.”
“What is it?”
“The truth is, Georgi … Well, I am beginning to have some suspicions.”
Georgi Safronov’s eyes left his laptop and locked on the heavy man across the desk. “Suspicions?”
Alex Verbov shuffled in his chair. “It’s just that … you don’t seem as interested in the actual spacecraft and the orbit of the SC as you do the launch itself. Am I correct in this?”
Safronov closed his computer and leaned forward. “Why do you say that?”
“It just seems this way. Is there something bothering you about the launch vehicles for these flights?”
“No, Alex Petrovich. Of course not. What are you getting at?”
“Honestly, my friend, I am somewhat suspicious that you are less than pleased with my recent work. Specifically, regarding the LVs.”
Georgi relaxed slightly. “I am very happy with your work. You are the finest launch director in the business. I am lucky to have you working on the Dnepr system and not the Protons or Soyuz craft.”
“Thank you. But why are you so disinterested in the spaceflight?”
Safronov smiled. “I confess that I know I could leave this all in your hands. I just prefer working on the launch. The technology for this has not changed so much in the past fifteen years. The satellites and communications and tracking systems have been updated since my time in your job. I have not been keeping up with as much of my technical reading as I should. I am afraid I would not do as good a job as you, and my laziness might show in poor results.”
Alex breathed a dramatic sigh and followed it with a belly laugh. “I have been so worried, Georgi. Of course you could handle the newer technology! Probably better than me. If you like I could take you through some of the new steps to—”
Alex watched Safronov open his laptop again. In seconds he was back at work. While typing furiously he said, “I will leave that part to you while I do what I do best. Perhaps after the triple launch I will have time for tutoring.”
Verbov nodded. Happy that his suspicions had proved totally unfounded. In seconds he himself was back to work, and he did not think of the matter again.
60
Judith Cochrane watched Saif Yasin get up from his concrete bed and make his way toward the Plexiglas wall. A small writing table and a chair had been placed on his side of the glass, and here his phone sat, along with his notepad and pens. On the table next to his concrete bed a tall stack of American law books and other papers were arranged so that he could help the PCI prepare his defense.
The Justice Department had been loosening the strict rules it had set up for the Emir’s defense. It seemed like every day Judy got an e-mail or a call from someone at DOJ allowing her or her client access to more information, to more contact with the outside world, to more resources, in order for the PCI to put on a respectable defense. As soon as the path was cleared for Yasin to move to a federal cell in Virginia, then Judy would petition the court for even more access to classified material she and Saif would need to prove that he had been captured illegally and should therefore be allowed to go free.
Paul Laska had confided in Judy weeks ago that he’d learned from the CIA that the men who took the Emir off the streets of Riyadh were ex — CIA men, working in no official capacity with the U.S. government. This complicated things for both sides of the federal case, but Judy was doing her best to leverage this information to her advantage. Laska had said that Ryan himself had some association with the criminals who kidnapped her client, so Judy was planning on threatening the new administration, promising to bring this relationship into the light to embarrass the President of the United States.
She felt she had Ryan dead to rights, and this would make him want to sweep the Emir back under the rug by fulfilling his campaign promise to turn the man back over to a military tribunal.
But she had a plan to stop that.
“Good morning, Judy. You look wonderful today,” Yasin said as he sat. His smile was attractive, but Judith saw a hint of melancholy in it.
“Thank you. Before we start, I know you might be feeling down today.”
“Because Jack Ryan will be the next President? Yes, I admit it is distressing news. How can your country allow this criminal back into power?”
Judith Cochrane shook her head. “I have no idea. I do not have a single friend or coworker who voted for him, I can promise you that.”
“And yet still he wins?”
Judy shrugged. “Large portions of my country, I am sad to say, are in the hands of racists, warmongers, and ignorant fools.”
“Yes. This must be true, as there seems to be no justice for an innocent man in America,” said the Emir, with a hint of sadness.
“Do not say that. We will find justice for you. I came today to tell you that Ryan’s victory is actually a good thing for your case.”
The Emir cocked his head. “How so?”
“Because Ryan’s friend, John Clark, was one of the men who kidnapped you. Right now the man is a fugitive from justice, but once Kealty’s people capture him, he will be offered immunity to tell everything he knows about who he was working for when you were captured. Jack Ryan will be implicated.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because it is possible Ryan was directly involved. And even if he was not directly involved or aware of your kidnapping, we will use back channels to threaten him. To tell him that, if you are sent to military custody, we will have no other course of action but to try your case in the media, and we will use the fact Ryan gave a secret pardon as evidence Ryan himself wanted John Clark to be free to kill and kidnap innocents. Ryan might win in the court of law, but in the court of public opinion, with the vast majority of the world media on our side, it will be as if President Jack Ryan himself shot you and kidnapped you. He and his administration will have no choice but to acquiesce to our demands.”