The stocky general looked up at the former hammer thrower with irritation. "Yes, General Secretary," he replied with a tinge of sarcasm, "we have done it."
Vorontsky then turned to his diminutive partner in the double-breasted suit. "This is marvelous, Vitali. It is hard to believe we will soon possess an American shutde. In one brilliant stroke we will be on our way to parity with the United States. Their spacecraft, their weaponry payload — it will all be ours. It was your plan, my friend. An audacious plan, a fantastic plan, a brilliant plan. You are truly a grandmaster."
Kostiashak gave a modest shrug.
"With this shuttle and its payload," Vorontsky boasted, "my position as General Secretary will be unassailable."
"Unassailable," echoed the little Chairman softly.
"And the Americans can do nothing to stop us now."
Kostiashak's smile was disarming. "Absolutely nothing," he agreed.
The aluminum pipe was retracted from the batwing's fuel vent.
"You're topped off, Ghost Leader," radioed the boom operator. "We'll be here when you get back. Go nail that son of a bitch."
"Roger, Boomer," came the reply, "and thanks. We'll put your name on one of the Paveways. Ghost Leader out."
The KC-10 tanker banked westward, back toward Oman. The stealth bombers would be gone for at least twelve hours, so the tanker crew might as well cool it on the ground for a while.
The two batwings came together in a loose formation and turned due north toward the coast of Iran. Beyond the Shiite nation lay the Soviet Republic of Kazakhstan.
The National Security Council's EXECCOM had convened in the Cabinet Room. Their mood was fatigued, tense, and grim, with an undercurrent of smoldering anger. Admiral Bergstrom was muttering into a red phone. He finally finished and hung up.' 'That was General Dooley from SAC in Omaha. The stealth bombers have just crossed the Iranian coast, Mr. President. After they receive their verification go-ahead signal at the Soviet border, they will proceed to a holding station near the Baikonur Cosmodrome. If the Intrepid comes down before we launch the Kestrel, the bombers will be able to hit it after it lands on the Russians' shuttle recovery runway."
"I'm not sure I understand, Admiral," queried the Secretary of State. "Are you saying there's a chance the Intrepid could come down before the space fighter launches?"
"Yes, sir, there is," replied the old salt. "You see, the Baikonur Cosmodrome is on almost the exact opposite side of the earth from Vandenberg Air Force Base. Just a few longitudinal degrees off the identical meridian. That means our launch window from Vandenberg is the same as the Intrepid's reentry window to Baikonur — except for one difference."
"And what would that be?" asked the Treasury Secretary while stroking his walruslike mustache.
Bergstrom crushed out his foul-smelling cigar and explained. "The Intrepid has considerable flexibility when it returns from space. As long as the spacecraft's orbital ground track falls within a reentry zone that is twelve hundred miles wide, it can still reach its recovery runway. That means the reentry window is two orbits wide. Conversely, the Kestrel's lift-off is ballistic in nature, with trajectory parameters that are extremely narrow in relation to the Intrepid's reentry. In short, the Intrepid could be executing its reentry shortly before the Kestrel could lift off on an intercept flight plan. That's why we have to have the stealth bombers as backup."
The man from Foggy Bottom grimaced. "And if both the Kestrel and the stealth bombers fail?"
The admiral's gold braid seemed to weigh heavily upon him as he took a deep breath. "The USS Tennessee has moved in close to the Iranian coast. If the President gives the order, it will launch a Tomahawk cruise missile carrying a one-and-a-half-kiloton nuclear warhead. That's enough to knock out anything on the recovery runway, as well as their shuttle hangar complex and a chunk of the cosmodrome."
"Hmmm," mumbled the Treasury Secretary. "How can we be sure that cruise missile would be accurate enough to hit the runway?"
Bergstrom's response was flat. "This is an upgraded version of the Tomahawk cruise missile. It has a hybrid inertial/terrain-following navigation system that is highly accurate. If you wanted me to put a Tomahawk in the Rose Bowl, I could send it through the uprights. Additionally, the missile can operate dependently with the NavStar Global Positioning satellites, and with the accuracy of that system I could hit the crossbar of the uprights if you wanted."
"Well, if this gizmo is so accurate," countered the Secretary of State, "why not use a conventional warhead with it?"
"We considered that, Mr. Secretary," said the admiral, "but there are too many unknowns. The recovery runway is three miles long and runs east to west. We don't know from which end the In^epid will approach it. Nor do we know how long it will stay on the runway before being removed to their hangar complex — presumably they would want to get it under cover as quickly as possible. Also, we don't know on which orbit the Intrepid will come down, and it will take five hours for the Tomahawk to travel the distance from the Tennessee. In short, sir, if we are going to use conventional weapons we must have the flexibility of putting the ordnance down immediately after the Intrepid lands, and we need a pair of eyeballs on the scene in order to hit the target. The cruise missile does not give us that flexibility, but the stealth bombers do. In order to have any chance of success with the Tomahawk cruise missile, we have to use a nuclear warhead."
No one spoke for several seconds.
"Monsieur le President," said the Frenchman carefully, "I must protest any action involving a nuclear device." The Gallic chief of state had now become a de facto member of the NSC EXECCOM, and everyone was attentive to his words. His long, lanky frame leaned forward as he said, "You have every right to try to prevent your spacecraft from falling into Soviet hands. You have my full support in combating this act of piracy. But to send a nuclear missile into Russia — well, that is something else again. No Soviet leader could stand by and not respond in kind, even though the Soviets have blood on their hands from the destruction of your Constellation. Indeed, we are not even certain who is in control in the Kremlin at the moment. I endorse your use of conventional weapons. But a nuclear missile? No, my friend. I implore you not to take that step. It could push the civilized world into an abyss."
"I must agree with our guest, Mr. President," said the Secretary of State. "There are too many imponderables on the Soviet side. If we cross that nuclear threshold — no matter how vital the Intrepid and its payload — there may be no return."
The President scratched his upper lip. "Sam — what do you think?"
The Secretary of Defense, his bony features looking troubled, said, "Sir, if you give the order, the Tennessee will launch. But my advice is that we stick with conventional weapons. The risk is just too great otherwise. The whole purpose of the Intrepid's payload was to prevent a nuclear exchange in the first place."
The chief executive turned to the Vice President and raised an eyebrow.
The Veep ran a hand through his bristly crew cut and nodded. "I agree. Hold off on the nukes. Everything else is open season, though."
The President sighed. He was relieved, in a way. "All right, Admiral. Tell the Tennessee to return to its regular station. But keep SAC at DEFCON Two. Since Yakolev has disappeared into his embassy, we're not going to lower our guard an inch until we nail the Intrepid one way or another."