Brenthoven thought about allowing the pause in conversation to stretch a few seconds longer. In matters of diplomatic exchange, Ambassador Kolesnik was not comfortable with silence, a trait that could sometimes be taken advantage of. But now was not the time for gamesmanship. The Russians were already climbing the walls; there was nothing to be gained by intentionally putting their senior diplomat on the defensive. Better to get to the hard part quickly, and hope that open discussion could somehow allow them to work past more than a half-century of mutual distrust.
Brenthoven raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Ambassador, at the very least you have what appears to be a military coup on your hands,” he said. “Your own news services are openly describing it as a civil war.”
“It is not civil war,” Kolesnik said. “It is a minor local struggle. Nothing more. An insignificant uprising.”
Brenthoven fished his small leather notebook from the pocket of his jacket, and held it without opening it. “The entire Russian military has been moved to a state of high alert, including your strategic nuclear missile forces. You’ve mobilized nearly every available naval vessel in your Pacific Fleet. There are foreign combat troops on your soil. From the perspective of the U.S. government, that doesn’t sound insignificant.”
“It does not involve the United States.” Kolesnik said. “We appreciate your concern, but this is an internal matter.”
“My government does not agree,” Brenthoven said. “We have reason to believe that the insurgents have managed to deploy one of the ballistic missile submarines that was stationed in Kamchatka, along with its arsenal of 48 nuclear warheads. Mr. Ambassador, that’s more destructive force than the entire human race has unleashed in the history of this planet.”
The ambassador nodded gravely. “It is the K-506, the Zelenograd.”
Brenthoven jotted the name and hull number of the submarine in his notebook. “Has the sub been located yet? Have your naval units detected her?”
“Him.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You asked if our naval units have detected her. But Zelenograd, submarine ‘K-506,’ is a he, not a she.”
The national security advisor smiled weakly. “I’ve never been much of a Sailor, sir. It was my understanding that seagoing vessels are always presumed to be female.”
The Russian Ambassador returned the thin smile with an equally weak smile of his own. “American ships, yes. Russian ships, no. Russian vessels are always male. The tradition goes back at least to Pyotr Alekseyevich Romanov: Peter the Great. Perhaps farther.”
Brenthoven rubbed his chin. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“There is much that America does not know about Russia,” the ambassador said. “And there is much that Russia does not know about America. Even with the Cold War behind us, our countries do not understand each other.”
He shook his head. “We thought we understood you as adversaries, but we were deluding ourselves. Now we attempt to understand you as allies, and we are still … what is the word? Baffled? We are still baffled by you.”
Brenthoven nodded. “Both of our governments have mastered the art of misunderstanding,” he said. “But Mr. Ambassador, this is one case in which we can not afford misunderstanding.”
“You are quite correct,” the Russian Ambassador said.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Brenthoven said. “Are you in a position to discuss the level of U.S. involvement? Or is that a matter better arranged by our respective presidents?”
Ambassador Kolesnik held up a finger. “Again we misunderstand each other. I agreed that our countries must make every effort to avoid miscommunication during this crisis. I did not agree to American involvement in my country’s internal affairs. My instructions from my government are quite specific. This matter will be handled by the Russian military, under the command of the Russian government.”
“Mr. Ambassador, the nuclear missiles aboard that submarine have more than enough range to reach the United States. With all due respect, sir, that’s exactly what they were designed to do. Unless you have some method of guaranteeing that they will not be launched against American cities, I don’t see how we can sit back and treat this situation as an internal Russian issue.”
“You can treat it as an internal issue because that’s exactly what it is: an internal issue,” the ambassador said. “As to a guarantee that your country will not be targeted, I think we can make such a promise.”
The answer took Brenthoven by surprise. “Pardon me, sir … Are you saying that there is some sort of foolproof technical safeguard that prevents the missiles from being fired?”
The ambassador brushed a speck of lint from the left sleeve of his suit jacket. “As with your own missile submarines, there are certain mechanical and electronic safeguards in place, but their effectiveness depends upon the loyalty of the crew. If the crew of K-506 is disloyal, as their actions so far seem to indicate, we cannot rely on those safeguards. With the cooperation of the First Officer, the Missile Officer, and most — or all—of the crew, the captain of that submarine can launch those missiles whenever he wishes.”
Brenthoven frowned. “What you’re saying is …”
“I’m saying we must assume that K-506 can launch its missiles.”
“Mr. Ambassador, now I’m really confused,” Brenthoven said. “How does this guarantee that the United States will not be targeted by that submarine’s missiles?”
“K-506 is running southwest, toward the southern tip of the Kamchatka peninsula,” the ambassador said. “Senior naval officers in our Ministry of Defense are confident that the submarine will attempt to pass through the Kuril island chain and into the Sea of Okhotsk, where it will hide under the Siberian ice pack.”
“And how does this help us?”
The ambassador held up his right hand and tugged at the cuff of his shirt sleeve with the fingers of his left hand. “Because we have, as you say, an ace up our sleeve.” He dropped his hands into his lap. “The attack submarine Kuzbass is patrolling the Kuril island chain. At this very moment, orders are going out from our Pacific Fleet headquarters. Kuzbass will intercept and destroy K-506 at the entrance to the Sea of Okhotsk.”
Brenthoven rubbed the back of his neck. “Mr. Ambassador, that sounds like a good strategy to me, but what if K-506 manages to slip past your attack submarine? We have a renegade nuclear missile submarine on our hands, with enough firepower to jumpstart Armageddon. Do you have a backup plan, in case Kuzbass doesn’t get the job done?”
“Of course,” the ambassador said. “If K-506 makes it into the Sea of Okhotsk, which our Ministry of Defense assures me will not happen, our naval units will trap him under the ice pack. They will keep K-506 safely contained under the ice until our attack submarines can hunt him down and sink him.”
“What if the submarine breaks through the ice layer and surfaces? American submarines break through the ice pack all the time. If K-506 surfaces through the ice, how will you stop it from launching its missiles?”