Ryan's face went very cold. “And?”
Goodley flushed, but went on rapidly. “And I delivered. I checked your file for the SEC investigation, and passed on some things about other financial dealings — the Zimmer family, stuff like that.” He paused. “I'm pretty ashamed of myself.”
“Learn anything?”
“About you? You're a good boss. Marcus is a lazy asshole, looks good in a suit. Liz Elliot is a prissy, mean-spirited bitch; she really likes manipulating people. She used me like a bird-dog. I learned something, all right. I'll never, ever do that again. Sir, I've never apologized like this to anyone before, but you ought to know. You have a right to know.”
Ryan stared into the young man's eyes for more than a minute, wondering if he'd flinch, wondering what sort of stuff was in there. Finally, he stubbed out his cigarette. “Make sure it's a good position paper, Ben.”
“You'll get the best I have.”
“I think I already have, Dr. Goodley.”
“Well?” President Fowler asked.
“Mr. President, SPINNAKER reports that there is definitely a number of tactical nuclear weapons missing from Soviet Army inventories, and that the KGB is conducting a frantic search for them.”
“Where?”
“All over Europe, including inside the Soviet Union itself. Supposedly, KGB is loyal to Narmonov, at least most of it, Narmonov thinks — our man says he's not so sure. The Soviet military is definitely not; he says that a coup is a serious possibility, but Narmonov is not taking strong enough action to deal with it. The possibility of blackmail is quite real. If this report is correct, there is the possibility of a rapid power shift over there whose consequences are impossible to estimate.”
“And what do you think?” Dennis Bunker asked soberly.
“The consensus at Langley is that this may be reliable information. We're beginning a careful check of all relevant data. The two best outside consultants are at Princeton and Berkeley. I'll have them in the office Monday to look over our data.”
“When will you have a firm estimate?” Secretary Talbot asked.
“Depends on what you mean by firm. End of next week, we'll have a preliminary estimate. 'Firm' is going to take a while. I've tried getting this confirmed by our British colleagues, but they came up blank.”
“Where could those things show up?” Liz Elliot asked.
“ Russia 's a big country,” Ryan replied.
“It's a big world,” Bunker said. “What's your worst-case estimate?”
“We haven't started that process yet,” Jack answered. “When you're talking about missing nuclear weapons, worst-cases can be pretty bad.”
“Is there any reason to suspect a threat directed against us?” Fowler asked.
“No, Mr. President. The Soviet military is rational, and that would be an act of lunacy.”
“Your faith in the uniformed mentality is touching,” Liz Elliot noted. “You really think theirs are more intelligent than ours?”
“They deliver when we ask them to,” Dennis Bunker said sharply. “I wish you would have just a little respect for them, Dr. Elliot.”
“We will save that for another day,” Fowler observed. “What could they possibly gain from threatening us?”
“Nothing, Mr. President,” Ryan answered.
“Agreed,” Brent Talbot said.
“I'll feel better when those SS-18s are gone,” Bunker noted, “but Ryan's right.”
“I want an estimate on that, too,” Elliot said. “I want it fast.”
“You'll get it,” Jack promised.
“What about the Mexico operation?”
“Mr. President, the assets are in place.”
“What is this?” the Secretary of State asked.
“Brent, I think it's time you got briefed in on this. Ryan, commence.”
Jack ran through the background information and the operational concept. It took several minutes.
“I can't believe they'd do such a thing: it's outrageous,” Talbot said.
“Is this why you're not coming out to the game?” Bunker asked with a smile. “Brent, I can believe it. How quickly will you have the transcripts from the aircraft?”
“Given his ETA into Washington, plus processing time… say around ten that night.”
“You can still come out to the game then, Bob,” Bunker said. It was the first time Ryan had ever seen someone address the President that way.
Fowler shook his head. “I'll catch it at Camp David. I want to be bright-eyed for this meet. Besides, the storm that just hit Denver might be here Sunday. Getting back into town could be tough, and the Secret Service spent a couple hours explaining how bad football games are for me — meaning them, of course.”
“Going to be a good one,” Talbot said.
“What's the point spread?” Fowler asked.
Jesus! Ryan thought.
“Vikings by three,” Bunker said. “I'll take all of that action I can get.”
“We're flying out together,” Talbot said. “Just so Dennis doesn't drive the airplane.”
“Leaving me up the hills of Maryland. Well, somebody has to mind the government.” Fowler smiled. He had an odd smile, Jack thought. “Back to business. Ryan: you said this is not a threat to us?”
“Let me backtrack, sir. First, I must emphasize that the SPINNAKER report remains totally unconfirmed.”
“You said the CIA backs it.”
“There is a consensus of opinion that it is probably reliable. We're checking that very hard right now. That's the whole point of what I said earlier.”
“Okay,” Fowler said. “If it's not true, there is nothing for us to worry about, correct?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“And if it is?”
“Then the risk is one of political blackmail in the Soviet Union, worst-case, a civil war with the use of nuclear weapons.”
“Which is not good news — possible threats to us?”
“No direct threat to us is likely.”
Fowler leaned back in his chair. “That makes sense, I suppose. But I want a really, really good estimate of that just as fast as you can get it to me.”
“Yes, sir. Believe me, Mr. President, we're checking every aspect of this development.”
“Good report, Dr. Ryan.”
Jack stood to take his dismissal. It was so much more civilized now that they'd gotten rid of him.
The markets had sprung up of their own accord, mainly in the eastern sections of Berlin. Soviet soldiers, never the most free of individuals, now found themselves in an undivided Western city that offered each the chance simply to walk away, to disappear. The amazing thing was that so few did it, despite the controls kept on them, and one reason for it was the availability of open-air markets. The individual Soviet soldiers were continuously surprised at the desire of Germans, Americans and so many others to buy memorabilia of the Red Army — belts, shapka fur hats, boots, whole uniforms, all manner of trinkets — and the fools paid cash. Hard-currency cash, dollars, pounds, Deutschmarks, whose value at home in the Soviet Union was multiplied tenfold. Other sales to more discriminating buyers had included such big-ticket items as a T-8o tank, but that had required the connivance of a regimental commander, who'd justified it in his paperwork as the accidental destruction of a vehicle by fire. The colonel had gotten a Mercedes 56oSEL from that, with plenty of cash left over for his retirement fund. Western intelligence agencies had gotten all they wished by this point, leaving the markets to amateurs and tourists; they assumed that the Soviets tolerated it for the simple reason that it brought a good deal of hard currency into their economy, and did so at bargain prices. Westerners typically paid more than ten times the actual production cost of what they purchased. The introductory course in capitalism, some Russians thought, would have other payoffs when the troops concluded their conscripted service.