Before Thorpe could reply, the door swung open and Mikhail Karpenko strode in, followed by Androv and Valentin Metkov. Kalin was not with them, and Thorpe didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Karpenko hurried to the far end of the attic room and spoke to the communications officer. He took a sheet of paper from the officer and walked quickly back to the group. He read from the paper, “Cultural affairs attaché Gordik, arriving Kennedy Airport, eight forty-eight P.M., your time. Will proceed by hired conveyance to Glen Cove. Extend usual courtesies.”
Androv nodded. “That will be a verbal courier. Obviously, Moscow isn’t taking a chance on transmitting any information that the National Security Agency might decode.” Androv looked at his watch. “Gordik should be here shortly. He’ll deliver the last direct orders we receive from Russia until immediately after the Stroke.” He began moving toward the far end of the attic. “Follow me, please.” Metkov, Karpenko, Kimberly, and Thorpe followed.
Androv turned into the attic of another wing of the mansion. He threw a switch and the smaller attic area burst into bright, blinding light, revealing an elegantly appointed study set in the far end of the attic. There was a walnut desk, bookshelves, a marble fireplace, and a leaded-glass window in a gabled peak. Above the fireplace hung a large American flag.
Thorpe’s eyes adjusted to the light and he noticed television cameras and microphones. This study was actually a studio set.
Androv said to Kimberly, “From here, your voice and your image will go out to the world, via satellite, over all radio and television bands and frequencies.” Androv motioned to the leather chair behind the desk. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Kimberly walked around the desk and sat in a high-backed chair. He surveyed the set and commented, “This does look like the type of place from which the voice of authority speaks.”
Androv nodded. “The set was designed in Moscow by Special Section Four. It’s supposed to convey dignity, tranquillity, authority, and control.”
Kimberly noticed a clear plastic garment bag hanging on the wall to the side. “Is that what I’m to wear?”
“Yes, that’s also inspired by SS Four. They decided on a blue-gray three-piece pinstripe. You’ll look like one of those State Department people,” Androv said.
Kimberly asked Thorpe, “What do you think, Peter?”
Thorpe replied, “Americans believe anything they see on television.”
Kimberly laughed. “So I’ve heard.” He turned to Karpenko. “How much of the population will I reach?”
Karpenko ran a handkerchief over his perspiring bald head. “We estimate that eighty percent of the population will have access to working radios or televisions. You understand, Major, that only the sets that are on at the time of the Stroke will act as lightning rods for the electromagnetic pulse and be destroyed?”
Kimberly nodded.
Karpenko continued, “But there will be no other radio or television stations operating. And switching to auxiliary power will not put them in operation, either, because these stations will not have experienced a simple power loss as in a blackout, but a catastrophic power surge, as if ten million bolts of lightning had struck all at once. The only station in America, southern Canada, or northern Mexico that will be on the air will be ours. Here in this room. The only voice anyone will hear will be the voice of Major Henry Kimberly.”
Kimberly looked across his desk to where Karpenko stood. He said, “Will I begin broadcasting immediately after the EMP storm?”
Karpenko replied, “When we see the sky light up. For the first few hours you’ll make periodic identification of yourself only as Major Henry Kimberly and implore the public to remain calm. Let everyone draw whatever conclusions they wish, until it’s time to tell them that you’re their new leader. Do you have any questions—”
Thorpe interrupted Karpenko. “Excuse me. But hasn’t anyone here ever heard the term ‘thermonuclear war’?”
It was Androv who answered. “To reply to your sarcasm, Thorpe, the American government will not be at all certain how this happened, but even if they do understand that it was an EMP storm, they will not be sure it was the Soviet Union that caused it.” He gave a small shrug and continued, “In any event, most of the E-3I in this country — the command, control, communications, and intelligence networks — are not yet EMP-proof. America will be struck deaf, dumb, and blind.”
Thorpe said, “Even a deaf, dumb, and blind man can push a launch button.”
Androv said, “Yes, but keep in mind three other important factors: One, the President will be in Camp David with your father; two, the President’s little black box will be useless; and, three, America has no EMP-proof missiles, bombers, warships, or fighter planes. Any American nuclear strike initiated by an automatic response would be a greatly weakened strike. Our losses would be acceptable.”
Henry Kimberly spoke, “Moscow has prepared for every eventuality. So, let us not speak of war, but of victory without war.”
Thorpe thought to himself, Just like that. Two hundred years of nation-building and there won’t even be a shot fired.
Androv said, “A great deal depends on James Allerton. When he informs the President and his advisors of the helplessness of the situation, and formally requests the surrender of the United States, there may be some hysterics at Camp David. He may be shot on the spot. He is, however, an accomplished diplomat, and this will be his crowning glory if he can get cooler heads to prevail there. With luck, persuasion, and threats, he will make the President understand that capitulation is the only course of action left that will prevent nuclear destruction.”
Metkov said, “The President’s last duty will be to read a short prepared statement to the American people announcing… a ‘peace treaty’ between the Soviet Union and the United States. He’ll also announce his resignation from the presidency. He will not be heard from again.”
Androv walked into the studio set, past Kimberly’s desk, and stopped in front of the fireplace. He stared up at the American flag, then reached out and took the corner of it, rubbing it between his fingers as though he were a rug merchant considering a purchase. There was a long silence and Androv finally said, “We could never have beaten them militarily. But as the fates would have it, there was a small gap in the complex structure of their country’s armor. They recognized it, and rushed to fill the gap. We recognized it, and rushed to exploit it. We arrived first; they were too late. Space wars, indeed. Protons and neutrons, laser beams, and killer satellites. We could never have kept up. But on their way to the stars, they forgot to close their one window of vulnerability. And we jumped into it.”
51
Katherine sat on the sofa with her legs curled up, staring at the ceiling. Abrams strode impatiently around the study, glancing at her from time to time and looking at his watch. He wondered what was keeping Van Dorn.
The telephone on the desk rang and someone in another part of the house answered it, then buzzed the study. Abrams picked it up quickly. “Tony Abrams.”
“Well?”
“Spinelli? Did you get my message?”
“No, I just dialed a number at random and got you.”
“Where are you?”