“Here is the source of our trouble.” Riordan motioned to Tarrant, who placed a huge blowup of a building complex on the easel. “This is the latest Samos photograph of the Soviet research center north of Tashkent. It was taken at an altitude of eighty-seven miles on the morning of August twenty-sixth. As you can see, fourteen cars and trucks are parked near the main building, but otherwise there is no outward sign of life.” Stark and the others looked intently at the place that threatened their lives. “We’ve watched it grow from the foundation up over the past four years. Traffic in and out has been very sparse. At no time has there been any radio communications until…” and Riordan paused, “until yesterday when a single word was beamed out of there to Moscow, ‘Borodino,’ which we can only assume was a code for Victory. It was logged approximately two hours after the strike on the Israelis.”
Riordan pointed to another photo, and Tarrant put it over the first. “Another research center near Sverdlovsk. Same general characteristics as Tashkent, same modus operandi over the past years, no radio messages at all. Also no heat emissions from this general vicinity.”
A third photo went up. “Lastly, a relatively new location, as yet undetermined facility. This one is twenty-six miles east of Moscow and has been operating only a year. Smirnov himself was seen going in and out of there by one of our men — Rudenko, I believe. Rudenko went with Smirnov to inspect the latest Soviet contribution to world stability. But Rudenko never gave us anything out of this trip as far as hard intelligence is concerned. Now he’s been exposed, and we have no idea what he knew about the Soviet laser program.”
Sam Riordan continued: “So far the only emissions are from Tashkent. That doesn’t mean they don’t have the other sites in readiness. Still, the whole thing is insane because they can’t have gotten that far ahead of us.”
Stark interrupted his monologue: “Sam, it might be insane, but they nevertheless have at least one gun that works only too well. Murphy has reported in again from Tel Aviv. The atomic center there is still burning.”
The President was irritable; he kept trying to blink the cobwebs away from his eyes. Nevertheless he was instantly sorry for being sharp with Riordan, knowing how Sam felt about the situation. Stark changed the tenor of the conversation.
“Philip Bordine was with Erskine at Geneva, and he knew the Russian Darubin from years before at the embassy in Moscow. Bordine says Darubin was the one who talked Khrushchev into taking the chance with the missiles in Cuba. Do you remember him, Sam?”
Riordan said, “Of course. He fell when Khrushchev did. We last heard of him working in Siberia as head of an electric power plant. If Krylov has him back in good graces, it would explain a lot. Darubin was the mastermind behind the attempt to achieve parity with us on missiles by installing them under our noses. He sold Khrushchev the deal and very nearly pulled it off. He would appeal to Krylov because he thinks the same, staking everything on one roll of the dice.”
Riordan was silent for a moment, as though weighing the emergence of a new approach. “It’s entirely possible that the two of them cooked up this idea of facing us down with just one laser instead of waiting until they had twenty or thirty.” Riordan slammed his hand against the table. “Of course, it adds up. They tested the weapon twice and then Krylov and Darubin moved in on Smirnov. They undoubtedly got the army to back them up by convincing them that they had a golden opportunity to tip the scales once and for all. Like us in 1945, when we went after the Japanese without first stockpiling a number of bombs. One test in New Mexico and the next one in Japan. Darubin’s thought processes would work the same way today as they did in 1962. He’d still go for broke, especially after being stymied the first time.”
Sam Riordan seemed pleased with his analysis and looked to the others for confirmation. Stark nodded: “That may be the key, Sam. He’s bluffing us down but with a helluva hole card, an ace!” Stark shook his head in bewilderment.
Gerald Weinroth broke in: “Which complex do you think is the production facility for the weapons?”
Riordan said, “The one near Moscow must be the one. Bigger buildings, nearer to railway lines, larger workers’ settlements. But it’s only a year old, and we haven’t seen anything come out of it yet.”
Weinroth looked satisfied as he added: “From our knowledge, production on a finished weapon has to be six months minimum. Thus, the test firings could only lead to operational equipment by January at the earliest. They must have just one or perhaps two lasers at Tashkent and Sverdlovsk.”
Weinroth forgot his ulcer for the moment. “Unfortunately it doesn’t matter. One or two lasers can still destroy us.” His voice was mournful. “They can reach Washington in less than thirty seconds and then swivel around to hit something else in minutes. In one hour, that damned machine could wipe out half our cities.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” General Roarke exploded. “Mr. President, I’ve been sitting here listening to talk about what the other side can do to us but no one asks what we can do to them. In the same amount of time we can put that country out of business. Moscow would go up within eight minutes. The Polaris is already waiting to hit more than five hundred silos and cities. We act as though we’re helpless, hapless, and castrated.”
William Stark stared at Martin Manson’s mane of white hair. He was trying to control himself enough not to offend the speaker. Stark said icily: “Professor Weinroth, would you please give some statistics to this body on the results of a thermonuclear exchange.”
Weinroth was only too happy to comply. He plunged into the results of such a nightmare. “In the first twenty minutes, one hundred and seven million Russians would be incinerated. Roughly, the same number of Americans would succumb, give or take ten million. I am leaving out those who would die of radiation fallout around the world in the next four weeks. That figure would approximate three hundred million. The net result of this exchange would be the deaths of more than five hundred million human beings, give or take, as I say, thirty millions.”
Gerald Weinroth was enjoying Roarke’s discomfort. “All of this excludes the possibility of bombs falling on Europe and Asia by mistake or plan of either of the main protagonists. In that case, the death rate would exceed one billion.”
Weinroth sat down.
Roarke was not dismissed so lightly. The general lunged to his feet and snarled, “Professor, your figures are both impressive and correct. But you are ignoring one fact. We believe that it’s possible to deal the enemy the first blow and cripple his retaliatory strength within the first fifteen minutes. We’ve always planned for such a situation and are absolutely convinced that the Russians could only get off twenty-five percent of their missiles. Since some of those will be defective anyway, we’re really discussing the detonation of perhaps one hundred and fifty incoming warheads. And of those coming in, our Vanguard anti-missiles will knock out seventy-five to a hundred. So actual impact will occur in only fifty or so areas with a death rate in the range of twenty million, tops.” Roarke paused to look at the President, who was gazing at a new crack in the ceiling.
“Now, Weinroth, those casualties are acceptable in order to eliminate the menace we have before us. And it sure beats the hell out of giving up this great country to those bastards.”
Steve Roarke could not think of anything to add to his argument. He was perspiring from the emotions he had unlocked within himself. The general took out a handkerchief from his trousers and wiped his forehead and neck. No one said a word. Weinroth looked disgusted. Manson was stunned, unable to take in the magnitude of twenty million bodies piled one on top of another. Robert Randall thought: You dumb son of a bitch… I’ll bet you play home movies of the blast at Nagasaki for your friends.