THIRTY-SIX
The word from Gupta had been unequivocal and negative: The American scalar resonance transmitters had not triggered the Mount Spurr eruption. They'd stood unused for weeks; for years except for bimonthly equipment tests.
Then the president had the Washington-Moscow Direct Communications Link—the "Hot Line" office—arrange a conference between himself and Premier Pavlenko, via the video "red phones" that Wheeler and Gorbachev had had installed.
The first thing next morning, Haugen and his guests rode the emergency elevator down to the bomb shelter beneath the White House. There, in a rather small but comfortable room, he took a seat beside a State Department interpreter. Out of sight of the video pickup sat General Cromwell, Secretary of State Valenzuela, and Gupta of NSA. And an unintroduced Colonel, Schubert/Bulavin, who'd come in with Cromwell. The president nodded at a major watching from the control room through a small glass window. The major nodded back, and no doubt signaled a sergeant.
For a moment, the telephone screen paled diffusely, then a picture flashed into being. The face of Marshal Premier Oleg Stepanovich Pavlenko looked out at the president.
It was 1600 hours in Moscow, with its year-round daylight saving time, and 0800 in Washington.
"Good afternoon, Marshal Premier Pavlenko," Haugen said in Russian.
"Good morning, Mr. President."
Pavlenko appeared to be a man about sixty years old, mostly bald, thin-lipped, wearing thick, wire-rimmed glasses. "What is it you wished to talk about?" he asked. Haugen's interpreter, wearing headphones, translated into English scarcely a thought behind the Premier. The sound volume in Russian was subdued, too quiet to follow, to avoid confusion in listening to the English translation. Haugen didn't feel confident enough of his Russian fluency to try carrying on a sensitive exchange in the language—an exchange that could conceivably become technical. He, Valenzuela, and Schubert/Bulavin would listen to the original Russian afterward, on tape.
The president answered now in English. "We have had a great volcanic eruption in our state of Alaska."
The face that looked out at him wore no identifiable expression; it was simply cold. The eyes were colder. "I have heard."
"My specialists have assured me that it was not an unassisted act of nature. They tell me it was triggered by a very large and explosive release of energy via scalar resonance."
"Why are you telling this to me?"
"We here in America did not trigger it. And there are only two nations with the ability to. Therefore it follows that someone in the Soviet Union is responsible. I am calling to ask why it was done. Assuming that my information and my assumptions are correct."
The thin lips smiled slightly, but the eyes did not change. "Mr. President. We have contingency plans of every sort here. Including plans for delivering attacks of various sorts and intensities on many countries. If I were to carry out such an attack, I would not choose a location where the damage would be so meaningless."
"Then the Soviet Union is not responsible for the eruption yesterday?"
"No." The slight, cold-eyed smile returned, perhaps a trifle wider this time. "You have my word on it."
"Thank you, Marshal Premier Pavlenko," the president replied, in Russian again. He deliberately kept expression from both his face and his voice. "You can imagine how reassured I am. Perhaps we shall talk again sometime under more relaxed circumstances."
The image in front of him snapped off, and the president signaled the major that he was done. Then he looked at the men sitting away from the pickup.
"Did you learn anything?" asked Cromwell.
"Not much. Let's listen to the recording." He touched the playback key on the console, and after a brief delay, Pavlenko's Russian came from the set. When it was over, the president sat back. "How I read it is that Pavlenko is quite happy for us to believe he's responsible. He'd like us to worry about possible future attacks on locations where an earthquake or eruption would be a lot more serious.
"I presume he has it in mind to do more than he has. He could have scalar warfare in mind, but it's probably something else, because of the risk that scalar war would go nuclear. Or he may be testing us, feeling his way a step at a time." Haugen looked around. "Do any of you have any comments?"
No one spoke; heads shook.
"All right. Then we might as well leave."
They did. Most left the White House entirely, but Schubert/Bulavin went to the Oval Office with the president. When the president had poured coffee, they sat down.
He gazed at the ex-Soviet spy, ex-Soviet major general, ex-Soviet deputy ambassador. "What kind of reputation did Pavlenko have in the Soviet army when you were there?" he asked. "As a person."
"He was considered a dangerous person to work under. Fanatical, totally patriotic, and liable to punish severely for a first error. Particularly if it could be interpreted as an expression of moral corruption." Bulavin paused. "Moral corruption isn't really a good translation. He had a reputation for cruelty and for abusing women. Let's say he was harsh toward official corruption—corruption political and financial."
"I got an impression of him, on the phone," Haugen said. "One of the reasons I like video phones so well; they make it easier to evaluate the person you're talking to. There's a concept I ran into once, in reading, that might apply here: reasoning psychotic."
Bulavin's eyebrows lifted.
"Reasoning psychotics apply more or less rational intelligence to carry out insane purposes," the president continued. "If they're single-minded enough, they can be very effective; effectively destructive, ordinarily. Could that describe Pavlenko?"
The Russian answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps. I've never known Pavlenko myself. I've seen him, but never talked to him."
The president nodded. "Do you have any idea what his motives might be in setting off a volcanic eruption in Alaska?"
"None whatever. I must tell you, I had no idea at all that such a thing was possible, until last night, when Vice President Cromwell briefed me in preparation for this morning. In Russia I'd heard rumors of a great secret weapon, with installations in the arctic and near Riga, and in Kazakhstan. But in the GRU, it is easy to be cynical. And if it was true, then it was the kind of thing you're wise not to speculate about."
"Have you known General Gurenko?"
"Gurenko?" Bulavin sounded surprised. "Yes. Rather well, although our contacts were professional, never personal. He was in charge of the San Francisco residency when I was a young operational officer there. A very fair officer, but of course very ruthless. As I was. As the GRU goes, he was a good officer to work under."
"What's his attitude toward Americans?"
Bulavin reflected for a moment. "It was not something we discussed. But he wasn't a xenophobe like Pavlenko and so many others. He'd lived abroad too much for that, particularly in the States."
Haugen nodded. "I've been assuming you're with the Defense Intelligence Agency now; that or Army Intelligence. Is that right?"
Bulavin smiled a one-sided smile. "While General Cromwell was the CJCS, I was his intelligence aide. Since then I've had an 'open assignment' on the Joint Staff. Before he was chairman, I was briefly with the Defense Intelligence Agency, but there were two problems with that. One was the need to keep my true identity confidential; only three people there were allowed to know it. And more difficult, more basic, there was the understandable problem that the seniors there—the people who knew who I was—didn't fully trust me. So they made limited use of my particular qualifications.
"Any intelligence organization is very sensitive to the danger of double agents, and most intelligence officers, here as well as in the Soviet Union, are very afraid of making errors. Too much is at stake."
"Why does Jumper trust you?"
"I'm a man with an exceptional memory. Not an eidetic memory, but exceptional. So when I defected, I was able to provide an extreme amount of detailed and valuable information on the Soviet military and government. I've been called the most valuable defector ever. And so far as I know, in no case has any of my information proved false."
Again the one-sided smile. "Beyond that, it seems to me that the general is a man who tends to trust his intuitions."
That fits, Haugen said to himself. That sure as hell fits.
"Are you up to date on Gurenko?" Haugen asked. "Is he still commanding officer of the GRU?"
"He was as recently as January fourth. If there'd been any change, I would probably have heard."
Haugen studied the Russian thoughtfully; Bulavin sat quite relaxed through it, studying him in return. Then the president made a decision.
"Colonel Schubert, what's your given name these days? Not Nikita I suppose."
The Russian laughed silently. "Kurt. Even on the Joint Staff, I pass as German-American. In this identity, my family is Baltische Deutsch, from Narva. That explains my occasionally odd English and non-standard German."
The president was surprised to see a twinkle in Bulavin's eyes. "Did I say something that amused you?" Haugen asked.
The Russian shook his head. "No. It was the discussion of my new identity. Working for General Cromwell was a marvelous hiding place for me. In the Soviet Union, no one would imagine a defector being made an aide to the chief of the general staff."
Haugen nodded. "I suppose not. Not many Americans would imagine that, either. I'll tell you what: I'm going to call Jumper and have him arrange to borrow you. For me, although we won't tell the Joint Staff that. Then I'm going to get him over here today, along with LaMotte and Barry for their data and contacts. You and LaMotte will find or create a secret communication line to Gurenko, if at all possible, and see if you can interest him in carrying out a coup in the Kremlin."
His eyes found Bulavin's and held them. "Does that sound at all possible?"
Bulavin sat quietly for a long several seconds. "Mr. President, a year ago I'd have said no. Not remotely possible. Either making contact with him or getting his interest. And assuming that by some miracle we did both of those, I could not even have conceived of his actually carrying out a successful coup. Not even as chief of the GRU. I'd have said that the chance was absolutely zero, and I'd have been right.
"But now, with things as they are there, I can conceive of it." Bulavin grinned. "Just barely, I can conceive of it. And to try—That would be the challenge of a lifetime!"
"Good." The president reached for his phone. "Then we might as well get started."