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FORTY-FIVE

The president had gotten back to bed at about 0230, after calling Milstead to arrange a flight for him to the west coast. After the earthquakes, he needed to be seen in San Bernardino and San Francisco, and Seattle. He'd asked Lois to come with him, but she'd been tired lately, and when the phone had wakened her, she'd been sweating, and had pain in her stomach. She'd go to the White House clinic instead, and have Colonel Singleton check her over.

Haugen wasn't feeling so energetic either. After finally getting back to bed, he hadn't gotten to sleep again until nearly 0330, then had gotten up two hours later, taken a very brief cold shower, and been shuttled by chopper to Andrews Air Force Base. He'd shaved on the plane after takeoff, then eaten breakfast and followed it with two cups of strong coffee.

He wondered if Milstead had gone back to bed at all, and if he'd make an opportunity for a nap that day. Knowing Milstead, he'd probably work on through. He'd turned out to be an excellent chief of staff, and his temporary continuance had become, by mutual and unspoken agreement, an arrangement for Haugen's full tenure in the White House.

Sunrise caught up with Air Force One over Cincinnati. The president took a brief break from the economic update he'd started to read, and removing his reading glasses, looked south out the window beside him. The Ohio River had frozen over after the snow storm, its bare ice looking black from the air. No doubt it was spotted with ice-fishing shelters not visible from 20 thousand feet. To the south, beyond Covington, the farmlands of northern Kentucky stretched white under more than twenty inches of snow.

Apparently it was a lot worse in Russia. Here the highways had been cleared within two days, most lesser roads within four.

It was midafternoon in Russia. At noon Moscow time, no news had come out of the Kremlin, but apparently his hit on the Politburo had worked. His daily intelligence summary had been delivered to Air Force One before he had, and it had commented that for some reason, the normal daily releases from the Soviet Central Committee weren't appearing. Even from the ministries, the normal flow of bureaucratic communications was down to a trickle. Clearly something very major had happened, but just what, the CIA had not yet learned.

This time, Haugen thought, he knew what the CIA did not. For the first time it occurred to him that this might influence Gurenko's decision.

Bulavin had been in Berlin, working with one of LaMotte's people there. They'd actually gotten a message to Gurenko eight days earlier, at a terrible risk to someone, some unknown Russian hero or heroes. What Gurenko's reaction had been, they'd had no clue. Bulavin had waited for some possible response, but there'd been none, and he'd come home. Probably the only reply they could expect would be action or inaction.

After the strike at the Politburo, the president had ordered the Tesla transmitters shut down. The high pressure cells they'd created should decay rather quickly, Gupta had told him, but when an actual thaw would come to Russia and the Ukraine was another matter.

Again the president picked up the report and began to read. He'd read it and two others when someone knocked at his compartment door, and he swiveled his chair to face it. "Come in," he called. It opened and John Zale looked in.

"Sir," Zale said, "we just got a message from Washington. Moscow's announced that the Politburo has appointed a General Gurenko as premier and Party chairman. Secretary Valenzuela would like to talk to you about it."

The Politburo! For a moment, the president had felt a pang of anxiety. But of course, Gurenko would have appointed a new Politburo, to legalize his position. He must have made plans and preparations enough that with Pavlenko and the old Politburo snuffed out, he'd been in a position to move quickly. While everyone else in the Kremlin was still in shock and confusion.

He might even think that the old Politburo had been snuffed out to enable him to take over!

And Valenzuela hadn't been told about the hit. But even on security equipment, now was not the time to enlighten him. Haugen nodded to Zale. "Thanks," he said, picked up the privacy receiver, and touched the flashing key. "Good morning, Val," he said. "John told me Gurenko has taken over."

"That's right, Mr. President. It is uncanny how quickly he moved. I'd have expected a month or more of machinations. In feet, I didn't expect him to try at all. We need to make some kind of public statement, as well as a formal one to the Soviet ambassador."

"Right. You prepare them, and let me see them before they're released."

A thought struck the president then, and his stomach tightened. Was it possible that Gurenko didn't know about scalar resonance, or didn't know that his own government had struck first with it? For a moment he felt an urge to have the pilot return to Washington.

Instead he said, "And Val, call the Soviet ambassador right away. Tell him I'm on the West Coast, visiting the earthquake areas. That we know Pavlenko caused the quakes, and that with Gurenko in charge, we do not intend to retaliate further. That there is no need for war. He probably won't know what you're talking about, but tell him that anyway."

Valenzuela wouldn't know either, the president realized. "I want you to record this," he added. "Can you?"

Valenzuela's face was exceedingly sober as he nodded and reached. "Recording now, Mr. President."

"Good." The president repeated his message. "That part about not intending to retaliate further is extremely important. Some things happened last night around one-thirty, on fifteen minutes notice, that you haven't heard about. I'll brief you when I get back. Or you can talk with Cromwell; he was part of it.

"But call the ambassador first, right away, muy pronto, and let me know as soon as you've finished. Is there anything you need to ask before you do that?"

"No sir."

"Good. I'll be waiting for your call."

Haugen disconnected. What did Gurenko know and not know? Surely he knew that the previous ruling body had been quick frozen. Instant frozen; the heat had been removed instantaneously from not only their environment, but everything in it including their bodies. There'd been no gradient heat loss, no shivering, no moments of shocked realization, just ... instant death.

Gurenko was bound to be concerned that his new government might be hostage to the same kind of attack.

Haugen became aware that his body was tense—shivering with tension. He took deep breaths, focused on relaxing, and felt the tension drain away. He'd visit the disaster areas today, fly back to the White House this evening, sleeping on the way, and call Gurenko as soon as he got there.

He buzzed the orderly the Air Force had provided; he'd have the man make up his bed. Then, after Valenzuela called back, he'd take a long nap. Just now sleep seemed the most profitable way to spend a few hours.

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Framed