“The particle beam weapon. We will reimburse your country for the satellite if you feel that it will prohibit any tension resulting from this demonstration. But, please, check with your communications and electronics intelligence personnel. The satellite was vaporized by a high-frequency particle beam.”
“That Proves noth-”
“That is sad,” the premier remarked. “I had hoped that it would.” And the line went dead, the premier’s phone clicking in the president’s ear.
“Marian!” the president rasped into his intercom.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Get Mr. Antonais, my science advisor.”
“Sir, he’s already on line six.”
“Put him on,” the president said, lighting another cigarette.
“Mr. President?” the Greek-accented voice said.
“Dmitri-did they really-?”
“Yes, Mr. President. The Con-Vers One was vaporized at precisely-”
“Never mind that,” the president said. “Get over here. I’ll need you.”
The president hung up the phone, leaned into his intercom, and said, “Hold all calls for about two minutes. I’ve got to think.”
He switched off, stood, and walked toward the window, looking out into the rose garden. At this time of year, he thought, it wasn’t terribly pretty.
Chapter Seventeen
“Some sort of policeman, are you?”
“What? Rourke said, turning away from the window and his view of the snow-littered runway and looking at the blond, ruddy-cheeked man beside him.
“I asked if you were some sort of policeman?”
“No,” Rourke said, starting to turn away. “Saw you back in the terminal-so covered with snow, looked almost like you’d walked,” the man began, laughing.
“I did walk-what’s so funny?” Rourke said.
“Well-I meant with the aluminum cases and all. I’m a shooter myself, you know. Gun cases, weren’t they?”
“So what?” Rourke said. Then noticing the belligerence in his own voice he forced a smile then as he did.
“Well, not the ordinary person can take guns in and out of Canada. Rifles, yes, but not handguns. That was what you had in that smaller case, wasn’t it?”
“I was up here doing some teaching with the Mounties,” Rourke explained. “Brought the guns along for a short thing with one of their special units.” He did not mention the counterterrorist squad.
“Going to Atlanta on business. How about you?” the man said, changing the subject.
“I have a place down there, and a farm in the northeast part of the state. So I’m going home.”
“Oh. Well, I won’t be home for two weeks. Things to do, a living to make, all that.”
“It sounds fascinating,” Rourke said, turning away to glance back out onto the runway. He turned back and stared toward the front of the first-class cabin, hearing the speakers coming to life. “This is the captain speaking. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry for all the delays caused by the snow, but it looks like we’ll finally be getting off the ground in just another few minutes. I’ve just been in radio contact with the tower, and we’re cleared for approach onto runway four. Looks from here like there are about four planes ahead of us, so it shouldn’t be long before we get final clearance for that long-awaited takeoff. Weather reports just south of here show gradual clearing, and once we’re over the Great Lakes area, then heading down toward the Smokey Mountains, the weather moderates quite a bit. Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport, our destination, shows clear conditions, present temperatures of high forties with a morning low of the low forties and clear and warming for tomorrow. Since we will be getting underway, if you may have loosened or undone your seat belts, we ask that at this time you check that they are secure. And that all trays and seats are in the upright position. I’ll leave the no-smoking signs off for now, but please observe them once we actually get underway. Should you have any questions now or later, please check with the stewardesses as they pass by. Management tells me because of the delays here, cocktails will be complimentary for this trip once we’re airborne. So please enjoy your flight and thanks for traveling with us.”
Rourke stared back out the window, automatically tugging at his seatbelt. He realized almost bitterly that if the war came, his lifelong battle of nerves with his wife would be ended. His position would be vindicated. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered something someone had said about the bitter taste of victory-he would have rather lived a lifetime in peace, his time and money invested in survival equipment, and the retreat itself having been all part of being foolishly over-prepared.
“You know, I’ve spent a long time analyzing world affairs,” Rourke said. The ruddy-cheeked businessman beside him turned and looked at him, saying, “What? I’m sorry?”
“I said I’ve spent a long time analyzing world events. I prepared for this-read everything I could get my hands on, trained-”
“What?”
“I knew this was coming.” Finally, then, as if for the first time he noticed the man beside him listening to him, Rourke turned and said, “Have you been listening to the news? The radio?”
“What? All the war talk? Just sabre rattling, my friend. I wouldn’t worry over it. Not a bit.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t, huh? Well, I was just going to suggest that maybe you get off this damned airplane and go home and take care of your family just in case it isn’t all talk.”
“You really did walk through the snow just to get aboard. My God, fellow, you take this Russian stuff dreadfully seriously, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Rourke said, terminating the conversation and turning back toward the window. “I guess I do.”
***
“There’s another communiqué from the Indian government, Mr. President. Just came in over the telex.”
“Read it to me, Thurston,” the president said, sitting down at his desk.
Potter whispered. “All right, sir, It says-”
“Just the essentials,” the president said.
“Yes, sir. They say that at the expiration of your deadline, they’ll utilize a low-yield nuclear device-tactically. It’s mostly as a symbolic statement of their entrance into the conflict with the Soviets and their intention to resist their incursion into Pakistan at all costs.”
“That’s crazy. Get me the Indian ambassador right away.”
As Potter left, the president turned to his national security advisor, Bernard Thorpe. “Bernie, what do you think?”
As Thorpe started to speak, Commerce Secretary Meeker cut in. “You’d better get out of here up to somewhere we can count on your bein’ alive long enough to direct the war effort, Mr. President.”
Bernard Thorpe, wire-rimmed glasses in his hands, his pipe out but still clenched hard in his teeth, said, “Much as I hate to agree with Mr. Meeker, Mr. President, he’s making good sense. If India uses a nuclear device, maybe we can still avoid a war. Pakistan, though, might be tempted then-I understand they have them ready. No really effective delivery system, though. But that could start it. What if another pair of submarines collides or attacks each other? What does Mr. Antonais say about the Soviet particle beam systems?”
“Dmitri says they could be operational, but that the destruction of the communications satellite was just a planned shot-could have been working it out for hours in advance and probably were. Won’t be any match for our MRVs. But I don’t want to get that far. I don’t think the premier wants that, either.”
“Are we going to back down then?” Thorpe said.
“I’m going to call the premier again. Maybe we can work out a compromise. Bernie, tell Marian to have my special plane called up just in case I want to get over to the mountain.”
Meeker, standing up, exhaling hard and tugging at his tight necktie, said, “Good move, Mr. President. If those suckers want to play poker, well then, let’s play.”
***
The Soviet premier sat at his desk. The lights of his office were out except for the small desk lamp and its circle of yellowish light. “You are sure of this?” he asked.
“Our intelligence realized the importance of this, Comrade Premier. It has been investigated and investigated again. There can be no doubt,” the woman said. “You have been a major with Intelligence for long, Gospozha?”
“Yes, Comrade Premier,” she answered uncomfortably.
“How nice for you.” Then, looking back at the deciphered message in his bony hands, he said, “So the Pakistan Army has a nuclear device and will destroy a dam lying in the path of our forces. Has anyone bothered yet to inform the Pakistan Army that this will force the possibility of total war?”
“No,” the woman said, thoughtfully. “No, Comrade Premier. Or, at least, I have not been so informed.”
“Well, well…” The premier blew smoke into the circle of light. “The American president just tried calling me, but I was unavailable. He left word he would try again from his hardened mountain retreat-his bomb shelter. I suppose that I, too, should go to my bomb shelter. He can reach me there. You are a credit to your sex, Comrade Major. Please advise my staff that I instructed you to avail yourself of some refreshment on your way out.”