“Then why, Minister, did you ever get involved with him? Why did so many people have to suffer?”
“I don’t know,” Dogin replied. “Honestly, I don’t. General Kosigan convinced me we could move him aside later, and I wanted to believe that-though I never did, I suppose.” His eyes ranged over the old maps on his walls. “I wanted this so very much … to bring back what we’ve lost. To return to the time when the Soviet Union acted and other nations reacted, when our science and culture and military might was the envy of the world. I suppose, in retrospect, this was not the way to do it.”
“Minister Dogin,” said Orlov, “it could not have been done. Had you built this new union, it would have fallen. When I returned to the space center in Kazakhstan last month, I saw the bird droppings and feathers on the staircases, and the boosters covered with plastic that was covered with dust. And I ached for a return to the past as well, to the era of Gagarin and the time when our space shuttles, the Burans, were going to allow us to colonize space. We cannot prevent evolution and ex tinction, Minister. And once it has occurred, we cannot reverse it. ”
“Perhaps,” said Dogin. “But it is in our nature to fight. When a man is dying, you do not ask if a treatment is too expensive or too dangerous. You do what you feel must be done. Only when the patient has died, and reason has replaced emotion, do you see how impossible the task was.” He smiled. “And yet, Sergei-yet I must admit that for a time I thought I was going to succeed.”
“If not for the Americans-”
“No,” said Dogin, “not the Americans. It was just one American, an FBI agent in Tokyo who fired at the jet and forced us to transfer the money. Think of it, Sergei. It’s humbling to think that one unassuming soul changed the world where the mighty failed.”
Dogin was breathing easier now. He felt oddly at peace as he reached to the right and opened his top desk drawer.
“I hope you will stay on at the Center, Sergei. Russia needs people like you. And your son, when you see him -don’t be too rough with him. We wanted to recapture what we once had … and he wanted to see it for the first time, outside the history books. Though the methods may have been questionable, there was no shame in the dream.”
Replacing the receiver, Dogin looked at the map of the Soviet Union in 1945, and continued to look at it through clear eyes as he put the barrel of the Makarov against his temple and pulled the trigger.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Tuesday, 4:22 P.M., St. Petersburg
It seemed strange to General Orlov that the three men who had had such key roles in the day’s events-Dogin, Paul Hood, and himself-had conducted their business from desks, had not seen daylight since the crisis began.
Devils in the dark we are, conducting the affairs of men ….
There was only one thing Orlov had to do, and he couldn’t do it, not yet. Having called General Dhaka’s office to request news of his son and the rest of Nikita’s command, all he could do was sit and think and wait.
He let his body sink back into the chair, his arms on the rests, hands hanging over the front and seeming to weigh so very much. Orlov had been forced to fight his own countrymen, all of whom loved Russia in their own way, and now the tragedy of what had happened, and his part in it, began to weigh on him.
He bent his head toward his watch, promptly forgot what time it was. Why hasn’t anyone called? he wondered. Surely the pilots had been able to ascertain how many soldiers were on the ground.
The beep of the phone startled him, like the hiss of a coiled snake. But it brought him to life and he grabbed the receiver before the first beep had died.
“Yes?” His temple was beating against the earpiece.
His secretary said, “There’s a video call for you.”
“Send it,” Orlov said urgently.
Orlov’s eyes were on the monitor as Paul Hood’s face came on. The American took a moment to ascertain that it was Orlov he was looking at.
“General,” Hood said, “your son is all right.”
Orlov’s jaw trembled for a moment, then he smiled with relief “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“He’s in the extraction craft,” Hood continued, “and we’ll arrange for his safe return as soon as possible. That may take a day or two, since he was wounded slightly in the arm and leg.”
“But he’s all right-in no danger.
“We’re taking good care of him,” said Hood.
Orlov slumped forward slightly, his body relaxing with the good news. But there was something in the American’s eyes, a hollowness in his voice, that suggested something else was wrong.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Orlov asked.
“Yes,” said Hood, “there is. I want you to tell your son something. ”
Orlov rose attentively on his elbows.
“Your son did his best to resist extraction. I’m sure he thought it was his duty to go down with the ship, or perhaps it was a point of honor not to leave on an enemy craft. But in so doing, he caused the death of my team commander.”
“I’m deeply sorry,” Orlov said. “Is there anything I can do to-”
“General,” Hood interrupted, “I’m not selling guilt or asking for anything. We’ll reclaim the remains through diplomatic channels. But my second-in-command was very close to the team leader, and he wanted you to relay something to your son.”
“Of course,” said Orlov.
“He says that in the Russian folktale ‘Sadko,’ the Czar of the Sea tells the hero that any warrior can take lives, but a truly great warrior struggles to spare them. Make sure your son understands that. Help him to be a great warrior.”
“I’ve not had great success convincing my son of anything,” Orlov said, “but I give you my word, great warriors will grow from the seeds that have been sown here. ”
Orlov thanked Hood again, and then the General signed off and thought in respectful silence about the nameless, faceless man but for whom his own life and the life of his wife would now be a shambles.
And then he got up from his desk and took his hat from the rack and went outside. Except for the dwindling crowd of protesting workers, the day looked exactly like it had when he arrived, and he was startled to realize that exactly twenty-four hours had passed since he’d arrived for the showdown with Rossky.
Twenty-four hours since the world nearly changed.
And twenty-four hours since he had hugged his wife.
SEVENTY-SIX
Tuesday, 10:00 P.M., Helsinki
It was easy for Peggy to get out of the Hermitage.
When the shots were fired on the staircase, rumors erupted among the striking workers that the Army was coming and the gathering was going to be broken up. The crowd quickly began to disperse, then rejoined almost as fast, like mercury, when police began to rush inside and leaders realized that the gunplay had nothing to do with them. The mass of workers then sloshed toward the Hermitage, clogging the main entrance where there were no longer any guards, walking and tripping inside, causing panic among tourists trying to get out, and drawing the guards back again. They used nightsticks and rigid forearms, hands pressed knuckle-to-knuckle, to protect the art and drive the strikers back.
Peggy left as a panicked tourist.
The day was growing dark, and once outside Peggy made her way to the Nevsky Metro stop. It was crowded with rush-hour commuters, but the trains came every two minutes and, paying her five kopeks, she was able to leave shortly after arriving. From there, it was a short run across the Neva to the Finland Station, which made stops in Razliv, Repino, Vyborg, and Finland.
Private George was already there, sitting on a wooden bench in the waiting room, reading an English-language newspaper, a plastic bag of souvenirs at his side. She watched him after showing her visa and passport at the ticket window and purchasing passage to Helsinki. He would read for a minute, look up and around for a few seconds, then read again.
Once, he looked up for several seconds longer than usual. Not at her, but she was certainly in his range of vision. Afterwards, he got up and walked away with his newspaper and postcards and Hermitage snow globe and other mementoes. That was to let her know he had seen her and wouldn’t be watching anymore. Once he was gone, Peggy walked over to the central kiosk and bought English and Russian newspapers of her own, several magazines, and sat down to await the midnight departure of the train.