surprise.
“You know, we had a drawing to see who’d gel to do tins. I won,” the
officer said, getting to his feet.
“I was just ordered to come. I am glad I did. Is it sale now’.'”
“I think so. Come on, Valentin. We have one more job to do, don’t wo’.'”
Both men got into an HMMWV, the current incarnation of the Army jeep,
and the Major started it up, heading for the silo from upwind. Now it was just
a hole in the ground, generating steam. A CNN crew followed, still giving a
live feed as the vehicle bumped across the uneven prairie. Their vehicle
stopped two hundred yards away, somewhat to their annoyance, while the
two officers dismounted their vehicle, carrying gas masks against the possi-
bility that there was still enough smoke to be a health concern. There wasn’t.
Just the nasty smell. The American officer waved the TV crew in and waited
for them to get ready. That took two minutes.
“Ready!” the unit director said.
“Are we in agreement that the silo and missile are destroyed?”
”Yes, we are,” the Russian replied with a salute. Then he reached behind
his back and pulled two crystal glasses from his pockets. “Would you hold
these please, Comrade Major?”
Next came a bottle of Georgian champagne. The Russian popped the cork
with a wide grin and filled both glasses.
“I teach you Russian tradition now. First you drink,” he said. The TV
crew loved it.
“I think I know that part.” The American downed the champagne. “And
now?”
‘ ‘The glasses may never be used for a lesser purpose. Now you must do as
I do.” With that the Russian turned and poised himself to hurl his glass into
the empty hole. The American laughed and did the same.
“Now!” With that, both glasses disappeared into the last American Min-
uteman silo. They disappeared in the steam, but both could hear them shatter
against the scorched concrete walls.
“Fortunately, I have two more glasses,” Valentin said, producing them.
” Son of a bitch,” Ryan breathed. It turned out that the American at the Rus-
sian silo had had a similar idea, and was now explaining what “Miller
time!” meant. Unfortunately, aluminum cans didn’t break when thrown.
“Overly theatrical,” his wife thought.
“It isn’t exactly Shakespeare, but if t’were done when t’were done, then
at least it’s done, honey.” Then they heard the corks popping off amid the
sounds of applause.
“Is the five-billion-dollars part true?”
“Yep.”
“So, Ivan Emmetovich, we can be truly friends now?” Golovko asked,
bringing glasses. “We finally meet, Caroline,” he said graciously to Cathy.
“Sergey and I go way back,” Jack explained, taking the glass and toast-
ing his host.
“To the time I had a gun to your head,” the Russian observed. Ryan won-
dered if it were an historical reference … or a toast to the event?
“What?” Cathy asked, almost choking on her drink.
“You never told her?”
“Jesus, Sergey!”
“What are you two talking about?”
“Dr. Ryan, once upon a time your husband and I had a … professional
disagreement that ended up with myself holding a pistol in his face. I never
told you, Jack, that the gun wasn’t loaded.”
“Well, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway, was I?”
“What are you two talking about? Is this some inside joke?” Cathy de-
manded.
“Yeah, honey, that’s about right. How is Andrey Il’ich doing?”
“He is well. In fact, if you would like to see him, it can be arranged.”
Jack nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Excuse me, but who exactly are you?”
“Honey,” Jack said. “This is Sergey Nikolayevich Golovko, Chairman
of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service.”
“KGB? You know each other?”
“Not KGB, madam. We are much smaller now. Your husband and I have
been . . . competitors for years now.”
“Okay, and who won?” she asked.
Both men had the same thought, but Golovko said it first: ‘ ‘Both of us, of
course. Now, if you will permit, let me introduce you to my wife, Yelena.
She is a pediatrician.” That was something CIA had never bothered to find
out, Jack realized.
He turned to look at the two presidents, enjoying the moment despite
being surrounded by newsies. It was the first time he’d actually been to an
event like this, but he was sure they weren’t always this chummy. Perhaps it
was the final release of all that tension, the realization that, yes, Virginia, it
really was over. He saw people bringing in yet more champagne. It was
pretty good stuff, and he fully intended to have his share of it. CNN would
soon tire of the party, but these people would not. All the uniforms, and
politicians, and spies, and diplomats. Hell, maybe they would all really be
friends.
19
Strike Two, 1-
Though the overall timing was fortuitous, the plan for exploiting the chance
was exquisite, the product of years of study and modeling and simulation. In
fact the operation had already begun when six major commercial banks in
Hong Kong started going short on U.S. Treasury bonds. These had been
bought a few weeks earlier, part of a complex exchange for yen holdings
done as a classic hedge against monetary fluctuations. The banks themselves
were about to undergo a trauma-a change in ownership of the very ground
upon which they stood-and the two factors made their massive purchases
seem an entirely ordinary move to maximize their liquidity and flexibility at
the same time. In liquidating the bonds, they were just cashing in, albeit in a
large way, on the relative change in values of dollar and yen. They would
realize a 17 percent profit from the move, in fact, then buy yen, which, cur-
rency experts all over the world were now saying, had reached a hard floor
and would soon rebound. Still, two hundred ninety billion dollars of U.S.
bonds were on the market briefly, and undervalued at that. They were soon
snapped up by European banks. The Hong Kong bankers made the proper
electronic entries, and the transaction was concluded. Next they wired the
fact to Beijing, uneasily happy to show that they had followed orders and
demonstrated obeisance to their soon-to-be political masters. So much the
better, all thought, that they had taken a profit on the deal.
In Japan the transaction was noted. Fourteen hours off the local time of
New York City, still the world’s foremost trading center, it was not terribly
unusual for Tokyo traders to work hours usually associated with night
watchmen, and in any case the wire services that communicated financial
information never ceased transmitting data. It would have surprised some
people to learn that the people in the trading offices were very senior indeed,
and that a special room had been established on the top floor of a major
office building during the last week. Called the War Room by its current
occupants, it had telephone lines leading to every city in the world with
major trading activities and computer displays to show what was happening
in all of them.
Other Asian banks went next, repeating the same procedure as in Hong
Kong, and the people in the War Room watched their machines. Just after
noon, New York time, Friday, which was 2:03 A.M. on Saturday in Tokyo,
they saw another three hundred million dollars of U.S. bonds dumped into
the market, these at a price even more attractive than that just offered in
Hong Kong, and these, also, were rapidly bought by other European bankers
for whom the working day and week were just coming to an end. As yet
nothing grossly unusual had happened. Only then did the Japanese banks
make their move, well covered by the activity of others. The Tokyo banks as
well started selling off their U.S. Treasuries, clearly taking action to firm up
the yen, it appeared. In the process, however, the entire world’s ready sur-
plus-dollar capacity had been used up in a period of minutes. It could be
written off as a mere coincidence, but the currency traders-at least those
not at lunch in New York-were now alerted to the fact that any further
trading on those notes would be unsettling, however unlikely that might be,
what with the known strength of the dollar.
The state dinner was reflective of traditional Russian hospitality, made all
the more intense by the fact that it celebrated the end of two generations of
nuclear terror. The Metropolitan of the Russian Orthodox Church intoned a
long and dignified invocation. Himself twice the victim of political impris-
onment, his invitation to rejoice was heartfelt, moving a few to tears, which
were soon banished by the start of the feast. There was soup, and caviar, and
fowl, and fine beef; and huge quantities of alcohol which, for just this once,
everyone felt free to imbibe. The real work of the trip was done. There really
were no secrets left to hide. Tomorrow was Saturday, and everyone would