At the chart table, Gorov put the printout of Edgeway material on top of the novel that Zhukov was reading. “You better take a look at this.”
When he reached the last page of the document, the first officer said, “Quite a trap they’ve gotten themselves into. But I read a little about this Edgeway Project in the papers, way back when they were still in the planning stages, and these Carpenters sounded like extremely clever people. They might scrape through this.”
“It isn’t the Carpenters who caught my eye. Another name.”
Quickly scanning the printout, Zhukov said, “You must mean Dougherty. Brian Dougherty.”
Gorov sat on the only other stool at the Plexiglas-topped, lighted chart table. “Yes. Dougherty.”
“Is he related to the assassinated American President?”
“Nephew.”
“I much admired his uncle,” said Zhukov. “But I suppose you think I’m naïve in that regard.”
Gorov’s disdain for politics and politicians was well known to his first officer, who quietly disapproved of his attitude. The captain could not convincingly pretend to have had a change of heart just to win Zhukov’s backing for the risky operation that he wanted to conduct. Shrugging, he said, “Politics is strictly about power. I admire achievement.”
“He was a man of peace,” Zhukov said.
“Yes, peace is something they all sell.”
Zhukov frowned. “You think he wasn’t a great man?”
“A scientist who discovers a cure for disease—that’s a great man or woman. But politicians…”
Zhukov was not one of those who longed for a return of the old regime, but he had little patience for the series of unstable governments that had afflicted Russia in recent years. He admired strong leaders. He was a man who needed to have someone to whom he could look for direction and purpose—and good politicians were his ultimate heroes, regardless of their nationality.
Gorov said, “No matter what I think of the late President, I’ll admit the Dougherty family handled their tragedy with grace and fortitude. Very dignified.”
Zhukov nodded solemnly. “An admirable family. Very sad.”
Gorov felt as if his first officer were a sophisticated musical instrument. He had just finished tuning Zhukov. Now he was about to attempt a complicated melody with him. “The boy’s father is a Senator, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and highly regarded,” Zhukov said.
“He was also shot, wasn’t he?”
“Another assassination attempt.”
“After all the American system has done to that family, why do you suppose the Doughertys remain such ardent supporters of it?”
“They’re great patriots,” Zhukov said.
Pulling thoughtfully at his well-trimmed beard, Gorov said, “How difficult it must be for a family to remain patriotic to a nation that kills its best sons.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t the country that killed them, sir. Blame a handful of reactionaries. Perhaps even the CIA. But not the American people.”
Gorov pretended to think about it for a minute. Then he said, “I suppose you’re right. From what I read, Americans seem to have considerable respect and sympathy for the Doughertys.”
“Of course. Patriotism in adversity is the only kind that earns respect. It’s easy to be patriotic in times of plenty, when no one is asked to make a sacrifice.”
The melody that Gorov had hoped to play with his first officer was progressing without a sour note, and the captain almost smiled. Instead, he stared at the Edgeway printout for a long beat, and then he said, “What an opportunity for Russia.”
As the captain had expected, Zhukov did not immediately follow the change of thought. “Opportunity?”
“For goodwill.”
“Oh?”
“And in a time when Mother Russia desperately needs goodwill more than at any other moment in her history. Goodwill leads to lots of foreign aid, preferential trade treatment, even military cooperation and concessions of strategic importance.”
“I don’t see the opportunity.”
“We’re only five hours from their position.”
Zhukov raised one eyebrow. “You’ve plotted it?”
“I’m estimating. But it’s a good estimate. And if we were to go to the aid of the miserable people stranded on the iceberg, we’d be heroes. World-wide heroes. You see? And Russia would be heroic by association.”
Blinking in surprise, Zhukov said, “Rescue them?”
“After all, we’d be saving the lives of eight valued scientists from half a dozen countries, including the nephew of the assassinated President. Such an opportunity for propaganda and goodwill comes no more than once a decade.”