“The next person who bothers me, it better be a grave national emergency!” He walked forward, barefoot on the tile deck.
“Message delivered,” Henderson told Loomis over dinner.
“Anything else?” Candlelight and all, she thought.
“Just wanted to confirm. They didn’t want new info, just to back up what they already had from some different sources. At least, that’s the way I read it. I have another delivery for them.”
“Which one’s that?”
“The new battlefield air-defense report. I never could understand why they bother. They can read it in Aviation Week before the end of the month anyway.”
“Let’s not blow the routine now, Mr. Henderson.”
This time the message could be handled as routine intelligence traffic. It would be flagged to the Chairman’s attention because it was “personal” information on a senior enemy intelligence official. Gerasimov was known in the higher echelons of KGB to be a man interested as much in Western gossip as Russian.
It was waiting when he arrived the next morning. The KGB Chairman hated the eight-hour time differential between Moscow and Washington—it made things so damned inconvenient! For Moscow Center to order any immediate action automatically risked having his field officers cue the Americans as to who they were. As a result, few real “immediate-action” signals were ever sent out, and it offended the KGB Chairman that his personal power could be undone by something as prosaic as longitudinal lines.
“Subject P,” the dispatch began, the English “R” being a “P” in the Cyrillic alphabet, “is now the target of a secret criminal investigation as part of a nonintelligence matter. It is suspected, however, that interest in P is politically based, probably an effort on the part of progressive congressional elements to damage CIA because of an unknown operational failure—possibly involving Central Europe, but this is not RPT not confirmed. P’s criminal disgrace will be damaging to higher CIA officials due to his placement. This station grades the intelligence reliability of the case as A. Three independent sources now confirm the allegations dispatched in my 88(B)531-C/EOC. Full details to follow via pouch. Station recommends pursuing. Rezident Washington. Ends.”
Gerasimov tucked the report away in his desk.
“Well,” the Chairman murmured to himself. He checked his watch. He had to be at the regular Thursday-morning Politburo meeting in two hours. How would it go? One thing he knew: it would be an interesting one. He planned to introduce a new variant on his game—the Power Game.
His daily operational briefing was always a little longer on Thursdays. It never hurt to drop a few harmless tidbits at the meetings. His fellow Politburo members were all men to whom conspiracy came as easily as breathing, and there hadn’t been a government anywhere in the last century whose senior members did not enjoy hearing about covert operations. Gerasimov made a few notes, careful to choose only things that he could discuss without compromising important cases. His car came around at the appointed time, as always accompanied by a lead car of bodyguards, and sped off to the Kremlin.
Gerasimov was never the first to arrive, and never the last. This time he walked in just behind the Defense Minister.
“Good morning, Dmitri Timofeyevich,” the Chairman said without a smile, but cordially enough for all that.
“And to you, Comrade Chairman,” Yazov said warily. Both men took their seats. Yazov had more than one reason to be wary. In addition to the fact that Filitov was hanging over his head like a sword out of myth, he was not a full voting member of the supreme Soviet council. Gerasimov was. That gave KGB more political power than Defense, but the only times in recent history that the Defense Minister had had a vote in this room, he’d been a Party man first—like Ustinov had been. Yazov was a soldier first. A loyal Party member for all that, his uniform was not the costume it had been for Ustinov. Yazov would never have a vote at this table.
Andrey Il’ych Narmonov came into the room with his usual vigor. Of all the Politburo members, only the KGB Chairman was younger than he, and Narmonov felt the need to show bustling energy whenever he appeared before the older men who were arrayed around “his” conference table. The strain and stress of his job were telling on him. Everyone could see it. The black bush of hair was beginning to gray rapidly, and it also seemed that his hairline was receding. But that was hardly unusual for a man in his fifties. He gestured for everyone to sit.
“Good morning, Comrades,” Narmonov said in a businesslike voice. “The initial discussion will concern the arrival of the American arms-negotiations team.”
“I have good news to report,” Gerasimov said at once.
“Indeed?” Alexandrov asked before the General Secretary could, staking out his own position.
“We have information that suggests that the Americans are willing in principle to place their strategic-defense program on the table,” the KGB Chairman reported. “We do not know what concessions they will demand for this, nor the extent of the concessions in their program that they are willing to make, but this is nevertheless a change in the American posture.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Yazov spoke up. “Their program is well along—as you yourself told me last week, Nikolay Borissovich.”
“There are some political dissenters within the American government, and possibly a power struggle under way within CIA itself at the moment, we have just learned. In any case, that is our information, and we regard it to be fairly reliable.”
“That is quite a surprise.” Heads turned to where the Foreign Minister was sitting. He looked skeptical. “The Americans have been totally adamant on this point. You say ‘fairly reliable,’ but not totally so?”
“The source is highly placed, but the information has not been adequately confirmed as yet. We will know more by the weekend.”
Heads nodded around the table. The American delegation would arrive noon Saturday, and negotiations would not begin until Monday. The Americans would be given thirty-six hours to overcome their jet lag, during which there would be a welcoming dinner at the Academy of Sciences Hotel, and little else.
“Such information is obviously a matter of great interest to my negotiating team, but I find it most surprising, particularly in view of the briefings we’ve been given here on our Bright Star Program, and their counterpart to it.”
“There is reason to believe that the Americans have learned of Bright Star,” Gerasimov replied smoothly. “Perhaps they have found our progress sobering.”
“Bright Star penetrated?” another member asked. “How?”
“We’re not sure. We’re working on it,” Gerasimov replied, careful not to look in Yazov’s direction. Your move, Comrade Defense Minister.
“So the Americans might really be more interested in shutting our program down than in curtailing theirs,” Alexandrov observed.
“And they think that our efforts have been the reverse of that.” The Foreign Minister grunted. “It would be nice for me to be able to tell my people what the real issues are!”
“Marshal Yazov?” Narmonov said. He didn’t know that he was putting his own man on the spot.
Until now, Gerasimov hadn’t been sure about Yazov, about whether he might not feel safe taking his political vulnerability over the Filitov matter to his master. This would give him the answer. Yazov was afraid of the possibility—CERTAINTY, he corrected himself, Yazov has to know that by now—that we can disgrace him. He’s also afraid that Narmonov won’t risk his own position to save him. So have I co-opted both Yazov and Vaneyev? If so, I wonder if it might be worth keeping Yazov on after I replace the General Secretary . . . Your decision, Yazov . . .
“We have overcome the problem of laser power output. The remaining problem is in computer control. Here we are far behind American techniques due to the superiority of their computer industry. Only last week, Comrade Gerasimov furnished us with some of the American control program, but we had not even begun to examine it when we learned that the program was itself overtaken by events.
“I do not mean this to be criticism of the KGB, of course—”
Yes! In that moment Gerasimov was sure. He’s making his own overture to me. And the best part—no other man in the room, not even Alexandrov, understands what just happened.
“—actually, it illustrates the technical problem rather clearly. But it is only a technical problem. Comrades. This one, too, can be overcome. My opinion is that we are ahead of the Americans. If they know this, they will be fearful of it. Our negotiating position to this point has been to object to space-based programs only, never ground-based, since we have known all along that our ground-based systems have greater promise than their American counterparts. Possibly the change in the American position confirms this. If so, I would recommend against trading Bright Star for anything.”