Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 (6 page)

 
          
“Goddammit,
General,” the President said. “We’ve lost twelve men and women and an unarmed
spy plane and you can’t tell me what happened?”

 
          
“We
don’t have all the data in yet, sir.”

 
          
“But
you are accusing the Soviets of shooting down that plane?” Marshall Brent
asked. “Without evidence?”

 
          
“It
had to be the Soviets,” Curtis shot back. “There was no way—” “Well, what have
you got, General?” the President asked impatiently, pouring himself and Brent
more coffee. “From the beginning. And it better be good.”

           
Curtis cleared his throat and began:
“Sir, the RC-135 concentrated its patrol on a large research area north of
Petropavlovsk
—”

 
          
“We’ve
received intelligence about secret weapons research activities there,” Mitchell
interjected. “They’ve built up defenses there, too. They have an airfield and
fixed surface-to-air missile batteries almost as large as at the sub pens at
Petropavlovsk
. But all we’re certain of is a huge nuclear
power plant at the facility.”

 
          
“That
may not be all,” Curtis said. “We received data from the RC-135 about several
new long-range early-warning and surveillance radars in the area, including one
of tremendous power. It was powerful enough to disrupt the data coming from the
RC-135 in all bands.”

 
          
“They
were jamming us?”

 
          
“Not
jamming,” Curtis said. “Interference. They blotted out a wide frequency
spectrum with that one radar.”

 
          
“So
what is it out there?” the President asked everyone in the room. “Are you
saying it’s a new antiaircraft site? A jammer? What?”

 
          
“We
have reason to believe, sir,” Curtis replied, “that the Soviets have been
conducting research into high-energy antisatellite and antiballistic missile
lasers at Kavaznya. That radar has enough power and enough capability to find
and track objects in Earth orbit. Sir, we believe they may have a laser defense
system in operation there.”

 
          
The
President’s jaw lowered. He looked quickly at Mitchell and Brent. “Jesus,
Curtis,” Mitchell said, giving the General an exasperated look. “Pure
speculation. You don’t have enough information to—”

           
“Do you know what they
do
have out there, Mitchell?” Curtis
asked. “Of course,” the CIA chief said. “A huge reactor, a large airfield,
increased air defense sites—but not some pie-in-the-sky laser defense system.
We suspect they have a myriad of weapon experiments being conducted out
there—nuclear warhead production, nerve gas, maybe some particle-beam and laser
experiments dealing with future antisatellite and ABM devices. But an
operational system? Impossible.”

 
          
“That
radar is immensely powerful,” Curtis said. “They could easily have constructed
a radar with far less power to guide missiles to an atmospheric target. This
one can track targets, we estimate, as far as our highest orbiting satellite—as
far as thirty thousand miles.”

 
          
“Suspect.
Possibly. Estimate.” The President glanced at his watch again. “Is that it?
Nothing more definite?”

 
          
“We
know
it is a giant research
facility,” Curtis said, trying to regain his lost credibility. “They have the
energy source and a tracking and targeting capability. They’ve also spent
enough money on that complex to achieve spectacular results—”

 
          
“We
also know,” Mitchell interrupted, “that despite the massive amount of money the
Soviets have spent on research, they are still at least twenty years from
developing a laser sophisticated enough to deploy a credible laser-based ABM
system.”

 
          
“How
far are
we?"
Brent asked, his
curiosity piqued.

 
          
“At
least ten years for a laser system,” Curtis said. “Turn of the century at most.
But we have a working antisatellite system now—the two F-15 anti-satellite
groups operational at Andrews and
Tacoma
. Plus we have the
Ice Fortress
polar missile defense space station project. We can put
it up next year on the Shuttle if we want to. We can upgrade it to a rail-gun
or kinetic energy AS AT system by—”

 
          
“We
cancelled
Ice Fortress,
didn’t we?”
the President asked absently as he sipped his coffee. He turned to Brent. “We
cancelled it, right?” “Absolutely, sir,” Brent said. He turned to Curtis. “I
hope the fact has merely slipped your mind, General, that launching
Ice Fortress
would be a flagrant
violation of the first ratified arms agreement we’ve had with the Soviets in
over twenty years.”

           
“Ice
Fortress
isn’t at issue here,” Curtis said. “The point is: we can’t simply
double the estimate of our own technology and apply it to the Soviets. This
‘just because we don’t have it the Russians can’t have it’ is nonsense. The
Russians play a whole different set of rules than we do. They don’t answer to
Congress, the press, the public, or the world. They don’t cancel projects,
close plants, lay off workers, or worry about a budget. If they want a laser
defense system
now,
they build one.
If they need more money, they buy twenty percent less meat and thirty percent
less toilet paper and to hell with public opinion.”

 
          
“C’mon,
General,” Mitchell said, “I’m on your side, but our information just doesn’t
support your theories. The technology involved in creating a laser-based
antisatellite system that can hit even a geostationary satellite is tremendous.
It is almost mind-boggling to apply that same technique to shooting down
warheads a little bigger than a yard in length. The degree of accuracy required
is enormous.”

 
          
“And
just because
we
can’t do it,” Curtis
said, “the Russians certainly can’t, eh, Mitch?”

 
          
“All
right, all right,” the President said. “Let’s stop trying to win debating
points.” He ran a hand through his sweaty brown hair and tried hard to think.
“All I see is two of our country’s leading experts arguing and contradicting
one another. You say that complex
could
house a Soviet antisatellite or anti-ICBM laser, but then you say they don’t
have the technology to deploy such a system. Excuse my impertinence, gentlemen,
but it sounds like paranoia to me.”

 
          
“I
assure you, Mr. President,” Curtis said quickly, “that it’s not—” “Mitch, we
need more information on that facility in
Siberia
,” the President said, turning to the CIA
director. Can you get it for us?” “We have some possibilities, sir,” Mitchell
replied. “At the very least, we should be able to get a more detailed diagram
of the complex. I’ll give you a complete progress report as soon as possible.”

           
“Good.” The President glanced at his
watch again. “General, I realize the importance of insuring my fast departure
from
Washington
in case of an emergency, but I simply don’t
think the world situation warrants this degree of caution. I’ve got a heavy
schedule today and I can’t interrupt it.”

 
          
Curtis
looked at the President disbelievingly. Wasn’t there any way to convince him of
the seriousness of the damage done to the nation’s defense?

 
          
“I
want details of that plane crash as soon as possible. If the Russians aren’t
cooperating in the search, I want to know about it.”

 
          
Plane
crash,
Curtis thought. Not
downing.
Not
destruction.
Not
murder.
He’s totally disregarded my suspicions.

 
          
“We
have no evidence of any lack of cooperation, sir,” Curtis said quietly.

 
          
“
Marshall
, I think it’s time for you to put some
feelers out to the Russians,” the President said. “Start at the U.N. See if we
can get a special Security Council meeting together. We’ll hit Karmarov with
whatever information we can present there and see how the Russians react. Tell
Greg Adams to hit ’em hard—accuse them of everything. See how that polite
bastard Karmarov reacts. Maybe we have to jerk off these guys a little to find
out what they’re up to.”

 
          
“I’ll
avoid . . . ‘jerking’ anyone off, Mr. President,” Brent said, blanching at the
locker room words as if they had a foul odor.

 
          
“Do
what you have to,” the President said. He turned to Curtis. “Wilbur, I’m truly
sorry for the loss of your people. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough
information to accuse the Russians of foul play. We have to treat it as an
accident. There’s no sign of survivors, the Russians claim they don’t have the
bodies or the wreckage, and there was no cockpit voice recorder or flight data
recorder even if it was recovered, is that right? A tragic loss.’’

 
          
“Analysis
of the signal data from the plane and the destroyed satellite haven’t been
completed yet, sir,’’ Curtis said. “I’ll report to you when that’s finished.’’

 
          
“That’s
fine, General,’’ the President said. “Report to me directly about—”

 
          
“I’d
also like authorization to develop a response in case we find they do have an
ASAT and ABM laser at that complex,” Curtis added quickly.

 
          
“
‘Develop a response?’ ” the President asked. “That sounds like milita- rese for
an attack plan.”

 
          
“This
is getting quite out of hand, General,” Brent said. “I don’t feel it’s
necessary to—”

 
          
“Hold
on,
Marshall
,” the President said. He looked closely at
General Curtis. “Go ahead, Wilbur. What kind of response?”

 
          
“I’m
talking about what this Administration will do,” Curtis said, “// it is
discovered that my suspicions are correct.”

 
          
The
President glanced at his watch again, seeing his rest time slipping away. “What
you’re proposing, General—it could stir up a mess of trouble if word were to
leak out. You know how close we are to signing that arms-reduction treaty.”

 
          
“There
will be nothing to leak, sir,” Curtis said. “I can handle it through my office
only. It will consist only of collection and analysis of date on the Kavaznya
site, and a compilation of possible options. There will be no military
mobilization, no generation of forces, no funding.”

 
          
The
President stood without replying, lost in thought. Everyone in the room jumped
to their feet. The President headed for the door, and General Curtis opened it
for him.

 
          
“Authorized,”
he said simply as he walked past the four-star general. He stopped and glared
at Curtis. “If it leaks, if it damages the negotiations in progress, you’ll
answer for it. You have my guarantee ...”

 
          
General
Curtis caught up to Marshall Brent as they walked toward the underground garage
of the White House.

 
          
“Drop
you somewhere, Mr. Secretary?” Curtis asked, falling into step beside Brent.

 
          
Brent
hesitated a moment, frowning at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Then, he
nodded with a resigned shrug.

 
          
“Thanks,
General,” he replied. “I’m heading out to Andrews to catch the diplomatic
shuttle to
New
York
.”
Curtis, his aide, and Brent climbed into an Army-green Lincoln Continental and
headed out into the raw
Washington
weather. As the driver maneuvered onto the Beltway, Curtis signaled his
aide to secure the thick glass separating the driver from his passengers.