Starfire (34 page)

“Yes, sir,” Kazyanov said. He cleared his throat, then went on: “There has been a great increase in spaceplane flights as well, sometimes three to four per month, sir.” He changed slides. “The newest model of their single-stage-to-orbit spaceplane, the S-29 Shadow, has now completed operational tests and has made one flight to the station. It is similar in size and cargo capacity to our Elektron spaceplane, but of course does not need a rocket to be boosted into space.”

“Of course not,” President Gennadiy Gryzlov said acidly. “So. They have one Shadow spaceplane now that is similar in size to our Elektron. How many Elektrons do we have, Sokolov?”

“We have reactivated seven Elektron spaceplanes,” Minister of Defense Gregor Sokolov replied. “One is standing by ready for launch in Plesetsk, and another spaceplane-rocket pair has arrived there and can be mated and placed into launch position within a week. We have—”

“A
week
?” Gryzlov thundered. “Minister, I told you, I want to fill Earth orbit with Russian spaceplanes and weapons. I want to be able to launch two spaceplanes simultaneously.”

“Sir, only one launch pad at Plesetsk was stressed for the Angara-5 booster,” Sokolov said. “Funds meant to build another pad there were diverted to the Vostochny Cosmodrome construction and to the extension of the Baikonur lease. We should—”

“Minister Sokolov, I am sensing a pattern here: I issue orders, and you give me excuses instead of results,” Gryzlov said. “Does Vostochny have a launch pad suited for the Angara-5 booster, or not?”

“Vostochny Cosmodrome will not be completed for another two years, sir,” Sokolov said. Gryzlov rolled his eyes in exasperation for the umpteenth time during the teleconference. “Baikonur is the only other launch facility available to accommodate the Angara-5 at this time.”

“So why is there not an Elektron spaceplane at Baikonur, Sokolov?”

“Sir, it was my understanding that you did not wish to have any more military launches from Baikonur, only commercial launches,” Sokolov said.

Gryzlov was struggling to contain his anger. “What I said I wanted, Sokolov, is to get as many spaceplanes on launch pads as quickly as possible so we can at least have a chance of challenging the Americans,” he said. “We pay good money to use that facility—we will start using it. What else?”

“Sir, we are pressing ahead with upgrades and improvements at Plesetsk, Vostochny, and Znamensk spaceports,” Sokolov went on, “but work is slowing down because of the cold weather, and must cease altogether in about a month or else the quality of the concrete castings will degrade.”

“So we have just
two
launch pads available for our spaceplanes, and one is not even in our own country?” Gryzlov said disgustedly. “Perfect.”

“There is another avenue we can take, Mr. President: launch Elektron spaceplanes from China,” Foreign Minister Daria Titeneva interjected. “Thanks to American actions against both our countries, our relations with China have never been better. I have explored this possibility with the Chinese foreign minister, and I spoke with his military adviser, who suggested a base in China's far west: Xichang. With the opening of the new Wenchang spaceport on Hainan Island, all heavy launch operations have moved there from Xichang, leaving the base open and available, and their facilities are state of the art. They have two launch pads stressed for our Angara-5 rockets and our Proton series as well. There is great concern that a launch failure could bring debris down on nearby cities and factories downrange, but I think a little extra consideration to local and provincial politicians can alleviate their concerns.”

“Well done, Daria,” Gryzlov said, smiling for the first time in the meeting. “See, Sokolov? That is how it is done. Thinking outside the box.”

“You object to launches from Baikonur but are considering sending our rockets and spaceplanes to China, sir?” Sokolov retorted. “I am sure the Chinese military would love to get an up-close look at Elektron and Angara-5.”

“I ordered Russian spaceplanes on launch pads, Sokolov!” Gryzlov snarled, jabbing his cigar at the image of the defense minister on his monitor. “If I cannot launch them from Russian facilities, I will do it from somewhere else.” He turned back to Titeneva. “Proceed with making the arrangements, Daria,” he said. “What else did the Chinese talk about?”

“They talked of a trade for the use of Xichang, sir, along with cash, of course,” Titeneva said. “They mentioned several things, a few political items such as support for their claims on the Senkaku Islands and in the South China Sea, and perhaps reopening talks about oil and natural-gas pipelines into China from Siberia, but they are most interested in S-500S mobile surface-to-air missiles, the newest model, capable of attacking satellites.”

“Indeed?” Gryzlov said, nodding enthusiastically. “Trade launch facilities for S-500 missiles, which I would like to place at all Russian spaceports and military installations worldwide anyway. Excellent idea. I approve.”

“Sir, the S-500 is the most advanced air defense weapon in the world,” Sokolov said, his face a stunned mask, telling all that he couldn't believe what the president had just said. “It is at least a generation ahead of anything the Chinese or even the Americans have. The electronic, sensor, and propulsion technology used in the S-500 is the best in Russia . . . no, the best in the
world
! We will be giving them what they have been trying to steal from us for decades!”

“Sokolov, I want Elektrons and Burans on launch pads,” Gryzlov snapped. “If the Chinese can do it, and they want S-500s, they will get S-500s.” He scowled at Sokolov's shocked expression. “How are our other rearming programs proceeding? The Duma has increased our defense appropriation by thirty percent—that should translate into hundreds of S-500s, MiG-31D antisatellite systems, and a lot more than just five spaceplanes.”

“It takes time to restart weapons programs that were canceled years ago, sir,” Sokolov said. “The S-500 was already in production, so we can expect one to two systems per month for the next—”

“No, Sokolov!” Gryzlov interrupted. “That is unacceptable! I want at least
ten
per month!”

“Ten?” Sokolov retorted. “Sir, we can eventually reach a goal of ten per month, but it takes time to accelerate production to that rate. Just having the money is not enough—we need trained workers, assembly-line space, a steady and reliable parts stream, testing facilities—”

“If the S-500 was already in production, why is all that not already in place?” Gryzlov thundered. “Were you only planning on building one to two per month? The most advanced air defense system in the world, or so you say, but we are not building more of them?”

“Sir, defense spending was shifted to other priorities, such as antiship missiles, aircraft carriers, and fighters,” Sokolov said. “The S-500 is primarily an air defense weapon intended for use against cruise missiles and stealth aircraft, and later adapted as an antisatellite and antiballistic-missile weapon with the ‘S' model. After our bomber and cruise-missile attacks on the United States that virtually eliminated their bombers and intercontinental ballistic missiles, air defense was not given a very high priority because the threat was all but gone. Now that space is a higher priority and the S-500S has proven successful, we can start to build more, but as I said, sir, that pivot takes time to—”

“More excuses!” Gryzlov shouted into the video teleconference microphone. “All I want to hear from you, Sokolov, is ‘yes, sir,' and all I want to see are results, or I will get someone else to carry out my orders. Now get to it!” And he hit the button that terminated the connection with his defense minister.

At that moment Tarzarov sent the president a private text message, which scrolled across the bottom of the video teleconference screen: it read,
Praise in public, criticize in private.
Gryzlov was going to reply “Fuck you,” but decided against it. “Daria, good work,” he said over the teleconference network. “Let me know what you need me to do to assist.”

“Yes, sir,” Titeneva replied with a confident smile, and signed off. Gryzlov grinned. Daria Titeneva had definitely become a changed woman over the past several weeks: aggressive, creative, demanding, even vulgar at times . . . in and out of bed. Gryzlov continued the video teleconference with his other cabinet ministers for a few more minutes, then signed off.

“Your anger and temper will get the best of you eventually, Gennadiy,” Tarzarov said once all the connections to the president's ministers were securely terminated. “Constantly warning you of it does not seem to help.”

“It has been over ten years since the destruction of the American bomber and intercontinental-ballistic-missile fleet, Sergei,” Gryzlov complained, ignoring Tarzarov's advice once again. “The Americans reactivated their military space station and made the switch to space-based weapons instead of rebuilding their bomber and missile weapons, and they made no secret of it. What in hell were Zevitin and Truznyev doing all those years—playing with themselves?”

“The former presidents had institutional, political, and budget problems during most of that time, Gennadiy,” Tarzarov said, “as well as having to rebuild the weapons destroyed by the Americans in the counterattacks. It does no good to point fingers at past presidents. Very few heads of state, including you, are completely in control of their country's fate.” He checked his smartphone, then shook his head in exasperation. “Ilianov and Korchkov are waiting outside. Are you not done with this project, sir? Ilianov is nothing but a thug in an air-force uniform, and Korchkov is a mindless automaton who kills because she enjoys it.”

“I will be done with those two when their task is complete,” Gryzlov said. “But for now, they are the right persons for this job. Get them in here.” Tarzarov escorted the Russian officer and his assistant into the president's office, then took his “invisible spot” in the office and effectively blended in with the furniture. Ilianov and Korchkov were in military dress, Ilianov in his air-force uniform and Korchkov in a plain black tunic and trousers, with no decorations or medals, just insignia of rank on the epaulets, a characteristic of the elite
Spetsgruppa Vympel
commandos. She also wore a knife in a black sheath on her belt, Gryzlov noticed. “I expected to hear from you days ago, Colonel,” he said. “I also have not heard anything in the news about the death of McLanahan's son, so I assume your squad failed.”

“Yes, sir,” Ilianov said. “Team One reported to Alpha, the command team, that they had McLanahan, and then Alpha lost contact with them. Teams Two and Three picked up McLanahan and an individual that McLanahan had been doing self-defense and conditioning training with driving out of the city.”

“Who is this individual?” Gryzlov asked.

“A retired noncommissioned officer named Ratel, now a self-defense and firearms instructor,” Ilianov said. “He makes occasional contact with several individuals that also look ex-military—we are in the process of identifying them now. One man looks as if he was burned by chemicals or radiation. He appears to be the one in charge of the ex-military men.”

“This gets more interesting,” Gryzlov said. “McLanahan's bodyguards? Some sort of private paramilitary group? McLanahan the elder reportedly belonged to such groups, both in and out of the military.”

“Our thoughts exactly, sir,” Ilianov said. “Team Two had to break off his tail because he thought that he had been detected, but the teams were using an electronic tracker on Ratel's vehicle, so they were ordered to break off the tail and wait for the tracker to stop. It stopped at a small central California airport. The teams found the vehicle abandoned, but they were able to find which building at the airport Ratel and McLanahan were hiding in, a large aircraft hangar. The command team ordered Teams Two and Three to wait for activity at the airport to cease and then attack from different sides, which they did.”

“And failed, obviously,” Gryzlov said. “Let me guess the rest: the members of all three teams are missing, are not in police custody, and McLanahan is nowhere to be found. Whom did the hangar belong to, Colonel?” He held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess again: some ordinary-sounding aviation company with unremarkable officers and few employees that had not been in the area for too long.” Ilianov's expression told the president that he had guessed correctly. “Perhaps the hangar is this group's headquarters, or
was
. They will surely scatter to the four winds. Was your command team able to search the hangar?”

“The command team could not get inside because of the police and then because of a heavily armed private security guard,” Ilianov said. “But the team leader did observe many men and women taking files and equipment out in trucks, and a business jet that had been inside the hangar during the operation taxied away and flew off the night after the operation. The business jet was painted completely black.”

“I thought it is illegal in most countries to paint an aircraft all black—unless it is a government or military aircraft,” Gryzlov said. “Again, very interesting. You may have stumbled onto some kind of mysterious paramilitary organization, Colonel. What else?”

“The command-team leader was able to observe that the front entrance to the aircraft hangar had been blown inward, possibly by a vehicle that had driven right through the front office and crashed all the way into the hangar itself,” Ilianov said. “There was no sign of a damaged vehicle anywhere outside the hangar, however.”

Gryzlov thought for a moment, nodding, then smiled. “So McLanahan's paramilitary friends effect a rescue by crashing a vehicle through the front door? That does not sound too professional. But they got the job done.” He rose from his desk. “Colonel, ten of the men you sent in have been either killed or captured, supposedly by this countersurveillance or counterintelligence outfit around McLanahan. Whoever you are recruiting inside the United States are all but useless. You will stand down, and we will wait to allow conditions there to go back to routine. Obviously McLanahan has no intention of leaving that school, so it will be easy to pick him up again.”