Act of God (11 page)

"But Fred tells me you got shot up in rare style not long ago," Ugo persisted.

"That was different," Sam told him. "I was working in one of the little brushfire wars. You go messing around where people are firing automatic weapons, you risk getting shot. No, this is something completely different. What happened tonight was direct action against two Company operatives, and within the U.S., to boot. Orders like that had to be cleared through the head of KGB, if they didn't originate there."

"That's this guy Ryabkin?" Ciano asked.

"Make it Nekrasov," Fred said. "Ryabkin wears the hat these days, but Nekrasov is still in charge."

"Then they know," Laine said. "They don't just suspect, they know for certain that we are on their plan and they want to eliminate us."

"That's how it is," Sam agreed. "Ever since the Fifties, we've laid off each other's operatives except in the most extreme cases. We're an extreme case."

"This time they tried to make it look like an accident," Laine pointed out. "Now they have shown their hand, will they try to stop us openly?"

"Good question," Sam said. "I doubt it, simply because they would only further establish our credibility without slowing down the enquiry. Too many people know about it now. My educated guess is that they'll lay off us now. Their future moves will be diplomatic."

"Yeah," Ugo chuckled, "it's gonna take some real diplomacy to explain away what they tried tonight."

"There won't be any explaining about tonight," Sam said. "What happened out there was a regrettable accident, and that's what it'll say in the papers."

"What!" Ugo choked. "Them sumbitches tried to kill us!"

"Keep your voice down," Sam said. The waitress, the only other inhabitant in the diner, was looking their way curiously.

"So what if they tried to kill us?" Fred said, patting Ugo's ruffled hair. "We're all playing for keeps, remember? The Bulgarian embassy will be told that their people are dead in a car wreck. They can accept that, or they'll say that a bunch of their people, lousy with diplomatic immunity, were murdered by the nasty Americans. Remember, they weren't shooting. All the empty shell casings will be found in Sam's car. Chances are, though, they'll say it was a regrettable accident and let it go at that."

"Don't seem right, somehow," Ugo grumbled.

"Welcome to the world of higher diplomacy," Sam told him.

On the street outside Laine's hotel, Sam noted the Company car on watch. By now at least one of the hotel's domestic staff on each shift would be one of theirs and assigned to Laine's floor. At the door to her apartment, Laine turned to him. "I'd rather you did not come in tonight, Sam."

"You saw something tonight you didn't like, didn't you?" Sam said.

"Yes. Please, Sam, I don't want you to think I condemn you in any way. It's just that I have never seen personal violence before. It's unsettling. And the way you and Fred acted tonight; so cold and detached, so—" she groped for the right words.

"So professional?"

"I suppose that is what I want to say. I realize that those people were murderers, and that had they succeeded the consequences for the whole world would have been unspeakable. It is just that knowing it objectively and seeing the killing are two entirely different things."

Sam managed a faint smile. "And now you're feeling a gut reaction, is that it?"

"I am. And there is something else. I have the distinct impression that had you and Fred been ordered to ambush those people as they did us, you would have done it with no more compunction than did they."

"If we had those orders," Sam said angrily, "you're damn right we would! Listen, lady, this is a war. Just because nobody's signed any papers or made any speeches, don't think it's not. We've been killing each other since nineteen seventeen , for Christ's sake, with a few breaks when we had common enemies. And those bastards are not going to do to my country what they did to yours." Sam visibly calmed himself. "You'd better get used to it, because you might be seeing more of it soon. We have to assume you're still Target One."

"I suppose I'll have to. Good night, Sam." She went into her apartment and closed the door. Sam left, needing to find an all-night bar and tie one on, but knowing better.

CHAPTER TEN

WHITE HOUSE

It occurred to Sam that the crucial turning points of history had been as dull as this. There must have been endless haranguing and hassling over the wording of the Declaration of Independence. The French Revolution had probably been preceded by long, dull discussions of whether to storm the Bastille on the 14th or the 15th. A huge conglomeration of politicians, generals and maybe even astrologers had probably been empanelled to decide whether or not Hitler should invade Russia.

Now, in this room, men were facing the greatest crisis of the most powerful nation in history. What was decided here would determine man's future in the solar system. Sam was having trouble staying awake.

The blue ribbon panel had spoken, their recitations received with blank expressions, but Sam knew that meant nothing. Bart Chambers spoke most persuasively, and although his scientific credentials were the least impressive, his words carried more weight than the rest of the panel put together. There was just no beating the right stuff, Sam reflected. It also occurred to him that Chambers might have an iron of his own in this fire. If a new space program were to be formed specifically to meet this threat, Chambers might well get a high position, even the directorship. He certainly had the experience and seniority.

At least Ciano livened things up in his inimitable fashion. The President's scientific adviser turned green whenever the gnomish little man erupted to his feet to make a point. On the whole, though, Ciano behaved less outrageously than usual. Whatever his mannerisms, Ciano's data on the diversion of Soviet space resources were well-organized and convincing.

A short recess was called and the members of Taggart's panel were dismissed from the executive session to follow. For security reasons, only Sam and Ugo would attend this stage. In the anteroom, the two drew coffee and prepared themselves for the final session. Ugo spoke to Sam in a prison-yard whisper: "What do ya think, Sam? They buying it?"

"There's no way of knowing until we hear the summation. From the look of it, though, we're ahead. None of the military people were fidgeting or playing with pencils or staring at the ceiling. That means they're interested and taking us seriously. The civilian contingent, I don't know. I think some of them look bored for a living."

They were summoned back to the conference room and resumed their seats. Vice President Hernandez opened the executive session, "To begin, let's review what we know before we speculate on possibilities. We now have substantial evidence that the Soviets are planning a series of manned missions to comets. Their primary interest seems to be the virtually unlimited availability of ice in comets. Of those things we can be almost certain. There is a high level of probability that the impetus for this project comes from the Soviet development of a nuclear propulsion system including an ion-drive thruster for maximum efficiency. In addition, they appear to have solved the problem of shielding their cosmonauts from radiation hazard without resorting to a prohibitively massive radiation buffer. So much for the certainties and the greatest likelihoods." The Vice President tossed the papers he had been scanning to the table and looked at the faces around him.

"Now for the speculations: Just what the hell do they really intend to do with all that ice? Specifically, are they really planning to hit us with iceberg bombs, as these people suggest? Frankly, I don't see what they'd have to gain by it. They must know that we'd retaliate with our nuclear arsenal. By now they must know that we have suspicions about their intentions. The attempt on the lives of Dr. Tammsalu and Mr. Taggart and the others a few days ago supports their argument, but it is in no way conclusive."

Ciano almost came out of his seat, but Sam laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"After all," Hernandez continued, "Mr. Taggart has had an active career, as has Ms. Schuster, and either of them or both might have been the intended target for reasons totally unconnected with this Project Ivan the Terrible. Having established our certainties, likelihoods, and mere possibilities, let's hear the thoughts of the Council members on this matter."

First to speak was General Moore, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He was tall and whip-thin, one of the few Korean War aces still in uniform. "Granting that these iceberg bombs are feasible, and my scientific staff assures me that they are, what the Russkies have here is a strategic rather than a tactical weapon. It looks like they think they can get away with a sneak attack and convince the world that it's a natural disaster. That sure as hell isn't going to work because we already know about it. My people also tell me that these missiles, being ice, can be destroyed by nuclear bursts. That can be done in space with no harmful radiation reaching Earth. The problem is, we don't have the satellite defense system that would be necessary for early warning. Orbiting lasers could cut the things up into little ice cubes, but I'm told that the technology for that is still at least ten years down the line.

"But, hell, we don't really need to do all that. Why not just tell the Russians that we'll launch our birds the minute anything big and loud goes bang on U.S. soil? Their plan, if it exists at all, hinges on our not knowing what the hell's going on. Since we know, why not tell them so? First they'll act all hurt and offended that we'd ever accuse them of such a thing, then they'll abort the project: end of problem. Just use the Red Phone." Actually, these days the Washington-Moscow hot line was a desktop computer that provided simultaneous translation and screen readout in the receiving language and the thing was perfectly white, but the old name still stuck.

This time it was the President who spoke. "Gentlemen, I don't have to tell you that this business couldn't have come along at a less opportune moment. Since taking office, I've striven to lessen tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union. God knows we both face enough problems without having to face a war, nuclear or otherwise. We've succeeded in this, without weakening our position, largely by building a personal rapport with Premier Chekhov. I believe he sincerely wants peace. If I were to accuse him of plotting war against us on no more evidence than we have, three years of painstaking labor in the interests of peace would be lost. The very fragile trust we've built would be shattered for good."

"There is always the clandestine route, sir," said Caldwell. "We could leak our suspicions to a known KGB operative. It'd get to Chekhov, and it needn't touch your office. If this Ivan the Terrible project doesn't exist, they'll assume that it's just another nutty suspicion from the extreme Russophobe faction here."

"I think that would be best, Brad. See to it. And now, gentlemen, I think it's time we addressed the longstanding problem of our orbiting defense system. I don't mind telling you I was shocked to learn that an enemy could throw ice at us, ice for God's sake! And there's nothing we could do about it except wait for it to hit. You've all seen the pictures of the Tunguska blast. If Tarkovsky's right and that really was caused by a chunk of ice from a comet, then from now on we'll have to assess all such interplanetary debris as potential weaponry."

"Then, Mr. President," the National Security Advisor said, "we have to massively increase our space defenses. Such orbiting hardware as we have now is too little and out of date."

"That's because we've been struggling along on a starvation budget for a decade," the head of Space Defense Agency, General Hart, said heatedly.

"Gentlemen, no finger-pointing, please," said the President. "Granted we need to increase our presence in space, but I have no wish to touch off another arms race."

"Hell, that's easy, Mr. President," Ciano said.

The President looked at him. "Easy, Dr. Ciano? If it is, then it'll be the first easy solution to a problem that's confronted me since I've been in office. Please go on."

"Well," hedged Ugo, "maybe not exactly easy, but simple. We just do what they been doing the last ten years. What made Project Ivan the Terrible possible was Project Peter the Great. Announce that we're not gonna let the Russians get ahead of us in the
peaceful
development of space. Get us what we shoulda had a long time ago: really big permanent space stations, a lunar base, maybe a Mars base and manned asteroid probes. Friendly competition, see? Just what they claim they want. And the technology will be there if we gotta go to wartime status.

"Plus, unlike missiles in silos, this project can pay its own way in scientific and industrial benefits. And we gotta do it now, Mr. President, because I got a hunch the Russians have that ion-drive engine. I think your science advisers will agree with me that, if they got it, then it's like they got jet fighters and we got Sopwith Camels."

"Hmm," the V.P. said. "I am not at all sure that the American public can be sold on yet another massive space venture."

"Like hell!" Ciano said, jumping to his feet. Uh-oh, Sam thought. "Did J.F.K. get any lip from the public when he said we'd put a man on the moon by the end of the decade? No, he didn't. Why? Because he was an inspiring leader and because it's what they wanted to hear, that's why! Americans don't like the idea of being second-class in anything, and for the last ten years, all the major advances in space have been scored by the Europeans, the Japanese and the Russians. I submit that the American President who goes public and says that America's gonna be tops in space again," he grinned craftily, "I don't think he's gonna lose any votes thereby."

The men around the table sat awestruck by Ciano's incredible gall. Sam groaned inwardly. Don't ruin it for us now, you little jerk!

"Be that as it may," the President said after an audible pause, "something must be done to close this gap in space expertise between us and the Soviets. I shall be calling a series of meetings with key members of Congress to lay the groundwork for expanding the American role in space. In the meantime," he looked at the head of NASA, "I think we should go out and have a look at those comets we've heard about, and any Soviet spacecraft that might be hanging around them. Can it be done?"

The NASA chief, David Blaustein, had done his homework. "There is nothing to stop us, sir. Using our intelligence apparatus and good sense, it shouldn't be difficult to pick out which comets the Soviets are most likely to go for. We could follow their craft to the comet and observe them. It wouldn't take long to figure out whether their object was in line with Peter the Great or Ivan the Terrible. Of course," he remembered that he was speaking to laymen, "one spacecraft doesn't follow another like two cars on the highway. The flight plan would have to be carefully computed, using a high capacity computer, especially for a constant-boost spaceship, but, yes, it could be done. Now, if it turns out that the Soviets are really going to use those comets as weapons, our spacecraft should be equipped with devices—" Sam smiled thinly at the way the man was bending over backward not to say "armed." "That can obviate the threat out there, long before it can endanger us."

"It sounds simple," the President said. "I smell a catch. What is it, Dave?"

"The catch, Mr. President, is that it will take a minimum of five years, but probably closer to ten, to develop a tested spaceship for the purpose."

A pall of deadly silence fell en the table. Even Ugo was subdued but it was, predictably, he who broke the silence. "I think, Mr. President, that the main stumbling block we got here is this word, 'tested.' "

"Right," concurred General Moore, "how fast can we do it if we have some people in those ships who're willing to take a chance on not coming back?"

"Hold it!" Blaustein protested, "Throughout its history, NASA has given its highest priority to the personal safety of the personnel in space. Barring accidents on the ground, we've had an unbroken record of—"

"Hell with that," Moore said. "This is a national security issue. Hell, test pilots are killed all the time, and it never gets farther than the local papers; there's no national coverage. Mr. President, I was a fighter jock myself, once, just like Colonel Chambers. I guarantee you that if we get the ships cobbled together, there'll be no lack of volunteers to man them, even if the chances of coming back aren't the best."

Until now the President had mainly listened, and spoken interrogatively. Suddenly that changed. "Gentlemen," the President said. "I am not at this time invoking my presidential war powers, but you will proceed as if I damn well had. I'll be calling emergency meetings soon to settle this with Congress, but I'm sure most of them will agree with me, and the rest will go along when I make clear the alternatives. I see three important points. First, we must develop deep-space nuclear missile systems; discreetly, of course. Second, we must have a stepped-up manned program for deep space, with the emphasis on developing and testing a high performance nuclear propulsion system capable of using cometary ice as reaction mass. Third, we have to focus our intelligence apparatus on the Soviet manned space program." He gave the others a few moments to digest that. "Now, our first project is to track Russian's probe to their comet. Let's call it Project Bounty Hunter. This project is going to need a director." The President turned a frosty gaze toward Ugo. "Dr. Ciano, could you suggest such a person?"

Sam watched Ugo turn purple. I could've told you, he thought. He's going to nail you for that crack about votes. Here's your rope, you crazy gnome, now hang yourself. Ugo got to his feet once more and managed to strangle out some words that obviously cost him a lot. "Mr. President, I can't think of a better man for the job than Colonel Chambers."

The President and everyone else seemed genuinely surprised and touched. It was as if John Dillinger had walked past an open bank vault without going in. The President looked at the NASA chief. "Dave?"

"Top man for the job, sir, and long overdue. I think," he had to force out the last words, "that Dr. Ciano, in light of his unique familiarity with all elements of the problem, should have the number two position in the project."

"Then he has it," the President said. He looked at his watch. "Are there any further comments before we adjourn?"