Countdown (39 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: Countdown
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“When?” he shouted.
Kurshin smiled. “Why don't we stay here like this and find out together? We have a lot to talk over, you and I.”
“I'll kill you now!”
“Then we'll die together,” Kurshin whispered. The moment the words escaped his lips he realized he had made a mistake.
McGarvey saw it in the Russian's eyes. The missile was going to launch at any moment.
“Sonofabitch,” Kurshin shouted, and he gave a massive heave.
McGarvey was off balance and he stumbled backward, the point of the razor-sharp blade raking Kurshin's throat, opening up a five-inch-long gash that instantly spurted blood.
The Russian was incredibly fast. In four long steps he was across the foredeck and at the rail.
“No,” McGarvey screamed, the sound nearly animalistic in its intensity. He threw the stiletto with every ounce of his strength at the same moment Kurshin disappeared over the side. A second later there was a big splash and then the night was quiet.
McGarvey turned and faced the missile. The countdown was started now.
He forced himself to calm down. To think it out. To remember something of what Frank Newman had told them.
Stepping forward around the base of the missile launcher, he found the control panel with its single switch. He flipped it, and the launch rack immediately began to descend. But slowly. Too slowly.
The Tomahawk's guidance system was in its nose cone, Newman had told them. There was a small access panel just a few inches from its tip.
But it was too high to reach yet.
Ten screws, Newman had said. It would take time to remove them.
He spotted the screwdriver lying on the deck, and he picked it up.
“If they've placed a timer circuit in the firing mechanism, we're going to have to first determine if removing it will cause the rocket to fire anyway,” Newman had said. “It's possible they installed fail-safe devices. We'll just have to see.”
The missile's nose finally came down within reach. McGarvey found the access panel and began taking out the screws one at a time, working as fast as he could. But his fingers were slippery
with blood, his own as well as Kurshin's, and twice he dropped the screwdriver.
The last screw jammed. Not bothering with it, he jammed the blade of the screwdriver in the crack between the nearly loose panel and the missile's casing, and pried it outward. The screwdriver snapped, but the panel had come far enough open so that he could get his fingers beneath it.
He gave it one last heave, and it finally pulled away with a loud screech.
Directly inside the access panel he could see the timer mechanism, its counter switching to eight seconds.
Reaching in, he pulled it out, extending it delicately on its wires.
The counter switched to seven.
The interior of the nose cone was filled with circuit boards, components sealed in black boxes, and a rat's maze of wiring.
Six.
McGarvey tried to make some sense of it. “At the very least, we might try disconnecting the TERCOM unit, if we have the time,” Newman had explained.
Five.
But there was no time. And Newman was dead, most likely. He'd taken at least two or three hits to the chest.
Four.
Of course if the missile launched now, in the down position, it would explode here aboard the ship.
Three.
 
Baranov would not have won, this time. But he would try again. Time was on his side. Time, patience, ruthlessness. There would be others to take Kurshin's place.
Two.
McGarvey reached inside the missile and grabbed a handful of wires. Still he hesitated.
One.
He yanked with all of his might, pulling the entire bundle of wires free from their connections to the various circuit boards.
The counter on the timer switched to zero. A tiny buzz sounded from somewhere within the body of the missile, and then the night fell silent, except for the gentle lap of the wavelets against the hull of the ship.
THE PRESIDENT'S NATIONAL SECURITY adviser, General Donald Acheson, put down his telephone with a big grin. For just a moment or two he held himself in check, but then he jumped up, rushed out of his office past his startled secretary, and hurried down the corridor to the president's study.
Knocking once, he let himself in.
The president, seated comfortably in his favorite easy chair, was talking with the Senate majority and minority leaders. He barely glanced at Acheson, but he suddenly smiled.
“Well, I think that about wraps it up then,” he said, getting to his feet.
Senators Reid and Hubbard were only momentarily startled. But they too got up, shaking hands with the president. They gave Acheson a curious look as they left, but they said nothing.
“What have you got?” the president asked the moment the door was closed.
“We've beat the bastards. O'Malley just called from the Pentagon, he's on his way over with the full report.”
“Thank God,” the president said softly. “Was it Arkady Kurshin after all?”
“Yes, Mr. President. McGarvey killed him.”
“Did we suffer any casualties?”
“Two killed, one of them a naval intelligence officer, and the other the staffer O'Malley had sent over.”
“Did we take any prisoners?”
“Apparently not.”
The president's jaw tightened. “Good,” he said. “We'll have to invent a cover story, of course. Our two people were killed in an accident during a routine training mission. It's tough, especially for their families, but I'm definitely putting a lid on this entire business. And there
will
not be any leaks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say Admiral O'Malley is on his way over?”
“Yes, sir. He said he'd be here within twenty minutes.”
“Get Murphy over here, and you'd better try to reach Sterling Miller at NSA. I'll give Jim Baldwin a call.”
“Are we going to meet here or in the situation room?”
“Here will be fine,” the president said. “What about McGarvey? Is he all right?”
“From what I understand he came out of it okay, Mr. President.”
“Good. That's very good. We're going to need him.”
 
The president made it obvious that he was switching off the recording equipment in his desk. No one in the room missed the significance of his action.
Admiral O'Malley had come over from the Joint Chiefs with
the report on the “Incident,” as they were calling it, and everyone had had a chance to read it.
“That's it, then,” Secretary of State James Baldwin said, looking up over the tops of his reading glasses. “A first-class job on McGarvey's part.”
“It's Baranov, of course,” the president said.
“We can't know that for sure,” Baldwin replied. He looked to Roland Murphy for support, but the DCI shook his head.
“I can't agree. It's him all right.”
“None of those bodies carried any ID that would link them to the KGB.”
“Of course not.”
“In fact there was nothing aboard that ship that in any way linked them to the Soviet Union.”
“Aside from the fact they used Soviet-made weapons,” Admiral O'Malley said.
“Readily available on the open market,” Baldwin replied sharply. He looked this time to National Security Agency Director Sterling Miller for support. “Your people came up with no communications intercepts, nothing that would indicate an operation of this magnitude was being directed out of Moscow?”
“Nothing.”
Murphy leaned forward on the couch. “You don't seem to understand, Jim, that this was a Baranov operation. The normal lines of communication between Moscow and the KGB's field stations would not have been used.”
“Then there's no proof linking the Soviets to this …”
Murphy shrugged. “We may never have positive identification of their bodies, and Kurshin's wasn't found. But some of them were certainly the submarine drivers. The others brought the
Stephos
out to the rendezvous. The Tomahawk missile was on board. Its serial number matched the one aboard the
Indianapolis
. I don't think you can possibly argue that they didn't hijack the sub, kill the crew, steal the missile, and scuttle the boat. You can't deny that.”
“I'm not denying anything, General, except for the fact we have no hard facts. Nothing that would stand up in a court of law. Nothing that the president could use to take to Gorbachev.
There simply isn't that kind of hard proof here. Kurshin was a fanatic, that's all. He managed to put together a crew who, as incredible as it still seems to me, managed to get away with this. Or very nearly managed to. But there is nothing concrete linking that act of piracy and international terrorism with Moscow.”
“He's right,” General Acheson agreed. “But it doesn't alter the fact that we all know damned well that Baranov, with or without the consent of the Politburo, engineered this thing.”
“So what do we do about it, Donald?” Baldwin asked. “Exactly what is it you are suggesting?”
Acheson started to reply, but the president held him off.
“We'll get to that in just a minute, Jim. First we have two other aspects of this situation to consider.”
No one said a thing, but they all knew what was coming.
“The first, of course, is the Israelis. The cat's out of the bag, so to speak. The Soviets know that they have battle-ready nuclear weapons. They won't let that go. It's going to put Peres in a very difficult situation.”
“All they have to do is hold tight and keep their mouths shut,” Baldwin said.
“Do you think they'll do that?”
“If they're smart,” Baldwin said softly. “We can bring certain pressures to bear.”
“I'm not so sure it would work this time.”
“It damned well better, Mr. President, lest another can of worms is opened over there.”
“For instance?”
“The Soviets have a very good case for introducing nuclear weapons to the region, for instance. For another instance, Peres might finally listen to his military advisers and make a preemptive strike somewhere. Just to show their muscle.”
“Do you actually think that's possible?” the president asked.
“I do. They'll take whatever steps are necessary to protect their current advantage.”
A small glint of triumph crossed the president's eyes. “Which brings us to the second consideration. Valentin Illen Baranov.”
“Kurshin was his man, Mr. President,” Murphy said. “There's no doubt about it.”
“Nor do I feel that Baranov will give up so easily. He's a tenacious bastard.”
“Gorbachev will take care of him,” Baldwin said.
“I think it's gone beyond that, Jim,” the president replied thoughtfully. “From what I've read he's consolidated his power over the past couple of years, ever since he brought Powers down.”
“Something like that could not happen again, Mr. President,” Murphy said with a tight jaw. Donald Suthland Powers had been one of the best directors of central intelligence that the Agency had ever known. Baranov had ruined him, and in the end had been at least the indirect cause of his death.
“Don't be so sure,” the president said ominously.
“What are you suggesting, Mr. President?” Baldwin said, a dangerous edge in his voice.
The president's eyes never left Murphy. “Is he still in East Berlin?”
“Yes, Mr. President, through the weekend. Unless of course he reacts to the news that his latest operation has failed, and he runs back to Moscow. That's possible.”
“Is it possible, General, to reactivate McGarvey?”
“I won't hear of this, Mr. President,” Baldwin blurted. “With all respect, sir, we cannot sink to that level.”
“Is it possible?” the president asked.
“Yes it is.”
“What would his chances be?”
“This time, not very good. Baranov will know, or guess, that McGarvey is coming for him.”
“Because of Dr. Abbott?”
“Yes, and because of the Powers thing. McGarvey, as you know, was involved.”
“What about Dr. Abbott?” Baldwin asked.
“She was kidnapped from her hotel in West Berlin,” Murphy explained. “We have good reason to suspect that it was Baranov's people who took her.”
“Why? What use can she be to him, especially now?”
“Bait,” Murphy said.
“For whom, for what?”
“McGarvey. He and Dr. Abbott … apparently have a thing for each other.”
“Good Lord,” Baldwin said. He turned again to the president. “Mr. President, if you mean to send McGarvey into East Germany to assassinate Baranov, then you will have my resignation as secretary of state immediately.”
“I won't accept it, Jim,” the president said. “But I am sending McGarvey across. To rescue Dr. Abbott. We cannot simply abandon her.”
“He's an assassin.”
“Yes, he is.”
“And Baranov, if Roland is correct, is waiting for him. Expecting him to come across.”
“That's true as well,” the president said. “Can he pull it off, General?”
“I honestly don't know, Mr. President. But I suspect that if anyone can do it, he can. He's motivated.”
Baldwin was shaking his head angrily. “If it gets back to us, it could topple your administration.”
“Well, it's my administration, Jim. And it's a risk I'm willing to take, this time.”

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