Eagle Station

Patrick leaned forward. “What neither Kevin nor I can forget is how completely the Russians blindsided us last year.” Through his clear helmet, his lined face now looked grim. “We never expected Moscow to beat us to the punch with the world’s first long-range energy weapon and with its first honest-to-God compact nuclear fusion generator.”

“Both of which were based on original research they stole from American labs,” Farrell reminded him.

“Sure, but what matters is that the Russians took concepts our government stuck in a drawer and forgot about — or never adequately funded — and they made them damn well work,” the other man said stubbornly. “Plus, those bastards did it without letting us get so much as a whiff of what they were planning until it was almost too late.”

Farrell pondered that for a moment and then shrugged his own big shoulders. “Fair enough. On the other hand, that rabid son of a bitch Gryzlov is dead and gone.”

“And currently burning in hell, I earnestly trust and hope,” Martindale agreed. He frowned. “Unfortunately, Marshal Mikhail Ivanovich Leonov is still very much alive. And much as I regret to say it, I suspect he may be an even more dangerous opponent than the late and utterly unlamented Gennadiy Gryzlov.”

Patrick nodded. “Leonov is certainly cagier. Nominally, he’s just Russia’s defense minister, one of a cabinet full of equals. But considering how powerful the military is in the political system over there, it’s a pretty safe bet that he’s calling the shots when it counts.”

“You think this Leonov character may be planning a new move against us?” Farrell asked bluntly.

“We do,” Martindale said. “Russia’s a declining geopolitical power at the moment, especially with its economy under serious pressure from our rapidly increasing oil and gas production. Add in the fact that its political stability took a serious hit with Gryzlov’s assassination—”

“Assassination?” Farrell interrupted sharply.

Martindale nodded. “Somebody deliberately aimed and fired that missile from orbit,” he pointed out. “And it sure as hell wasn’t us.” He sighed. “Not that we can prove anything now.”

“More’s the pity,” Farrell agreed. He motioned for the other man to go on.

“My point is that the Russians — especially their ruling elites — have every incentive to take risks just now. Unless they can somehow tilt the global balance of forces back into their favor, they’re ultimately screwed. And while a few of the current government’s ministers might hope they can ride things down to a soft landing as a second-rate power, most of them probably know that’s not a safe bet.”

“Especially not someone like Leonov,” Patrick added. “I’ve studied his record. The man’s certainly brutal and ruthless. But he’s also a Russian patriot. He won’t settle for watching his country slide peacefully into oblivion.”

Farrell frowned. “So what are you suggesting we do? Preemptively strike Moscow… just in case?” His tone made clear how little he thought of that option.

Martindale shook his head. “Even setting aside the probability of unwinnable nuclear escalation, that isn’t really an option.” He smiled thinly. “After all, we are the good guys.”

“Well, I’d argue for a targeted hit on Leonov himself,” Patrick said, not mincing words. “If I saw a way we could pull it off.” His exoskeleton whirred quietly again as he sat up straighter. “Killing an enemy commander might not seem very sporting, but it can be extremely effective. It sure worked out pretty well when our P-38 fighters shot down Japan’s Admiral Yamamoto during World War Two.”

“During a declared war,” Martindale noted.

Patrick shrugged again. “War’s war, declared or not.”

Farrell shook his head. “I take your point, General.” His face tightened. He’d only narrowly escaped the Russian effort to murder him. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to get sucked into a game of tit-for-tat with human lives on the line. That was the kind of game you lost simply by playing. “But we are not going down that road on my watch. Comprende?”

“Completely, Mr. President.”

“So, setting aside the thought of going to all-out war or operating my own little version of Murder Inc., what are my choices here?”

“First, we keep our eyes wide open,” Martindale said flatly. “My intelligence operatives inside Russia already have instructions to poke into every nook, cranny, and corner they can find.”

Farrell nodded his approval. Over the past several years, Scion’s espionage operations had proven far more effective than any of those run by the CIA or other official U.S. intelligence agencies, which had been too caught up in political correctness and partisanship to focus on their primary mission. “And second?”

“That we keep pushing hard — both in space itself and by rapidly exploiting the incredible technological breakthroughs we captured aboard Mars One,” Patrick said.

“Like that ten-megawatt fusion power generator the Russians built?”

“Yes, sir.”