EndWar

Becerra had already greeted them and took a deep breath before speaking, determined to make the conversation go exactly where he wanted.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Madame President, three days ago the Russians sent up three cosmonauts to the International Space Station on what our intelligence sources concluded was a resupply and repair mission.”

Perreau, just a few years younger than Becerra and an equally captivating speaker, glanced up from another screen set into her desk. “Yes, Mr. President. We monitored that launch, of course. And I’m still amazed that old station hasn’t crashed into the ocean.” Her English, though spoken with a French accent, was flawless.

“You’re amazed, Madame President? The engineers who worked on the ISS are some of the best in the world. That station will far exceed its lifespan, and it became the springboard for everything we put into the new Freedom Star.”

“If you’ve called to discuss that—” she began, immediately growing defensive. The Euros had been staunch opponents of Freedom Star, Perreau calling it “the beginning of a new insanity.”

“No, ma’am. I’m not calling for that.”

“Then, Mr. President, maybe you’ve called to explain why your ground forces pulled out of Moscow so quickly?”

The challenge came from General Amadou de Bankolé, commander of all special forces in Europe. He had even been involved in the design of the Enforcers Corps and possessed one of the most intimidating visages Becerra had ever seen: deep brown skin, a jaw that appeared to have been carved into shape with a bowie knife, and the cold, almost lifeless eyes of a shark.

Becerra carefully picked his words. “No, General, I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics of those operations.”

“I guess retreating is a bit embarrassing.”

Tucking his fist into the seat, Becerra responded slowly, “I’ll say this: any maneuver by the Joint Strike Force is carefully planned. Sometimes we trade space for time. And as the son of a Marine master sergeant and a Marine reservist myself, I understand that. As a military officer of your status, a man who has studied our tactics, techniques, and procedures, the situation and accompanying explanations should be obvious.”

There, he’d insulted the bastard.

And before Bankolé could reply, another voice broke in. “Mr. President, could you answer a question for me?” Capitaine Ilaria Cimino raised her brows. She was in her mid-thirties, an attractive woman who’d already had a distinguished career with Italian special forces units. In some ways, she reminded Becerra of Major Alice Dennison.

“President Becerra, I asked Capitaine Cimino to join us because she and her team were responsible for intercepting the original transmission and decrypting what they could.”

Becerra nodded. “Excellent work, Capitaine. I’m glad I have this opportunity to thank you.”

She grinned. “I appreciate that. But now I must ask for all us — have you learned what Operation 2659 is? Who is Snegurochka?”

“We are still working on Doletskaya, but the interrogation has proven difficult.”

“Torture him,” snapped Bankolé. “And get what we need.”

“It’s not that simple, General.”

He raised his voice. “Torture him.”

“I didn’t call this meeting to discuss Doletskaya or our justification for pulling out of Moscow. We have a serious problem, and I need your help.”

General Bankolé sighed and began to shake his head, but President Perreau quickly said, “Mr. President, sorry for the interruptions. You have our complete attention.”

Becerra sighed through a nod. “As I said, three cosmonauts headed up to the ISS on a repair and resupply mission. There are two other researchers up there right now: a Japanese scientist and an engineer from Brazil. About twenty hours ago we lost all contact with them and with the Russians, and shortly thereafter the station repositioned itself.”

“Just a technical failure?” asked Perreau, her tone indicating that she already expected the worst.

“We had hoped. But following the communication break, we lost two key satellites, the early warning bird around the Arctic Circle and a comm satellite with ELF capability to communicate with submarines under the ice cap.”

“Mr. President, what do you mean lost?” asked Cimino. “Lost communication?”

“No, Capitaine. I mean destroyed. We’ve picked up the debris fields. We’re not sure if they—”

“Mr. President, if you believe the European Federation’s laser satellites were somehow—”

“No, ma’am. Not at all. And I don’t suggest that Spetsnaz forces have introduced a virus into your system. We’ve been down that dark road before.”

“You’re trying to make a connection between those cosmonauts on the ISS and your lost satellites,” concluded Bankolé.