Red Hammer 1994

“I hope we can get to the heart of the matter as quickly as possible. General Surikov?”

Surikov saw his fate written in the stone faces confronting him. All he could hope to do was make the best of a bad situation.

“Yes,” he began plaintively, “the GRU acknowledges the Americans conducted a sophisticated test of ballistic-missile defense technologies.” He now leaned forward for emphasis. “But, I wish to emphasize the word technologies, not an operational system. We have anticipated this type of experiment for some time. Discovery carried only a small laser used in a pointing-and-tracking exercise—the targets were canned.”

The defense minister glared threateningly. “A very smooth explanation, but how do you explain the two explosions shown by the doctor? The two chemical explosions?” He placed particular emphasis on the last two words.

Surikov had expected the question, but from someone else. He smelled a setup. The defense minister was not a technology person. He must have gotten a whiff of the data beforehand.

“The Americans detonated missiles at specific altitudes as part of the sensor test to evaluate kill-assessment algorithms in their battle-manager software. The doctor and his team got carried away in their analysis.”

“Is that what you think?” snapped the defense minister. His cheeks of jelly shook with feigned anger. As usual, he was magnificent. Even Laptev looked pleased, grunting a word of encouragement. He folded his hands, resting them on the table. It was a signal for silence. Laptev would deliver the coup de grâce himself.

“General Surikov, would you be so kind as to describe the state of our surveillance systems at this time?”

“As the Defense Council is aware, our space-surveillance system is in the process of a major modernization program. Occasionally, we have had temporary gaps in our coverage. Key American space launches have been missed, but we eventually tag them in orbit.”

“Thank you, General,” the defense minister said mockingly. “Skip the history lesson, and confine your answer to the issue at hand.”

Surikov gulped. “During April, the radar site near Petropavlovsk was in the final stages of a major refurbishment. The maintenance had been timed to correspond to an expected lull in American space activities.”

“Well, enough of this,” admonished the defense minister. “We’ve heard the GRU’s party line.” Laptev nodded approvingly. “Thank you, General Surikov. You may leave.”

Surikov was stunned. He swung to his boss, silently pleading for hoped support. Kisilev stared straight ahead.

“General Surikov, that is all,” the defense minister repeated much lower, now with mock compassion.

“Yes, Defense Minister,” Surikov replied softly as he headed toward the door.

The Russian president sat stewing. He suddenly looked up. Anger crept across his face. He acted like a man who had just been told his wife was cheating on him with his best friend. He straightened in his chair, his face tightening. “Why wasn’t I informed about this,” he roared, turning toward the defense minister. “Two days ago, I met with that imbecilic American Genser. I would have beaten the bastard over the head with this outrageous act. He sat there for over two hours and never mentioned anything about this. We have an understanding. No secret tests of any kind. This is the height of treachery!”

The Russian president seethed. His face twisted and turned beet red. The others sat motionless, alarmed at the prospect of Laptev collapsing on the spot. Finally he regained control, his breathing becoming more relaxed. Lowering his voice, he sounded ominous, threatening. “The Americans will pay for this.” Laptev eased dramatically out of his chair and onto his feet and then walked slowly from the table. Deep in thought, he traversed the room, turned, then retraced his steps, shuffling, lost in deep thought. He stopped and carefully scrutinized the other Defense Council members.

“This is totally unacceptable,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The Americans must never field this system. Never. They could disarm us for good. Our Strategic Rocket Forces would be rendered impotent. The Americans have their stealth aircraft and cruise missiles. We have neither.”

Fatigued from his short trip, the Russian president plopped down and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. His voice rose dramatically. The anger was boiling to the surface again. It always came in unpredictable waves.

“The Americans have been lying for decades. While preaching peace with sugarcoated rhetoric, they have pursued their Holy Grail of strategic superiority. It’s always been just below the surface. For years we have bled concession after concession, reducing our armed forces to the point of ridiculousness, while the Americans throw us monetary scraps from the table.” The Defense Council reacted with silence.

Laptev headed for the exit. “This time they have gone too far,” he said over his shoulder.

CHAPTER 7