Red Storm Rising

Forty minutes later, he was in his car heading south, down U.S. 301, with his windows open, allowing cool night air to wash over him, and the car radio tuned to an all-news station. It was clear enough what was happening in the U.S. military. A bomb had been set off-probably a bomb in the Kremlin. Toland reminded himself that reporters hard up against deadlines, or TV types trying to score an instant scoop, often did not have the time to check things out. Maybe it was a gas main? Did Moscow have gas mains? If it were a bomb, he was sure the Soviets would instinctively think that the West had something to do with it, regardless of what that Suddler fellow thought, and go to higher alert status. The West would automatically do the same in anticipation of possible Soviet action. Nothing too obvious, nothing to provoke them further, mainly an exercise conducted by intelligence and surveillance types. The Soviets would understand that. That's how the game was played, more from their side than from ours, Toland reflected, remembering assassination attempts against American presidents.

What if they really do think? Toland wondered. No, he decided, they had to know that no one was that crazy. Didn't they?

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

He drove for another three hours, wishing that he'd drunk more coffee and less wine, and listening to his car radio to stay awake. He arrived just after seven, the normal beginning of the day's work. He was surprised to find Colonel Lowe at his desk.

"I don't report to Lejeune until Tuesday, so I decided to come in and take a look at this. How was the drive?"

"I made it alive-that's about all I can say. What's happening?"

"You'll love it." Lowe held up a telex sheet. "We pirated this off the Reuters wire half an hour ago, and CIA confirms-meaning they probably stole it, too-that the KGB has arrested one Gerhardt Falken, a West German national, and accused him of setting off a bomb in the fuckin' Kremlin!" The Marine let out a long breath. "He missed the big shots, but now they're saying that among the victims are six Young Octobrists -from Pskov, by God!-who were making a presentation to the Politburo. Kids. There's going to be hell to pay."

Toland shook his head. It couldn't get much worse than that. "And they say a German did it?"

"A West German," Lowe corrected. "NATO intel services are already going ape trying to run him down. The official Soviet statement gives his name and address-some suburb of Bremen-and business, a small import-export house. Nothing else yet on that subject, but the Russian Foreign Ministry did go on to say that they expect 'this despicable act of international terrorism' to have no effect on the Vienna Arms Talks, that while they do not believe at this time that Falken was acting on his own, they 'have no wish' to believe that we had anything to do with it."

"Cute. It's going to be a shame to lose you back to your regiment, Chuck. You have such a nice way of finding the important quotes."

"Commander, we just might need that regiment soon. This whole thing smells like dead fish to me. Last night: the final film in the Eisenstein film festival, Alexander Nevsky, a new digitalized print, a new soundtrack-and what's the message? 'Arise, ye Russian people,' the Germans are coming! This morning, we have six dead Russian kids, from Pskovl and a German is supposed to have planted the bomb. The only thing that doesn't fit is that it ain't exactly subtle."

"Maybe," Toland said speculatively. He spoke like a halfhearted devil's advocate. "You think we could sell this combination of factors to the papers or anybody in Washington? It's too crazy, too coincidental-what if it is subtle, but backwards subtle? Besides, the object of the exercise wouldn't be to convince us, it would be to convince their own citizens. You could say it works both ways. That make sense, Chuck?"

Lowe nodded. "Enough to check out. Let's do some sniffing around. First thing, I want you to call CNN in Atlanta and find out how long this Suddler guy's been trying to tape his story about the Kremlin. How much lead time did he have, when was this approved, who he worked through to get it, and if someone other than his regular press contact finally did approve it."

"Setup." Toland said it out loud. He wondered if they were being clever-or clinically paranoid. He knew what most people would think.

"You can't smuggle a Penthouse into Russia without using the diplomatic bag, and now we're supposed to believe a German smuggled a bomb in? Then tries to blow up the Politburo?"

"Could we do it?" Toland wondered aloud.