World War III

In all his briefings he’d been told over and over again not to anticipate any political acknowledgment of the mission. If he and his men were captured, he was to deny any official responsibility. He would admit nothing except that the mission involved a search for a missing top-secret space capsule. At the time it seemed that the mission was specifically designed without the knowledge of political leaders as an expediency — so they could say they knew nothing of the mission if it went wrong. But with the last-minute revelation that it was entirely a KGB operation, Vorashin had begun to wonder who was ultimately responsible. A military operation had to be approved at the highest political level. The KGB

— Rudenski in particular — didn’t necessarily require political approval. Vorashin cast a dark glance at Saamaretz. “He is calling me, Major.”

“Congratulations, comrade Colonel,” came the voice Vorashin had heard a thousand times on the television. “The best wishes of the Soviet people are with you. And, of course, our personal gratitude.”

Vorashin frowned. Our? Since when did comrade Gorny share or even express his gratitude. He depressed the transmit switch. “Thank you, comrade Chairman.”

“I have been told that you have met with some unexpected resistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am also to understand that they were a small, yet tenacious force.”

Vorashin wondered how he knew, then remembered Saamaretz and his little book. “The opposing unit was superbly led, comrade Chairman,” he said cautiously. “By an imaginative and fearless commander.”

“But that problem is now behind you, yes?”

Vorashin glanced at Saamaretz. “Yes.”

“Do your present coordinates project your arrival at the objective on schedule?” The chairman’s voice communicated a slight urgency to the answer.

“Approximately, comrade Chairman. We have had some delays, but we anticipate arrival in eight to twelve hours, depending upon weather and terrain.”

“Do you expect any further delays, Colonel Vorashin?”

“None.”

“Repeat that, please.”

“No further delays,” Vorashin said.

“There is some concern about the weather, I understand, Colonel. There is a growing possibility that it will clear in fifteen to twenty hours.”

“By then, we will be at the pipeline.”

“You’re sure, Colonel?”

Vorashin shifted uneasily in his seat. “Yes, comrade Chairman.” He hesitated. “Is there some… complication with the mission from the civilian side?” He’d almost asked if anything had gone wrong, which would have been a grave error. You don’t ask your most powerful political leader if he’d made a mistake. It only occurred to him at this moment that maybe Gomy hadn’t known about it until now.

“Actually, Colonel, the Americans are taking a much more severe stand regarding your mission than General… that is, than any of us had anticipated. I’ve met the American president and we are working diligently to resolve this situation. General Rudenski and I have every hope of avoiding war.”

“War?” Vorashin glanced at Saamaretz. “Avoiding war!” He quickly depressed the switch. “Comrade Chairman, I was ordered to reach the pipeline and hold it until I received further instructions. There was no mention of the possibility of war during my briefings. Has the American government refused to negotiate the grain embargo?” Only silence followed his question. “Comrade Chairman?”

“Colonel Vorashin, we are pleased with your accomplishment thus far. You will be further instructed when you reach your objective.” It was Rudenski who spoke.

“Comrade General, please clarify the political situation.”

“You have your instructions, Colonel,” Rudenski said tersely. “We will await your transmission from White Hill with eagerness.”

“Please advise the state of negotiations,” Vorashin said urgently.

The voice he heard next was the radio operator in Moscow, signing off.

Vorashin set the microphone back on its hook. He stared at the radio dumbfounded. “What’s going on?”

he said finally.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Saamaretz said smugly. “Your concern is strictly a military one. You are not a political theorist.”

“They are speaking of war, Major,” Vorashin said quietly. “Do you understand what that means? Do you have any idea?”

Saamaretz shook his head. “It is not for you to question, Colonel.” He finished writing in his book. He closed it and looked at Vorashin. “Comrade Rudenski knows what he is doing. I have faith.”

There was the explanation. It hit Vorashin with shuddering clarity. Rudenski knows. Not Chairman Gorny. Vorashin felt his hands tremble. He tasted the metallic flavor of fear on his tongue. The shrewd little men with notebooks were taking over. He imagined Gorny with his head in a noose and the external affairs minister smiling at the lever. He felt the sweat at the back of his neck.

Rudenski knows what he’s doing.

Rudenski paced in front of the party chairman’s desk. Gorny sat quietly in a seat beside the window.

They were in the “official” office, the cold room with the larger-than-life furniture and furnishings.