Chapter 9

Jorge Payro grabbed another piece of sheet metal off the pallet behind him. He fed it carefully into the machine, checking the alignment, then stepped back and yanked the lever triggering the hydraulics. The press crumped down, folding edges, slicing off the extra metal. Jorge raised the lever, pulled the formed piece off the platform and worked around the edges with his file to remove the worst of the burrs. He placed the partially formed object on the conveyor belt. Somewhere down the line, after more cutting, stamping, drilling, painting, and fitting, the part would emerge as the top of a washing machine. Jorge turned for another flat sheet. While he worked he thought of his date for the futbol game that evening. One of the teams from Buenos Aires was coming to play Rosario. Rosario was good this year: they had a chance. Jorge was excited by the prospect of victory. He was also excited by his own chances with Constanza. Particularly if they won, everyone's passions would be running high.

He pulled another piece off the press and added it with his file. He put it on the conveyor, then did a double take, and yanked it off again. He held it before him and stared in amazement. There was a hole in it, about the size of his little finger. He had not noticed that when he picked up the sheet. He looked at the stack on the palette. No holes there. How could he have missed such a dung? He set the damaged part aside, picked up a fresh sheet, and manoeuvred it into place. He pulled the lever. The press dropped a little, but then jammed, groaning.

Jorge slapped the lever off. He threw the switch that shut the machine down completely, raised his safety goggles up onto his forehead and stared. The upper jaw of the press was skew in its framework. Jorge stepped forward and craned his neck to look up at the underside. His eyes widened. There was a hole in the massive piece of steel. It was drilled through, just like the damaged part he had just removed. From somewhere higher up in the works of the machine, a steady stream of fluid seeped down. Jorge removed a glove, ran a finger through a drip and sniffed. Hydraulic fluid. This machine is in bad trouble, he thought to himself as he wiped his finger on his overalls. He pulled the sheet of metal from the press and was not completely surprised to find another hole in the bed of the machine. He ran a finger around its clean edge and bent to peer down. He couldn't see-but a fraction of a centimetre in, but he bet it was deep, maybe all the way to the floor. He stuck his little finger into the hole up past the first knuckle. He couldn't imagine what could have caused such a thing.

Jorge pulled off his other glove, threw it next to the first, and went in search of his supervisor.

It was 7:30 A.m. Sunday morning, July 4. Isaacs had not slept on the flight back from Son Diego and then had spent an hour on the phone catching up on the Russian deployment of hunter-killer satellites and making arrangements for this morning's meeting. He'd got three hours of troubled sleep and nursed a splitting headache.

Isaacs scanned the packed conference room. Twenty— three people were more than it held comfortably, but he had cooed for everyone in his crisis team to bring their aides. This would speed dissemination, give the young people exposure, and encourage them to participate freely. He did not want any bright ideas languishing in the face of an unprecedented confrontation with the Russians. He began as the last chair was filled.

'I'm sorry to have to call you in on a holiday. This may be the Soviets' heavy-banded idea of irony, but they're threatening us with some real fireworks.

'You know that the Soviets launched an operating laser and used it to destroy the FireEye satellite which had recently been placed in orbit last April.' You don't know why, though, he thought. He caught Pat Danielson's eyes on him from where she sat in a rear corner looking remarkably alert despite their late flight. She returned his gaze steadily until he looked on around the room and continued. 'The US appropriated that laser satellite with the shuttle, but the Soviets launched another. The US response was to, put a small atomic device in orbit near the laser. The device is specially shielded with a reflective coating, difficult for the laser to penetrate. There are also heat sensing circuits that will trigger the device if the laser is used on it. The Soviets have been informed of this. We have promised to detonate the device if the laser is used.

'They have now made their countermove. They've surrounded the two satellites with a pack of six hunter-killer satellites. These contain only conventional explosives, but they're powerful enough to neutralize our nuclear device. The concern is that the protective circuits will not respond to a blast wave. The Soviets are betting, or Muffing, that we are vulnerable to the hunter-killers.

'Our task is to anticipate the intelligence gathering operations that will be necessary to map out their tactical possibilities, and our appropriate responses. As of forty-five minutes ago, the Soviets had not tried to aim the laser, but they could force the issue at any moment.'

Isaacs signalled, the lights were dimmed, and a slide projected at the end of the room. The people sitting too near the screen shuffled their chairs around and craned their necks.

'This was taken from one of our KH-ll satellites from about 5,000 miles,' Danielson continued. 'The laser satellite is the cylinder at the tip of the yellow arrow. You can make out some details on it if you look closely, and, of course, the image can be reprocessed to bring them out. The small spot at the tip of the white arrow is our device.'

'What's the actual spatial separation there?' a voice asked.

'About two hundred metres,' Isaacs replied. 'The effective range of the device is much greater, the proximity was chosen mainly for psychological effect. You'll notice that our device is located along the long axis of the laser satellite; the laser fires out the side. The small dots at the tips of the six shorter yellow arrows are the hunter-killers.'

'That's an odd configuration they're in,' said Bill Saris from somewhere down the table. 'Unless there is a funny projection effect, they seem to be in two groups of three and closer to the big laser satellite than to ours. Why would they do that? Won't they do themselves as much or more damage as they do us?'

There was a silence for thirty seconds, then a sudden voice.

'Shaped charges! I'll bet they're shaped and specifically aimed away from the laser and towards our device.'

There were murmurs of agreement, then Baris again.

'We'll need some close-up photos to see if the hunter— killers have distinguishing features and if there is a pattern in their orientation that suggests they are aimed. I bet we find they're positioned so that any recoil will miss the laser. We'll need ground intelligence concerning their manufacture.'

Another voice. 'If we assume they're shaped, we can work out the spread angle of the explosion from the positions they've been deployed in, assuming they're all designed to hit us and none to damage the laser.'

Isaacs listened to this interchange with the satisfaction he always took when the ideas began to flow in one of these sessions. He had worked hard to assemble this crew and rarely failed to admire their performance. It was a good thing someone could think this morning. His mind was numb.

'How did we get in this fix?' someone inquired. 'Surely we saw the hunter-killers converging?'

'The Soviets play good chess,' Isaacs responded. 'They ,know how to use their pawns. They correctly anticipated our dilemma as they moved the first one up. We had promised to fire the nuke if the laser were used. But it's a very different story to fire the first nuclear device in space in a generation when neither the laser nor even the hunter— killer is actually used, just repositioned. I think there was also a failure to realize that the heat sensitive circuits might not be triggered by an explosion until extensive physical damage was already done. In any case, once they had Muffed the first one into position, adding others wasn't much different.'

'We could up the ante,' someone suggested. 'Put up another nuke at a greater distance, but still in kill range. If the hunter-killers take out the first, we take out everything left with the second nuke. And we lay down an ultimatum. Use one or both nukes if any hunter-killers approach the second.'

Isaacs made a couple of personal notes to augment the record of the session which would be transcribed and stored in computer memory. 'The President may not want to escalate in that direction,' he replied. 'Let's see what else we can come up with.'

'What's to keep the Russians from putting up their own nuke?'

'They may be trying to keep some lid on this in their own way,' answered Isaacs. 'But that's clearly one of their options. Let's come back to that and see if we can map out what would drive them to it.'

'How fast are those hunter-killers?' a new voice asked.

'Can the nuke be scooted somewhere else before they can respond? For instance out of their range, but still within nuclear range?'

Another voice answered. 'Tough to outrun an explosion.'

'Yeah, true,' the first voice answered thoughtfully, 'but at least you would be putting the pressure on them to make the first overt move.'

'Maybe,' came the second voice, 'but if you force them to blast the nuke, they may figure they're already committed and start using the laser on everything else in orbit.'

Isaacs had the projector turned off and the lights back on. Around the room, people sat erect from the postures they had assumed to peer at the slide.

'Let's talk some more about the options of the Soviets,' Isaacs requested. 'What are they apt to do?'

'Well,' said Earls, 'they could fire a charge over our bow, so to speak, if the charges are shaped and the explosion can be directed, just a little sabre rattling without changing the status quo. Or they could go for broke, zap us with a hunter-killer then use the laser with impunity. Or they could just fire the laser, betting that we won't use the nuke even if the laser is actually used. Hunter-killers don't do them much good then, but there is some chance any explosion would trigger the nuke, and they may not want to risk that.

'Come to think of it,' Baris wagged a finger, 'maybe they would want to try exactly that, just go ahead and use the hunter-killers. If the nuke goes, they have us for using atomics in space. If we chicken out, they have free use of the laser and our vaunted nuclear threat comes to nothing. Just the kind of pitiful giant posture they like to trap us in.'

Baris scratched his head as he thought. 'If that's their most obvious move, then we just force them to it if we try to move the nuke out of range of the hunter-killers. That seems to me to be the question. Will they risk our wrath and perhaps a nuclear explosion by using the hunter-killers, or just sit tight? Do we use the nuke without direct provocation, or try to horse it out to a greater distance? Or do we just sit with them and sweat blood?' He stopped and looked around the room for a reply.

The discussion continued for an hour and a half. They continued to produce ideas, filtering out the unproductive ones, refining and developing the good ones. A priority list of intelligence targets was constructed and assignments banded out. Isaacs finally called a halt so that all could turn to their individual tasks.

The next day, Monday, Isaacs finally found some time to pursue his personal agenda. He'd promised Danielson more data to refine her predictions of the upcoming event in Nagasaki. Now he looked across the desk at the young Navy lieutenant. Philip Szkada had been placed in nominal charge of the Navy's surveillance of the strange sonar signal. Although the day was officially a part of the three-day holiday weekend, he had agreed to meet Isaacs in Rutherford 's old office.

'It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr Isaacs,' said Szkada.

'I guess the last time was when you came to visit Captain Rutherford just before — just before -' His face took on a heavy pinched look. 'It's still difficult to believe he's gone.

By all rights I should have made that trip, but he insisted on going himself.'

He was silent for a moment, then met Isaacs's gaze.

'What can I do for you today?'

'You know that Avery Rutherford was a good friend of mine. I'm interested in his death for both personal and professional reasons. When we spoke over the phone at the time, you indicated uncertainty as to whether the ship's sinking was related to its surveillance mission, but that the surveillance programme was downgraded afterwards. I was hoping to learn more about the circumstances and the mission.'

'There's not much to say. In fact, under the shock of the moment, I may have said too much. From reports of the survivors and some scattered physical evidence, it appears that the ship's turbine exploded. There's no firm reason to conclude that the fate of the ship was related to her mission.'

He paused and made a tent of his fingers. He cleared his throat before continuing.

'The mission itself is a confidential Navy investigation. With all respect, sir, I'm not sure you have a need to know.'

Isaacs expected and admired that response. He would have demanded it of his own subordinates. He could not accept it, however. He turned the tack back to the personal issue.

'You said you should have been on the ship. Avery wasn't the sort to pull rank unnecessarily.'

'No, sir, he wasn't. But in this case I had worked out the ideas that were the basis of the mission. I expected to go.'

'Avery had nothing to do with the planning? Strange then that he would have involved himself in that way.'

'Well, of course, we discussed the mission. Some information had been kicking around and I managed to make sense of it.'

'Avery had no role in that?'

'Not really. Some things just fell into place for me after one of our discussions.'

Szkada paused and looked thoughtful.

'He did ask me some leading questions. With the pleasure of seeing it fit together, I didn't give much thought to the actual process that brought me to the conclusion.'

He looked up towards the far wall over Isaacs's right shoulder. Isaacs remained silent, reading the workings of his face. He saw the frown lines disappear, to be replaced by arched eyebrows and a look of mild surprise. After a moment another idea hit him and he leaned forward and locked eyes with Isaacs.

'He fed me the idea, didn't he?'

He pointed an index finger at Isaacs.

'And you gave it to him!'

Isaacs admired this perspicacity, even somewhat belated. No wonder Rutherford had spoken highly of him.

'Lieutenant, I sent my best friend to his death. I want to know what killed him.'

'Mr Isaacs, I really can't help you. I presume you already know what the mission was.'

Isaacs wanted to make it easy for him.

'You're monitoring a sonar signal that moves on a trajectory which is fixed with respect to the stars.'

Even having deduced Isaacs was aware of the mission, the frank statement startled Szkada. Isaacs continued.

'We have some seismic data showing the same behaviour. In case you're curious,' he smiled, 'the idea of the fixed trajectory actually came from one of my people, a counterpart of yours in the Agency.'

'You must know all I do then,' Szkada commented. 'I don't have the authority to push for a full investigation here, so we're just in a monitoring mode. We've learned nothing new. Perhaps we could collaborate?' Szkada suggested, 'with an official request from the Agency.' Isaacs cut him off with a raised hand.

'Lieutenant, we have a similar problem. Our mission has been officially shelved, partly because my superior knows that your superiors are nominally continuing the investigation. I want to say that I am here unofficially today.

'Let me ask you,' Isaacs looked intently at the young officer, 'do you think the ship's destruction was related to its mission?'

'I think we should be doing a lot more to find out.'

'I believe I have a way to open this case up. I'll handle it in the Agency and if it doesn't work out, I don't want you involved. Your data is intrinsically more accurate than ours. I can't ask you through channels, but if you could give me the most precise values you have for recent sonar data, times, and locations, I may be able to exploit them in a way which is satisfactory to us both.'

Szkada contemplated the man across from him for some time.

'I'll show you the numbers we have. You copy what you want on your own paper in your own handwriting. And good luck.'

Isaacs nodded his acceptance of these terms and reached in his portfolio for paper and pen. Enough time, he thought, to get this data to Danielson before the crisis team reconvenes. He could sense the presence of the hunter— killer satellites orbiting, Damoclean, overhead. For the moment, at least, the thread still held the sword aloft. He knew Danielson was stealing moments from the hectic press of other duties to analyse the positions of Soviet satellites to check for any correlation with the seismic signal. He wondered whether she were having any luck with that. He needed to see Martinelli to arrange surveillance of Nagasaki , only two short days away, but that would probably have to wait until tomorrow.

Vincent Martinelli came around his desk to greet Isaacs, his doughy face lit with a smile.

'Bob, how are you? Sit down.' He motioned Isaacs into a chair and sat in an adjacent one.

'What did you think of the President's decision to hang tight? Guts ball, huh?'

'So far, so good. I guess that makes it a wise move. We discussed the possibility that the Russians would take out the nuke and go for broke with the laser, but the more we talked, the more it seemed like their actual goal was to establish their right to orbit a laser, free of our interference, and that they would hold to the status quo. The President bought the idea that they didn't want an overt escalation any more than we did. But you're right, it took some nerve to just let the nuke sit in the range of those hunter-killers and wait it out.'

'What's it been?' Martinelli glanced at his watch. 'Sixty— odd hours since they were launched. As long as nobody nudges the trigger on one of those hunter-killers, we have a truce.'

'Looks like it.'

'So other than that, how are things in the think tank? Seems like we haven't had time to chat since that damn Russian carrier caught fire.'

'Things are fine, Voice. But I was hoping you could improve them by taking a couple of pictures for me.'

'Sure, any time. That doesn't require a personal visit.'

'I would like coverage of an area in Nagasaki near the bay, tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow! Jesus, man, you know it takes a week at top speed to get a request through the priorities committee.'

'I know that, Vince. That's why I'm here. All I need is one hour of your flex-tune, but I need it tomorrow. There's no tune to go through channels.'

'It would help to clear it through McMasters, at least, even on an informal basis.'

Isaacs was silent for a moment.

'I hoped that wouldn't be necessary.'

Martinelli contemplated his visitor. He had known Isaacs to work around McMasters before, but not in a matter like this when consultation with him was explicitly mandated.

'This is important to you?'

'Vince, I think I'm on to something that may help explain the Novorossiisk event and get us out of this whole mess it has led to. I can't prove it yet. I need more evidence, including your photos.'

'You want to tell me what it is?'

'You'll be sticking your neck out as it is if you do this. I think we should leave it at that.'

'And you need to steer clear of McMasters?'

'He's got me between a rock and a hard place. The less— said about that the better for now, too.'

Martinelli let out a sigh. 'Let's see whether what you're asking is even feasible. You have the coordinates?'

Isaacs withdrew a small sheet of notepaper from his pocket and banded it to Martinelli.

'I'll check with the scheduling office. Hang on a bit.'

Martinelli left Isaacs in the office. Isaacs rose and paced the floor. He severely disliked involving Martinelli in this way. He could not even be sure the photos would be useful, but some steps had to be taken to reduce their level of ignorance. He wanted to bring to bear as many means as possible. He had cabled the consulate in Nagasaki and arranged for an observer to cover the area, hinting at the possibility of some political turmoil. Again.he was operating out of channels since his office was not directly responsible for covert intelligence. He had gambled that any request from central headquarters would elicit a cooperative response and had apparently been correct. Martinelli returned in a few minutes.

'The satellite time is tied up tight. There're troop movements in southern China , near the Vietnamese border. On the other hand, we'll have a U-2 flight returning from the same area at about the time you want. I can't give you an hour, but maybe we can get him to save a few frames in his magazine and circle Nagasaki for ten minutes. Any longer and the Japanese will get suspicious. We're allies, remember. They don't appreciate us taking spy pictures of them. At least we try to be subtle about it,' he grinned.

'Ten minutes is cutting it very close. But if it's ten minutes spanning that time,' Isaacs pointed at the slip of paper in Martinelli's hand, 'that may do the trick.'

'We'll see what we can do.'

'Thanks, Vince, I owe you one.'

'Wait till you see if we get anything.'

Isaacs spent most of the next twenty-four hours as he had the last, in the frenzied analysis of Soviet signal intelligence, searching for clues that the deadlock in orbit might be broken. Danielson had used Szkada's sonar data to refine her estimate of the several block area in Nagasaki where she predicted the seismic event would encroach on the city. Isaacs had cabled the revised information to the consulate and passed it on to Martinelli. Martinelli had confirmed that they could get some aerial photos of the area.

As Isaacs headed home Wednesday evening he was concentrating on the upcoming event in Nagasaki, only a few hours away, a little after eleven in the morning Japanese time, July 8, allowing for the International Dateline. Would they learn anything useful? And, if so, for god's sake what? What were they dealing with? He replayed in his mind the interchange in La Jolla. Russians? Extraterrestrials? Damn it all anyway! He failed to notice that he had been following the same dark sedan all along MacArthur Boulevard nor did he notice the limousine that pulled in behind him as they neared Georgetown.

The sedan pulled into the quiet narrow street Isaacs always took to get home, and Isaacs followed. Part way along the block the sedan braked, and Isaacs also did so mechanically. The sedan's back-up lights came on, and it reversed to within a few feet of Isaacs's bumper. He felt a momentary hint of irritation at the delay and then looked back over his shoulder, preparing to back up himself to give room. All he saw was the hood of the limousine. At the same moment, someone opened his door and he jerked around with surprise.

A tall figure in a dark suit was silhouetted in the doorway. The man bent down, revealing a broad-featured face that was vaguely familiar.

'Mr Isaacs?' The voice was slow, working methodically with an alien tongue. 'Mr Zamyatin would like a word with you.'

Mr Zamyatin was it! Isaacs's eyes followed those of the man back to the limousine. Colonel Grigor Zamyatin was well known in the Agency as the head of the KGB station in the capital, a position that gave him immense power throughout the country, not to mention his own homeland.

Isaacs fixed his eyes on the man again, recognizing now the face from the Agency file on the embassy staff. Yegor Vassilev, a 'secretary' in the visa section.

'Zamyatin be damned,' he said with some heat. 'You can't accost me like this on a public street in my own country!'

'Please, Mr Isaacs,' Vassilev replied in a placating tone, 'Mr Zamyatin said to mention Academician Korolev.'

Isaacs stared. What the hell did that mean? It was on the record that Isaacs had submitted the report suggesting meteorite damage to the Novorossiisk. A report that Korolev had rejected. But this forced liaison was unlikely to have arisen from such an interchange. They must have intercepted his personal letter to Korolev. Resignation mingled with a strong dose of curiosity drove Isaacs out of his seat. Could Zamyatin conceivably be turned to an ally in this bizarre situation?

As he stepped onto the pavement, Vassilev mumbled, 'I will operate your vehicle,' and slipped behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

The rear door to the limousine opened and Isaacs stepped in and sat. Someone outside closed the door, and a deep hush settled into the interior of the car. In a moment they began to move ahead gently.

A half block away an anonymous tan Oldsmobile Cutlass was parked in a driveway. The driver lowered the compact camera he had been using and spoke softly into a microphone. He watched as a van from a Georgetown appliance store pulled around the corner and closed to within a half a block of the limousine. He then backed out and headed in the opposite direction.

In the limousine, Grigor Zamyatin reached across, extending a hand.

'Mr Isaacs,' he said in a carefully developed Midwestern accent.

Isaacs, examining the neatly combed grey hair, the friendly peasant face, the shrewd black eyes, hesitated a moment. Then he took the hand in a firm grip. No sense insulting the man before the cards were on the table. He felt some protest was deserved, however.

'Colonel. I trust you have a good reason for this bit of piracy. You could get me in quite a jam. The Agency frowns on unauthorized clandestine meetings with the opposition.'

'Come, come, Mr Isaacs. I think you will agree we need a quiet, frank chat, man to man. Surely you would not want me to make an official request for an audience. How would you explain that to your Mr Drefke — or to your Mr McMasters?'

Damn! thought Isaacs, even the KGB knows he's on my back.

'In any case,' said Isaacs, 'here we are. What's on your amid?'

'Your role in the Novorossiisk affair, Mr Isaacs. Simply that.'

Isaacs looked at him silently.

'You wrote a very persuasive memo concerning the possibility of a meteorite striking the carrier. Your premise had already been considered, tested, and rejected. Nevertheless, your sincerity, if I may use that word, made a deep impression on Academician Korolev.'

Zamyatin watched closely as he used that name. He saw a slight lifting of the dun. He faced straight ahead and continued.

'You have probably guessed that we are aware of the contents of your personal letter to him.'

'What I don't know is whether he even received it,' said Isaacs, attempting to take the offensive. 'I've had no reply.'

'Oh, he received it. Indeed he did.' Zamyatin glanced sideways at Isaacs. 'He referred to it in some very high circles, and some lowly ones. I myself recently had opportunity to discuss it with him.'

Isaacs ignored the feigned modesty.

'You might be interested to know,' Zamyatin continued, staring ahead over the shoulder of the chauffeur, 'that your letter played a small role in recent events. As you are very aware, an unfortunate series of circumstances has followed from the attack on the Novorossiisk. The decision of your President to confiscate the Cosmos 2112 was a terribly unfortunate and provocative act. His response to our launch of Cosmos 2231 perhaps even more so. The events have taken on a life of their own. The Soviet people do not lightly regard an attack on the sovereignty of our Union , whatever the motivation.'

Zamyatin shifted his gaze to fix on Isaacs.

'But the Soviet people also have a deep concern for truth and justice.'

And the Russian way, thought Isaacs, despite himself. Could all this be an elaborate ruse, he wondered, to further masquerade Soviet complicity in a scheme he could barely fathom?

'If your country were blameless in the case of the Novorossiisk, this is a mitigating circumstance to be considered in any action we might take during subsequent events,' Zamyatin continued.

'Academician Korolev has argued strenuously, using your letter and report as evidence, that your country knows nothing of the attack on the Novorossiisk. This was a factor in the decision not to escalate our response to your recent provocations.'

But what does your country know about the Novorossiisk that you're not telling me? Isaacs asked silently. He chose his words carefully.

'If that is true, then I won't deny some satisfaction. But this rendezvous was not arranged for my pleasure.'