Robert had awakened this morning feeling strong and self-assured. But then a phone call, relayed to him via the Pentagon, had severely dampened his enthusiasm. The admiral who had conveyed the initial information had related a nightmarish tale of conspiracy, mutiny and the likely threat of a possible Soviet first strike. The President had decided that it was time to initiate a call of his own. Viktor Rodin had appeared genuinely shocked upon hearing Palmer’s information.
The Premier’s response was strained and confused.
Palmer was certain that the man was learning about the takeover of the IL-36 relay plane — and the subsequent release of launch orders to the Vulkan — for the very first time. His decision to continue on to L.A. was most heartening. With a promise to find out just what was occurring aboard the submarine, and to call Palmer back when he had done so, the Premier broke the line.
Palmer had learned the true extent of the crisis when the General Secretary had called back. In a heavy, condescending tone, Rodin confirmed that the Vulkan was unable to be contacted. The President could hardly believe it when the Premier asked for American help in tracking down the errant vessel.
A hastily called emergency staff meeting had produced mixed results. As Palmer had expected, his National Security Advisor, Patrick Carrigan, feared some sort of Soviet shenanigans. Distrustful of Rodin’s good intentions from the very beginning, Carrigan pleaded with Palmer to cancel the summit and leave Los Angeles at once. To underscore his warning, Carrigan had detailed the incredible destructive power of a Soviet Delta-class sub. Not only L.A.” but cities all over the continent would be wiped out if the vessel’s missiles were targeted to do so. To insure the country’s military command response if the SS-N-18s were released, Carrigan had advised that the U.S. strategic forces be brought to a state of emergency alert.
George Michaelson, the Secretary of State, had taken a much softer stand. Conscious of the ultimate consequences of a Soviet missile strike, he pleaded with the President to proceed with utmost delicacy.
Since all signs pointed to this being an isolated incident, it was their responsibility to help Viktor Rodin resolve the embarrassing situation, whose dire consequences threatened them all. A strategic alert on the part of America would only give the suspicious Russians an excuse to order one of their own. The idea of both countries with their fingers on the nuclear hairtrigger didn’t appeal to the Secretary of State at all.
He did, however, agree with Carrigan that Palmer should leave Los Angeles as soon as possible. If the worse-case scenario came to pass, the President had to be far away from any potential target areas.
Robert Palmer concurred with this, and had ordered his E-4B command aircraft known as Kneecap (for National Emergency Airborne Command Post) to be ready for a quick take-off. The converted Boeing 747 was parked in a secured, isolated section of the same airport in which he presently awaited the arrival of the Soviet Premier. Packed with a variety of highly sophisticated communications systems, Kneecap was designed to serve as a survivable flying command post in times of crisis. Its purpose was much the same as that of the mammoth aircraft now nosing into the gate before him.
Taking in the large red star on its fuselage. Palmer watched the plane ground to a halt. So intense was his concentration that Palmer didn’t notice the gaunt figure of his National Security Advisor taking a position at his side.
“Well, Mr. President, it appears that Comrade Rodin is right on time for your little party. I still wish that you’d reconsider asking him to board Kneecap with you. There’s more top-secret gear crammed into that aircraft than anywhere else on the planet.”
Palmer replied without taking his eyes off the IL76.
“Come off it, Pat. What else can I do with him?”
“Leave him in Los Angeles as a hostage until this crisis is resolved,” Carrigan stated firmly.
“That will give those mutineers something to think about.”
“You know that’s impossible. Pat. I’ve waited two long months for this day. I’m not about to go oft now and leave the Premier out in the cold.”
“I’d say that our current situation warrants some extra thought, Mr. President. I don’t think you planned on having a magazine full of SS-N-18s staring us down the throat. Have you given any more thought as to how we’re going to respond in the event those missiles are released?”
The President glanced to his right and caught Carrigan’s inquisitive stare.
“I don’t exactly have that many options, do I?”
“You could reconsider issuing that launch-on warning directive, sir.
Clearing our ICBMS out of their silos can save them from certain total destruction..
“Jesus, Patrick, you’re not going to start with that again! I’ve already agreed to your suggestion of bringing our strategic forces up to an alert status of DEFCON 3. With all operational subs out to sea, our B-52s dispersed and all Minuteman crews on alert, I think that’s a sufficient show of force at the moment.
Remember, this is an isolated threat we’re facing, not the whole damn Russian Army!”
Carrigan didn’t flinch.
“We still don’t know that fact for certain, Mr. President. The Russian mind works very differently from our own. Don’t forget that we’re talking about the best chess players in the world here. I still can’t help but smell a trap. Since all that the Soviets respect is a firm show of force in return for any aggression on their part, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a variety of target options. If those SS-N18s are launched, at least we’ll be able to take out an equivalent number of Soviet installations.”
“I pray to God that we’ll be able to get a handle on this situation long before we’re forced to start playing that game, Mr. Carrigan.
What’s the latest news from Pearl?”
“Admiral Miller reports that our carrier task force is closing in on the coordinates that Premier Rodin gave us. It’s spearheaded by the Triton, one of our newest attack subs. If the supposed launch position of the Vulkan is correct, we should have an intercept within two hours.”
A slight look of relief crossed Palmer’s face.
“I’ve got a feeling that the U.S. Navy is going to take care of all of our problems for us.”
When the cordon of uniformed policemen lining the exit ramp began to stir, the President backed away from the window.
“It looks like the General Secretary and his party are on their way down. Come on, Carrigan, at least try to put a neighborly smile on that Irish face. These folks came an awfully long way to see us.”
Robert Palmer followed his remark with a playful wink, and his advisor couldn’t help but grin in response. Anxiously, both men walked over to greet the group of dark-suited newcomers who were led by the handsome, nattily dressed figure of Viktor Rodin.
As the President approached his Soviet counterpart, he found himself relieved. The sincere warmth that glowed from Rodin’s dark, intense eyes couldn’t be ignored. They met with a handshake, a hug, and a kiss on each cheek.
“Welcome to America, General Secretary Rodin,” the President said.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this day.”
“The feeling is mutual. Comrade President,” Rodin replied in flawless English.
“I just wish that my arrival could have taken place under different circumstances.
The plight of the Vulkan has cast a dark shadow over this summit of peace.”
“That it has. I don’t suppose you have any updates on your efforts to reach the Vulkan’]” Rodin shook his head gravely.
“As before, our navy is still doing its best to reach them. By the way, I would like you to meet the man who is responsible for this effort, Admiral Stanislav Sorokin.”
Rodin stepped aside and beckoned into the crowd that had followed him out of the gateway. A heavyset, whitehaired officer stepped from the ranks and approached them.
“President Palmer, this is Admiral Stanislav Sorokin, Commander of the Fle
et of the Soviet Union.”
The blue-suited naval officer offered the President a cold, emotionless handshake.
Immediately cognizant of Sorokin’s enmity, Palmer did his best to break the ice.
“It is an honor to meet you. Admiral. I have heard nothing but respectful comments concerning you from my own naval officers.
Your foresight and persistent vision are to be admired.”
To this, Sorokin merely nodded and did his best to merge back into the crowd from which he had emerged.
The admiral’s stubborn indifference reminded Palmer of Patrick Carrigan. Though they came from opposite ends of the political spectrum, the two advisors had much in common.
After a quick introduction to the rest of the Premier’s staff. Palmer took Rodin gently by the arm and guided him over to an empty corner.
“I’m afraid that the crisis aboard your submarine has necessitated a change in our original schedule. I believe it’s best for both of us to initiate our meeting in my personal command plane. I have already arranged to have a secured line available for you, connected directly with the PVO underground national command center outside of Moscow.”
The Premier noticed the strain visible on his host’s face, and answered as openly as possible.
“I think that, under the circumstances, this is an excellent idea, Mr. President. There is much that I’d like to share with you, but our privacy and safety must first be assured.”
“Excellent,” returned a noticeably relieved Robert Palmer.
“Because of space limitations, you will be limited to one staff person of your choice. I hope this won’t inconvenience you. General Secretary.”
“That is no trouble at all, Comrade President. I will have my personal secretary, Olga Tyumen, accompany us. And please, call me Viktor.”
Put at ease by his guest’s frankness, Palmer managed a gracious smile.
“I’ll do that only if you will also call me by my first name.”
“Robert it is.”
The man’s charm was infectious. Palmer’s instincts said that it was safe to trust the Premier.
“Well then, Viktor, I think it’s best if we begin our way over to Kneecap at once.”
“Kneecap?”
“I’m sorry, Viktor. That’s merely my plane’s nickname.”
Rodin grinned, then excused himself to inform his staff that he would be leaving them for a while.
Stanislav Sorokin took the news with some alarm, and implored the Premier to have a second with him alone. In the privacy of the jet walkway, the two men solemnly faced each other.
“Comrade General Secretary, why must you go up in the imperialist command plane? This whole mess smells more and more like a certain Yankee trap!”
Rodin answered firmly.
“I disagree with you. Admiral.
Under the circumstances, the President is making the only practical decision. Of course, I’m sorry to have to leave the rest of you in Los Angeles, but that can’t be avoided.”
“And what if I have news of the Vulkanv implored Stanislav.
“It should be easy enough to reach me. Admiral.
The facilities aboard the flying Kremlin should be more than adequate for this task.”
“But the Yankees will surely be listening in!”
“That doesn’t concern me in the least, Admiral Sorokin. This is a predicament that each side shares equally. Just think how you’d feel if the situation were reversed, and it was one of their Tridents off of our coast. So far, the Americans have been most understanding of our inept efforts to contact the Vulkan.
You should be more concerned with your own effort in making certain that this mess doesn’t get completely out of hand. I don’t know how this cowardly act of mutiny came to pass, but I want it stemmed, and stemmed now! Find me the malefactors, Admiral.
Your incompetency so far can’t be excused!”
Sheepishly, Sorokin angled his glance down to his feet as the Premier turned to rejoin the American President. Though he fumed inwardly, Sorokin did his utmost to contain his rising temper.
How dare that insolent moron talk to him in that manner! Didn’t the fool realize whom he was addressing?
The admiral was already serving his country when Rodin was still wetting the bed. Soon Viktor Rodin would know just who the foolish one was!
Even if the Premier missed the warhead that had been intended to take him out, it would already be too late to interfere. The elimination of the imperialist command posts would signal the end of the capitalists ability to defend themselves. The soldiers of the Rodina wouldn’t just sit back and mourn the Yankees losses — they would attack and end the American threat forever! Now, if only he could convince the pilot of the flying Kremlin to take to the air, perhaps he, too, could share in the upcoming victory. Stimulated by this thought, his great depression of the last few hours dissipated like a summer fog. Feeling like a condemned prisoner suddenly given a full reprieve, he continued on down the walkway to have a few words with the IL-76’s flight crew.
A quarter of an hour later, Viktor Rodin found himself strapped in a chair in the forward conference room of the aircraft known as Kneecap.
More spacious and comfortable than his IL-76 command plane, the E-4B appeared to be a most well designed vehicle. So far, he had seen only the forward portion of the fuselage where the President’s private quarters were located. But his host had promised to show him the rest of the plane after their initial meeting was concluded.
Minutes after they entered Kneecap it was taxiing to their take-oft position. There was little doubt that the Americans were in a hurry to get airborne. Rodin couldn’t blame them. Not knowing exactly when, where, or if the Vulkan’s missiles would be released, they could only prepare for the worst. Since he was directly responsible for this tragic mess, the Premier could only express his sincere apologies and do his best to defuse the volatile situation before it was too late.
Only after the plane had attained its cruising altitude did Robert Palmer join him. Though they had met but a short time before, Rodin felt as if they were old friends, reunited after years of separation.
As Palmer slipped into a chair on the opposite side of the rectangular walnut table, Rodin did his best to express his true feelings.
“Once again, Robert, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for this inexcusable dilemma we find ourselves in.
It is my direct responsibility, and therefore I can only plead for your understanding.”
“Pleas aren’t necessary, Viktor. In a way, each of us equally shares responsibility. Such a crisis was bound to happen sooner or later.
Actually, I’m amazed that this is the first time such a horrible thing has come to pass. As holders of the world’s primary nuclear arsenals, such a crisis had to be expected as an eventuality.
I’m only sorry that you and I didn’t meet much earlier. A world without The Bomb would be free from such madness.” “Well said, Comrade,” Rodin sighed.
“If we can get through this dark day, there will be no excuses for us to delay the immediate banning of nuclear weapons from the face of the planet. I can only hope that we are not too late.”
When the plane shook in a slight pocket of turbulence, Rodin swiveled around to peer out a small window. It was a cloudless day; the blue waters of the Pacific were clearly visible, 37,000 feet below.
“Our destiny awaits us beneath those waters, Robert. I feel it’s my duty to relate to you a detailed list of the Vulkan’s intended targets.
Perhaps you might even consider the evacuation of specific locations.
Who knows how many lives such an act could save The Premier reached over and handed Palmer a single sheet of lined paper. As the President’s eyes skimmed the list, the scope of the potential catastrophe was disturbingly evident. With his voice trembling, he responded softly.
“Do you mind if I give this information to my staff?”
“Of course not. Comrade. This is why I’ve given it to
you. Any other data that you require is also at your service.”
The President picked up one of the four telephones that graced the table and punched in a single digit.
“Delores, please have Pat Carrigan see me at once.”
As he replaced the handset, he looked up thoughtfully.
“I know that nuclear-targeting plans are among the most secretive areas of military operations. Your openness is most appreciated. I hope that the disclosure of such information won’t affect the ultimate outcome of this matter. We still have several hours until those missiles are due to be launched. It is imperative that we spend this time wisely. I think that the first step would to be to set up a conference call between ourselves, the Pentagon, and your PVO command headquarters. Our efforts must be coordinated in order to reach the Vulkan well before the missiles are released. Have you been able to determine the individuals responsible for the unauthorized release of those launch codes?”
Somberly, Rodin shook his head.
“My most trusted aides are currently in the midst of such an investigation.
We’ve only been able to determine that it is attributable to a small group of malcontents. The Soviet Union’s military and intelligence arms are just as shocked by this traitorous action as we are.
“Of course, the primary inquiry is taking place among my cryptographic staff. To make certain that other weapons cannot be released, the members of this hand-picked unit were immediately replaced and the launch codes altered. I have authorized the MVD, our internal police force, to initiate a probe separate from that of the KGB to insure a thorough investigation.
One thing I guarantee is that the madmen responsible will be uprooted!
We shall not rest until this is accomplished.”
There was a knock on the cabin door.
“Yes, come in,” the President said.
The door swung open and a nondescript, gray-suited, middle-aged man curiously eyed the Premier before addressing Robert Palmer.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”
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