“The seeds of cooperation on this problem have already been planted.” The Russian glanced for the first time at Isaacs. Although no one else seemed to notice, Isaacs felt as if a spotlight had just been turned on him. His heart raced, and he could feel his face flush.
“To further this spirit,” Zamyatin continued, “we will make the following additional offer. Mr. President, you know Academician Korolev, our distinguished scientist?”
“Yes, of course I do,” the President replied tentatively.
“Academician Korolev took an early and active interest in this problem. You know that he is crucial to our defense effort and has never been allowed to travel to the West. Mr. President, as a gesture of good will and of our intention to hasten the day when a solution may be devised, we are prepared to place Korolev at your disposal as our scientific ambassador.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, cordial and reasonable, “I do not expect a reply to our offers just now. I deduce you have only just learned of the problem. You will need some time to fully appreciate the situation, and the generosity of the proposals I have presented. I would remind you that there are factions in my government that are not amenable to such a cooperative approach. There are some who would advocate immediate public exposure, an attempt to wrest full propaganda value from your predicament. Others would contemplate far more serious and direct reprisals.
“Before I go, there is one other thing. I stress that we have proposed a cooperative approach to the problem at hand. We presume that you do not want the situation and your role in it to become widely known. We will follow your lead in such matters if you will but cooperate with us in one other regard. The problem with which we are now faced arose from a certain line of investigation.”
The Russian paused, holding the eyes of the President.
“We ask that you immediately cease all research and development on beam weapons and related technology.”
The room filled with a crescendo of outrage. General Whitehead was among the loudest, shouting, “I knew it, I knew they’d turn this against us.”
Zamyatin rose and departed, as if oblivious to the uproar his demand had caused.
“Mr. President,” General Whitehead continued to shout, “we cannot even think of responding to that crap. If we make the slightest concession there, they’ll come after our nuclear arms.”
The President cracked a loud palm down on the table, resulting in a rapid, strained silence.
“It’s nearly one a.m.,” the President said. “I’m going to adjourn this meeting. I want you all on call by six. In the meantime,” he addressed his National Security Advisor, “I want to know precisely the line of authority Zamyatin represents and the makeup of the other factions he mentioned.” He turned toward Drefke. “Howard, I want you, Isaacs and Professor Phillips to stay. I need a little more perspective on this.”
The President led them to an upstairs study and poured brandy all around. They sat in silence for awhile, each man trying to assimilate the rush of events in his own perspective. For Isaacs, the shock of Zamyatin’s announcements had waned, and he could feel the deep fatigue again, but he carried a burden he knew he must unload. He appreciated Drefke’s attempt, not completely altruistic, to avoid mention of Isaacs’ communications with Korolev. For that matter, Zamyatin could have roasted him, but chose not to. He knew, though, that the President could not reach a cogent decision without knowing all the background. From a strictly personal point of view, he would be better off confessing his involvement with the Russians rather than having the President discover it, as he surely would. He broke the silence.
“Mr. President.” The eyes of the three men swiveled to him. “I have been in on this affair from the beginning. There are some things about Zamyatin and Korolev you need to know.”
Drefke lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.
“Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” the President said.
“I have been aware for some time,” said Isaacs, searching for the right words, “that there is a contingent in the Soviet Union that has some sympathy for our situation. I believe Academician Korolev is a key person in that contingent. I think that he has led them to the understanding that we are dealing with a black hole and that it was made here, but I think he recognizes the true nature of the problem, that it transcends geopolitics. Korolev is under pressure; he had to tell them what he knew. But he is sympathetic to us, and he had influence there. I believe the offer to have him work with us is highly significant, both scientifically and politically. Mr. President, I think it is crucial that we reach out to the people Korolev represents.”
“Even though they demand we abandon our research on beam weapons, giving them full head to develop an antimissile technology unilaterally?”
Isaacs had no reply to that.
The President looked sharply at Isaacs. “How can you be so sure that this one man can and will be of help to us?”
Isaacs knew what was coming. He looked at the floor and then back at the President. “I’ve been in touch with him,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” the President demanded.
“I said, I’ve been in touch with him,” Isaacs replied.
Phillips stared at Isaacs in surprise. Isaacs vividly recalled his private conversation with the physicist in La Jolla, his suppressed desire to confess his communications with Korolev.
“You mean the Agency has?” the President asked.
“No sir, it was a personal correspondence.”
“Personal?” the President blurted. “You mean to say you’ve been communicating with Korolev directly? On the most sensitive issue of the decade? Goddamnit, Howard,” he turned to Drefke, “don’t your people know what channels are for? I’ve got black holes in my back yard, laser cannons in the front, and hired hands sending post cards back and forth discussing policy!”
“At the time there were extenuating circumstances,” Isaacs attempted to explain.
“Extenuating?” the President exclaimed. “May I ask just what you and Korolev were discussing behind my back, that you didn’t care to have me know?”
“I knew that Korolev was in charge of the Novorossiisk investigation, that he was puzzled and frustrated by it. That much was clear from official communications. Our effort was bogged down after the Stinson was Sunk.
“Frankly, sir,” Isaacs continued, “I was frightened. I thought something was sinking ships, triggering a global confrontation. For a variety of reasons, my efforts were stymied. I thought that Korolev might have more luck getting to the bottom of things.”
Isaacs rolled the brandy snifter in his hands. “I told Korolev about the seismic signal and my suspicion that it was related to the damage to both ships.”
“You told him that?” The President was angry and bewildered. “You gave us away? Virtually inviting him to look for and find the black hole and pin it on us?” He rose and paced to a window, peering into the dark outside.
Isaacs spoke to his back, trying to explain more than defend his actions. “I had no idea we were dealing with a black hole at the time, certainly not that we were in any way responsible.”
The President turned from the window and spoke to Drefke. “My god, Howard, you sandbagged me! Did you know your man had been talking to the Russians? This borders on treason.”
“Jim,” implored Drefke, falling into old, first name habits, “it was a lot more complicated than that. Yes, I did know it, and I had already had it out with him. It’s not what it seems. You can’t take it out of context.”
“Why don’t you just put it into context for me then?” The President was still angry, frustrated at events that had spun so rapidly out of his control.
“The simple fact is that we wouldn’t be anywhere on this thing if it weren’t for Isaacs here,” Drefke continued his appeal. “The black hole would still be there, eating away, and we wouldn’t have the faintest idea. This thing was bound to blow up in our face one way or another. We know that aft
er the Novorossiisk, one thing led to another and we’ve gotten into a fine jam over it, but we would still have no idea why. Isaacs broke every rule in the book to reach out to Korolev, but I agree with him that that contact is probably our only way out of this problem. Without Korolev, we could be dealing with a bunch of generals ready, anxious, to finger the button.
“As it is,” he continued, “there is some evidence that the Russians have been calmer to react than they would have been if Isaacs hadn’t been in touch with Korolev.”
“Calmer?” The President was incredulous. “They just blew our nuke out of the sky!”
“They were on the verge of it six weeks ago, when they first put up the hunter-killers. Cooler heads prevailed, and we have reason to believe that Korolev was instrumental.”
“How do you know that?”
“We got it from Zamyatin.”
“From Zamyatin? What the hell is his role in all this?”
“We don’t fully understand. His appearance this evening was a total surprise to us. But he does seem to be in Korolev’s camp. He’s been the liaison between Korolev and Isaacs.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” The President returned and dropped back into his armchair, slopping brandy over the side of his snifter and onto the carpet. “Honest to god, Howard, how am I supposed to run this country if things like this are going on behind my back.”
“Jim, this has been a complex and rapidly changing situation. We have only begun to appreciate the stakes in the last couple of weeks, to see how it all ties together. You’ve got to look at the signals,” Drefke implored. “There are people over there trying to understand, trying to keep a lid on things. Sure, they’re trying to get some advantage from it; they have to cover their own asses internally. But we still have to seek them out, appeal to the rational ones who see the common danger if we’re going to keep the crazies in check. We need to pacify the Russians and figure out what to do with this damnable black hole, but we must tackle both problems together. We’ve got to open up and work with them on this thing. If we don’t, they’ll cram it all down our throats, the black hole, their laser, everything.”
Drefke stared at the familiar figure, unsure whether his arguments were effective.
Isaacs had scarcely breathed during the intense discussion. He appreciated Drefke’s stout support and thought that the Director had established his moral motivation as well as possible. Still, his breach was massive. There were immutable political forces once such things came to the attention of the President. Without seeing the specifics, Isaacs numbly recognized that his career at the Agency was over.
The President got up and went to the serving cart. He put down the sticky glass and poured some more brandy into a fresh one. He sat and took a reflective sip. After a moment he said, “Let’s put aside the political factors for now. I need to get some feeling for the broader perspective.
“You say,” the President continued, looking at Drefke, “that this black hole is consuming the Earth, that the Earth is falling into it, as you remarked previously. But apparently there is little directly noticeable effect now. How soon before we have an emergency on our hands? That is to say, a public emergency?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer,” Drefke said, glancing quickly away from the President to Isaacs and Phillips and then back. “The ultimate danger is apparently many generations away. But let me stress that although that is farther in the future than we are normally used to dealing, the threat is real and implacable.”
“But what is the future course of this thing?” the President asked. “Professor Phillips, I haven’t heard from you. What is your prognosis?”
Phillips set aside his brandy and clasped his fingers in his lap before replying.
“If it continues on its course,” Phillips said, “there will be a phase of increasingly violent earthquakes. As the object grows bigger it will be able to trigger large earthquakes by releasing stress already stored along fault lines. At a somewhat later stage the tunnels themselves created by the passage of the object will be so large that their collapse will engender a continuing series of major earthquakes. As the hole grows even larger, the Earth will begin to orbit it. The oceans will be sloshed from their basins by huge tides. The earthquakes will grow in magnitude until the whole Earth is rent by them and totally uninhabitable. In the final stage, all the material of the Earth will be consumed, and only the black hole grown to about this size will be left orbiting the Sun.” He made an OK sign for illustration.
Silence filled the room as Phillips finished his description. The President stared into his glass. He gave his head a small shake and looked up toward Phillips. “I must ask again how long it will be before this thing becomes overtly dangerous in the way you have just described? With the earthquakes and tidal waves?”
“Such a thing could happen now,” Phillips said, “particularly in the Far East or along the coast of California where the orbital plane intersects regions of tectonic activity.”
“But when will such things begin to occur with regularity?” the President inquired.
“Very difficult to answer,” Phillips shook his head, “perhaps a hundred years, maybe as much as a thousand.”
“In a sense then, we have that long before we must cope with this thing directly,” the President asserted, “that long before massive deaths begin to occur.”
Phillips thought for a moment. “Yes, the hole will become a deadly menace at some point, but that may not be a measure of our grace period in terms of taking active steps against it.”
The President raised an eyebrow in question. Phillips unclasped his hands to draw an elliptical path in the air with his finger. “As the hole follows its orbit, it is subject to drag forces as the inevitable adjunct of its consuming the matter of the Earth. These drag forces will slowly cause the hole to spiral to the center of the Earth. After a certain period of time, the orbit of the hole will no longer carry it above the surface of the Earth. After that it will be totally inaccessible to us and our fate will be truly sealed. Right now it is difficult to say whether the hole will disappear beneath the surface before or after the massive earthquakes begin. We will not have to rely on theoretical estimates for long, however. Observations currently underway will tell us directly how fast the settling is occurring even if we have no accurate way of predicting when regular extensive damage will begin.”
The President rested his forehead against his hand, leaning on the arm of the chair. He rotated his head from that position and once more inquired of Phillips, “There remains one more major question then, doesn’t there?” He looked straight into Phillips’ eyes. “What can we do about it?”
Phillips returned the President’s gaze forthrightly. “Mr. President, on this issue I must be perfectly candid. So far none of our discussions have produced a glimmer of cause for optimism.”
Phillips glanced at the other two men and then returned his attention to the President. “Understand that I do not mean that we must accept defeat. We have only just begun to study the problem, and it would be foolhardy to suggest that because a possible solution is not apparent now that one will not be forthcoming in the future, if enough ingenuity and manpower are brought to bear. But it would be equally foolhardy to minimize the magnitude of the problem. This object is so tiny and so massive that it cannot be moved except by the most titanic of forces. My colleagues and I are far from ready to give up on the problem, but we must all be prepared to concede at some point that there is no solution. It certainly is conceivable that the Earth is doomed.”
The President absorbed the gloomy assessment. “Well, we can’t give up without a fight. You spoke of manpower and ingenuity, Professor. What can this office do to provide the resources necessary to find a solution to this problem, presuming one exists?”
“Just now the stress must be more on ingenuity than brute manpower,” replied Phillips. “At the present stage we need an idea, or set of ideas, some hint of a useful program. Then I imagine that
a massive engineering program such as the Manhattan Project or the Apollo program would be called for.”
“From the scientific point of view,” the President rubbed a hand over tired eyes, “can we proceed without the Russians?”
Phillips pondered his answer. “I appreciate the dilemma you are in. You cannot lightly submit to coercion. We have many great scientists in this country, men and women who would gladly give up careers of research to work with you on this. Perhaps, no, we don’t need the Russians in that sense. But you ask me as a scientist. I will tell you this. I do not know the depth of Korolev’s political connections, although I have every reason to believe that he has great influence. But I do know that there is no brain on Earth that I would rather have working on this problem than that of Viktor Korolev.”
The President nodded, then spoke. “Gentlemen, I have much to think about. Please keep yourselves on call.”
They left the White House by a side exit and climbed into Drefke’s waiting limousine that whisked them away through the quiet Washington streets.
*****
Chapter 19
On the evening of January 5th, a taxi made its way from Logan Airport, skirting the Charles River along the edge of Boston. Eventually, it came to Newton and slowed on the tortuous suburban streets. The air was noticeably colder outside the city, and the snowflakes fell more thickly. The passengers huddled in the corners of the flat Checker seat listening to the wheels plow through the slush. The smaller figure tried to ignore the stream of frigid air that came from his window that would not quite close. He wore a topcoat, but shivered from lack of natural insulation. The man was in his early forties, of average height, thin to the point of frailness. His head was round in profile, but thin so his face was a flattened oval. His sparse hair was combed straight back; a trim Vandyke adorned his chin. He wore old nondescript horn-rim glasses, the temples of which showed the grey corrosion of long exposure to facial grease.
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