Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (198 page)

“I'll keep you posted, General,” Zevitin said. “But for now, you are cleared to engage. Repeat, you are cleared to engage. Written authorization will be sent to your headquarters via secure e-mail. Advise if anything changes. Good luck.”

“Luck favors the bold, sir. We cannot lose if we take the fight to the enemy. Out.”

As soon as Zevitin hung up the phone, Hedrov asked, “What was that all about, Leonid? What is going on? Was it about Fanar?”

“We are about to create a crisis in space, Alexandra,” Zevitin responded. He turned to her, then ran the fingers of both hands through his hair as if wiping his thoughts completely clear so he could start afresh. “The Americans think they have unfettered access to space—we are going to throw some roadblocks up in their faces and see what they do. If I know Joseph Gardner, as I think I do, I think he will stomp on the brakes of McLanahan's vaunted space force, and stomp on them
hard
. He would destroy one of his own just to keep someone else from having a victory he couldn't claim for himself.”

Alexandra rose from the bed, kneeling before him. “Are you so sure of this man, Leonid?”

“I'm positive I've got this guy pegged.”

“And what of his generals?” she asked softly. “What of McLanahan?”

Zevitin nodded, silently admitting his own uncertainty about that very factor. “The American attack dog is on his leash, and he is apparently hurt…for now,” he said. “I don't know how long I can count on that leash holding. We've got to prompt Gardner to put McLanahan out of commission…or be prepared to do it ourselves.”
He picked up the phone. “Get me American president Gardner on the ‘hot line' immediately.”

“It is a dangerous game you are playing, no?” Hedrov asked.

“Sure, Alexandra,” Zevitin said, running the fingers of his left hand through her hair as he waited. He felt her hands slip from his chest to below his waist, soon tugging at his underwear and then ministering to him with her hands and mouth, and although he heard the beeps and clicks of the satellite communications system quickly putting the “hot line” call through to Washington, he didn't stop her. “But the stakes are that high. Russia can't allow the Americans to claim the high ground. We need to stop them, and this is our best chance right now.”

Alexandra's efforts soon increased both in gentleness and urgency, and Zevitin hoped that Gardner was preoccupied enough to allow him a few more minutes with her. Knowing the American President as he did, he knew he very well might be similarly distracted.

 

A
BOARD
A
IR
F
ORCE
O
NE, OVER THE SOUTHEAST
U
NITED
S
TATES

T
HAT SAME TIME

Relaxing in his newly reupholstered seat at his desk in the executive office suite aboard Air Force One, on his way to his “southern White House” oceanside compound outside St. Petersburg, Florida, President Gardner was studying the very ample bosom and shapely fanny of the female Air Force staff sergeant who had just brought a pot of coffee and some wheat crackers into the office. He knew she knew he was checking her out, because every now and then she would cast a glance over to him and a tiny smile would appear. He had a newspaper on his lap but was angled over just enough to surreptitiously watch her. Yep, he thought, she was taking her sweet time setting out his stuff. Damn, what an
ass
…

Just as he was going to make his move and invite her to bring those tits and ass over to his big desk, the phone beeped. He was tempted to push the
DO NOT DISTURB
button, cursing himself that he hadn't done so after he finished his last meeting with the staff and settled in, but something told him that he should take this call. He reluctantly picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“President Zevitin of the Russian Federation calling for you on the ‘hot line,' sir,” the communications officer responded. “He says it's urgent.”

He held the
MUTE
button on the receiver, groaned aloud, then gave the stewardess a wink. “Come back in ten minutes with fresh stuff, okay, Staff Sergeant?”

“Yes,
sir,
” she replied enthusiastically. She stood to attention, thrusting her chest out to him, before glancing at him mischievously, slowly turning on a heel, and departing.

He knew he had her pegged, he thought happily as he released the button. “Give me a minute, Signals,” he said, reaching for a cigarette.

“Yes, sir.”

Shit, Gardner cursed to himself, what in hell does Zevitin want
now
? He pressed the buzzer button to summon his chief of staff Walter Kordus. He was going to have to review the policy he'd established of immediately taking calls from Zevitin, he thought—he was starting to speak with him almost on a daily basis. Ninety seconds and a half a cigarette later: “Put him through, Signals,” he ordered, stubbing out the cigarette.

“Yes, Mr. President.” A moment later: “President Zevitin is on the line, secure, sir.”

“Thank you, Signals. Leonid, this is Joe Gardner. How are you?”

“I'm fine, Joe,” Zevitin replied in a not-so-pleasant tone. “But I'm concerned, man, real concerned. I thought we had a deal.”

Gardner reminded himself to stay on guard while talking to this guy—he sounded so much like an American that he could be talking to someone from the California congressional delegation or some Indiana labor union leader. “What are you talking about, Leonid?” The chief of staff entered the President's office, picked up the dead extension so he could listen in, and turned on his computer to start taking notes and issuing orders if necessary.

“I thought we agreed that we would be notified whenever you'd fly manned spaceplane missions, especially into Iran,” Zevitin said. “This is really worrisome, Joe. I'm working hard to try to defuse the situation in the Middle East and keep the hard-liners in my government in check, but your activities with the Black Stallions only serve to—”

“Hold on, Leonid, hold on,” Gardner interrupted. “I have no idea what you're talking about. What Black Stallion missions?”

“C'mon, Joe—do you think we can't see it? Do you think it's invisible? We picked it up as soon as it crossed the horizon over the Greenland Sea.”

“One of the spaceplanes is flying over Greenland?”

“It's over southwestern China now, Joe, according to our space surveillance and tracking units,” Zevitin said. “C'mon, Joe, I know
you can't talk about ongoing classified military missions, but it's not hard to guess what they're going to do, even if it is the Black Stallion spaceplane we're talking about. Orbital mechanics are as predictable as sunrise and sunset.”

“Leonid, I—”

“I know you can't confirm or deny anything—you don't have to, because we know what's going to happen,” Zevitin went on. “It is obvious that in the next orbit, in about ninety minutes, it will be directly over Iran. We expect it to begin deorbit maneuvers in about forty-five minutes, which will put it directly over the Caspian Sea when its atmospheric engines and flight controls will become active. You're obviously flying a mission into Iran, Joe. I thought we had an agreement: hands off Iran while we pursue a diplomatic solution to the military coup and the murder of the elected Iranian officials.”

“Hold on, Leonid. Stand by a sec.” Gardner hit the
MUTE
button. “Get Conrad in here,” he ordered, but Kordus had already hit the button to page the National Security Adviser. Gardner released the
MUTE
button. “Leonid, you're right, I can't talk about any ongoing operations. You just have to—”

“Joe, I'm not calling to discuss anything. I'm pointing out to you that we can clearly see one of your spaceplanes in orbit right now, and we had no idea you were going to launch one. After all we've discussed over the past several weeks, I can't believe you'd do this to me. When they find out about this, my Cabinet and the Duma will think I've been duped, and they'll demand I take action, or else I'll lose all the support for our cooperative efforts and rapprochement I've taken months to cultivate. You cut the rug out from under me, Joe.”

“Leonid, I'm in the middle of an important meeting, and I need to finish up what I'm doing first,” the President lied, impatiently rising to his feet and resisting the urge to yell outside his door for Carlyle and Kordus to tell him what in hell was going on. “I assure you, we don't have any actions under way against Russia anywhere, in any fashion—”

“‘Against Russia?' That sounds like an alarming equivocation, Joe. What does that mean? Are you launching an operation against someone else?”

“Let me clear my desk and finish this briefing, Leonid, and I'll fill you in. I'll—”

“I thought we agreed, Joe: essential flights only until we had a treaty governing military travel in space,” Zevitin pressed. “As far as we can tell, the spaceplane isn't going to dock with the space station, so this is not a logistical mission. I know things are bad in Iran and Iraq, but bad enough to stir up widespread fear by launching a Black Stallion? I think not. This is a complete disaster, Joe. I'm going to get butchered by the Duma and the generals—”

“Don't panic, Leonid. There's a rational and completely benign explanation. I'll call you back as soon as I can and—”

“Joe, you had better be straight with me, or else I won't be able to rein in the opposition leaders and some of the more powerful generals—they'll all be clamoring for an explanation and a strong response in kind,” Zevitin said. “If I can't give them a plausible answer, they'll start searching for one themselves. You know I'm holding on by a shoestring out here. I need your cooperation or everything we've worked for will unravel.”

“I'll call you right back, Leonid,” Gardner said. “But I assure you, on my honor, that nothing is going on. Absolutely
nothing
.”

“So our ambassadors and observers on the ground in Tehran shouldn't be worried about another hypersonic missile slamming through the ceiling any moment now?”

“Don't even joke about that, Leonid. It's not going to happen. I'll call you back.” He impatiently hung up the phone, then wiped the beads of sweat off his upper lip. “Walter!” he shouted. “Where the hell are you? And where's Conrad?”

The two advisers trotted into the executive suite moments later. “Sorry, Mr. President, but I was downloading the latest spacecraft status report from Strategic Command,” National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle said. “It should be on your computer.” He accessed
the computer on the President's desk, opened a secure file location, and quickly scanned the contents. “Okay, it's right here…yes, General Cannon, commander of U.S. Strategic Command, authorized a spaceplane launch about four hours ago, and the mission was approved by Secretary Turner.”

“Why wasn't I notified of this?”

“The mission is described as ‘routine,' sir,” Carlyle said. “Crew of two, three passengers, six orbits of the Earth and return to Elliott Air Force Base, total mission duration ten hours.”

“What is this, a fucking
joy ride
? Who are the passengers? I ordered essential missions only! What in hell is going on? I thought I grounded all of the spaceplanes.”

Carlyle and Kordus exchanged puzzled expressions. “I…I'm not aware of an order grounding the spaceplanes, sir,” Carlyle responded feebly. “You did recall the SkySTREAK bombers from their patrols, but not the space—”

“I had a deal with Zevitin, Conrad: No more spaceplane launches without first notifying him,” Gardner said. “He's hopping mad about the launch, and so am I!”

Carlyle's brows knitted, and his mouth opened and closed with confusion. “I'm sorry, Joe, but I'm not aware of any agreement we made with Zevitin to inform him of anything dealing with the spaceplanes,” he said finally. “I know he's been
clamoring
for that—he rants and raves to every media outlet in the world that the spaceplanes are a danger to world peace and security because they can be mistaken for an intercontinental ballistic missile, and he's demanding that we notify him before we launch one—but there's been no formal agreement about—”

“Didn't I order Cannon to be sure that those spaceplanes and any space weapons didn't enter sovereign airspace, even if it meant keeping them on the ground?” the President thundered. “They were to stay out of any country's airspace at all times. Didn't I give that order?”

“Well…yes, sir, I believe you did,” Kordus replied. “But the spaceplanes can easily fly
above
a country's airspace. They can—”

“How can they do that?” the President asked. “
We
have airspace that's restricted from the surface to
infinity
. Sovereign airspace is all the airspace above a nation.”

“Sir, as we've discussed before, under the Outer Space Treaty no nation can restrict access or travel through outer space,” Carlyle reminded the President. “Legally space begins one hundred kilometers from Earth's surface. The spaceplane can climb into space quickly enough while over friendly countries, open ocean, or the ice packs, and once up there can fly around without violating anyone's sovereign airspace. They do it—”

“I don't give a shit what it says in an obsolete forty-year-old treaty!” the President thundered. “For many months we have been involved in discussions with Zevitin and the United Nations to come up with a way to alleviate the anxiety felt by many around the world to spaceplane and space station operations without restricting our own access to space or revealing classified information. Until we had something worked out, I made it clear that I didn't want the spaceplanes flitting around unnecessarily making folks nervous and interfering with the negotiations. Essential missions
only,
and that meant resupply and national emergencies—I had to personally approve all other missions. Am I mistaken, or have I
not
approved any other spaceplane flights recently?”