Deep Black

35

Kurakin waited until the cabinet ministers were rising before signaling that the defense minister should stay. Perovskaya reacted the way the Russian president knew he would — a self-important grin flickered across his face before he nodded solemnly and pretended that this was what he had intended all along.

Among other things, the meeting had touched on the death of Laci Babinov in an officially unexplained — and unpublicized — shootdown beyond the Ural Mountains. The death of the head of Moscow’s riot police was a blow to Kurakin, an unfortunate accident, because Babinov was a supporter.

The shootdown had been necessary, however. Without it, the Americans might have realized the significance of the earlier attack.

“The unit responsible for the attack will be discovered,” said Perovskaya after the others had gone. He was repeating word-for-word his earlier pledge. “I will find it myself.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Kurakin, who was actually sure he wouldn’t. “But we have a more important matter to discuss.”

Perovskaya looked at him with a mixture of surprise, caution, and disdain. His scalp seemed to glow beneath his thin hair, and the corner of his mouth curled just short of a sneer.

“The American ABM system must be neutralized,” said Kurakin. “Until it is, we have no leverage. We cannot deal with the southern insurgents as they should be dealt with. We cannot punish the Chinese for helping them as we should.”

Perovskaya surprised Kurakin by saying nothing. The president had not expected that. He had thought — hoped, assumed — that Perovskaya’s native animosity toward the Americans would result in something suitably bombastic. Standing no taller than five-six, Perovskaya made up for his slight stature by blustering and talking the bully. But whether because he was caught so completely by surprise or genuinely thought the idea of blinding the Americans too belligerent even for him to suggest, he said nothing.

“We have discussed the ABM system many times,” continued Kurakin. “The problem is well-known. But until now the idea has been to attack it directly, which of course would be suicidal. An indirect attack on only those satellites that can detect our launches — that is safer and more feasible. Without those satellites, the Americans could not warn the Chinese, much less stop an attack. Once the Chinese realize that, they will stop helping the rebels. They will realize this is aimed at them.”

“The Americans won’t — they’ll interpret this as an act of war,” said Perovskaya.

“Why?”

“Because it is an act of war.” The defense minister practically crossed his eyes, obviously trying to discover whether Kurakin was tricking him in some way. “If the Americans knocked out our satellites, we would respond harshly.”

“We couldn’t,” noted Kurakin. “Not with the ABM system in place. With it blinded, well, such things then might be possible — they would have to take that into account. We would have more leverage with them.”

“You’re thinking of the Becha,” said Perovskaya, using the code word for the laser weapon.

“Of course.”

“To strike the satellites, even in their parked orbits — the lasers are untested. It would be difficult.”

No tests had been conducted, since doing so would tip the Americans off. But Kurakin had seen the results of four different computer simulations; it would work.

Perovskaya was not privy to the simulations, which Kurakin had ordered using his envoys. So rather than citing them, the president merely said he was confident the weapons would work — and then asked pointedly if the troops manning the weapons were incompetent.

Perovskaya’s face turned red, and finally he reacted the way Kurakin had foreseen.

“There are no more potent weapons,” said the defense minister. “They could destroy the American satellites — they could eliminate missiles, aircraft — they are as effective as the Americans’ own system. More effective.”

Perovskaya caught himself. He was proving considerably more mature than Kurakin had believed he was. “Using them would be provocative. And of course, we would have to succeed.”

“They would destroy their targets in seconds.”

“From the time the order was given, three minutes. Four or five minutes between salvos. But no. It is far too risky.”

“You feel an attack would be suicidal?” said Kurakin.

“Against our interests. Not suicidal. No, it would succeed. But the consequences.”

“We need to stop the rebels, and the Chinese from helping them.”

“Yes. But this — no.”

Kurakin got up from the long table where he’d been sitting and walked across the room. He paused near the window. Through its glass he could see a line of tourists in the distance near Trinity Tower.

“No. I was rash,” he told Perovskaya finally. “The rebels have me frustrated, and the Americans block us from dealing with them properly.”

Perovskaya eyed him warily, clearly sensing that this had been a performance but not sure to what end. It was possible, Kurakin thought, that the defense minister would question others in the government about Kurakin’s sanity. Hopefully those conversations would take their usual belligerent tone — and be remembered.

“I’m feeling very out of sorts,” added the president. “The election is only a few months off. Democracy is a stressful thing.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“That was it?” asked Perovskaya.

“Should there be more?”

When Perovskaya was gone, Kurakin picked up the phone set and dialed into the private line of his security chief.

“So?” he asked.

“We can use it. He seemed reluctant at first.”

“That can be edited out.”

“In a sneeze.”

“Make it happen,” said Kurakin. “We will need the tape in a few days.”