Deep Black

71

Alexsandr Kurakin leaned back in the Mercedes, listening to the defense minister babble on about the Navy’s needs for an aircraft carrier as if Kurakin were some second-level bureaucrat who didn’t know a machine gun from an anchor. For the past two years he had endured such mindless lectures silently, nodding when appropriate, pretending that Vladimir Perovskaya was a military genius. They were now within sight of the Education Building and it occurred to Kurakin that he no longer needed to listen to such lectures.

“Aircraft carriers are obsolete,” he said. “The American carrier battle groups can be sunk or disabled within an hour after I issue the order. The real difficulties are their satellites and missile systems, which will soon be rendered impotent. I have already given the order.”

Perovskaya finally stopped talking. His jaw lowered slowly as he stared at the president in complete disbelief.

Kurakin began to laugh. One of the phones on the console between the two men rang. Kurakin picked it up.

It was his chief of staff. The president of the United States had an urgent personal message and wanted to talk to him directly — now, right now. It was more urgent than possibly could be believed.

Kurakin could believe it. But while he had expected the Americans to discover the coup on their own — indeed, he had planted the clues — he had not expected a warning.

Touching, in a way.

“Well, the president of the United States,” he said, turning and looking at Perovskaya. He gave a snort of derision, which the defense minister didn’t react to. He held his hand over the mouthpiece; they were just turning into the complex.

“You go in without me,” he told Perovskaya. “Keep the old comrades entertained until I catch up.”