MJ-12: Endgame

2

“So, Uncle Joe is dead, and good riddance. First order of business, who’s got their nukes?”

The President of the United States folded his tall frame into the leather chair in the Oval Office and looked expectantly at Air Force General Hoyt Vandenberg, who felt that, at best, the nukes were the second-biggest open question facing the United States.

The first, well… most of the other men in the room weren’t cleared for that. And even Dwight Eisenhower was still not a hundred percent sure of all the things he’d heard about the MAJESTIC-12 program. But Vandenberg was — he’d seen it. And Russian nukes were absolutely a secondary concern.

Yet there remained a game to play. “Right now, Mr. President, the Soviet nuclear arsenal, such as it is, remains in the hands of the military. Marshal Vasilevsky remains defense minister for now.”

Eisenhower nodded thoughtfully. Vandenberg couldn’t help but smile a bit, reminded of a time less than a decade ago when he was side by side with Ike, planning Normandy. Vandenberg had been responsible for the air cover for the invasion, and had the job of telling Eisenhower that the Germans were too entrenched to decimate via air power. The beaches of Normandy were a fortress, and there was only so much the Army Air Force could do. All Eisenhower did was nod gravely and go ahead with the invasion, hellish meat grinder that it was.

Being president was a cake walk compared to overseeing D-Day, it seemed.

“I know Vasilevsky a little bit,” Eisenhower said. “Good man. Sober. Won’t let anybody get too crazy. John, what news on the diplomatic front?”

Secretary of State John Foster Dulles sat up a little straighter in his chair. “There is, of course, a period of mourning, and then we’re looking at a big state funeral. So far, it looks like the speakers will be Georgy Malenkov, Vyacheslav Molotov, and Lavrentiy Beria. We’re invited to send dignitaries, of course. Any thoughts, sir?”

Eisenhower waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t care, so long as I don’t have to go to that bastard’s funeral. Let the chargé d’affaires go if that’ll be enough. Worse comes to worse, send Dick Nixon. Put him to good use for once.” A chuckle arose around the room; there was no love lost in the political marriage between Eisenhower and Richard Nixon. “What I really care about is who’s next. There’s going to be a lot of instability and a lot of infighting over there. I see opportunity, gentlemen. Not just to contain the Soviets, but to roll ’em back. Buy space for Eastern Europe to breathe, maybe get back some of their independence. Reunify Germany under a democracy? Maybe. But I want to press. Hard. Wring everything we can out of them.”

John Dulles shook his head sadly. “Mr. President, there are very, very few men in the Politburo with whom we could reasonably deal. Maybe Khrushchev, Bulganin… just maybe Mikoyan if we’re lucky. But that’s it. And they’re all pretty junior compared to Beria and Malenkov.”

Next to the Secretary of State, Director of Central Intelligence Allen Dulles — the secretary’s brother — spoke up. “Probably not Mikoyan. And even if we like Khrushchev or Bulganin, it’s not like we can prop ’em up or anything. This isn’t Iran or Syria. Soviet Russia’s a hard nut to crack. There’s more political capital to be gained from hanging our men out to dry than doing a deal with us.”

“Well, it’s not like we’ll show up with a briefcase full of cash or anything,” Eisenhower joked, and there was another murmur of laughter around the room. “But gentlemen, let me reiterate, I want to take maximum advantage of this. We have a chance to defuse this Cold War before it gets hot again. We can wrap up Korea and not get caught up in proxy battles all over the world. Let the Soviets see what we can accomplish with peace.”

Vandenberg couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “If their people see what we’re doing here in the West, they’ll want it back home. The Reds can’t afford to let that happen.”

“Depends how they handle it,” Eisenhower said, his hands wide. “We need to try, don’t we? John, Allen: How do we start?”

John Dulles shuffled his papers around until he found the right one. “First, we have to see how it all shakes out. You’ve got eight or nine men splitting up the government right now. Malenkov appears to have the top seat, but we think that’s a consensus move, and everyone’s gonna try to pull his strings. Beria, Molotov, Bulganin, and Kaganovich are the deputy premiers, and that’s the real competition. Beria has state security again, and that’ll make him first among equals. I’d also say Khrushchev has an outside shot — they’re having him work to recentralize and refocus the Party committees. He’s a sharp guy. He’ll wheel and deal his way up.”

Eisenhower looked squarely at Allen Dulles and Vandenberg. “Beria?”

The two men traded a look before Allen spoke. “Yes, sir.”

The President’s mood changed abruptly. “John, everyone. I have to talk with Allen and Hoyt here alone. Let’s get everything written up and get our act together on the funeral, then start with the outreach to the individual satellite nations. Let’s get ’em thinking that there’s enough of a change going on in Russia that they can start taking chances — and we’ll be right there for them when the time comes. Thank you, everyone.”

John Dulles shot his brother a look, which was returned with an arched eyebrow. Vandenberg figured the DCI and the Secretary of State probably talked a lot more than their predecessors, but it seemed Allen Dulles could still keep secrets from his brother. The Secretary of State and the assorted aides and deputies filed dutifully out of the Oval Office, leaving just Allen Dulles and Vandenberg sitting across from the President.

Eisenhower didn’t waste any time. “So you’re saying that Lavrentiy Beria, a man who can literally shoot flames out of his hands, is head of state security and has the inside track on leading the Soviet Union, yes?”

Dulles gave a grave nod. “I’ve seen the reports, Mr. President. I’ve personally interviewed every single American who survived the Kazakhstan incident. I’ve seen every single aspect of the MAJESTIC-12 program, both here and out at Mountain Home. I even had a chat with Admiral Hillenkoetter about it last month. This is very, very real.”

The President turned to Vandenberg. “Hoyt?”

“I’ve seen it firsthand, Mr. President. I’ve worked alongside our own Variants. They’re good, patriotic Americans. I believe them when they say that Beria’s a Variant as well. And we’ve seen enough intel on his private training camps, the Bekhterev Institute in Leningrad, all of it, to know that he’s been running a Variant program of his own. He calls them ‘the Champions of the Proletariat.’ We think he’s very much capable of grabbing power, for starters, and maybe even putting other Variants in top positions of power in the Soviet Union.”

Eisenhower leaned back in his seat and ran a hand across his face. “I need to get out to Mountain Home. I need to see these things myself. Talk to these people. I mean, what’s keeping our own Variants from trying to do exactly what Beria’s doing over in Russia?”

Dulles sat up a little straighter. “I trust Hoyt, and if he’s vouching for them, that’s a start. But we’re conducting our own security review as well. I don’t want to say Harry Truman played fast and loose with these Variants, but they were given a wide degree of latitude in operating as covert agents on behalf of the United States government.”

“And they’ve done an amazing job,” Vandenberg said quickly. “Never had one wander off the reservation while on assignment. Time and again, they’ve proven their loyalty as well as their abilities. Honestly, they’re the best covert agents we have right now.”

“That true, Allen?” the President asked.

Dulles grimaced a bit, but nodded. “They have an excellent track record, sir.”

Eisenhower pondered this a moment before shaking his head. “Either way, we have a situation in Russia. Variant or not, Beria’s a bastard. He was Stalin’s hatchet man. Hundreds of thousands of people killed or imprisoned — his orders. And if he really is a Variant, and believes in this Champions of the Proletariat nonsense, we need to do something about it. Options?”

There was a deep silence for several long moments before Vandenberg spoke. “We need a fresh assessment now that Stalin’s gone. We need to figure out just how powerful Beria will get in the new order over there. And if need be, we need to take steps to—”

“That’s enough, Hoyt,” Eisenhower said, his hand raised. “I get the rest. First, assess. We need the lay of the land. And I really want to know if he’s placing other Variants into government. How do we do that?”

Vandenberg smiled slightly and looked over at Dulles, whose grimace got deeper. There was only one way anybody knew of to ferret out Variants around Beria.

“Subject-1,” Dulles said finally.

Eisenhower leaned forward, his face registering surprise. “From what I’ve read, Allen, Beria knows Subject-1. Beria knows several of our Variants. That’s not exactly covert.”

“Actually, I like it,” Vandenberg said. “I think it sends a message.”

“Being what, exactly?” Dulles asked peevishly.

“That we know what Beria is. That we’re not afraid of him. That if he tries something with Variants, we’ll return the favor,” Vandenberg said.

“Deterrence,” Eisenhower said. “Just like with the H-bomb.”

“Exactly.”

Eisenhower clasped his hands in front of him on the desk and looked down a moment. Vandenberg didn’t envy him one bit. The President had only been told about the MAJESTIC-12 program the day after the inauguration, and it had taken him weeks to wrap his head around the entire concept of superpowered humans, everyday people given abilities by some kind of intelligence via an interdimensional portal that defied all known physics. There were a lot of meetings and a lot of talks, and Eisenhower remained skeptical of the whole thing — especially since they were being particularly cautious with the transition from Truman’s administration. With Hillenkoetter out as DCI — and seemingly grateful to be back at sea after navigating political waters — Vandenberg was one of the very few men left in the MAJESTIC-12 program who had been there since the beginning. He’d come to appreciate the talents of the American Variants — and their patriotism. But Eisenhower had his doubts — and had not yet had the time, nor the inclination it seemed, to actually meet some of the Variants or head out to Mountain Home himself. Thus, Beria’s ascension would only confirm the President’s worst fears about Variant ambitions.

Finally, the President looked up. “Okay, do it. Send them in.”