Raise the Red Dawn

Chapter Ten

The black limousine sprayed slush from under its wheels as it swept down Kalinin Prospect. It had been a miserable winter. The snow on either side of the road was piled as high as most people’s heads. The car’s markings showed it belonged to a member of the Supreme High Command, so it barely slowed at the Borovitsky Gate and passed unobstructed into the red brick courtyard of the Kremlin.

Admiral Nikolai Korodin, deputy minister of defense and commander in chief of the Soviet Naval Forces had the springy gait of a natural athlete and strong features with dark, intelligent eyes that could be easily imagined peering out to sea. Korodin got out of the car and took the metal tape canister from the seat beside him. The gray metal case was still cold and rimmed from the salty arctic air. Korodin was a thorough man, and he had viewed the tape more times than his first porno film, which an academy buddy had smuggled into their dorm one night. He had some answers. Not as many as he would have liked.

The walkway had been improperly cleared and snow squashed over the tops of his shoes. From Red Dawn to wet socks it had been a bad day. And now this meeting of the Wartime Defense Council. They wouldn’t have called him out of the planning session at three in the morning for anything minor. Something big must be going on to convene the senior decision-making body for national security policy at this hour.

The council room was a large chamber left over from czarist times. A long polished mahogany conference table with high-backed chairs around it dominated. Plaster cherubs adorned the cornices and heavy green draperies hung over the tall windows. Of course, the general secretary’s chair was empty. Korodin knew he was meeting with the International Monetary Fund’s bankers in Paris, desperately seeking a solution to the country’s financial problems. The meeting was chaired by Solkov, the minister of defense. He looked up when Korodin sat down and fixed him with his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Good evening, Comrade Admiral Korodin,” he said. “We are pleased to see you.”

Korodin felt a twinge of anxiety. Old habits died hard, and one learned from early childhood never to be singled out for special attention. But fears were unseemly in a senior official, so he joked, “You, too, Comrade Solkov. It’s good to be called out in the middle of the night. Helps my wife to think I do this regularly.”

The remark brought laughs from those seated, many of whom kept mistresses in the city. Nighttime meetings were far less frequent than most wives believed.

“The council is glad to be of service to you, Nikolai,” Solkov said dryly. “You brought the tape? Good. You can brief us afterward.” Solkov signaled to an aide, who put the tape in a machine and dimmed the lights.

“Wait till you see this. It’s unbelievable,” Korodin said.

Korodin watched their faces as the static cleared and images formed. There was the minister of defense, Solkov; his first deputy ministers of defense; then the deputy ministers like Korodin, commanders of the ground, rocket, aerospace, and air forces respectively; the chairmen of the KGB, Gosplan, and the CPSU; and the chief of the General Staff. They were hard, smart men, veteran professionals who had flourished in a system that rewarded only the most adept at personal survival, something like the American Mafia. But they looked like children now, faces mirroring both the unreality of the scene and the undeniable beauty of it. The Arctic waters were remarkably clear and gave them a perfect view of Red Dawn encased in its tomb of ice. Flashing white numbers in the corner gave the time, date, and coordinates.

When the tape ended, Korodin completed his briefing. “I only have one question, Sergei,” he said as he finished, directing his attention to Solkov. “The navy is capable of handling the situation. Our planning session is yielding possible solutions, and ships have already been dispatched. Why this meeting? Is there something I don’t know?”

“There’s something all right,” said a voice to his left. Korodin looked over to the chairman of the KGB. “The Americans are making a rescue attempt.”

“But they have no right,” Korodin said angrily. “Warn them to stay away. That’s our sub. Those are our people.”

Abrikov, the chairman of the KGB, was a wiry, white-haired old man with immense energy, but he just stared at his gnarled hands and snorted. “You’ll get no disagreement from me, Comrade Admiral. But I’m not the one to argue with.”

Korodin looked around him. “What’s going on?” He suspected the first deputies already knew. Their faces were deliberately blank. “All right, Sergei,” he said to the minister of defense. “Tell me.”

Solkov said tiredly, “I’m sorry, Nikolai, but we are not permitted to warn the Americans off. The general secretary is very clear on this point. He won’t risk a breakup of the romance between our two countries. Remember, the cold war is over.”

The last was said sarcastically. Korodin and everybody else at the table knew how the ultraconservative minister of defense felt about peace with the United States. He believed it was the beginning of the end for the Soviet empire. Of course, this put him at odds with the general secretary, who was wooing the West at every turn. Only Solkov’s loyalists in the armed forces and his long and extensive knowledge of where the bodies were buried kept him at his post.

“This is a Soviet military ship of the line,” insisted Korodin emphasizing every word. “The Americans have no salvage rights, no right to interfere at all.”

“Nevertheless,” said the KGB chairman, “our sources tell us they are moving men and material into position on the ice cap right now.”

“Then if we can’t threaten, sue,” Korodin argued. “We’ve got a veritable army of lawyers. Have them file something at the Hague, for Christ’s sake.”

“The result would be the same, considering the time frame for such an endeavor,” said Solkov. “The Americans hold the upper hand. If they raise Red Dawn, they’ll be as offended as a reformed whore that we made any suggestion of impropriety. They’ll return our rescued people with the whole world watching and even give us back the ship—”

“Minus the propulsion system and enough irinium to enable them to duplicate it in their own labs,” finished Korodin. “The espionage coup of the decade.”

“If it were our plan I would say it’s brilliant,” said Abrikov, the KGB chief. “You know, Comrades, it’s a new age. Wars of weapons are over. They spent us all into the poorhouse. We’re moving into the era of the intelligence war. Think about it. Why buy jet fighters when they’ll only be obsolete in a few years? Think how many men can be suborned for the price of one jet plane. Twenty? Thirty? A hundred? And they will work for you for ten years, twenty years, maybe forever if they are very good and very careful. Maybe we can’t afford ICBMs anymore, but we will always be able to afford men’s greed. I guarantee it will never be in short supply.”

“Do you have a rescue plan formulated, Nikolai?” Solkov asked.

“We were working furiously when you called me here. We got this tape only a few hours ago. I’ve already dispatched subs from Kola Bay and rerouted several more from the North Atlantic.”

“How long will it take them to get there?”

“Forty-eight hours. Remember, we can’t use surface ships. Red Dawn is under the ice cap, for God’s sake. And air support’s impossible with the weather that’s moved in.”

“True enough,” said Abrikov. “We have reports an American C-Five crashed.”

“When will you have a rescue plan?” asked Solkov.

“I hate to be pinned down. A thing like this… a hundred details…”

“We understand that.”

“Then, say, proposals by morning, final decisions by noon, an additional twelve hours to move in whatever’s necessary. Twenty-four hours. Our best estimate of Red Dawn’s air supply gives us a slight margin.”

Solkov shook his head. “It will be too late. Wait,” he said when Korodin held up a hand, “I’m not saying anyone can do better, but the Americans are already in place. They’ll be making a first attempt in a few hours.”

“We started mobilizing the minute we were alerted. It’s not my fault the Americans found Red Dawn before Kalik did,” Korodin said defensively.

“The captain’s behavior in this matter merits further discussion,” Solkov said grimly. “He’s acted criminally.”

“What about purely obstructive measures?” asked Abrikov. “Slow them down till we can get up there. We can say we are assisting.”

“Can I drop bombs on them?” Korodin asked bluntly. “Or send in your KGB Spetznaz?”

Abrikov sighed. “Unfortunately that is not an option.”

“Then that answers your question.”

Solkov rose. “All right, Comrades. Thank you for your attendance. The meeting is over.” The rest of those at the table got up to leave, but Solkov motioned to Korodin. “Nikolai, one moment, please.”

Korodin remained sitting. So did Abrikov. That wasn’t so much of a surprise. Solkov and the KGB chairman were old allies, both cut from the same conservative cloth.

Solkov waited till the others had left the room and the thick oaken door was shut behind them. “So, Nikolai, the children have all gone to bed. What do you think of all this?”

“I think it stinks,” Korodin said honestly. “I’m a navy man. I have been since I was fourteen. I’d rather blow Red Dawn to pieces than let the Americans get her.”

“That’s good, Nikolai. It saves us a good deal of trouble.”

“How so?”

“Because that’s precisely what we want you to do.”

“I don’t follow, Sergei.”

“I will explain it. Akula is on station, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have faith in Akula’s commander?”

“Vassily Kalik?” Korodin frowned. “I did. But, like you, I’m deeply concerned about his disobeying orders and leaving Red Dawn to decoy away an American sub. On the other hand, it’s always hard to second-guess a field commander. Certainly we did not want the Americans to witness the testing of the new drive. But his orders were clear. So I classify his actions as either command prerogative or a sign of more dangerous things to come. I am somewhat inclined to the former because until now Vassily Kalik has been the best we have. He is among the best ever, according to those who’ve served with him.”

“Overly independent commanders need watching,” Abrikov said.

“That’s KGB thinking.”

“I disagree,” said Solkov. “Kalik’s arrogance has made the situation much worse. If he had reported losing Red Dawn earlier, we’d have ships in place by now.”

Korodin was tired. It was time to end the guessing games. “I don’t understand where we’re headed with this. Akula is a powerful weapon, but if the general secretary won’t let us intervene—”

“Listen, Nikolai,” said Abrikov. “The general secretary has ordered us not to engage the Americans directly. So we won’t. Most of our analysts say the chances of raising Red Dawn are slim at best anyway. But the Americans are tenacious. They love crash programs and desperate adventures. It’s their frontier mentality. They’ll go to hell and back to rescue a lost child or a few whales trapped in the ice.”

“In other words,” said Solkov, “it’s always possible the Americans will succeed. We cannot allow them to take Red Dawn if they do.”

Korodin’s eyes narrowed. “Comrades, when I said I would blow Red Dawn to pieces, you knew I was speaking figuratively. We still don’t know how many men are on board — Ligichev and his daughter, the crew…”

“No battle is won without casualties,” Abrikov said flatly.

“Put it plainly. What do you want me to do?”

There could be no misunderstanding Solkov’s words. He said, “Order Captain Kalik to destroy Red Dawn if the Americans manage to raise her.”

“And what happens to the drive and the irinium?”

Abrikov shrugged. “We have Ligichev’s notes and the rest of his team. They should be able to reconstruct his work.”

“Kalik reports Seawolf is in the area. We’ll have a fight on our hands.”

“Unavoidable,” said Solkov. “But I can’t imagine too great a stink. After all, both sides know damn well what they’re trying to do. How can the Americans complain we took the candy from them when they stole it in the first place? No, win or lose it’s a limited action. It will go no further.”

Korodin mulled it over. There was one more sticking point, the biggest of all. “What about the general secretary’s orders?”

Solkov didn’t answer directly. Instead he asked softly, “Nikolai, how do you think things are going? How do you feel about these times we live in?”

Korodin knew he was on dangerous ground. The atmosphere had subtly changed. They weren’t talking about a military mission anymore, regardless of how important it was. They were talking about a coup. A man would be blind not to see it, not to know that if any two men in the country could put it together, these two could. The Red Army and the KGB — the tools of real power in Russia.

“I am not a Stalinist,” Korodin said carefully.

“Nor are we,” said Solkov. “But as a military man surely you would find a more conservative approach to governing appealing, no?”

“You are correct in one respect,” Korodin responded. “I am a military man. Therefore I am content to leave politics to the politicians.”

Abrikov laughed. “Well said. The apolitical military man gives us a most politic response, eh, Sergei?”

“Quite.” Solkov nodded, still appraising Korodin. “Will you give the order, Comrade Admiral?”

“I will use every weapon at my command to prevent Red Dawn from falling into American hands. That you can count on, Comrade Minister.”

“Very well, Nikolai. That is enough. For now. Good day, Comrade.”