Act of God (8 page)

"What will that accomplish?" Petrovich demanded. "There's no shortage of ice in Siberia."

"But they will not quite reach the ground," Nekrasov said. "We plan to inject them into the atmosphere at a precisely computed speed and angle. They will explode just before reaching the ground." He paused for effect and surveyed the puzzled, incredulous faces around him. "The explosion will precisely duplicate the Tunguska blast of nineteen hundred and eight."

Premier Chekhov immediately grasped the military significance of what Nekrasov had said but he did not speak yet. Instead, it was Petrovich who spoke again. "Who did the technical analysis on the impact of these cometary icebergs?" Apparently, the general was not pleased that his extensive technical staff had never suggested such a possibility to him.

"It was Professor Tarkovsky, lately of Moscow University currently the director of the new Tsiolkovsky Space Center. As you know well, he is widely considered the world's foremost authority in this area." He picked up a thick typescript. "Here is the text of his complete work. Naturally, I have classified this paper class A secret and stopped its publication in the Soviet Astronomical Journal. I caught it before an official approval was given for publication and no preprint had been sent out. At least, none to overseas addresses."

Nekrasov saw that his audience, except for the Premier and Marshal Petrovich, still looked a bit mystified. It disturbed him that the Premier showed so little amazement. He reminded himself that the man was a politician and diplomat, well schooled in hiding surprise and indecision.

"The effect of the blast," Nekrasov went on, "should be comparable to a 20 to 50 kiloton bomb. With one major exception: No fallout. Thus, a byproduct of this exercise is the testing of a new type of clean bomb, much cleaner than a neutron bomb. Besides, since nobody in the West knows about it, there is no known defense against the iceberg bomb."

"Two blasts of that size," interjected Premier Chekhov, "will be picked up by every detection system in the world. I take it you have plans for a cover story?"

"The beauty of this weapon," Nekrasov said, "is that it is absolutely indistinguishable from a natural meteorite fall. Siberia has always been nature's favorite target for such missiles. Two more will not raise a ripple in the West. We shall report a pair of unusually large meteor strikes. In the absence of massive radiation there will be no suspicion. Western scientists will ask permission to travel to the fall sites in search of meteoric material. Permission will be routinely denied for reasons of state security." He glanced about the table and saw that he had made a few people nervous by blatantly referring to the iceberg bomb as a weapon. "Of course, you understand that this is basically a peaceful space experiment that happens to have a potential military application."

Marshal Petrovich persisted: "Why do you test only cometary icebergs as bombs? I would imagine that chunks of asteroids would serve as well. I understand that there are a lot more asteroids available than comets."

Nekrasov answered: "I am told that there are probably many more comets in the cloud surrounding the solar system than there are asteroids, but it is true that there are many more asteroids in the inner system, as you say, available. However, our new ion-drive engine cannot use asteroidal rock for propulsion. Thus, we couldn't shift an asteroid's orbit to coincide with a target on Earth unless we took a large amount of extra fuel, which would require a very much larger spaceship. As it stands now, we are counting on the use of cometary ice as reaction mass to bring back both ship and iceberg. Also, despite recent advances in laser technology, we still lack a means of efficiently slicing up an asteroid. We do, however, have an easily transportable laser gun that can cut ice quite well.

"In addition, ice is easy to tailor to size. If the mass of an impacting rock were too large, the results could not be controlled." Nekrasov stopped short of admitting that the size of the infalling object, whether ice or rock, must be tailored to suit military objectives. He was sure, though, that General Petrovich understood. So, unfortunately, did Premier Chekhov.

Most members of the Politburo remained impassive, a wise course to take considering the immense complexity and delicacy of the issues involved. It was Foreign Minister Kostenko who next attacked the subject. "Some years ago," he began, "a book was circulated among us. It was a romance by an American author with a German name and it involved a lunar colony in rebellion making use of lunar rock as missiles, using some kind of moon-based apparatus to launch the rock instead of conventional rockets. Attached to the book we received a report by a panel of our own scientists, Tarkovsky among them as I recall, stating that this plan was quite feasible. At present, all powers with space capability have established surveillance systems against just such an attack in the future. Wouldn't your iceberg bombs be detected by such systems, Comrade Nekrasov?" The small, bespectacled Foreign Minister studied the Deputy Premier with little favor.

Nekrasov did not need to answer. "No," Marshal Petrovich said, "they would not. Lunar activity is monitored by spy satellites orbiting the moon itself. Any kind of missile would be far easier to detect leaving the moon than nearing the Earth. Recently, the European Space Agency's moon base successfully tested a mass-driver using solar energy. Such a thing could be used as a weapon in the near future, but we had pictures of the test within minutes. We could easily destroy any such facility at the first hint of hostile activity and so could the Americans. But these surveillance systems watch only the lunar surface. All others watch for missiles launched from the Earth or from or biting satellites or space stations. These ice bombs, if they need no high-powered rockets to be infected, would be virtually undetectable before impact."

Behind his bland mask, Premier Chekhov was deeply disturbed. It sounded practical and logical, but it did not sound like Nekrasov. The Deputy Premier had high ambitions; Chekhov knew that. He knew as well that Nekrasov had been carefully and expertly coached prior to this presentation. By Tarkovsky? Somehow, Chekhov was certain that it was not. Now, however, was not the time to take decisive action. Chekhov needed more time, and Nekrasov needed a little more rope.

"I know this man Tarkovsky," Chekhov said. "He is a capable man, and I would like to have his technical assessment before we take a vote on this matter. In the meanwhile, Comrade Nekrasov, you have the necessary authorization to proceed with the accelerated pace you have requested. You are not, however, to drop these icebergs until we have conferred further on this matter." He looked around the table. There was no dissension.

Later the same afternoon, Nekrasov sat in his office overlooking Red Square, reviewing the events of the meeting. It had gone better than he had expected. It bothered him that Chekhov had raised no more objection than he had. It suggested that the Premier would be engaging in some game of his own. Nekrasov got up and crossed to a wooden cabinet where he kept his favorite brandy from the Caucasus. A voice on his desk intercom announced the arrival of KGB chief Boris Ryabkin.

"Good evening, Boris," Nekrasov said as the man walked in. "Care to join me for a brandy?"

Ryabkin accepted the delicate cognac glass and the two men sat on opposite sides of a tea table. The KGB chief sank heavily into the overstuffed leather sofa as he sniffed the bouquet of the fine brandy. He took a sip, sighed in appreciation, and launched into his unofficial briefing.

"The Estonian woman is now under the protection of the CIA. I have learned from a reliable source that she showed up at an international conference on comets held in the United States. As you may recall, that was the meeting Tarkovsky was planning to attend. In a special meeting arranged by Professor Ehlers of Hamburg Observatory, she asked the assembled world authorities on comets what they thought about the Soviet plans for a manned mission to a comet. Apparently, she drew a complete blank. Incidentally, she was escorted by a man who was later identified as a CIA operative."

Nekrasov studied his former deputy over his glass as he swirled the volatile liquid in its bottom. "The woman could cause us some problems. On the other hand, if we were to liquidate her now, it might tip the Americans that there is something to her allegations. It would not take long for them to figure out our probable course."

"The Estonian knows very little," Ryabkin said. "She left the Tsiolkovsky Center before the new timetable came into effect. She doesn't know the revised plans for Project Peter the Great and she can't reveal what she doesn't know."

"Let's not assume that. She may have kept in touch with others still on the project after she left but before her defection. Keep her under the closest possible surveillance."

Ryabkin nodded. "That is what I'm doing now."

Nekrasov punched a combination on his desktop Intercom and spoke into it: "Dr. Baratynsky, come to my office, please." He turned to Ryabkin. "I think it is time for some expert advice."

Ryabkin shrugged. He did not like Nekrasov's scientific
eminence grise
, but the man was necessary to the operation.

"Who is the man escorting the Tammsalu woman? Is it anybody we have encountered before?"

"That is a very odd thing. Do you remember the one called Samuel Taggart?"

"Taggart? Indeed I do. He was one of their most effective field operatives several years ago. He shortened the careers of some of my best agents when we were playing rough games with the Americans. Didn't I read a report that he had been killed in Central America several months ago?"

Ryabkin shook his head. "Shot and severely wounded, but not killed. This is the first we've seen of him since the incident. He's a tough one, though. He took at least three hits before those Indians got him into a truck and away."

Nekrasov was puzzled. "Taggart is a gunslinger of the old school. Why would they put him on the Tammsalu case instead of one of their scientific people?"

"I think it's a good sign," Ryabkin said. "Our reports have it that the man has been on the outs with his agency for some time. His official CIA rating is comparable to our KGB captain. One would think that his record would have earned him much higher rank long ago. The operation with the counterrevolutionaries in Central America was the first important assignment he had been given in a long time, and he botched it. There was little he could have done, according to the report I received, but his superiors seem to have used it as an excuse to take him out of circulation."

"So they've put the old warhorse out to pasture?" Nekrasov said. "It could mean that they don't take the Estonian's story seriously. Again, it could be a subterfuge. Best to take no chances. Keep them both under close observation and be prepared to take them both out should it prove necessary."

Ryabkin's glass stopped midway to his lips. "Take direct action against a CIA operative? It's been many years since we've done that." Traditionally, CIA and KGB killed off each other's expendable foreign agents, but avoided killing actual American or Russian operatives.

"An accident might have to be arranged," Nekrasov advised. "Something of a compromising nature involving the two of them. It would be helpful if the CIA found it embarrassing enough to do some of the covering up themselves. Put the Bulgarians on it. It's all they're good for in any case."

There was a knock on the door and Dr. Yevgeny Baratynsky entered. He was very tall but overweight and soft-looking, with round features and pudgy hands. His clothes were expensive and stylish and he was noted for his luxurious tastes in clothes, housing, food and women.

"Sit down, Yevgeny," Nekrasov said. "Have a brandy."

Baratynsky took a glass and dipped his bulbous nose almost into the brandy as he inhaled loudly. Ryabkin refused to show his distaste. If he could stand the Bulgarians, he could stand Baratynsky. In any case, Nekrasov's takeover of Project Peter the Great had been Baratynsky's plan to begin with, and they depended on him. Ryabkin and Nekrasov would be lost in the world of space science and policy without the gross but brilliant Dr. Baratynsky, who had once been Tarkovsky's student. In a system whose respect for seniority was second to none in the world, Baratynsky had nudged aside many senior scientists in competition for Important positions in the Soviet space program with insolent, contemptuous ease.

Nekrasov outlined such parts of his recent conversation with Ryabkin as he considered important for Baratynsky to know. "Did Tammsalu get no reaction at all from the comet specialists?" Baratynsky asked Ryabkin.

"When she and the CIA man left, they were accompanied by an odd-looking little man identified as Ugo Ciano. I am told he has a teaching position in Hawaii but nothing else."

"Ciano," Nekrasov said. "Is he from Italy?"

Baratynsky laughed loudly. "No, I have met Ciano. He's a native-born American, although he might dispute the fact. He comes from the New York borough of Brooklyn, whose natives believe themselves to be a sovereign nation."

"Could he be a danger to our work?" Ryabkin asked.

"He could be, but he won't be," Baratynsky said, cryptically.

"Please explain," Nekrasov asked patiently. He put up with more from the scientist than he would accept from anyone not a political superior, and there were few in that category these days.

"Ciano is unquestionably one of the West's most brilliant generalists," Baratynsky explained. "If that were the only consideration, I would consider him to be the most dangerous man we could possibly have working against us."

"But?" Nekrasov prodded, now leaning forward in his chair and fighting an urge to squeeze some answers out of the fat throat.

"But, he's such an eccentric that no responsible scientist in America would take him seriously. He has never accepted their scientific dogma and is a notable champion of ideas which most Western scientists, especially the Americans, consider to be crackpot. We have done extensive research and made valuable findings in parapsychology, ESP and the like, but most Western scientists refuse to accord them the status of true sciences."