Starfire (29 page)

“I cannot get very much work done in the Senate Building with the staff running amok,” Gryzlov said. “I go to First Building to hear the hens cluck, then come back here and make decisions.”

“I hope I am not one of those hens you speak of, Mr. President,” Titeneva said.

“Of course not,” Gryzlov said, crossing around his desk, stepping up to Titeneva, and giving her a light kiss on the cheek, then receiving a polite one in return. “You are a trusted friend. You worked with my father for many years, ever since you served together in the air force.”

“Your father was a great man,” Titeneva said. “I was privileged to serve him.”

“He brought you along the whole way with him, did he not?” Gryzlov said. “You both rose through the ranks in the air force together, and then he led you through the ranks of government, yes?”

“Your father knew that it was important to have trusted individuals with him, both in and out of the military,” Titeneva said. “He was also careful to make sure I learned from the best experts in the Kremlin.”

“You were his chief of staff for a short while, before the traitor Nikolai Stepashin, if I recall correctly,” Gryzlov said. “I am curious: why did you leave him and join the Foreign Service? You could have been prime minister or even president by now.”

“We both thought that my talents could better be utilized in Washington and New York,” Titeneva said casually. “Back then, women did not take on most high-level positions in the Kremlin.”

“I see,” Gryzlov said. He turned directly to her. “So the rumors I have heard about a long-running sexual affair with my father are untrue?” Titeneva said nothing. Gryzlov stepped to her and kissed her lips. “My father was a lucky man. Maybe I can be as lucky.”

“I am almost old enough to be your mother, Mr. President,” she said, but Gryzlov leaned forward to kiss her again, and she did not back away. Gryzlov smiled at her, let his eyes roam up and down her body, then returned to his desk and took a cigar from a desk drawer. “You invited me to your private office to kiss me, Mr. President?”

“I cannot think of a better reason, Daria,” he said, after lighting his cigar and blowing a large cloud of fragrant smoke to the ceiling. “Why not come visit more often?”

“My husband, for one.”

“Your husband, Yuri, is a good man and an honored veteran, and I am sure what he does when you are away from Moscow is of no concern to you, as long as he does not jeopardize your position in the government,” Gryzlov said. Titeneva said nothing. Without turning to her, he motioned to a chair in front of his desk with his cigar, and she took it. “You are receiving the reports of the American spaceplane flights?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Titeneva said. “The flights to the military space station have increased in number slightly, from three a month to four.”

“That is a thirty percent increase, Miss Foreign Minister—I would say that is significant, not slight,” Gryzlov said. “Their cargo?”

“Intelligence reports suggest that some major improvements to the station, possibly to the laser-beam control and power-distribution systems,” Titeneva said. “Optical sensors can see very little change to the outside of the station.”

“You personally and officially inquire about the contents of those spaceplanes, yes?”

“Of course, Mr. President, as soon as I am notified that a launch is imminent,” Titeneva replied. “The Americans' usual replies are ‘personnel,' ‘supplies,' and ‘classified.' They never give any details.”

“And unofficially?”

“Security is still very tight, sir,” she said. “The spaceplane flights and most operations aboard Armstrong Space Station are done by civilian contractors, and their security is very sophisticated and multileveled. None of my contacts in Washington know much at all about the contractors, except as we have seen, many of them are ex-military officers and technicians. It is very difficult for me to get much information on the contractor-run space program, I'm afraid. Minister Kazyanov might have more information.”

“I see,” Gryzlov said. He fell silent for a few moments; then: “You have been granted permission to speak before the Security Council prior to the vote on our resolution about the American's outrageous space initiative, correct?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Gryzlov blew a cloud of smoke into the air above his desk, then set the cigar in an ashtray and got out of his seat, and as protocol dictated, Titeneva immediately rose as well. “You left my father's side, Daria, because you could not handle the level of responsibility and initiative that my father wanted to give you,” Gryzlov said, walking over to her and impaling the woman with an icy, direct stare. “You were not tough enough to be with him, even as his lover. You left Moscow for the high-society parties in New York and Washington rather than help him fight in the political ditches in the Kremlin.”

“Who told you these lies, Mr. President?” Titeneva asked, her eyes flaring in anger. “That old goat Tarzarov?”

In a blur of motion that Titeneva never saw coming, Gryzlov slapped her across the face with an open right hand. She reeled from the blow, shaking stars out of her head, but Gryzlov noticed that she did not retreat or cry out, and in moments had straightened her back and stood tall before him. Again, in a flash he was on her, his lips locked onto hers, pulling her head to him with his right hand while his left roamed her breasts. Then, after a long and rough kiss, he pushed her away from him. She rubbed her cheek, then her lips with the back of her hand, but again stood tall before him, refusing to back away.

“You are going to New York City and addressing the United Nations Security Council,” Gryzlov said, boring his eyes directly into hers, “but you are not going to be this mature, wise, respected, demure diplomat any longer, do you understand me? You are going to be the tigress my father wanted and trained but never had. I can see that tigress in your eyes, Daria, but you have been mired in a comfortable life in the Foreign Ministry with your war-hero husband, tolerating his little dalliances because you want to keep your cushy job. Well, no longer.

“You will go to the Security Council, and Russia will get all that I demand, or we will have nothing more to do with the United Nations,” Gryzlov said. “You will get that resolution passed, or you will blow that place up. You will show my displeasure and anger without any doubt in anyone's minds, or do not bother returning from New York.”

“The United States will veto the resolution, Gennadiy,” Titeneva snapped. Gryzlov noticed the change in the tone of her voice and smiled—like a champion Thoroughbred racehorse, she was responding well to a little discipline, he thought. “You know that as well as I.”

“Then bring that place down,” Gryzlov said. “That chamber, and the
entire fucking world,
should understand clearly how angry I will be if that resolution does not pass.” He grasped the hair behind her neck, pulled her to him, and gave her another deep kiss, then pulled her away from him. “If you choose to be the bunny rabbit instead of the tigress, and you dare return to the Kremlin, then I will make sure you become someone's little bunny. Maybe even mine. And I guarantee you will not enjoy it. Now get the hell out of here.”

Sergei Tarzarov entered the president's office a few moments after Titeneva departed. “Not a typical staff meeting, I assume, sir?” he said, touching his own lips as a signal.

“Just a little motivational pep talk before her trip to New York City,” Gryzlov said gruffly, wiping lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where is Ilianov?”

“On the secure phone from Washington, channel three,” Tarzarov said.

Gryzlov picked up the phone, stabbed at the channel selector, and impatiently waited for the decryption circuitry to make the connection. “Colonel?”

“Secure, sir,” Ilianov replied.

“What in hell happened out there?”

“It was completely unexpected, sir,” Ilianov said. “Apparently McLanahan does have a security detail, because they took down my team, took McLanahan, and closed the house down before sunrise.”

“Where is your team?”

“Unknown, sir,” Ilianov said. “They are not in local civilian law enforcement custody, that much I know.”

“Shit,” Gryzlov swore. “Either FBI or private security. They will be singing like birds in record time, especially if they are in the hands of civilian countersurveillance operatives. I told you, Colonel, do not assume anything. Where is McLanahan now?”

“He has just now surfaced, sir,” Ilianov said. “He has registered as a resident of one of the campus apartment complexes. He was injured during my team's invasion, but appears to be all right now. We are studying his movements, the apartment complex's security, and searching for the presence of his personal security forces. We will not be surprised again. So far, we have detected nothing. McLanahan appears to have resumed his routine movements since before the invasion. We can detect no security surrounding him.”

“Look harder, then, Colonel, damn you!” Gryzlov snapped. “I want him taken down. I do not care if you have to send in an entire platoon to get him—I want him
destroyed
. Get on it!”

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LATER

“This illegal, dangerous, and provocative push for American domination of space must end
immediately,
” Russian foreign minister Daria Titeneva shouted. She was addressing a meeting of the United Nations Security Council in New York City, seated in the ambassador's chair beside Russian UN ambassador Andrei Naryshkin. “Russia has recorded a thirty percent increase in the number of spaceplane and unmanned boosted flights to the American military space station since President Phoenix made his announcement concerning American control of space. Russia has evidence that the United States is reactivating its constellation of space-weapon satellites called Kingfishers, and will also reactivate the space-based free-electron laser called Skybolt with improved aiming systems and increased power, making it capable of destroying targets anywhere on Earth. All this appears to be nothing more than an election-year show of power, but President Phoenix is playing a very dangerous game, threatening the peace and stability of the entire world just to gain a few votes.

“The Russian government has drafted a resolution for the Security Council's consideration that demands that the United States of America cancel plans to reactivate all its space weapons and that it destroy the ones already in Earth orbit, and orders President Kenneth Phoenix to reverse his stated position that any orbit occupied by an American spacecraft is sovereign American territory that can be defended with military force. Outer space is not, and should never be, dominated by any one nation or alliance. I ask for Council authorization for Russia's resolution to be presented to the procedural committee and then to the Security Council for a vote, with immediate implementation thereafter—after an affirmative vote. Thank you, Mr. President.” There was a faint round of applause after Titeneva finished her address—not exactly a resounding sign of approval, but a rather ominous signal of difficulties for the Americans.

“Thank you, Miss Foreign Minister,” Sofyan Apriyanto of Indonesia, the rotating president of the United Nations Security Council, said. “The chair recognizes Ambassador Ells for ten minutes for rebuttal.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Paula Ells, U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, responded. “I shall not need ten minutes to refute the Russian foreign minister's allegations. Her claims and accusations are completely baseless and her facts are inaccurate at best and outright lies at worst.”

“How dare you, Ambassador!” Titeneva shouted when she heard the translation. “How dare you call me a liar! The evidence is plain for the whole world to see! It is you and Phoenix's entire administration who are the liars and instigators here!”

Ambassador Paula Ells blinked in surprise. She had met, and spent time with, the veteran Kremlin bureaucrat many times in her career and knew her as a calm, intelligent, completely professional person, but since she had arrived in New York, she was almost unrecognizable. She had given several interviews to the world press, slamming President Phoenix and his space initiative, using words that Ells had never heard her utter before. That attitude was continuing here, with even greater acidity. “The only facts that you stated that are true are the increases in spaceplane and unmanned rocket flights,” Ells said, “but as usual, you state only half-truths and formulate wild accusations that are not supported by the facts:

“Our spacecraft missions have increased, it's true, but only because Russia has decreased the number of Soyuz and Progress missions to the International Space Station, for some unknown reason, and the United States decided to step up and increase our missions to fill the void,” Ells went on. “Our spaceplane and commercial missions are not just going to Armstrong Space Station, as the foreign minister claims, but to the International Space Station as well. If Russia thinks they can influence foreign affairs by postponing and canceling critical supply missions—missions that have already been bought and paid for, I should add—they are completely misguided.

“As to this draft resolution, Mr. President: the wording is so broad and vague that it could have been better written by a seventh grader,” Ells continued. Titeneva slapped her hand on her desk and said something to Naryshkin, angrily jabbing a finger first at Ells, then at him. “If this resolution were to be adopted, the United Nations could for all practical purposes shut down the American Global Positioning System, because it is an integral part of space-weapon systems, yet it makes no mention of the Russian GLONASS satellite navigation system, which has the same capability.