"The entire operation was successful, except for one major failure: Party Secretary Kulish; his first deputy, P. S. Shafirov; and General Dolin, head of the KGB, somehow escaped the Kremlin. We don't have an inkling of how they pulled it off. The rest of the Politburo were arrested. Several were executed later that day, while three others condemned Kulish, Shafirov, and Dolin as traitors to the State. All civilian telephone service was discontinued, of course. And all nonmilitary air traffic was suspended, 'to prevent the criminals from escaping to the Americans.' "
Again the president gestured, and Godfrey stopped. "How did the Russian people react to all this?" Haugen asked.
"About the way we thought they would: They sat back to wait and watch. They don't seem to care much which way it goes.
"Incidentally, it's interesting that the army initially accused Kulish and company of being 'traitors to the State' instead of 'traitors to the Party.' But apparently they rethought things afterward, because since then they've called them both, in a sort of package curse: 'Traitors to the State and Party.' And meanwhile they've been wiping out all the KGB they can get their hands on.
"Of course, most of the KGB went underground, those who weren't underground already. Or dead. We know they're behind at least some of the demonstrations and outbreaks of sabotage in the Moslem SSRs. And even the Ukraine. If you'll recall, it was on Kiev television that Kulish and Shafirov appeared the day after the coup to denounce 'the counter-revolutionary czarist usurper, Pavlenko," and call for the army to revolt and return to 'the principles of Marxism-Leninism.' "
"I wondered about that," Cromwell said. "How did they manage to pull off that TV appearance? And how has Kulish stayed free so long?"
"Basically," Godfrey answered, "the army's done a lousy job of police work. They're not set up for it. The MVD is in charge of ordinary police work in the USSR, and they're mostly staying pretty much neutral, keeping their options open. Also, the central police files were stored in the KGB master computer in Moscow, and these were destroyed when the army shelled the place.
"There are thousands, probably tens of thousands of mimeograph machines cranking out pamphlets and underground newssheets attacking the Pavlenko government, and we can assume that the KGB is behind most of them. Or at least many of them. Opposing them are the army-controlled media: radio, television, and the press.
"So what they have going on there is a sort of semi-war between the military on the one hand and the KGB on the other. In a sense, the Party is actually more or less outside of it. It's semi-disowned the old leadership, to the extent of not mentioning it, and survives in the form of the bureaucracy, as a sort of apathetic political organism. The army needs the bureaucracy to keep the machinery of government and industry more or less running, and it's simply taken over without providing ideological leadership.
"Meanwhile the Russian people are more or less nonpartisan spectators, doing less work than ever, pilfering more than ever, and waiting to see who comes out on top. While ethnic non-Russians, mainly the Moslems, are exercising their decades of resentment by committing lots of minor and some major sabotage. And assassinations of local Party bigwigs with KGB help. Even though nominally the KGB is on the Party's side; anything to sow confusion and disorder until they get rid of the Pavlenko government and take over themselves.
"Actually, the Balts and most of the ethnically non-Russian Slavs have stayed relatively quiet, what with all the troops on hand. But they're surly, disobedient, and uncooperative."
The president interrupted. "Where do the Poles stand in this?" he asked.
"They're waiting too, but it's a different waiting. They're waiting for things to get worse. There are only two Soviet divisions in Poland itself, but there are twenty in East Germany and about fifteen in Byelorussia, on either side of Poland. Along with five more in Czechoslovakia to the south.
"If Soviet army morale begins to unravel badly—say there are mutinies in the Soviet divisions in the west—the Poles may very well revolt, and that could begin a more general revolt by the Czechs, East Germans, and Hungarians. They've all revolted before, of course, in the fifties and sixties. The danger, and it's a real one, is that the Poles may act too soon. It's the sort of thing that could pull the Russians together, and we'd rather see things reach a nice deep level of chaos before that happens."
Godfrey looked around the table then. "And that's about it. Are there any questions?"
While Godfrey waited, the president looked him over. "Mr. Godfrey," he said, "whose would you judge is the Soviet faction we'd have the best chance of negotiating some sort of accord with? A reasonably functional accord—functional enough that we wouldn't be living under the sword of Damocles."
Godfrey pursed his lips in thought. "Kulish's, I suspect. If there is a Kulish faction. Outside the government, there's too little visible organization to know. We can evaluate Pavlenko for you pretty well right now, but beyond that, there's no faction we can identify. Unless it's the fugitive KGB, and we have no idea of who's in charge. Probably no one, really."
Haugen nodded. "Play with it," he said. "See what you can come up with." He turned to the Secretary of State. "Any objection to Godfrey doing it instead of some of your people?"
Coulter looked as if something tasted bad. "No. If you want him to do it, that's all right with me."
Haugen's eyes lingered on Coulter for just a second before he turned back to Godfrey. "It's yours then. Do the best you can for me."
The president got up from his chair more slowly than usual. "Unless someone has something they have to say to the council as a whole, this meeting is adjourned. As far as I know now, we won't get together again until our next regularly scheduled meeting."
He stood by the door shaking hands with the others as they left. Including Blackburn. Flynn was last. "Steve," Haugen said, "let's go to my office. Okay?"
"Certainly, Mr. President. Arne."
Together they walked to the Oval Office, where Haugen poured coffee for them both before he sat down.
"What did you think of the NSC meeting?" he asked.
Flynn looked soberly at him. "I—felt out of place."
"I'm not surprised. That was Blackburn's intention."
"Maybe he was simply worried about security, as he said."
The president looked reflective. "No," he said slowly, "I'm pretty sure we can rule that out."
"Why do you think so?"
"When we clashed, our eyes met. And from what I saw there, I'd say that Dr. Blackburn is psychotic."
Flynn stared.
"That's a subjective evaluation of course," the president went on. "But meanwhile, I don't want a psychotic heading up the CIA. Or the OSS; he's slated to go to it when it's born next week."
"Maybe what you saw was fear," Flynn said. "You looked truly angry, you know. If I'd been Dr. Blackburn and you'd looked at me like that, I'd have been frightened."
"Ah-h," Haugen said, "I'm a pussycat." He grinned then, surprising the Jesuit. "I used to love a fight when I was a kid, did you know that? Not that I fought a lot, probably not more than once a month, but I loved it when I did. I hardly ever fought mad; that may have been part of why I enjoyed it. Usually I fought someone else that liked to fight. Someone would challenge, or some other guys would set it up, maybe with a prize, and we'd go at it."
He fingered his long-ago broken nose. "I kind of outgrew it, I guess. When I went to college, I sort of got out of the habit. It just wasn't done there, not like up home in Koochiching County, or in bars in the airborne. And I never got back into it again." He cocked an eye at Flynn. "Did you fight as a schoolboy?"
Flynn smiled ruefully. "I've probably had five fights in my whole life. Fights just seldom came my way." He grinned then. "I won one of them, though. My last one, with a boy named Emilio Peccioli. We were in the tenth grade. Sister Mary Theresa was really disillusioned with me."
"So you know how much fun it can be." The grin teased. Then, suddenly businesslike, the president buzzed Martinelli. "Jeanne, get me the FBI—Director Dirksma. Have him call me back on a security line."
Flynn's eyebrows rose. Haugen disconnected.
"I'm going to have Dirksma investigate Blackburn," Haugen said. "If I'm right, and I'm sure I am, we need him put away."
It seemed unreal to Flynn. There'd been no evidence; only something Arne thought he'd seen in the man's eyes. "And if you're not right?"
"I'll be very surprised."
"Well," Flynn said, "the investigation should settle the matter, shouldn't it?"
"It certainly seems like it." The president sipped his coffee. "Want to bet?"
"Bet? About Blackburn?" The priest looked quizzically at the septuagenarian president. Arne Haugen could be whimsical, almost boyish, despite his age and situation. "How much?" Flynn asked.
"Pushups. I'll bet you—" He eyed the priest. "You're pretty tall; it's a long way from your feet to your shoulders. Ten should be enough. I'll bet you ten pushups."
"You're on! Ten pushups!"
***
That night, before his shower, Father Stephen Joseph Flynn lay down on his stomach and did pushups. To his surprise, he actually did ten, though only by resting for a moment on his stomach after each one.
Ah well
, he thought,
Arne won't give you a bad time about it. He's not the type.
TWENTY-FOUR
The president was eating lunch with Father Flynn when the security phone buzzed. This time the CRT was in split-screen format, showing two faces: FBI Director Peter Dirksma, and another man.
"Mr. President," Dirksma said, "this is Agent Aaron Gonzalves. He has some preliminary information for you on Director Blackburn. Incidentally, your call to the National Security Agency was very helpful; it got us covert access to CIA's central computer. Without that, we wouldn't have been able to get some of this without making ourselves known. Which might have enabled a coverup."
"Right," the president said. "What did you learn, Aaron?"
"In Dr. Blackburn's earlier commands," Gonzalves said, "there was a history of personnel breakdowns and losses. However, in eight years of project commands, he had three major, or at least substantial, covert operations victories to his credit, depending on how you define major. Apparently three is considered good performance in that time frame.
"He was promoted from project leader to chief of Covert Operations in the Southeast Asia Division. After two years on that, he was promoted to deputy director of the CIA. Two years later, when Director Crasso died, President Donnelly designated Blackburn as the new director, and the Senate approved. That was eight months ago.
"I've looked through Dr. Blackburn's personnel files, and there are a couple of reprimands there for mistreatment of foreign personnel while visiting Bangkok. Pretty unpleasant stuff. I'm amazed he got promoted over them; in the Bureau he'd have been fired."
Haugen blew silently through pursed lips. "Who sponsored Blackburn with President Donnelly?'
"Secretary of State Coulter, sir."
"Oh hoh! Okay, what else did you find out?"
"Well sir, his doctorate isn't a Ph.D. as I'd thought it would be. He's got an M.D., from Johns Hopkins; he's a licensed psychiatrist."
"Huh! That's interesting." The president paused as if thinking. "Anything else on him?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Tell you what: I want you to find out for me if he has a personal laboratory or clinical facility in the CIA Building. Do you have someone inside over there that can check that out for us?"
"Yessir."
"Good. If he does..." The president paused, thought of using martial law, then decided not to. "Tell you what, Peter. I'm going to suspend Blackburn on the basis of the reprimands in his file. Then I want you to arrest him; hold him under the Official Secrets Act. We can do that legally, can't we?"
"Yes sir, for up to ninety-six hours."
"Okay. Wait an hour and then arrest him. His suspension will be finalized by then. I want all the information necessary to either charge him or clear him, inside of ninety-six hours.
"He may try to get away from you, so be on your toes. He's likely to be pretty competent at things like that.
"Oh, and one more thing. Find out who wrote the reprimands on him. And what they're doing now."
When he'd disconnected, the president looked at Flynn with grim satisfaction. "Steve," he said, "it's time to start practicing your pushups." Then he buzzed Milstead and initiated the suspension of Blackburn.
When they finished eating, Father Flynn excused himself, and Haugen called Godfrey at the CIA. "Norman," he said, "I have some more questions for you. How long will it take you to get to the White House from Langley?'
"At this time of the afternoon? I can probably drive it in half an hour."
"When can you start?"
Godfrey looked a trifle pained, as if he was in the middle of something. "I'll dump what I have in memory and be on my way inside five minutes, if that's all right with you, sir."
"That's fine. Do it. Ill see you in thirty-five or forty minutes."
The president broke the connection and started to read a report he'd asked for, on the current status of Russo-Finnish relations. He did not find it enjoyable. He'd finished it and was reading one on Russo-Turkish relations when Godfrey arrived.
"Norman," the president said, "I may have called you over here for something you could tell me over the phone. If I did, I'm sorry. But it occurred to me that your calls over there might be monitored, or that you might feel uncomfortable about talking freely from there.
"Anything you want to say about that?"
"Only that I have no reason to think my calls are monitored."
"Okay. What I want to know is, what does CIA staff think of Blackburn."
After a moment's pause, Godfrey answered. "Well, sir, they're mainly of two schools: his buddies, and those who don't like him. No, make that three schools: There are those who are scared of him."