“And you will tell them you warned me while I did nothing, eh?” Kalyugin murmured frostily. “Now you listen to me, comrade. We are here together. If I go down for this, I won’t be going alone. You believe that. I will ensure your guilt is as great as mine.”
I don’t think so! I know how the system works better than you do, you fat bureaucrat. You make a political game of being a KGB officer. And I promise you that when Loginov’s plan goes down, you will take the fall for it all by yourself. I have given you more than sufficient warnings to distance myself from you, and everything has been documented. That is my secret, comrade Director! “How much better, then, to take prudent action,” he soothed. “Don’t you think? Look at it this way. If you suspect wrongdoing, how much trouble will you be in for following the leads presented you?”
Kalyugin returned to his seat, appearing somewhat mollified. “All right. Say I go along with you on this. What do you suggest?”
Ushakov knew he had Kalyugin on the hook, at least partially. Now he would see how much line he could reel in. “Arrest Loginov on suspicion of espionage. Ship him back to the Lubyanka for interrogation, since they have the drugs necessary and we don’t. Increase security throughout the facility.”
The Director shook his head. “No. I will not arrest him on a flimsy charge like that. I would permit you to have him watched, but not interfere with his duties. And how will I increase security? All available personnel have been working full-time on the launch gantry. The flame trench has not yet been completed because of the hardness of the ground. No launches can take place without that flame trench, and Korolev is pushing for a launch.”
“Then pull some off to increase security at the gate. Post a guard at the junction of the railroad track in Tyuratam. A squad of soldiers to patrol the perimeter.”
“Damn it, the perimeter is eighty square kilometers! How the hell are they going to patrol the entire thing?”
“It’s better than nothing. The fence could be easily scaled, and the wire at the top cut with any pair of wire-cutters.”
“To go where, damn it? Where would he go?”
“He will have thought of that, comrade. Our disadvantage is that we do not know his plans, so we must prepare for anything. To escape would be easy—we are not used to having our prisoners run away. None of them do, so we don’t handle pursuits well. All he would have to do is walk away in any direction and after a few hours it’s doubtful we would be able to locate him.”
Kalyugin shifted, obviously ill at ease. “Very well. You may pull a few men out of the engineers to work the main gate. I will permit a roving patrol once a day, the first thing in the morning, to ascertain if the perimeter fence has been damaged during the night. You may have the suspect shadowed, but that is all.”
But Ushakov knew it wouldn’t be enough. Loginov would become more careful, that was all. This one was going to get away from them, and with his last strength Ushakov would make Kalyugin bleed for it.
U.S.S Bennington, CV 20
CTF 79, Indian Ocean
The AJ-2 Savage had been designed to carry nuclear weapons. To do that job it was big and heavy, with a powerful Pratt & Whitney radial piston engine on each wing and an Allison J33 turbojet mounted in the tail section, to give it an extra sprint capacity over a target. Early in the aircraft’s career it had demonstrated prodigious range, flying from Norfolk to French Morocco and setting a record for the first trans-Atlantic crossing by a carrier-based aircraft. The airframe had proven versatile enough to perform numerous tasks, and the Navy had modified Savages to serve as tankers and photo-recce platforms. At optimal altitude the AJ-2 could make about 400 knots airspeed.
The day was clear and the sun over the Indian Ocean was hot as Hardin sat in the pilot’s seat scanning the instruments—clear and a million, they called it. Clear weather, a million miles of visibility. The AJ-2 generally had three seats, a pilot and co-pilot, and then a rear-facing seat from which a third aircrewman could control the camera equipment or hose and reel. Hardin had flown the AJ-2 from the co-pilots seat, but never from the pilot’s seat and never during a catapult launch. It had taken quite a bit of fussing from Hardin to talk Holveck into letting him take a practice catapult launch. There had apparently been little thought given to that. Nor were the senior officers of the Bennington kindly disposed to the idea of possibly losing one of their own jets at the hands of an Air Force pilot brand new to the cat. But, as Hardin had told the skipper, it was worse than ridiculous to risk the entire operation on the chance that he would blow his first launch. When the time came he had to have some experience with the catapult.
His co-pilot was Lieutenant Paul Miller, a stocky young man sporting a crew cut. Hardin had flown with him before. Holveck had cautioned him not to say too much during flight, and Miller hadn’t seemed curious to learn what an Air Force major was doing on a Navy carrier. “Your shooter is Chief Hansen over there,” the young pilot said, pointing out the open canopy. “Dave, come on over here.”
Holveck had confided in him that the Chief was one of the few who had been read into the program.
Hardin shook the chief’s hand as he climbed the ladder and stuck his hand inside the cockpit. “You’re in control of the launch, Major,” the chief told him. “When I signal you, go ahead and start engines. Once you’ve got your post-start check you’ll lower your flaps, give me a thumbs-up and the chains will be struck. We’ll charge the cat and run our checklist and when we’re hot I’ll give you a thumbs-up back. At that point you’re on live steam. Stand on the brakes and go full on the throttle. When you’re there give me a salute, that tells me you’re ready for launch. Immediately release the brakes and we’ll go for launch, and hopefully get you airborne. At any point if I raise my fist like so, you throttle back. It means we’ve got some problem.”
“Relax,” Miller grinned, strapping himself in. “Launches are the easy part. It’s landing that’s tough. I’ll be doing that part for you. The pitch and trim for a carrier landing are completely messed up from anything you’re used to. You Air Force guys flare out onto the runway but on a carrier you’ve gotta smack the deck hard, or you’ll either miss the cable or grab it while you’re still in the air. If that happens you’re really screwed!”
Chief Hansen closed the canopy and pulled the ladder away from the fuselage. Once he was clear Hardin ran through the AJ-2’s start procedure and with a whine the large props began to turn. He’d been briefed on the AJ-2’s flight controls and they were simple enough to figure out, but he could turn the aircraft over to Paul after launch. He didn’t need to fly the tub; he just needed some experience with the catapult. As a second seater, he’d experienced the peculiar tunnel vision that accompanied the G-forces associated with a launch, so he was at least prepared for that. All too quickly his co-pilot was instructing him to give his salute.
The props were roaring and the AJ-2 shook from the force of the thrust as Hardin snapped his salute. He saw Chief Hansen throw his arms forward and felt a heavy snap of motion. Immediately the G-forces piled weight on and he felt as if he was looking down the barrel of a gun. He fought an instinctive desire to drag the yoke back into his lap. He gritted his teeth and strained against the weight pushing at his chest, and there was an instant of utter terror as he felt an abrupt sense of weightlessness. But then his vision returned and he saw that the AJ-2 had launched, and was climbing gently away from the Bennington.
“Not bad, huh?” Paul shouted.
Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan
Loginov stood outside the Oxygen/Nitrogen Plant on break, smoking a cigarette and shivering in the cold wind that whipped down the steppes from Siberia. The temperature had to be close to freezing. The early cold front that had moved into the area now seemed to be sitting motionless overhead, biding its time, waiting for an unknown signal to blanket the Facility in deep, white snow. Outwardly he merely stood with his companions and smoked, staring around at the featureless territory, listening to their prosaic conversations
disinterestedly. His controlled persona made no reaction when they talked about the soldier with the AK-47 that now seemed to be perpetually hanging around the plant. The soldier had been there for two days now and always seemed to be somewhere close by when Loginov went somewhere. One of his companions remarked that security at the main gate had been increased as well, and now there seemed to be a patrol driving around the Facility in a truck during the early morning hours. Yaroslav merely grunted and went on smoking. “Probably some exercise,” someone muttered. “The army can’t get enough of them. At Kaliningrad they were always having them…”
They didn’t seem to have noticed that he was the focus of the soldier’s attention, nor that the soldier always seemed to remember some pressing business wherever Yaroslav happened to go. Idiot! Blind, stupid idiot! You play hide-and-seek with the KGB and you think they won’t find you out? What the hell were you thinking of by giving Ushakov such blatant clues? God, did you actually think he wasn’t going to act on them? In fact it had not been Ushakov who had surprised him but his supervisor, Director of Security Kalyugin. He had not thought that one would have the spine to order an increase in security, but even so, the fact that Loginov had not been arrested was statement to the fact that Kalyugin had not given Ushakov as much as he’d wanted. Ushakov wouldn’t be happy with this arrangement, but neither was Loginov. If the Chief Designer hadn’t left for Moscow, all would be well. Kalyugin wouldn’t be so bold if Korolev was in town, and Korolev was the kind to demand evidence. He cursed again his stupid overconfidence and his lapsed judgment. When the pendulum of his moods swung over to the positive end of his internal spectrum he was capable of unpredictable action, and his stunt with Aleksei—stupidly baiting him to ensure he would squeal to Ushakov—had been simply fatuous. Now he could not just lie low and wait for things to blow over. Tomorrow his handler was going to be at the mess tent to make the transfer, but with this damned soldier shadowing him he could not retrieve his camera from its hiding place out on the steppe!
He considered his options. There weren’t many. There was no way to get a message out at the moment, not with all this damned security. He could kill his guard, but that would force his hand into a course of action he was not ready for yet. Besides, he did not judge himself to be in immediate danger of arrest. They would have arrested him already if Kalyugin thought they could. More likely the Director had his hands full controlling Ushakov and had increased security to get the chekist off his back. It seemed to him that his best course might be inactivity after all. His handler would be on the Facility to receive the film but Yaroslav did not have to show up at the mess tent. He could miss the pass. But would his handler take that as a signal that the operation had been blown? He thought about this. He did not know this handler well, or even at all. She had not been his primary handler: that had been her husband. But his understanding was that she had been an accomplished agent in her own right and Yaroslav gathered their marriage wasn’t exactly born out of true love. More like a marriage of convenience so that his handler would have a backup or an extra asset in case something went wrong in this remote location. And something had gone wrong. When the husband died, his wife had taken over. Yaroslav knew that she was no amateur and tried to divine her thought processes. She’ll see the security at the gate and know something is up, but they won’t keep her from entering. If I had been arrested they would shut the Facility down tight, and no one would enter or leave. She’ll be smart enough to know this. So when I miss the drop, she will know things are too hot for me to contact her. She’ll know there are suspicions. But she’ll also know the operation isn’t blown yet, there won’t be enough security for that. Will she wait for a signal or will she take alarm and get clear? If she’s dealt much with the KGB then she may suspect a trap. But these clods aren’t so sophisticated…I wonder if she has figured that out by now. And if everything goes south, I shall just get clear and wait for her at the failsafe point.
The scientists were finishing their cigarettes and returning to the warmth of the plant. He was a gambling man. Yaroslav knew the importance of the work at Scientific Research Test Range #5 to the Western intelligence agencies and decided to roll the dice that his handler did as well. He would wait a while and lie low, waiting would be much easier for him than for Ushakov. Already his depression was lifting; the strange inner pendulum that controlled him was swinging again and he was feeling better. The soldier turned away to watch the activities at the distant launch gantry, so Yaroslav flicked his cigarette at him before following his comrades into the plant.
Tyuratam, Kazakhstan
Everything was proceeding as Katia had planned. It was not difficult for a woman to prod a man to do her bidding, even to make him think her bidding had been his idea. In the way of women from all cultures and all times, she had given Ilia the idea that he should deliver some potatoes, beets and cabbage to the Facility mess hall today. The weather was cold, she had told him, and soldiers who worked so in such weather needed a hot bowl of borscht when they sat down to a meal! Especially since they had to sleep in tents out in freezing weather! Consider, Ilia, there has not been a train by in several days and the weather is so cold! How are they to have anything hot to eat if we don’t take them some of our fine cabbages and potatoes?
Prodded into action, Ilia loaded up his truck with the last of the season’s vegetables and they took to the road once more, bouncing in the frozen ruts until the truck gained purchase on the main highway. They rattled north, paralleling the tracks and waving merrily to the soldiers standing around at the junction who clapped their hands together over a fire burning in a metal drum. A few flakes of snow were falling now but fitfully; soon it would likely be snowing in earnest. Beyond the track the lonely steppe stretched out to the distant horizon broken only by the occasional hillock, and the clumps of untidy perekati polya and scrub shook in the force of the freezing north wind. The truck’s engine put out a good deal of heat in a short time, and both were thankful of that.
“Ah now Katia,” the old man mused as they approached the boundary fence surrounding Scientific Research Test Range #5 and the main gate became visible, “what is this? Have they an exercise going on? You draw your shawl over your head now, woman.”
Her heart stopped as she complied. The main gate, a sturdy metal double-rail barrier stretching across the new road, was manned by twice as many soldiers as it usually was, and all were wearing AK-47s. A flight response gripped her, but she clamped down on the feeling of panic and forced herself to remain calm.
“Pfft, the Army. You leave them to me, Katia,” he muttered. “They’re playing some game. But you keep that shawl over your head and don’t look pretty. Frown. You know.”
Her eyes twinkled at him as she scowled and hid her face, affecting a bad temper. Her heart was racing as Ilia pulled up to a halt before the barrier and shifted the truck into neutral. A cloud of noxious blue smoke momentarily enveloped the gatehouse before being blown south by a gust of wind. Two of the soldiers drew near and rapped on Ilia’s window, which he rolled down with a show of effort. “Where are you taking this stinking pile of shit today, Ilia Alexandrovich? I think you’re trying to gas us!” The soldiers chuckled.
“Do I look like a German to you?” Ilia snapped back. “I’m going to the mess hall with a load of produce and it isn’t doing my beets a lot of good to be gassed while I sit here talking to you!”
“To be sure, to be sure,” the soldier grinned. “Show me your papers, Ilia Alexandrovich. You too, babushka.”
They handed their papers over, and the soldiers perused them. “Quick now!” Ilia urged. “You mean there’s something there you haven’t seen a hundred times before? I want to get my vegetables over to the mess hall and get back home before the snows come. Unless you fellows don’t want hot shchee and borscht for your lunch!”
“Borscht!” a nearby guard shouted enthusiastically. “Send them in! I’m hungry!”
“All right, off with you!” the soldier laughed. “
Viktor, open the gate and let this damned
old madman through!” He handed their papers back through the window and waved them through. Ilia clashed the gears and the truck rumbled through the gate.
“Yes, an exercise. That’s what it was. And I’m not a madman, not yet!” He rolled up his window and seemed satisfied as they left the guardhouse behind. Although technically on Facility land, it appeared no different from the steppe surrounding Tyuratam. They still had several kilometers to travel before they would be close enough to the old mine to see any of the research buildings in which the rockets were being built.
Katia stared blankly out her window, trying to sort through her racing thoughts. The operation has not been blown…the operation has not been blown. They did not know about her at the main gate, so her contact had obviously not been interrogated. Since the KGB would have begun interrogations as soon as they had arrested him, she reasoned that he had not been discovered yet. Also, they were still letting traffic onto the Facility, which they would not be doing had they discovered anything. She forced herself to calm down; the operation had not been discovered, not yet. But she did not believe Ilia’s theory that this was simply an exercise either. It was much more likely the KGB suspected something and had increased security. Did they know of her contact, then? Was he under suspicion? That seemed plausible. But if they had enough hard evidence to point to her contact, the main gate would be closed, and it was still open.
A Cold Flight To Nowhereville Page 13
