“We have no final proof, although we are working through our contacts in the Soviet Union to find out just what they know. The circumstances strongly suggest that they reached the conclusion at virtually the same time we did, that we manufactured a black hole there. Blowing up our nuclear satellite was apparently their way of letting us know that they’re on to us.”
“Mr. President.”
All eyes turned to General Whitehead, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was a large man with bristly close-cropped hair and, at this hour, stubble on his stern jaw to match.
“I’ve been out of my element with this black hole stuff, but now we are beginning to get into my territory. As I see it, we need to get the Russians back into their corner while we sort all this out. First of all, we need to make crystal clear to them that they’ve absolutely got to put a cap on any escalation of the current situation. All this skeet shooting they’ve been doing is one thing, but if they so much as scorch a surveillance satellite, they had better put their population on alert. I also recommend we go after that laser again, to give ourselves some breathing room.”
Drefke ignored the General and spoke to the President again.
“The immediate task before us is to defuse the anxiety of the Russians, not to scare them further. I think that candor is the best policy here. I recommend you tell them everything we know, give them all our data and let them reach their own conclusions. Yes, there is a black hole. Yes, it was made at that site,” he gestured at the slide. “That should add to our credibility. We must convince them that it was an accident, not an offensive act.”
“I agree with that sentiment,” the Secretary of the State firmly announced. “Mr. President, the problem we face here is a unique one. We must bear in mind that, although a U.S. Government lab is involved, the threat is a universal one. I believe it is incumbent upon us to share the information we now have not just with the Soviet Union, but with all our major allies, the People’s Republic, and the Third World.”
There were outbursts of protest. The National Security Advisor finally gained the floor.
“Mr. President, I sympathize with the desire of the Secretary for openness and candor, but it seems to me premature to broadcast this problem until we fully understand all the ramifications. At all costs, we must avoid the widespread dissemination of this information and the panic that would ensue.”
“We already know the basic nature of the problem,” protested the Secretary, “and we may very well need to call on the resources of other countries to devise a solution.”
“This country has plenty of resources on its own,” rumbled General Whitehead, “and in any case I don’t like telling the Communists any more than we have to.” He shot a glance at Drefke. “There’s no way they won’t twist this around and throw it in our face, or somehow use it as a lever against us. We should keep the Russians on a short leash and the Chinese should certainly be kept out of it.”
“I don’t disagree that the Chinese have very little to offer us in the current context,” the Secretary appealed to the President, “but for the sake of our future relations with them we must keep them apprised of a problem of this magnitude and of such universal concern. The same argument applies even more strongly to our allies.”
“If these fellows are right,” replied the General, gesturing with a thumb toward Isaacs and Drefke, “we may not need to worry about future relations.”
“And if that is the case,” rebutted the Secretary, “there is certainly no point in maintaining your cold war mentality toward the rest of the world. On the contrary, we can throw out the historical constraints and solicit the aid of the world community to tackle this common menace.”
“Rot!” said the General, heatedly. “If knowledge of this situation becomes widespread, it will just put more pressure on everyone. There will be an every-man-for-himself scramble, and the world political situation will go to hell in a handbasket.”
“If we sit on this until it is too late,” the Secretary insisted, “and then spring the problem on the world, something like you describe may well occur. That is why it is of the utmost importance to proceed immediately and discretely to inform others of the situation so that a cooperative and measured response can be orchestrated.”
“Mr. President,” the Security Advisor cut in, “I think we must make a guarded release of information to the Soviets. We must make them understand we are aware of the problem and taking active steps to explore the facts. I believe we must also inform our closest allies of the basic situation. They deserve to know what has caused the Soviets to react so dangerously. I confess I would proceed gingerly in spreading this information any further than absolutely necessary. I would suggest holding off with the Chinese and the Third World countries.”
While the Security Advisor was speaking, an aide came in and handed the President a message.
“Hold it!” he said, cutting off the Secretary of State, whose mouth was open to reply. The President read the message through again, then looked around the table.
“We may not have the luxury of designing our response to the Soviets. I have here a message from Colonel Grigor Zamyatin, head of Washington KGB.” He turned to fix first Drefke and then Isaacs with a steely glare. “It says that fifteen minutes ago Paul Krone and Maria Latvin were put on an Aeroflot flight from Mexico City to Moscow.”
Isaacs felt the room spin and his hurriedly consumed meal congeal into a knot.
“Colonel Zamyatin would like an audience,” the President continued. “He’s waiting at the front gate.”
“You can’t have him in here,” General Whitehead protested.
“Show him in,” the President addressed his aide.
The room was deathly quiet as they awaited the arrival of the Russian. Isaacs strained to understand what had happened. Had Latvin been a spy? How could she have known what Krone was up to when his own government didn’t? Or was she put onto Krone on general principles and just happened to hit the jackpot?
The door opened and the aide ushered Zamyatin in. He walked to his left along the wall until he was directly across the table from the President. The President nodded and there was some shuffling to vacate that chair. Zamyatin sat in it with deliberate calm.
“Colonel.” The President greeted him. “I’m rather surprised Ambassador Ogarkov is not bringing whatever message you bear.”
“When the river reaches floodtide, new channels are carved,” Zamyatin replied. “I assure you my authority comes from the highest levels.”
“That will, of course, be checked,” the President responded. “Am I to understand, Colonel, that you have openly confessed to the abduction of an American citizen?”
“Ah, you attempt to seize the initiative,” Zamyatin replied, unruffled. “But you have a weak hand. Of course we have taken him, and the event pales next to the heinous act the individual committed, the one for which you are ultimately responsible.”
“What act are you talking about?”
The Russian left the question hanging for a long moment. “If you are going to be stubborn,” he finally said, “this discussion can be carried on in a more public forum.”
The President met his hard gaze, and again there was silence.
“Why did you take him?” the President asked.
“We intend to know everything there is to know about this crime against humanity. Paul Krone is the ultimate source of that information.”
“He must be returned to us.”
“Ah,” said Zamyatin, “precisely what we had in mind.” He enjoyed the look of surprise that flashed on the President’s face. “We would like to return Dr. Krone to you along with his charming companion.”
“You just kidnapped him; now you want to return him,” the President said, with mild scorn. “What’s the rest of the deal?”
“The deal,” Zamyatin said carefully, “the deal is an exchange. The two people for the complete set of those.” His eyes went to the charred lab book that still sat
, momentarily overlooked, beside the President. “Krone is of no use to us in his present state. We want those lab books and any other written or computerized records.”
“Mr. President,” General Whitehead said in a low warning voice, “we don’t know what sort of valuable information may be in those.”
“Of course you don’t,” Zamyatin snapped, his gaze fixed on the President, “not the way you have bungled this affair. Mr. President, there is undoubtedly information in those books that would be considered priceless for defense matters under ordinary circumstances. We are not concerned with that now, nor can you afford to be.
“Mr. President,” the Russian’s voice turned cold and hard, “you have delivered a mortal blow to my country, your country, the very planet itself. There is the merest wisp of hope that the peril can be removed. The Soviet Union is prepared to take any steps that may rescue us from the monumental insanity that you have visited upon us.
“First,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “we must understand the problem in minute detail. That means knowing what is in those books and other records, and in the mind of Paul Krone. We have Krone, you have the records and the sophisticated medical techniques that may restore Krone’s health. We will swap.”
“You must return Krone,” the President said firmly, “but we do not need your spy; you can keep the woman.”
“Spy?” Zamyatin cracked a small smile. “Yes, she is one of us, an illegal escapee, but no spy. Let us say she was merely susceptible to persuasion, a family in the old country, you understand? And you do need her. She is the only contact with the man. Yes, we could keep her, exact the usual punishment, but we believe her presence will hasten the day that Krone becomes rational and useful. You see we are trying to be reasonable.
“Of course,” the Russian shrugged, “we will also send a more reliable representative to monitor your progress with Krone. We expect you to relay to us every scrap you learn from him.”
“That’s outrageous,” the President said, “you can’t expect us to put one of our citizens under a microscope for your pleasure.”
“The outrage has already been committed,” Zamyatin replied, coolly. “You will put Krone under that microscope to serve your own ends. We are merely asking you to share the proceeds.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, his voice suddenly friendly, “I think you do not adequately appreciate the spirit of the offer we are making. There is no shrinking from your ultimate responsibility here, but the problem is immense and complex. We do not demand Krone and his records. You will have Krone and his machine, and, of course, you will keep a copy of the records. We must share this information and seek a common solution to our common peril.
“The seeds of cooperation on this problem have already been planted.” The Russian glanced for the first time at Isaacs. Although no one else seemed to notice, Isaacs felt as if a spotlight had just been turned on him. His heart raced, and he could feel his face flush.
“To further this spirit,” Zamyatin continued, “we will make the following additional offer. Mr. President, you know Academician Korolev, our distinguished scientist?”
“Yes, of course I do,” the President replied tentatively.
“Academician Korolev took an early and active interest in this problem. You know that he is crucial to our defense effort and has never been allowed to travel to the West. Mr. President, as a gesture of good will and of our intention to hasten the day when a solution may be devised, we are prepared to place Korolev at your disposal as our scientific ambassador.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, cordial and reasonable, “I do not expect a reply to our offers just now. I deduce you have only just learned of the problem. You will need some time to fully appreciate the situation, and the generosity of the proposals I have presented. I would remind you that there are factions in my government that are not amenable to such a cooperative approach. There are some who would advocate immediate public exposure, an attempt to wrest full propaganda value from your predicament. Others would contemplate far more serious and direct reprisals.
“Before I go, there is one other thing. I stress that we have proposed a cooperative approach to the problem at hand. We presume that you do not want the situation and your role in it to become widely known. We will follow your lead in such matters if you will but cooperate with us in one other regard. The problem with which we are now faced arose from a certain line of investigation.”
The Russian paused, holding the eyes of the President.
“We ask that you immediately cease all research and development on beam weapons and related technology.”
The room filled with a crescendo of outrage. General Whitehead was among the loudest, shouting, “I knew it, I knew they’d turn this against us.”
Zamyatin rose and departed, as if oblivious to the uproar his demand had caused.
“Mr. President,” General Whitehead continued to shout, “we cannot even think of responding to that crap. If we make the slightest concession there, they’ll come after our nuclear arms.”
The President cracked a loud palm down on the table, resulting in a rapid, strained silence.
“It’s nearly one a.m.,” the President said. “I’m going to adjourn this meeting. I want you all on call by six. In the meantime,” he addressed his National Security Advisor, “I want to know precisely the line of authority Zamyatin represents and the makeup of the other factions he mentioned.” He turned toward Drefke. “Howard, I want you, Isaacs and Professor Phillips to stay. I need a little more perspective on this.”
The President led them to an upstairs study and poured brandy all around. They sat in silence for awhile, each man trying to assimilate the rush of events in his own perspective. For Isaacs, the shock of Zamyatin’s announcements had waned, and he could feel the deep fatigue again, but he carried a burden he knew he must unload. He appreciated Drefke’s attempt, not completely altruistic, to avoid mention of Isaacs’ communications with Korolev. For that matter, Zamyatin could have roasted him, but chose not to. He knew, though, that the President could not reach a cogent decision without knowing all the background. From a strictly personal point of view, he would be better off confessing his involvement with the Russians rather than having the President discover it, as he surely would. He broke the silence.
“Mr. President.” The eyes of the three men swiveled to him. “I have been in on this affair from the beginning. There are some things about Zamyatin and Korolev you need to know.”
Drefke lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.
“Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” the President said.
“I have been aware for some time,” said Isaacs, searching for the right words, “that there is a contingent in the Soviet Union that has some sympathy for our situation. I believe Academician Korolev is a key person in that contingent. I think that he has led them to the understanding that we are dealing with a black hole and that it was made here, but I think he recognizes the true nature of the problem, that it transcends geopolitics. Korolev is under pressure; he had to tell them what he knew. But he is sympathetic to us, and he had influence there. I believe the offer to have him work with us is highly significant, both scientifically and politically. Mr. President, I think it is crucial that we reach out to the people Korolev represents.”
“Even though they demand we abandon our research on beam weapons, giving them full head to develop an antimissile technology unilaterally?”
Isaacs had no reply to that.
The President looked sharply at Isaacs. “How can you be so sure that this one man can and will be of help to us?”
Isaacs knew what was coming. He looked at the floor and then back at the President. “I’ve been in touch with him,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” the President demanded.
“I said, I’ve been in touch with him,” Isaacs replied.
Phillips stared at Isaacs in surprise. Isaacs vividly recalled his private co
nversation with the physicist in La Jolla, his suppressed desire to confess his communications with Korolev.
“You mean the Agency has?” the President asked.
“No sir, it was a personal correspondence.”
“Personal?” the President blurted. “You mean to say you’ve been communicating with Korolev directly? On the most sensitive issue of the decade? Goddamnit, Howard,” he turned to Drefke, “don’t your people know what channels are for? I’ve got black holes in my back yard, laser cannons in the front, and hired hands sending post cards back and forth discussing policy!”
“At the time there were extenuating circumstances,” Isaacs attempted to explain.
“Extenuating?” the President exclaimed. “May I ask just what you and Korolev were discussing behind my back, that you didn’t care to have me know?”
“I knew that Korolev was in charge of the Novorossiisk investigation, that he was puzzled and frustrated by it. That much was clear from official communications. Our effort was bogged down after the Stinson was Sunk.
“Frankly, sir,” Isaacs continued, “I was frightened. I thought something was sinking ships, triggering a global confrontation. For a variety of reasons, my efforts were stymied. I thought that Korolev might have more luck getting to the bottom of things.”
Isaacs rolled the brandy snifter in his hands. “I told Korolev about the seismic signal and my suspicion that it was related to the damage to both ships.”
“You told him that?” The President was angry and bewildered. “You gave us away? Virtually inviting him to look for and find the black hole and pin it on us?” He rose and paced to a window, peering into the dark outside.
Isaacs spoke to his back, trying to explain more than defend his actions. “I had no idea we were dealing with a black hole at the time, certainly not that we were in any way responsible.”
The President turned from the window and spoke to Drefke. “My god, Howard, you sandbagged me! Did you know your man had been talking to the Russians? This borders on treason.”
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