The Sum of All Fears jr-7

by Tom Clancy

  NIITAKA came first. The Japanese, the report said, were planning to renege on a rare trade concession made only six months earlier. It would be explained away as “unfortunate and unforeseen” circumstances, part of which might be true, Ryan thought as he read down the page — the Japanese had as many domestic political problems as everyone else — but there was something else: they were going to coordinate something in Mexico… something to do with the state visit of their Prime Minister to Washington the coming February. Instead of buying American farm goods, they were opting to buy them cheaper from Mexico, playing that off against reduced tariff barriers into that country. That was the plan, in any case. They weren't sure they could get the concession from Mexico, and they were planning…

  … a bribe?

  “Jesus,” Ryan breathed. The Mexican Institutional Revolutional Party — PRI — didn't exactly have an exemplary record for integrity, but this…? It would be handled in face-to-face talks in Mexico City. If they got the concession, trading access to Mexican markets for opening Japan to Mexican foodstuffs, then the amount of American foodstuffs they had committed to buy the previous February would be reduced. It made good business sense. Japan would get food a little cheaper than they could in America while at the same time opening up a new market. Their excuse to American farmers would have to do with agricultural chemicals that their food-and-drug agency would decide, much to everyone's surprise, not to like for reasons of public health.

  The bribe was fully in proportion to the magnitude of the target. Twenty-five million dollars, to be paid in a roundabout, quasi-legal fashion. When the Mexican president left office the following year, he would head a new corporation that… no, they would buy out a corporation he already owned for fair market value, and the new ownership would keep him on, while inflating the value of the business and paying his impressive salary in return for his obvious expertise at public relations.

  “Nice separation,” Ryan said aloud. It was almost comical, and the funny part was that it might even be legal in America, if someone hired a sharp enough lawyer. Maybe not even that much. Plenty of people from State and Commerce had hired themselves out to Japanese interests immediately after leaving government service.

  Except for one little thing: what Ryan held in his hand was evidence of conspiracy. In one way they were foolish: the Japanese thought that some counsels were sacrosanct, that some words spoken aloud would never be heard outside the four enclosing walls that heard them. They didn't know that a certain cabinet member had a certain mistress who in turn had a personal beef that matched her ability to loosen a man's tongue; and that America now had access to all that information, courtesy of a RGB officer…

  “Think, boy.”

  If they could get harder evidence, and give that over to Fowler… But how? You couldn't exactly cite the report of a spy in court… a Russian national, a KGB officer working in a third country.

  But they weren't talking about an open court with rules of evidence, were they? Fowler could discuss this in his own face-to-face meet with their PM.

  Ryan's phone rang. “Yes, Nancy?”

  “The Director just called in. He's got the flu.”

  “Lucky him. Thanks. Flu, my ass,” Ryan said, after hanging up. The man was lazy.

  … Fowler could play it one of two ways: (1) face-to-face, tell him that we know what he's up to and we won't stand for it, that we will inform the proper congressional people and… or, (2) just leak it to the press.

  Option 2 would have all sorts of evil consequences, not the least of which would be in Mexico. Fowler didn't like the Mexican president, and liked the PRI even less. Whatever you said about Fowler, he was an honest man who loathed corruption in all its forms.

  Option 1… Ryan had to report this to Al Trent, didn't he? He had to let Trent know about the new operation, but Trent had his personal axe to grind on trade issues, and Fowler would worry that he might be leaky on this issue. On the other hand, could he legally not tell Trent? Ryan lifted his phone again.

  “Nancy, could you tell the general counsel that I need to see him? Thanks.”

  Next came SPINNAKER. What, Ryan thought, does Mr. Kadishev have to say today…?

  “Dear God in heaven.” Ryan forced himself to relax. He read through the complete report, then stopped and read through it again. He picked up his phone and punched the button to speed-dial Mary Pat Foley.

  But the phone just rang for thirty seconds until someone picked it up.

  “Yes?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Deputy Director Ryan. Where's Mary Pat?”

  “In labor, sir. Sorry, I didn't know who you were,” the man's voice went on. “Ed's with her, of course.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Ryan hung up. “Shit!” On the other hand, he couldn't be angry about that, could he? He got up and walked out to his secretary's office.

  “Nancy, Mary Pat's in labor,” Jack told Mrs. Cummings.

  “Oh, wonderful — well, not wonderful, it's not all that much fun,” Nancy observed. “Flowers?”

  “Yeah, something nice — you know that stuff better than I do. Put it on my American Express.”

  “Wait until we're sure everything's okay?”

  “Yeah, right.” Ryan returned to his office. “Now what?” he asked himself.

  You know what you have to do. The only question is whether or not you really want to do it.

  Jack lifted his phone again and punched yet another speed-dial button.

  “Elizabeth Elliot,” she said, picking up her direct line, the one known only to a handful of government insiders.

  “Jack Ryan.”

  The cold voice grew yet colder. “What is it?”

  “I need to see the President.”

  “What about?” she asked.

  “Not over the phone.”

  “It's a secure phone, Ryan!”

  “Not secure enough. When can I come over? It's important.”

  “How important?”

  “Important enough to bump his appointment schedule, Liz!” Ryan snapped back. “You think I'm playing games here?”

  “Calm down and wait.” Ryan heard pages turning. “Be here in forty minutes. You can have fifteen minutes. I'll fix the schedule.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Elliot.” Ryan managed not to slam the phone down. God damn that woman! Ryan got up again. Clark was back in Nancy's office. “Warm the car up.”

  “Where to?” Clark asked, rising.

  “Downtown.” Jack turned. “Nancy, call the Director. Tell him I have to get something to the Boss, and, with all due respect, he should get his tail in here.” That would be inconvenient. Cabot's place was an hour away, in fox country.

  “Yes, sir.” One of the few things he could depend on was Nancy Cummings' professionalism.

  “I need three copies of this. Make one more for the Director, and return the original to secure storage.”

  “Take two minutes,” Nancy said.

  “Fine.” Jack walked off to the washroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw that Clark was as right as ever. He really did look like hell. But that couldn't be helped. “Ready?”

  “If you are, Doc.” Clark was already holding the documents in a zipped leather case.

  The perversity of life did not abate this Monday morning. Somewhere around the I-66 cutoff, some fool had managed to cause an accident, and that backed traffic up. What should have been a ten or fifteen minute drive took thirty-five. Even senior government officials have to deal with D.C. traffic. The Agency car pulled into West Executive Drive barely on time. Jack managed not to run into the west entrance to the White House only because someone might notice. Reporters used this entrance, too. A minute later, he was in Liz Elliot's corner office.

  “What gives?” the National Security Advisor asked.

  “I'd prefer to go over this just once. We have a report from a penetration agent that you're not going to like very much.”

  “You
have to tell me something,” Elliot pointed out, reasonably for once.

  “Narmonov, his military, and nukes.”

  She nodded. “Let's go.” It was a short walk down two corridors, past eight Secret Service agents who guarded the President's office like a pack of very respectful wolves.

  “I hope this is good,” President Fowler said, without rising. “I'm missing a budget brief for this.”

  “Mr. President, we have a very highly-placed penetration agent inside the Soviet government,” Ryan began.

  “I know that. I have asked you not to reveal his name to me, as you recall.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “I'm going to tell you his name now. Oleg Kirilovich Kadishev. We call him SPINNAKER. He was recruited some years ago by Mary Patricia Foley, when she and her husband were in Moscow.”

  “Why did you give me that?” Fowler asked.

  “So that you can evaluate what he says. You've seen his reports before under the codenames R ESTORATIVE and P IVOT.”

  P IVOT…? That's the one back in September that talked about problems with Narmonov's — I mean, that he was having trouble with his security apparatus."

  “Correct, Mr. President.” Good for you, Ryan thought. You remember what we send down. It was not always so, Ryan knew.

  “I gather his problems are worsening or you would not be here. Go on,” Fowler ordered, leaning back in his chair.

  “Kadishev says he had a meeting with Narmonov last week — late last week—”

  “Wait a minute. Kadishev — he's a member of their parliament, head of one of the opposition groups, right?”

  “Also correct, sir. He has a lot of one-on-ones with Narmonov, and that's why he's so valuable to us.”

  “Fine, I can see that.”

  “In their most recent meeting, he says, Narmonov said that his problems are indeed getting worse. He's allowed his military and security forces to increase their internal clout, but it would seem that this is not enough. There may be opposition to the arms-reduction treaty implementation. According to this report, the Soviet military wants to hold onto all of its SS-18s instead of eliminating six regiments of them as agreed. Our man says that Narmonov may be ready to give in to them on that point. Sir, that would be treaty violation, and that's why I'm here.”

  “How important is it?” Liz Elliot asked. “The technical side, I mean.”

  "Okay, we've never been able to make this very clear. Secretary Bunker understands, but Congress has never quite figured it out: since we're in the process of reducing nuclear arms by a little more than half, we've changed the nuclear equation. When both sides had ten thousand RVs it was pretty clear to everyone that nuclear war was a difficult — virtually impossible — thing to win. With so many warheads to hit, you'd never get them all, and there would always be enough left to launch a crippling counterattack.

  “But with the reductions, the calculus changes. Now, depending on the mix of forces, such an attack becomes theoretically possible, and that's why the mix of forces was so carefully spelled out in the treaty documents.”

  “You're saying that the reduction makes things more dangerous rather than less?” Fowler asked.

  “No, sir, not exactly. I've said all along — I consulted with the treaty team back some years ago, back when Ernie Allen was running it — that the net strategic improvement from a fifty percent reduction was illusory, mere symbolism.”

  “Oh, come on,” Elliot observed scathingly. “It's a reduction by half of—”

  “Dr. Elliot, if you ever bothered to sit in on the C AMELOT games you'd understand this a little better.” Ryan turned away before he noticed her reaction to this rebuke. Fowler noticed her flush briefly and almost smiled in amusement at her discomfort at being cut down in front of her lover. The President returned his attention to Ryan, sure that he and Elizabeth would speak further on the matter.

  “This issue gets very technical. If you don't believe me, ask Secretary Bunker or General Fremont out at SAC Headquarters. The deciding factor is the mix of forces, not the number. If they hold onto those extra SS-18 regiments, the mix is changed to the point at which the Soviets have a genuine advantage. The effect on the treaty is substantive, not merely numerical. But there's more.”

  “Okay,” the President said.

  “According to this report, there appears to be some collusion between the military and the KGB. As you know, while the Soviet military owns and maintains the strategic launchers, the warheads have always been under KGB control. Kadishev thinks that those two agencies are getting a little too cozy, and further that security on the warheads might be problematic.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that an inventory of tactical warheads is being withheld.”

  “Missing nukes?”

  “Small ones. It's possible, he says.”

  “In other words,” Fowler said, “their military may be blackmailing Narmonov, and it's possible that they are holding some small weapons as their trump cards?”

  Not bad, Mr. President. “Correct, sir.”

  Fowler was quiet for thirty seconds or so, turning that over in his head as he stared into space. “How reliable is this Kadishev?”

  “Mr. President, he's been in our employ for five years. His advice has been very valuable to us, and to the best of our knowledge he's never misled us.”

  “Possible that he's been turned?” Elliot asked.

  “Possible but not likely. We have ways of dealing with that. There are prearranged code phrases which warn us of trouble. Good-news phrases accompany each report, and did in this case also.”

  “What about confirming the report through other sources?”

  “Sorry, Dr. Elliot, but we have nothing to confirm this.”

  “You came down here with an unconfirmed report?” Elliot asked.

  That is correct,“ Ryan admitted, not knowing how tired he looked. ”There aren't too many agents who could make me do that, but this is one of them."

  “What can you do to confirm that?” Fowler asked.

  “We can make discreet inquiries through our own networks, and with your permission we can have careful discussions with some foreign services. The Brits have someone in the Kremlin who's giving them some really good stuff. I know Sir Basil Charleston, and I can make approaches, but that means revealing something of what we know. You don't do something like this on the old-boy net. At this level you have to make a real quid pro quo. We never do that without getting executive approval.”

  “I can understand that. Give me a day to think about it. Does Marcus know about this?”

  “No, Mr. President. He has the flu. Ordinarily, I would not have come here without consulting with the Director first, but I figured you would want to know about this quickly.”

  “You've said previously that the Soviet military was more politically reliable than this,” Elliot observed.

  “Also correct, Dr. Elliot. Action such as Kadishev reports is completely unprecedented. Historically, our worries about political ambition within the Soviet military have been as groundless as they've been continuous. It would seem that this may have changed. The possibility of a de facto alliance between the military and the KGB is most disturbing.”

  “So, you were wrong before?” Elliot pressed.

  “That is a possibility,” Ryan admitted.

  “And now?” Fowler asked.

  “Mr. President, what do you want me to say? Might I be wrong on this also? Yes, I may. Am I sure this report is accurate? No, I am not, but the import of the information compels me to bring it to your attention.”

  “I'm less concerned with the missile issue than with the missing warheads,” Elliot said. “If Narmonov is facing real blackmail… wow.”

  “Kadishev is a potential political rival to Narmonov,” Fowler noted speculatively. “Why confide in him?”

  “You meet regularly with the congressional leadership, sir. So does he. The political dynamic in the Congress of People's Deputies is more con
fused than on the Hill. Moreover, there's genuine respect between the two. Kadishev has supported Narmonov more often than he's opposed the man. They may be rivals, but there is also a commonality of views on many key issues.”

  “Okay, I want this information confirmed any way you can, and as quickly as you can.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “How's Goodley working out?” Elliot asked.

  “He's a bright kid. He's got a good feel for the Eastern Bloc. I read over a paper he did up at the Kennedy School a while back, and it was better than our people did at the time.”

  “Get him in on this. A fresh mind might be useful,” Liz opined.

  Jack shook his head emphatically. “This is too sensitive for him.”

  “Goodley is that Presidential Fellow you told me about? Is he that good, Elizabeth?” Fowler wanted to know.

  “I think so.”

  “My authority, Ryan, let him in,” the President ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sir, if you have a minute, we did have something else come in about Japan.” Jack explained further for a few minutes.

  “Is that a fact…?” Fowler smiled in his clever way. “What do you think of them?”

  “I think they like to play games,” Ryan answered. “I do not envy the folks who have to negotiate with them.”

  “How can we find out if this is true?”

  “It comes from a good source. It's another one we guard closely.”

  “Wouldn't it be nice if… how would we find out if the deal is struck?”

  “I don't know, Mr. President.”

  “I could ram something like that right down his throat. I'm getting tired of this trade impasse, and I'm tired of being lied to. Find a way to do it.”

  “We'll try, Mr. President.”

  “Thanks for coming in.” The President didn't rise or extend his hand. Ryan stood and left.

  “What do you think?” Fowler asked as he scanned over the report.

  “It confirms what Talbot says about Narmonov's vulnerability… but worse.”

  “I agree. Ryan looks harried.”