Harris, Cameron, and Kirkonnen were already on their feet before Allbright was halfway out of his chair. He pocketed his silver fountain pen, picked up the folding leather picture wallet containing the colour portraits of his wife, son, and daughter, and shook hands with Kirkonnen.
‘Good-bye, Mr Kirkonnen. In case I don’t get back in time to see you off, I’d like you to convey my thanks and appreciation to your team.’
‘Thank you, sir. Does this mean the project is closing down?’
‘I won’t know till I get to Washington, Mr Kirkonnen. So until it’s official, I’d like you to kill any rumours to that effect. It might turn out that you’ll be here longer than you expect.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Good luck…’ Allbright turned to his senior cadets. ‘A pack horse for the baggage, Mr Harris.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The guard detail turned out to salute Allbright as he rode through the main gate followed by Harris and Cameron. The pack horse, with Allbright’s two Air Force-blue duffel bags, was hitched to Cameron’s saddle. Allbright turned off the dirt road and headed down into the pines on the north flank of the Ridge. After fifteen minutes of weaving and ducking under branches, the pines thinned out and they rode into the open country east of Bodell’s shack. It was unfenced prairie with a sparse covering of buffalo grass and patches of sweet-smelling sage.
Allbright heeled his horse into a canter and moved ahead, kicking up a line of dust that hung, glowing, in the still evening air. Harris and Cameron swung out on either side and stayed with him. To their left, the September sun had dropped into the last quarter of the sky, turning the distant sandstone buttes into slabs of gold. To their right, spaced-out lines of small, flat-bottomed heaps of cloud floated towards the North Dakota line.
A Twin Comanche from the Miles City air-taxi outfit was waiting at the highway end of the emergency grass strip, and the posse of small boys who’d followed the arrival and departure of Connors was perched on the fence near the parked aeroplane. Some of them wore brown stetsons that were nearly as big as they were.
Allbright dismounted and patted his horse’s neck and nose while Cameron loaded his baggage aboard the aeroplane. Allbright handed the reins to Harris.
‘Would you ride him back, Mr Harris?’
‘It will be a pleasure, sir.’
‘And when it’s time, make sure he gets clear.’
‘Yes, sir. Good luck.’
‘Thank you, Mr Harris. We may all need some of that.’ Allbright shook hands with him and ducked through the fence. Both engines of the Twin Comanche were already running. Allbright shook hands with Cameron, then climbed on to the low wing and settled in beside the pilot. He pulled the door shut and buckled himself into his seat. As he looked up, he found the pilot looking at him in surprise.
‘Well, I’ll be damned… what the hell’re you doing in this neck of the woods, General?’
‘Just visiting,’ said Allbright. There was no point in denying his identity. He had no idea who the grizzled, square-faced pilot was. ‘Where did we meet?’
‘In the war. I was flying B-52s with the 92nd out of Guam. You paid us a visit with General Westmoreland. October ’73. Just before we came back to the States. You flew with us on our last mission over ‘Nam.’
‘Ahh… yes.’
The pilot grinned, it’s okay, you don’t have to try and remember me. We weren’t introduced then. The name’s Korvin. I made major before I came out.’
Korvin took a good look around and pushed the throttles wide open. Cameron, who had moved ahead of the aeroplane on the port side, gave them a double thumbs-up signal. Korvin replied with a raised hand, then released the brakes. The Twin Comanche gathered speed quickly, bumping gently over the uneven ground, then lifted into the air. Korvin retracted the undercarriage and flaps, trimmed the aircraft into a steady climb and banked gently around towards the north.
They levelled out at fifteen hundred feet. Korvin leaned towards Allbright and tapped the compass. ‘When I flew up from Miles City, according to that, I was flying south. There’s a big magnetic disturbance in this area. It’s been getting worse in the past few weeks. The papers say there’s trouble all over. I guess that’s why the Air Force is up on Crow Ridge.’
‘Are there many people down at Miles City who share that view?’ asked Allbright.
‘A few,’ said Korvin. He made a slight adjustment to the rudder trim.
‘Then I think it’s your duty to straighten them out, Major. I can assure you that there are no Air Force units operating in the area of Broken Mill – and I also think that you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. Do you read me?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said Korvin. He smiled. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, General. The CIA put our outfit on the payroll several weeks ago. Best thing that ever happened to us. First thing we did was put a down payment on this aeroplane. I don’t care who’s up on the Ridge. I just hope they stay there till we make enough to buy ourselves another twin.’
Back on Crow Ridge, the news of Allbright’s departure filtered through to the research group around nine that evening when people were starting to light the acetylene lamps. Page put his nose against the windows of Allbright’s trailer and returned to report it stripped of all signs of occupation.
‘I thought I saw him ride off with Harris and Cameron.’
‘Maybe the Herr General has moved into the base camp,’ said Neame.
‘What did you do?’ asked Gilligan. ‘Put him down as NEP?’ The term ‘non-essential personnel’ had been quickly abbreviated to its three initials.
‘He’s gone to Washington,’ said Wedderkind, then hurriedly added, ‘at least, I imagine that’s, er – where he’s gone.’
‘Why didn’t you go with him?’ asked Brecetti.
‘Phil, his trip may be nothing to do with the project,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Allbright has been made a member of the National Security Council. They may be reviewing the current situation. Or maybe the Russians have been up to something.’
‘Oh, marvellous, that’s all we need,’ said Collis.
‘A bit odd, though,’ said Lovell. ‘He could at least have said good-bye to you. The way these Air Force people behave sometimes, we might as well not be here.’
Wedderkind shrugged but didn’t say anything. Allbright had said good-bye to him – Crow Ridge style…
Saturday/September 22
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE/MARYLAND
With Washington’s National Airport closed, the sky over the city was completely empty. Greg Mitchell looked at his watch. 7:26 A.M.… Air Force One’s ETA at Andrews Field was 07:30. Gene Samuels nudged Greg’s arm and pointed to a tiny grey speck which slowly grew wings and engines and then resolved itself into a Boeing 707. Air Force One. Bricker floated her in over the masts of the approach lights and dropped the nosewheel on to the centre line of the runway at precisely 07:30.
Connors and Fraser said good-bye to the seven-man flight crew and led the other passengers down the steps.
‘Good trip?’ asked Greg.
Connors patted his arm. ‘The best I can say is that it all worked out beautifully in the worst possible way. I’ll fill you in later.’ He turned to the two Russians who’d followed them out of the aeroplane and introduced them to Gene Samuels and Greg.
Vasily Grigorienko, Chris Matson’s opposite number, and General Yevgeny Golubev, Rudenkov’s senior aides, had both been at the meetings in the Soviet Premier’s dacha. In his civilian clothes, Golubev looked like Lee J. Cobb in a 1947 gangster movie. The two Russians had come over as observers to meet Wedderkind and the research group, and to monitor the attack on Crusoe. Chris Matson had stayed on in Moscow and would fly out to Kazakhstan to perform a similar function when he was joined by the second US observer. Arkhip Karamatov, the Russian liaison man who had worked with Matson at NASA’s Houston headquarters, would be hosting his stay in the USSR. Connors and Fraser had discussed who should be the Number Two man on
the return flight but had not made a final choice. Connors had a feeling that their indecision stemmed from the unpredictable outcome of the attack. Deep down, they weren’t sure whether to send the right man or someone they wanted to get rid of.
‘Did you get the hotel fixed up?’ asked Connors.
‘Yes, it’s all set,’ said Greg. ‘I’ll stick with them, and when you’re ready I’ll bring ’em over to the White House.’
‘Good. The General would like to go downtown. I think he wants to buy a new suit.’
‘Off the rack?’
‘Whatever he wants. Just don’t take him to Arnold’s nephew.’
Greg laughed. Connors looked around and signalled to Dan Chaliapin. ‘Dan, I know you could do with some sleep, but could you go with these guys?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
‘In that case, can you round up our Cossacks and get them into the second car in the line?’ asked Greg. ‘I’d like to make tracks before the traffic builds up.’
The shiny, olive-drab Presidential helicopter provided and flown by the Army whisked Connors and the others across town to the lawn of the White House.
THE WHITE HOUSE/WASHINGTON DC
Connors, Fraser, and Samuels left the Department of Defense aides downstairs and went up to see the President. General Allbright and the three Joint Chiefs of Staff – General Wills, Air Force General Clayson, and Admiral Garrison – were already in the room. Everyone looked eager to hear the outcome of their visit to Moscow.
Connors gave them the good news first: a firm Russian agreement to attack Commissar on Wednesday the twenty-sixth of September. Time over target, 6 A.M. But in Kazakhstan the clock was running thirteen hours ahead of Crow Ridge. If the attacks were to be synchronized, time over the target in Montana would be 5 P.M., Tuesday, the twenty-fifth of September. The Russians had also accepted the American proposal to send observers to review the Russian research findings on Commissar and to watch the nuclear explosion.
‘That’s good,’ said the President. ‘But it’s sooner than I expected.’ He swivelled his chair towards Fraser. ‘With all this latest trouble can we be ready to go on Tuesday?’
‘No problem. We would have preferred to go in the morning but we gave them first choice.’
‘Yes, of course. Good move.’
‘It still gives us nearly four hours of daylight.’
Allbright caught the President’s questioning glance. ‘Both crews are now at full alert status. They have flown daily practice missions over the target for the last two weeks. I’m sure they could fly the route blindfold. And the bombardiers have put up impressive scores in training. The only thing that can stop us is bad weather and heavy cloud over the target, but all the forecasts for the area are looking good.’
‘That’s also why the Russians want to go by midweek,’ said Fraser.
‘And everything’s covered – I mean you don’t anticipate any last-minute hangups with electromechanical problems?’
‘No, sir,’ said Allbright. ‘The new cutoff zone reaches an altitude of thirty-seven thousand feet. If you can imagine it, it’s like a transparent circular bowl stuck upside down over Crow Ridge. We’ll be flying at an altitude of fifty thousand feet, well clear of the effects of the cutoff zone. An optical bombsight replaces the normal computerized radar system, and of course our normal radio communication and direction-finding equipment is out. We’ll be using our inertial navigation system to get us there.’
‘The bomb itself is rigged to detonate on impact,’ said Fraser. ‘The major change is a switch from the thirteen-stage electrical arming sequence to a simpler, manual one. It’s additional insurance.’
‘What about the Russians?’ asked the President.
‘They’d already been making preparations before we turned up with our, ah – proposition,’ said Fraser. To a large extent their thinking parallels ours. As you’d expect.’
‘Still, if they were in a jam, we could always offer them our reserve aircraft. I suppose we’ve got more than one of these modified bombs, haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ said Fraser. He shot a glance at Connors.
‘I think they’ve got that side of things pretty well in hand,’ said Connors.
‘I’d like to have been there when you laid those pictures of Commissar on the table,’ said the President.
‘It was quite a moment,’ said Connors. ‘Maybe we could come back on that when we’ve got CAMPFIRE sewn up.’
‘Sure…’ The President saw that Allbright wanted to say something. ‘Go ahead, Mitch.’
‘Thank you, sir. In order to provide maximum security I would like to fly with the selected crew on the mission against Crow Ridge.’
Connors could see from Fraser’s expression that the request was unexpected.
The President looked undecided. ‘What do you think, Chuck?’
‘Well, sir, if – in his judgement – Mitch thinks it’s necessary, I’d be prepared to agree.’
‘Mel?’
‘I’d like to ask why he does think it necessary. You picked these two crews, Mitch. Don’t you trust them?’
‘Implicitly. But in spite of all our preparations, we’re flying a mission into the unknown. In World War Two, it was the practice for squadron commanders to lead the toughest missions. I regard this as a similar situation. We may not get a second chance. I want to go along to ensure that, whatever happens, the attack is pressed home – all the way.’
Allbright’s manner was firm, his voice quietly matter-of-fact. Nobody said anything immediately, but Connors was sure that they all had the same thought in their heads. Something else from World War Two – when Japanese pilots flew their planes straight into the US carriers, If things got rough, Allbright intended to make a kamikaze attack on Crusoe by riding the big B-52 all the way down to the Ridge.
‘Okay, Mitch,’ said Fraser. ‘You handle it whichever way you want.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Evacuation,’ said Connors.
General Wills pulled the cigar from his mouth. ‘That’s my department. I’m putting in a mechanized airborne unit to clear and seal off a circular area with a twenty-mile radius around Crow Ridge. We’re also calling out the local National Guard detachment from Miles City and we’ve already alerted the State evacuation agency.’
As one of the states with a heavy concentration of Minuteman 3 ICBM silos, Montana was one of the prime targets for Russian missiles, and in 1974 planning had begun to cover the speedy mass evacuation and relocation of a major part of the population in the event of imminent nuclear war.
‘What reason are you giving for the evacuation – and how are you going to keep it out of the newspapers?’ asked the President. ‘Won’t the place be full of out-of-state tourists at this time of the year?
‘There’re not too many in eastern Montana,’ said Wills. ‘Most of them head up to the area around Fort Peck or stay close to the Yellowstone. Both are well clear of the evacuation area. But it will mean closing Highway 22, the main north-south link. Out cover story is quite straightforward – a top-secret, prototype nuclear-powered rocket went out of control during orbital tests and crashed on Crow Ridge. Cause – the short, sharp burst of deep-space radiation that triggered the first fade-out. Problem – the nuclear reactor was not destroyed in the landing. Air Force scientists have been working in an effort to dismantle the reactor, have failed, and there is now the risk of an imminent explosion followed by radioactive fall-out. Hence the evacuation.’
‘Well, it would convince me,’ said the President. ‘How about the troops involved?’
‘They will be briefed with exactly the same story,’ said Wills. ‘We don’t want a lot of conflicting information flying around. It could start a panic.’
The President nodded. ‘That’s true. We have to do everything we can to contain this thing.’
‘I think you ought to tell the people you are evacuating that it was a Russian nuclear-powered rocket,’ said Connors. ‘You could then brief the pre
ss and stress the vital importance of not letting the Russians know we’ve got hold of it. It will give us a good reason for having kept the whole situation under wraps and it also shifts the blame for the evacuation, subsequent damage, and general inconvenience off our backs and on to theirs. And since no one in his patriotic mind will print a word of what’s going on, the Russians won’t have the opportunity to deny it. And when it’s over, we have a better than even chance that the press will go along with whatever statement we put out.’
They all considered the proposition. It will be, vowed Connors, my last deception.
‘It’s kind of sneaky, but it certainly takes the heat off us.’ The President looked for signs of opposition. There didn’t appear to be any. ‘Is that okay, Vernon?’
‘Anything that makes life easier,’ said Wills. ‘But compensation will still have to be paid out of federal funds.’
‘Sure, no question,’ said Connors. ‘We’re not going to start an international lawsuit for damages.’
‘Okay, let’s go with that,’ said the President. ‘When do you plan to start?’
‘The order will go out as soon as this meeting is concluded,’ said Wills, ‘The National Guard units were alerted yesterday and told to report this morning for a snap tactical exercise. Evacuation is scheduled to be completed by twenty-four hundred hours Sunday. That’s a clear forty-one hours before Chuck’s B-52 arrives over the Ridge.’
‘I still have to break the news to the people on the project,’ said Connors.
‘You can do that on the telephone from here,’ said the President.
‘Well, with respect – and with your permission – I’d like to make one last trip out there. The only phone line working is into the base camp. I wouldn’t like Arnold and the others to get the news secondhand.’
‘All you’re doing is adding one more person to the list of people to be evacuated. Your job is over now.’
‘I feel I owe it to them,’ insisted Connors. ‘And my job won’t be over until they are clear and there’s nothing left on Crow Ridge except a big hole in the ground.’
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