Panic Switch полностью

“Look, Tonya, I’m convinced that these boogeyman bombs in our ports are disinformation — probably planted by the opposition, or the CIA. I’m not taking any action on anything related to these alleged port bombs unless and until FSB or the Navy can find one and show it to me. And as for this ridiculous Poseidon program, I can’t just cancel it. That would be a huge admission of failure. Plus, the way the previous administration trumpeted this so-called superweapon, if we canceled it, we might lose support. The Russkiy Svoboda Party would call us weak, and they’d pile that on to the evidence from the whole Panther mess. Hell, we could lose the election. So the whole program, I can’t just let it sit there with even more funding demands rolling in every day. The only real thing I can do is put it on ice. Quite literally. If the sub and torpedoes are out there, supposedly on the way to American targets, we can use that to show that we’re strong — hell, we could even leak the plan to NATO. The damned Svoboda assholes can’t say we’re lying down for NATO and the Americans then. Plus, that submarine and those weapons will take months to get in place, if they even make it through the polar icecap at all. This will delay the entire issue until well after the election. How many days?”

“Fifty-six, sir. And by the way, your support jumped three points after Larisa died. But I see what you’re doing. It seems to make sense. But why the nuclear torpedo if you really just want to stall the program?”

“I read the file on the loss of the Kaliningrad. Once the Americans knew she was going under ice, they sent an attack sub up there after her. Kaliningrad had a Gigantskiy torpedo. It might have saved her crew — it busted through thick ice and allowed the escape capsule to surface. I figure, number one, that nuclear torpedo might come in handy in the event there’s an emergency and Belgorod has to surface and the ice is thick. And number two, if there is an American sub shadowing it, the torpedo may come in handy neutralizing it. After all, the way I see it, we get two free shots.”

“Free shots?”

“The Americans sank two of our submarines not two months ago and we let it slide for some good reasons, but it still goes without saying that Carlucci owes me two free shots. He can’t very well retaliate if he loses a sub under the icecap after sinking two of ours. And the Americans would have trouble blaming us for the loss of their sub under the ice anyway — too many disasters can befall a submarine under the ice. In any case, politically, I can’t afford to lose another submarine. If that got out, we’d definitely be moving our personal effects out of the Kremlin.”

A knock came at the door. Pasternak hurried over, spoke to the administrative aide, said something quietly and turned to Vostov.

“The American vice president is here, sir. Are you ready to receive her?”

Tonya Pasternak opened the door and greeted Vice President Karen Chushi. Vostov stood and smiled at her, shaking her hand. Chushi looked shorter than he remembered her, and her face was newly lined and her complexion seemed almost gray. She didn’t look well at all, he thought. God, he hoped she hadn’t gotten some kind of food poisoning while visiting Moscow — that’s all he needed, accusations that his SVR had attempted to assassinate an American vice president. He made a mental note to take a meeting with SVR’s chairwoman, Lana Lilya, to make sure the foreign intelligence service wasn’t doing any covert operations he hadn’t authorized.

Vostov waved Chushi to a chair at the fireplace. “Madam Vice President,” he said, nodding at her, careful to make sure his expression remained somber.

“Please, Mr. President, call me Karen.”

“And you should call me Dimmi,” he said. “At least when we’re behind closed doors, yes?”

“Dimmi it is,” she said.

“Do you mind if I have Miss Pasternak translate for us today, Karen? My English, it is a bit weak.” And Chushi’s harsh, nasal west Texas accent was much too thick for him, Vostov thought.

“That would be fine, sir,” she said.

He said something in Russian to Pasternak, who replied with a raised eyebrow, and he nodded at her.

“Madam Vice President,” Pasternak said, “President Vostov is asking if you are feeling quite yourself. You look, what is the expression, under the weather?”

Chushi nodded gravely but bit her lip. When she answered, she said, “You’re right, but I’m just getting over a stomach flu. I should be fine soon.”

After Chushi gave her condolences and the two talked, somewhat awkwardly through Pasternak’s translation, of some inconsequential matters, Chushi stood and excused herself, saying she knew Vostov had many other members of the visiting officials to meet.

When she left, Vostov frowned at Pasternak.

“She’s seriously ill, isn’t she?”

Pasternak nodded. “She looks like my aunt just before she died. Stomach cancer. Metastasized all through her body. Cancer ate her internal organs.”