J. Wheeler - The Krone Experiment

“We need that satellite where it is, Earle,” said Isaacs, trying to keep the patronizing edge off his voice, “over the new industrial area in Siberia.” Typical Deloach, thought Isaacs to himself: he’d look for the lost nickel under the street lamp where the light’s good. Too bad he doesn’t have the same sense for good intelligence he does for good hardware.

“The fire obliterated anything useful you could have seen on deck,” added Martinelli.

“The satellite ought to be stationed over Tomsk,” McMasters said with a hint of bitterness.

“We’ve learned everything we usefully can at Tomsk,” Isaacs replied patiently. Isaacs was vividly aware that McMasters had developed the targets at Tomsk and that his ego was too tied up in them to grant that their usefulness was played out. He had not made a substantial contribution since. “We’ve been through the arguments in favor of Siberia in detail,” Isaacs said, and you’ve resented every one I made, he finished to himself.

“Dammit, let’s stick to the subject in hand,” Drefke commanded. Isaacs nodded, chagrined at letting McMasters draw him in.

There was silence for a moment, broken by Isaacs.

“Surveillance of the carrier is useless, as Vince points out. The fire will have seen to that. We have to convince them we had nothing to do with it. They’ll want more than Presidential assurances. We must figure out what happened to them, or help them find out for themselves. Nobody on the Novorossiisk itself, Art?”

“The Novorossiisk?” Boswank shook his head. “Sure, a few, but they’re the worst for rapid feedback. We can’t get to them until they return to Russia. We have to go through a Soviet contact: too dangerous for the source otherwise.”

“Too dangerous?” Drefke asked rhetorically. “Danger is a paranoid with his finger on the button when someone pops a balloon. Your sources won’t be worth much if this gets out of hand. Can’t we get to them more quickly?”

“We could, sir,” replied Boswank, “but if this blows over, we would have jeopardized a major component of our network. We must be very careful. In any case the earliest we could get to them would be when they put into port. We should hear from our higher source before that.”

“None on the Novorossiisk have access to a radio?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t suppose they would let us put an inspection team on board, as a gesture of cooperation?” asked Deloach.

“Out of the question!” McMasters was adamant. “They’d never allow it.”

Isaacs nodded his assent, McMasters was on target there. “Art can take the most direct step. We need to know what’s in that damage report to really understand their reaction, but that will take a little time. How about Ogarkov? Does he know the basis for the charges, and would he tell us? Can we find out how he was briefed, or are there any message intercepts?”

“Links to the embassy are some of the toughest to penetrate, of course,” replied Martinelli, “but I’ll put out a call for any intercepts that might give a clue.”

Isaacs looked thoughtful.

“This concrete event has grabbed our attention. What about related occurrences? Anyone know of anything that could possibly be tied to this, even indirectly?” The silence around the table answered his question. “Okay,” he said, “that’s a loose end that we can try to follow up. I’ll put some of my analysis people on it, and if we come up with anything, Vince, we’ll feed it to you.”

Drefke leaned back in his chair. “I want all the stops out on this. I’ll tell the President we expect the details of the damage report in a few days, but that’s not good enough. We’ve given the President nothing to go on; all he can do is deny our involvement, and in the present crisis atmosphere that won’t wash. We need a handle on this business, and we need it now. Martinelli, if you turn up even a hint that we could use as bait or as a prybar on Ogarkov let me know immediately.”

Martinelli nodded, and scribbled a note on his pad, “Save boss’s ass.”

“Boswank,” Drefke pleaded, “isn’t there anything you can do with your d-,” he caught himself, “with your networks?”

“I can put out a call, but I don’t know much what to call for,” Boswank replied curtly. “You tell me there’s a carrier with a fire on deck. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Drefke stared at him a moment and then turned to Isaacs, “I’ll also tell the President that we’re doing everything possible to determine what happened to that carrier, and why the Russians suspect we are responsible. I expect your department to give us something to go on.

“Let me remind you,” he glared around the table, “that until the Russians come to their senses on this, they are standing with the hammer cocked and the pistol at our head. It doesn’t matter that we think they’re mistaken. The present situation is very delicate and very dangerous, and it will remain so until we here in this room act to defuse it.” He pushed his chair back, stood, and looked sternly around the table. Then he turned and left with a brisk stride. The others rose and filed out of the conference room.

Deloach tailed McMasters down the hall. Martinelli followed Isaacs and Boswank into the stairwell. “Well, kid,” he said to Isaacs, “looks like it’s up to us to save the bacon again.”

Isaacs smiled, then sobered, “This one is dangerous, Vince. Too unpredictable. Neither side really knows what’s going on.”

“True enough,” put in Boswank, “but the DCI’s got a case of first crisisitis if I’ve ever seen one. Damn, if he’d been around during that Austrian dustup he’d know what a crisis was. He’s got something to learn about running networks, too.” He shuffled through the door at the next landing.

Martinelli was silent until they reached the landing on his floor. “McMasters is really beginning to ride you. That’s going to blow one of these days.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Isaacs replied. “I’ll try to keep a low profile, but he’s so stuck on those outdated programs of his, and, of course, I have to cross him every time we recommend something more useful.

“Let me know if we can do some snooping for you.” Martinelli pulled open the fire door and stepped into the hallway.

“And you let me know if you turn up anything that might be related to this carrier business.” Isaacs continued down another floor and went through the door there. He strode rapidly down the corridor, grabbed the knob on the door marked Office of Scientific Intelligence, turned it, and went in.

Kathleen Huddleston had started in the Agency secretarial pool and worked her way up. She had been Isaacs’s executive secretary for three years now and was as familiar with his character as she was with the ebb and flow of the workload in this odd business. She recognized his step and put on a smile of greeting as the door opened. As he entered, she read his mood with a practiced eye. The familiar figure looked preoccupied, but more relaxed than usual this morning. She took in the dark curly hair only faintly tinged with grey in front of slightly protruding ears. The ears themselves were pink from recent Sunburn. The hawk nose rode above thin lips and strong chin. As usual, the eyes stood out, dark and penetrating, surmounted by surprisingly long, almost effeminate lashes. The lashes gave him a perennial boyish look despite the otherwise rugged face. Responding to her smile of greeting, the eyes crinkled, exercising a growing crop of laugh lines.

“Hi, boss, welcome back.”

“Thank you, Miss Kate,” he said with a mock bow, “it’s good to be back.”

“How was Florida ? You certainly got some Sun!”

He grinned more widely. “I did find some time for the beach. How have things been? Any excitement?”