George Bartram - Under the Freeze

“Oh, just like that? You guys don’t waste any time, do you!”

“It was our agreement, Mr. Smith,” Repin said carefully, “that priority was to be given to the return of the plutonium to the Soviet government. I am sure you remember that.”

The former president stared at him. He had wanted to be told a good story about finding the plutonium, and he was not very happy at being denied it. He tugged at his bush jacket. “Yeah, that was our agreement. I didn’t realize there was so much of a hurry about it.”

“We have some more to do,” Tarp said carefully. “You remember, sir, you thought it important that we help Moscow out with this and then remind them that we did so. I believe it’s your move, sir.”

“Huh?”

Repin was sitting at the former president’s right. “Contact has to be made with Andropov personally,” he said. “No other way. That, I hope, is your specialty, Mr. Smith.”

“Huh? Oh, I see! Oh. Hmm.” He looked from one to the other of them. His big jaw was cocked to one side as if he had a cigarette holder clamped between his teeth. “You want me to go to Moscow and tell him you’ve found his stuff. Is that it?”

Repin smiled. “Very nice.”

“It’ll take time to set up. I’ve never found the Kremlin very quick, you know.”

“They can be quick,” Repin said.

The former president looked unhappy. “I sort of hoped we’d all have a chance to relax here tonight and, you know, talk.”

Tarp tried to be diplomatic. “I believe Laforet could arrange to have you meet privately with Andropov as soon as you arrive, sir.”

“You mean I’d miss the marine landing here, too?”

“I think you’ll just have time for that, sir. It’s on for one hour from now. I think that would just give you time to make the noon flight. If you make your connections, you could talk to Andropov over breakfast. Laforet’s got the schedule made.”

“I was going to do it through Washington.”

“No, sir.”

“Huh? Oh, I get it. Right. We weren’t going to ask for that kind of support. Okay. Okay. I fly to Moscow, I meet with Mr. Andropov — pardon me, but the irony of me going out of my way to make sure that the Kremlin gets back its plutonium is pretty strong — and then?”

“Moscow will arrange the transfer,” Repin murmured. He sounded almost kind, as if he did not want to offend the former president with too ironic a truth. “Your marines come aboard this ship tomorrow, I believe.”

Tarp nodded. “Mock takeover of friendly tanker. That’s the story for public consumption. ‘Rehearsal for possibility of Mideast crisis,’ and so on. They’ll stay aboard to guard the plutonium until the Soviets arrange a transfer.”

“How are they gonna do that, anyway?” The former president squinted up at Tarp, who was standing.

“By submarine, at night, would be my suggestion. It isn’t really our business, sir.”

“Huh? Gee, I’d sure want to know. Don’t you guys ever get curious?”

Like Repin, Tarp was feeling kind. “It’s usually better not to know.”

“Security?”

“Yes, and — other people screw things up sometimes. It’s better not to know, once your part is over.”

The former president thought about that. He did not seem to like it very much. “I’d rather carry it right through myself. All the way.”

Tarp smiled. “Yes, sir, so would we. But we don’t get that chance, as a rule.” Their eyes met. Tarp was thinking about Viet Nam, and he suspected that perhaps “Mr. Smith” was, too.

“Now, sir, about Moscow: some arrangements will have to be made for us.”

“For you?”

“Yes, sir — we’re going back in. We’re going after Maxudov.”

“You know who he is?”

Tarp hesitated, and Repin said, “We know how to find him.”

Tarp sat down opposite the former president. “You’ll be given a code and a contact through Laforet. Everything’s got to be kept very, very tight. Maxudov mustn’t get a hint of what’s happened. You’re to be very forthright with Andropov and you’ve got to get him to be forthright with you. If he’s already kissed this thing off, he’s got to tell you. Then we’ll have to know if they’ve had this ship on satellite surveillance, and if they have if they’ve made anything of it. However, as things stand now, we don’t think that Maxudov knew where the plutonium was, so we don’t think he’s going to be spooked even if he knows that this ship was down there.”

“At least you hope so.”

“Yes, sir. Then we need a secure route into the Soviet Union and we need security in Moscow. Repin’s supposed to be dead, but Maxudov must know by now that he isn’t. So it’s better if we’re not seen. The KGB will have a blanket over all legal means of entry, and we have no way of knowing how much of that goes right to Maxudov. Therefore, we have to have another way in — military aircraft would be best, with no KGB or political officers involved. That’ll have to come straight from Andropov through the air force. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Tell Andropov we’re going to flush Maxudov out. We’re to have complete control of the operation, or we won’t play. However, he’ll probably want to put surveillance on the three suspects, using agents who are completely outside the usual state apparatus.”

“Can he do that?”

Repin closed his eyes, owllike, and opened them slowly. “He can do that.”

“We’ll require a safe house when we reach Moscow. A car, something nondescript that can go anywhere — special plates, but not too special. A trustworthy driver. Somebody from the guards is okay if Andropov personally will vouch for him.”

“Weapons,” Repin said.

Tarp glanced at him. “You think?”

“Weapons.” Repin thudded the tip of his right index finger on the table next to “Mr. Smith’s” hat. “Definitely. You go to catch a tiger, you carry things to kill tigers.” He looked at the former president. “Pistols.”

“You guys are something,” he said.

“ Big pistols,” Repin said. “This will not be nice work.”

“Okay.” He looked toward Tarp. “You’ll run through this with me again?”

“Indeed I will, sir. Several times.”

The famous smile appeared. He seemed to have forgiven them for missing his story. “Sounds good,” he said, slapping the arms of his chair. “Sounds good!”

They went up on deck and ran it again and again, until a marine colonel came aboard to take the former president to the landing craft. He delighted him by buckling an issue .45 around his waist and telling him that he would be riding the second boat in. Beaming, the former president went down the ladder to the boat, and as it started away from the tanker, he turned and gave Tarp and Repin a crisp, happy military salute.

“You think he will remember it all?” Repin said as they leaned on the rail. “Our lives depend on that man doing it all just right.”

“He ran the United States for four years, Repin.”

“ Da — and look at the United States!”

The marine detachment came aboard next morning when the sun was barely clear of the dry hills behind the bay. A sweet-scented land breeze was still blowing, causing a ripple on the water as their craft came across. Tarp inhaled the faintly spicy odor of the land and waited for them. They came up the ladder on the run, weapons ready but not loaded, and then Tarp and the captain took the marine commander on a tour of the Global Clipper . He knew nothing of either Maxudov or the plutonium, but he knew that he was supposed to secure the ship and everything on it.

“You understand that this part of the operation is not a mock-up, Captain?” Tarp said.