James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

Cherov only nodded.

"Have you had a chance to examine my alternate proposal?"

"I have," answered Cherov. "It offers some intriguing possibilities for both the short and long term goals of our country." Cherov's voice said he was interested and Khromchenkov knew it.

"Of course," Khromchenkov said, "such a plan would depend greatly on the response from the Americans. I have made some assumptions, and of course it is all conjecture; I am not an expert in these things." There was no doubt in Cherov's mind that this was said both to fulfill Khromchenkov's obligation to defer to Cherov's position as Foreign Minister and to position himself to shift the blame later if his assumptions on the matter proved incorrect. "Perhaps you would have a different assessment," Khromchenkov suggested, as he left the urinal to wash his hands.

"No. Your assessment seems correct." Cherov said as he joined him at the sink. "Of course we shall never know for sure. It would be impossible to overrule the wishes of President Perelyakin on this matter." Cherov's voice made it clear that he was eager to hear more, if, indeed, there was more to hear.

"I suppose you are correct," Khromchenkov said with an insincere sigh, and then added, "On the other hand, were it to be proposed by the right member of the Security Council, there are doubtless others who would follow."

"The right member?" Cherov asked, wanting Khromchenkov to confirm what he seemed to be suggesting.

"Yes, someone who could offer the strong leadership required to lead the Russian Federation, should the President find it, er… impossible to support the view of the majority."

There was now no doubt about what he was suggesting. Khromchenkov's plan was obvious: Cherov was 'the right member.' President Perelyakin would obviously oppose the plan. That was the easy part. The difficult part – impossible, unless it could be prearranged – was to have the majority side with Cherov. Perelyakin was not a forgiving man. If the plan failed it would cost Cherov dearly.

"Can one be sure of the numbers?" Cherov asked cautiously.

"As sure as one may be of anything," Khromchenkov answered, drying his hands. "There are three members who supported Perelyakin in the past who have confided in me that they do not wish to see an opportunity such as this pass unanswered."

Cherov did a quick tally of the numbers. It suddenly occurred to him that, despite the accuracy of Khromchenkov's math, everything did not add up. Why had not these three members simply gone to Perelyakin to press for a stronger response to the problem?

"And have these members gone to President Perelyakin with their plea?" Cherov asked.

"Yes, of course."

"And he refuses to listen?"

"He listens. He just does not hear. His world is built on caution."

"A sound foundation," Cherov answered.

"Yes, but one that may let destiny slip past unanswered, and ignore an opportunity that would restore Russia to its rightful place as a world power."

"You speak of opportunity. But there is no such opportunity unless your General Serov is successful in regaining control of the Israeli strategic defense."

"True enough," Khromchenkov admitted. "If he does not, then the alternate recommendation will not be made and there is nothing lost. And yet, if he does succeed… we must be ready to act."

Cherov considered Khromchenkov's comment. "I will think on it," he said finally.

Tel Aviv (11:40 a.m. Israel/Moscow, 4:40 a.m. New York)

In the Off-Site Facility the members of Colonel White's team took turns sleeping. It might be days or even weeks before they would see the outside again. Joel was munching on a bag of Tapu potato chips in front of a computer console, and Scott had just stretched out on a cot to rest when something unexpected happened.

"What the hell?" Joel said under his breath. "Colonel White," he called, requesting the team leader's presence.

Colonel White downed the rest of a cup of coffee and walked over to where Joel was sitting. "What's up?" he asked.

Joel moved closer to the console and was studying the computer monitor. "A bad reading, I hope. The master icon for the defense grid just went red."

Colonel White took one look and didn't like what he saw. "Danny, get over here quick," he yelled to one of the two female members of the team.

Danielle Metzger was the one person, other than White, with the most experience in the Off-Site Facility, but unlike the Colonel her work had all been hands-on. She knew the facility inside and out. "SHIT!!" she yelled, in uncharacteristic fashion. The noise woke the three team members who were sleeping. "Quick," Metzger shouted, taking command of the situation, "everybody, we've got a problem!!"

"Tell me what's going on," White ordered.

"We've lost control," Metzger responded, as she ran a series of diagnostics to be sure that the readings were correct.

"What the hell happened?" several voices said at once.

Danielle continued working, madly trying to reestablish control. "Damn!" she said, finally, realizing this was not simply a faulty reading. "Colonel, it appears that somehow the Russians have taken control of all defensive capabilities."

"Can we get them back?" he asked, terrified of what her answer might be.

"I don't know, sir. I… "

"Wait a second," Joel interrupted. "We still have control of our offensive forces. How could we lose one but not the other? Could this just be an aberration in the system?"

Like the others, Scott Rosen was studying the situation, trying to get some idea of what went wrong and what could be done to correct it. It was he who answered Joel's question. "It's not an aberration," he replied. "I can't explain how they did it but I can explain what they've done. The fibre optics used for communication between the various sites in the offensive and defensive systems go through both the Strategic Defense Control Facility and the Off-Site Facility. For logistics reasons, control communications of missile silos go first through this facility and then to the SDCF; defensive control communications go first through the SDCF and then to this facility."

"Damn!" Joel said. "What damn fool decided to do that?!"

"Dr. Brown," answered Danielle Metzger. "But he couldn't have predicted that we'd ever be in a situation like this," she continued, becoming a little defensive on behalf of the late doctor who had been her mentor.

Scott continued his explanation. "Somehow they must have discovered that Sensor Facility 14 was a counterfeit facility and traced its input/output cables

"So can we get control back or not?" Colonel White asked, reasserting his authority. There was a long silent pause.

"I don't think so," Scott answered finally. "I think they may have cut the cables."

In all the confusion and disarray, no one noticed the faint sound of the radio in the background as it monitored the continuous loop of the words of the prophet Joel. Nor did they notice at first when the loop abruptly stopped and was replaced by another voice. It was the low, rich, and measured voice of Rabbi Saul Cohen. As the room fell silent for a moment, the familiar voice registered in Joel Felsberg's ears. At first he ignored it, but then suddenly he recognized it. "That's my sister's rabbi," he announced, surprising the others, who were trying to figure a way out of the present predicament. "What's going on up there? Why have they shut off the loop?" he asked as he turned the sound up enough to be heard clearly.

"Cohen? That son of a bitch!" Scott Rosen said, temporarily distracted from the more pressing subject at hand by his intense hatred for the rabbi. Scott was only too familiar with Cohen's powerful voice. Once, when he stayed overnight at his parents' house, Scott was awakened in the morning by that same voice as it joined with his parents and a few others in singing songs proclaiming Yeshua (Jesus) as the Jewish Messiah. It took all the forbearance he could muster to refrain from going into the kitchen and slugging the rabbi, and still he would have, had it not been for his mother, Liana Rosen. It was one thing for individual citizens of Israel like his parents to believe in Yeshua, but it was something else altogether for a rabbi, an Hasidic rabbi at that, to believe it. More recently – before their deaths in the Disaster – Scott's parents had spent every spare moment with Cohen on some mysterious project. Several times Joshua, Liana, and Cohen had disappeared for weeks, leaving only a note to indicate their expected date of return.