computer module. “There is your office,
Ann—the control module for your laser, Skybolt. Nobody’s been in it except when
it was connected and tied into the rest of the station last month.”
They opened
the hatches and entered the module—or tried to. Unlike all the other pressurized
modules, the Skybolt control-and-exper- imentation center was choked with
equipment, wiring, pipes, conduit and control consoles, with a lone work space
tucked in a far comer.
“Wh—where
do I work?” Ann said. “I mean, where’s my lab, my instruments, test gear?
It’s—”
“It’s all
there,” Walker said, trying to
sound upbeat. “But it’s been compacted to fit into this one module. Your
control console is over there, plus a few other panels on the ceiling.” He
understated, Ann thought. The main control consoles were on the module’s
ceiling, surrounded by built-in handholds and footrests. She forced a smile in
Colonel Walker’s direction, but she was getting dizzy just looking at the
overhead console.
“Welcome to Silver Tower .”
CHAPTER 3
June 1992
DEFENSE
INTELLIGENCE AGENCY , VIRGINIA
“All right, Mr. Collins,” George
Sahl, deputy director of operations of the Defense Intelligence Agency, said.
“You’ve got my attention— and apparently the attention of your section chief.”
He looked warily at Preston Barnes, in charge of the KH-14 Block Three digital
photo imagery satellite. “Spill it.”
Jackson
Collins, associate photo analyst under Barnes, cleared his throat and stepped
up to Sahl. “Yes, sir. The Russians are going to invade Iran .”
Barnes
closed his eyes and muttered a “Collins-you-idiot” to himself and not audible to the others, he hoped. Collins noticed the deputy director’s
shoulders slumping. Before Sahl could say anything Barnes turned angrily toward
his young photo interpreter. “Collins, didn’t you ever learn how to give a
proper report—?”
“Easy, Preston ,”
Sahl said, raising a hand to silence his division chief. “I’ve scanned your
report and your analysis, Mr. Collins. Now I want you to tell me. Briefly, please.”
“Yes, sir .. .. The military buildup around the southern TVD
Headquarters at Tashkent is
inconsistent with either a fall offensive in Afghanistan or the army’s seasonal maneuvers scheduled for this month. The offensive—”
“What
offensive?” Barnes said.
“A CIA
report circulated through the division last month about a suspected, unusually
large-scale Russian push into Afghanistan sometime this fall.”
Barnes
shook his head. “The CIA calls every resupply mission to Afghanistan an offensive. Overland routes into the central highland have been cut off
recently by bad weather and the Afghan government has all but folded its tents.
Naturally the Russians have had to step up supply flights.”
“But, sir,
not with as many as six Condors.... Those photos showed hangars large enough
for An-124s—”
“Condors?”
Sahl didn’t like to hear that. “Where did you see Condors in the southern military district?”
“It’s... an
educated guess, sir. Those large temporary hangars I mentioned in the report
are large enough to accommodate Condors—”
“Or any other Soviet aircraft flying,”
Barnes said. Collins looked away—he’d never expected to have to fight off his
section chief.
“What
else?” Sahl prompted him. “Your report mentioned the rail units. You counted
forty percent more
Ann—the control module for your laser, Skybolt. Nobody’s been in it except when
it was connected and tied into the rest of the station last month.”
They opened
the hatches and entered the module—or tried to. Unlike all the other pressurized
modules, the Skybolt control-and-exper- imentation center was choked with
equipment, wiring, pipes, conduit and control consoles, with a lone work space
tucked in a far comer.
“Wh—where
do I work?” Ann said. “I mean, where’s my lab, my instruments, test gear?
It’s—”
“It’s all
there,” Walker said, trying to
sound upbeat. “But it’s been compacted to fit into this one module. Your
control console is over there, plus a few other panels on the ceiling.” He
understated, Ann thought. The main control consoles were on the module’s
ceiling, surrounded by built-in handholds and footrests. She forced a smile in
Colonel Walker’s direction, but she was getting dizzy just looking at the
overhead console.
“Welcome to Silver Tower .”
CHAPTER 3
June 1992
DEFENSE
INTELLIGENCE AGENCY , VIRGINIA
“All right, Mr. Collins,” George
Sahl, deputy director of operations of the Defense Intelligence Agency, said.
“You’ve got my attention— and apparently the attention of your section chief.”
He looked warily at Preston Barnes, in charge of the KH-14 Block Three digital
photo imagery satellite. “Spill it.”
Jackson
Collins, associate photo analyst under Barnes, cleared his throat and stepped
up to Sahl. “Yes, sir. The Russians are going to invade Iran .”
Barnes
closed his eyes and muttered a “Collins-you-idiot” to himself and not audible to the others, he hoped. Collins noticed the deputy director’s
shoulders slumping. Before Sahl could say anything Barnes turned angrily toward
his young photo interpreter. “Collins, didn’t you ever learn how to give a
proper report—?”
“Easy, Preston ,”
Sahl said, raising a hand to silence his division chief. “I’ve scanned your
report and your analysis, Mr. Collins. Now I want you to tell me. Briefly, please.”
“Yes, sir .. .. The military buildup around the southern TVD
Headquarters at Tashkent is
inconsistent with either a fall offensive in Afghanistan or the army’s seasonal maneuvers scheduled for this month. The offensive—”
“What
offensive?” Barnes said.
“A CIA
report circulated through the division last month about a suspected, unusually
large-scale Russian push into Afghanistan sometime this fall.”
Barnes
shook his head. “The CIA calls every resupply mission to Afghanistan an offensive. Overland routes into the central highland have been cut off
recently by bad weather and the Afghan government has all but folded its tents.
Naturally the Russians have had to step up supply flights.”
“But, sir,
not with as many as six Condors.... Those photos showed hangars large enough
for An-124s—”
“Condors?”
Sahl didn’t like to hear that. “Where did you see Condors in the southern military district?”
“It’s... an
educated guess, sir. Those large temporary hangars I mentioned in the report
are large enough to accommodate Condors—”
“Or any other Soviet aircraft flying,”
Barnes said. Collins looked away—he’d never expected to have to fight off his
section chief.
“What
else?” Sahl prompted him. “Your report mentioned the rail units. You counted
forty percent more
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