Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 by Flight of the Old Dog (v1.1) Page B

           “But
that’s it, isn’t it?” Karmarov’s face was flushed with anger. “ Marshall , you know that deployment of Ice Fortress is a clear violation of the
1972 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty. It is a violation of the 1982 Space
De-Militarization Agreement. It flies in the face of our entire arms
elimination negotiations. It is madness.”
                 “Key
elements in our military are convinced of the existence of a killer laser,”
Brent said. “That is also a violation . . .”
                 “Such
a device—should it ever exist in our lifetime—is not a violation of the ABM
Treaty,” Karmarov interrupted. “The Treaty clearly never mentioned such exotic
devices because they exist only in the imagination of a few excitable
scientists and physicists. Why write a treaty forbidding something that does
not exist?”
                 Karmarov’s
rising tone of voice, with the strained chuckle punctuating his last sentence,
rang like an echo from the walls of a canyon in Brent’s ears. Karmarov
continued: “The Space De-Militarization Agreement does not apply, of course, to
a ground-based defensive device. It was specifically written to eliminate the
placement of weapons of any kind in orbit over the Earth. It was supposed to
have averted a madness that swept both our countries. It cannot be possible for
your country to deploy Ice Fortress. It
cannot.”
                 “I
have made no admission that such is the case,” Brent said. “But I can tell you
that many options are being considered.”
                 He
looked directly into Karmarov’s eyes and paused, as if to lend emphasis to what
he was about to say. “The laser is a menace, Dmitri,” Brent said. His voice
sounded as if it came from the bottom of a deep well. “Find some way to
reassure the leaders of my government that their fears about a laser at
Kavaznya are groundless. Make some sort of presentation about the research you
conduct there, or at least describe the facility in a bit more detail. But put
the saber-rattlers to rest ...”
                 “I
can guarantee little,” Karmarov said.
                 “We
must not fail, Dmitri,” Brent replied. He got up and took Karmarov’s hand in
his. “The future—our children’s future—may depend on it.” Slowly, Brent
released his grip on Karmarov’s hand. He gave the Ambassador a curt nod and
made his way out of the room.
                 Karmarov
watched him leave, then sat down in one of the plush leather chairs. He did not
move for a full two minutes. Finally, he rang for Asserni.
                 “Do
they know? Asserni asked.
                 “They
suspect. How could they not suspect?” Karmarov reached down to the table and
gripped his snifter with both hands. “What the hell are they doing over there,
Asserni? Are they trying to destroy the arms agreement? What do they want the
Americans to do?”
                 Asserni
did not reply. Karmarov stared into the brandy for a long time.
                 “I
want the secure line to the Kremlin open all morning,” he finally ordered.
                 “Of
course, Comrade Ambassador.”
                 He
drained the liqueur and winced—both at the bite of the spirits and from the
threats that were now bombarding him from both sides.
                 “What are they doing? What?”
     

6 Ford Air Force Base, California
                 P atrick McLanahan was in trouble.
                His partner, Dave Luger, had been
severely injured by flying glass and metal after his five-inch radar scope
exploded from a near-hit by a Soviet SA-4 surface-to-air missile. Their
aircraft had just been jumped by a small squadron of four MIG-25s. Climbing out
of the low-level bomb run area in broad daylight, the B-52 was a sitting duck
for the advanced Soviet