Chapter Two:
'Ignorance and Confidence'

Smith sat in the kitchen. Dreary light bathed the drab, antiquated fixtures. The document -- created from photographs of the original -- was blurry but legible.

He stared at the text in disbelief: "As ordered, prepared to attack within 20 minutes, awaiting order ... Priority objective: NATO nuclear weapons still in existence after initial strike will be secured by Spetsnatz troops shortly after penetration ..."

A figure appeared in the window's reflection of the kitchen doorway. "We must get you out of here. You must leave the documents -- for your safety." Smith turned. The tall man's expression invited no argument.

The White House, Washington

"Christ, Roger, just how reliable do you mean?" inquired President James Milton. He had been a compromise choice for vice president, and after President Hale's fatal heart attack just six months into his term, Milton had become the first Chief Executive born after World War II. Gaining the presidency had always been Milton's mission in life. Now, only fourteen days into his administration, hr confronted the unthinkable.

"Mr. President, this information comes to us from our most highly placed operatives in the entire Soviet bloc, a source with a proven track record," explained Roger Craig, the graying, intense Director of Central Intelligence. "It's very reliable."

"But it's not 100 percent, is it?"

"Nothing is."

The president looked around the Oval Office, examining the faces of his men. "Awright then, I'm not going to do something drastic. And I'm not going to jeopardize the summit. Everybody keep their eyes open, and if we get something more credible, we can go from there."

General Graham, a burly combat veteran and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood. "Mr. President, I don't think we should just brush this off. We have a legitimate threat here. We must do everything through diplomatic channels and prepare ourselves."

"General, we're not going to provoke a crisis based on the word of a couple traitors," replied Milton. "Just keep a normal state of alertness and you'll see this thing blow over."

The Kremlin, Moscow

General Secretary N.P. Bedny had a winning smile and promoted himself as the latest in Russia's line of historic reformers. His ascent to the pinnacle of Soviet power had proven that he was also a hard-nosed party functionary. The West knew him as a jolly friend of children and candid analyst of Communism's woes. His domestic adversaries knew him as cunning and tough. Skilled in building consensus, he was also unafraid to destroy his opponents by tricks both clean and dirty.

"And so Comrades, today I can tell you that we are ready to move forward, to win the final battle for socialism and our Soviet way of life!" declared Secretary Bedny. He bowed his head and reached for his carbonated water.

Subdued applause floated through the room.

"Comrade Bedny, I must object!" exclaimed S.S. Mironov, Moscow Party Chief. "We simply cannot execute this plan. It is madness. It will destroy us."

"We have voted, Comrade Mironov," Bedny smiled coldly. "And I tell you again, it is guaranteed to succeed. Comrade Gusev?"

D.I. Gusev, corpulent head of the KGB, nodded confidently. "Guaranteed."

"How the hell do we know?" demanded Mironov.

Bedny scowled. "You do not need to know, Comrade Mironov, and your lack of vigilance is indecent. We have all dedicated ourselves to the victory of socialism. My father died for it. We wished to do this peacefully, but the militant imperialists have made this impossible. The conflict is going to end within a few years -- that is now inevitable. The only way for the Soviet Union to win is to recall Lenin's teachings on the need for armed struggle. We have lulled our enemies to sleep with talk of reform and peace. And now we have total victory guaranteed. On to victory!"

All but two of the men in the room rose for an ovation.

Ten minutes after the meeting had ended, Secretary Bedny was speaking by phone to KGB Chief Gusev. "Dima, I think the solution of this Mironov question is clear. We must keep him quiet." Bedny listened. "Exactly. Arrest him, but also his family and his close colleagues and protégés." Bedny nodded. "Yes. We can worry about charges later. Or just shoot them."

Moscow

From his apartment balcony, Pasha stared at the forest below. He was still wearing his uniform, that of a KGB Colonel. Beneath his blond hair, water welled in his eyes. In the background, his beautiful granddaughter Sveta called for his dear wife Katya. A tear rolled down his handsome face. He remembered the day his father disappeared and the day his mother's living ghost emerged from the Gulag. He lifted the bottle of Pshenichnaya and took a swig.

He looked at the letter again. The old woman with the green kerchief had slipped it to him in the dark bustle outside the Chertanovskaya Metro Station. He hadn't received advance notice and almost missed her. Thank God.

Pasha read the words once again. From the first paragraph of the note, which recommended leisure reading: "History ... the Czars." A Soviet nuclear attack. Second paragraph: "Exceed the plan ... Building socialism." Imminent and immediate action -- they needed his help.

God help me. God help my family.

Chapter Three