safer in the Kremlin itself.
The hand-carved door of the graceful mansion flew open and Petya himself burst out of the vestibule, his arms outstretched. He was a tall, robust man of sixty, deeply tanned, with shrewd brown eyes, graying hair that was thinning on top, and long bushy sideburns. His quick and easy smile illuminated his face with friendly charm. He wore gray flannel trousers and a tweed jacket, as befit his role as country squire. Andrei took the steps two at a time and embraced his friend and mentor.
“My general,” he said in Russian, truly moved.
“Andrei, my dear boy,” Samanov said, in English. “It is such a delight to see you, even under these dubious circumstances. Come in, come in.”
He led the way into a huge drawing room with fires roaring at either end, where two dozen men and a few beautiful young women were drinking and talking. The men, most of them old friends from university days, gathered around Andrei. They shook his hand, embraced him, and made jokes; soon Andrei was grinning like a schoolboy, relaxing as he never could in Chicago.
The men, primarily KGB officers, were dressed in business suits and looked quite American. Andrei took the women to be callgirls—they were Russian, for security’s sake—invited by Petya for whatever moments of relaxation might occur.
“We are all here,” Petya said. “All the area advisers, and the advisers to the South Florida Space Zone and the three International Cities.”
“I hope I have not delayed you,” Andrei said.
“We would wait for you forever, Andrei,” Petya said with a wink. “Or at least another ten minutes. Come, we must begin.”
He led the way into the dining room, where his guests left drinks and women behind and took their places around a long mahogany table whose surface was so exquisitely polished that it glinted. Elaborate silver sconces adorned one wall and on the opposite wall was an electronic overlay of the U.S. Petya Samanov stood before the map, his face somber now.
“Gentlemen,” he began, speaking in Russian. “Comrades. We can all be proud. The men in this room have accomplished a peaceful occupation of a magnitude unprecedented in the history of the world. But for our efforts, what might have happened? Nuclear holocaust? Internal rebellion? We have bought time.”
His guests glanced around uncertainly, sure he had not summoned them so urgently because he wanted to praise them.
As if reading their thoughts, Petya frowned and continued. “However, much remains to be done. There is continued unrest in the Soviet Union. Moreover, there are problems here in America. Alaska has never been pacified and it is costing us ten divisions, plus an unacceptable amount of air power, just to control it. There are lesser pockets of resistance in the Rockies and West Virginia.
“You know the details; I will not belabor them. The centra! committee met yesterday in Moscow, There was, I am told, much anger and impatience. The co mmi ttee demands that America be neutralized immediately.”
The men around the table were confused; America was neutralized, was it not? It was Andrei, whose intimacy with Samanov was well known, who dared speak.
“Sir. America is a country without arms or an army. There is little or no communication between areas. The people are self-occupied and dispirited. What more is wanted?”
A smile played on Petya’s lips. “Our brothers in the Kremlin fear ghosts—the ghosts of American power and independence. At yesterday’s meeting a most serious antighost measure was discussed. A certain faction proposes to explode low-yield nuclear devices upon one or more Am erican cities, as a demonstration of our resolve.”
“Which cities, Comrade General?” one KGB officer asked.
“None in Virginia, I trust,” Samanov said dryly. “Gentlemen, the point is that we are under great pressure. Our timetables must be accelerated. The Kremlin fears that Americans may realize they have options. Not
The hand-carved door of the graceful mansion flew open and Petya himself burst out of the vestibule, his arms outstretched. He was a tall, robust man of sixty, deeply tanned, with shrewd brown eyes, graying hair that was thinning on top, and long bushy sideburns. His quick and easy smile illuminated his face with friendly charm. He wore gray flannel trousers and a tweed jacket, as befit his role as country squire. Andrei took the steps two at a time and embraced his friend and mentor.
“My general,” he said in Russian, truly moved.
“Andrei, my dear boy,” Samanov said, in English. “It is such a delight to see you, even under these dubious circumstances. Come in, come in.”
He led the way into a huge drawing room with fires roaring at either end, where two dozen men and a few beautiful young women were drinking and talking. The men, most of them old friends from university days, gathered around Andrei. They shook his hand, embraced him, and made jokes; soon Andrei was grinning like a schoolboy, relaxing as he never could in Chicago.
The men, primarily KGB officers, were dressed in business suits and looked quite American. Andrei took the women to be callgirls—they were Russian, for security’s sake—invited by Petya for whatever moments of relaxation might occur.
“We are all here,” Petya said. “All the area advisers, and the advisers to the South Florida Space Zone and the three International Cities.”
“I hope I have not delayed you,” Andrei said.
“We would wait for you forever, Andrei,” Petya said with a wink. “Or at least another ten minutes. Come, we must begin.”
He led the way into the dining room, where his guests left drinks and women behind and took their places around a long mahogany table whose surface was so exquisitely polished that it glinted. Elaborate silver sconces adorned one wall and on the opposite wall was an electronic overlay of the U.S. Petya Samanov stood before the map, his face somber now.
“Gentlemen,” he began, speaking in Russian. “Comrades. We can all be proud. The men in this room have accomplished a peaceful occupation of a magnitude unprecedented in the history of the world. But for our efforts, what might have happened? Nuclear holocaust? Internal rebellion? We have bought time.”
His guests glanced around uncertainly, sure he had not summoned them so urgently because he wanted to praise them.
As if reading their thoughts, Petya frowned and continued. “However, much remains to be done. There is continued unrest in the Soviet Union. Moreover, there are problems here in America. Alaska has never been pacified and it is costing us ten divisions, plus an unacceptable amount of air power, just to control it. There are lesser pockets of resistance in the Rockies and West Virginia.
“You know the details; I will not belabor them. The centra! committee met yesterday in Moscow, There was, I am told, much anger and impatience. The co mmi ttee demands that America be neutralized immediately.”
The men around the table were confused; America was neutralized, was it not? It was Andrei, whose intimacy with Samanov was well known, who dared speak.
“Sir. America is a country without arms or an army. There is little or no communication between areas. The people are self-occupied and dispirited. What more is wanted?”
A smile played on Petya’s lips. “Our brothers in the Kremlin fear ghosts—the ghosts of American power and independence. At yesterday’s meeting a most serious antighost measure was discussed. A certain faction proposes to explode low-yield nuclear devices upon one or more Am erican cities, as a demonstration of our resolve.”
“Which cities, Comrade General?” one KGB officer asked.
“None in Virginia, I trust,” Samanov said dryly. “Gentlemen, the point is that we are under great pressure. Our timetables must be accelerated. The Kremlin fears that Americans may realize they have options. Not
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