The same old story, Hugh North told himself. Treaties, agreements, commitments. We keep them, the Russians break them. We play it straight, hoping against hope we can discover a foolproof means of assured co-existence only to find that we’ve been double-crossed. He anticipated that the whole problem was about to be discussed and already suspected that there must be something extraordinary about the nature of the Russian involvement which he must attempt to solve. No one yet had used those bitter words which would spell out a clear-cut ultimate confrontation with the Soviet Union.
“You will recall, Colonel North,” the Secretary was saying, “that despite all their protests to the contrary the Russians played a stalling game during negotiations for a treaty to outlaw nuclear weapons in outer space. We know now why they were stalling; they were developing a rocket that could launch a satellite carrying a hydrogen warhead.
“They have now, lamely enough, explained that they went ahead with this development because they felt they couldn’t trust us, but of course the present evidence proves who can be trusted and who can’t.
“In any event, the Russians launched this satellite secretly, from a base in the Urals just twelve days ago today. We have been tracking it—as we do all their satellites—and have estimated it as just another in their secret series until two days ago our tracking stations picked up the fact this vehicle suddenly had entered an erratic orbit. Apparently it had been programmed originally to pass almost exclusively over seas or deserts. We might never have known what was in that satellite’s payload if its orbital swing hadn’t brought the device over the United States.”
The Secretary glanced over North’s head to the wall map and all eyes followed his, watched the moving red blip place the satellite near St. Louis. Hugh’s gray-blue eyes remained riveted to the map. His lips tightened as the Secretary resumed.
“The President got on the Hot Line and warned the Russians bluntly that we didn’t appreciate their satellites’ overflying us. It was then that the Soviet Premier confessed. He admitted the situation and said it was even worse than we had realized: a hydrogen warhead is in the satellite.
“The President admitted later that not only was he shocked by this admission but also was astonished that the Russians should so freely admit it. Bluntly he replied that there would be time enough later to talk about why the Russians had elected to violate the treaty, but in the meantime he wanted it clearly understood that if this threat to the United States was not immediately removed he would arm every nuclear warhead in America, Europe and Asia aimed at Moscow and other major Russian cities and then gave them one hour to discover whether he was sincere in this threat.”
North lit a thin cigar and fixed his gaze on the Secretary. Wouldn’t do to miss even the least detail of what he was going to say because it wouldn’t be repeated.
“This brings us to the crux of the problem,” the Secretary’s taut voice continued. “The Russians claim that the shift in orbit was unintentional; that they’ve developed bugs in their guidance control system which altered the planned course and is preventing them from getting the vehicle to comply with ground-directed signals.”
As North glanced around the room he could see that several high officials were wearing skeptical expressions. He must have walked in on a rather brisk exchange of Military Intelligence opinions.
“The President realized within seconds that this was something he couldn’t afford to debate over the Hot Line—we’d have to obtain opinions for him. But he knew he couldn’t take any chances either. So he made a deal: either they locate the bugs and control them within seventy-two hours from last midnight, or they turn over their plans for the satellite flight to our own space scientists. We’ll be invited to figure out corrections to keep that threat away from our soil.”
General Armiston sighed, pushed his coffee cup away, while North wondered which side of the argument he was to be on.
“The Russians grumbled,” the Secretary continued, “but finally agreed. Meanwhile, of course, we’re going ahead with our own missile arming and they know it. We’re not to be caught short.” He paused. “I don’t have to tell you that if either trigger is pulled, ‘long or short’ may not mean much any more.”
The Secretary rubbed silvery stubble along his chin. “I’ll ask General Armiston to bring you up to date on Intelligence findings now. Any questions, Colonel?”
“By your leave, sir”—warily Hugh North settled back—“I’d like to listen.”
General Armiston shook his head. “Nevertheless, please speak, Colonel.”
“Very well, sir. From what you’ve told me, if the Russians aren’t able to correct their own system have they offered to turn over their data to us?”
“Yes. And if we can’t utilize this data?” demanded the Chief of G-2.
“We will launch an atomic missile of our own on a collision course which will detonate this Russian satellite far enough out in space to harm no one—or so we hope.”
“May I ask by what means this Russian information is to be transmitted?” queried the Under Secretary.
General Armiston shot glances at his opposite numbers in the Armed Services.
“You anticipate, sir,” he said, “but you’ve hit on the principal danger of a plan which, at best, has plenty of weaknesses in it. All transmissions are supposed to be transmitted via the Hot Line—that’s the fastest way. You can appreciate we can ill afford to lose a single minute.” He looked again at the flashing red marker on the wall map.
“The trouble is,” he continued, “we can’t be sure the Hot Line itself is any longer completely secure. You know about that Russian freighter in Denmark? Well, we checked that one out very carefully and it was clean. Just a dumb skipper who panicked and accidentally cut the cable. But Stockholm is a different story. We’ve spotted agents moving into Sweden at a rate which can only mean big trouble. The circuit there is quite as vulnerable as it is anywhere else.”
Hugh would have bet his special allowances for the next six months that he could name the nationality of the agents General Armiston was referring to. It came as no surprise, then, when his superior said shortly, “Chinese and from White satellites.”
Now North perceived why the President had been inclined to credit the Kremlin’s excuse of a malfunction and their offer of cooperation in neutralizing its own illegal satellite. Whatever the Russians came up with later it was sure that they weren’t inviting a show-down at this moment. And it was no less a certainty that this was exactly the kind of a provocation that Mao Tse-tung and his regime would delight in. It would not only stir international tensions but such a confrontation also would remove considerable internal heat from the Chinese Red boss.
General Armiston nodded to the Defense Secretary whose controlled voice took over.
“Colonel North, whatever we do here to contain this threat and prepare for the worst will be of no avail it the Hot Line fails to remain secure. Understood?”
North nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I understand that in the past you’ve successfully handled some extremely delicate assignments. This one may well test your ability to the limit.”
“Thank you, sir.” Hugh North stood up, aware that he was being told to get going in one Hell of a hurry.
“General Armiston will accompany you, Colonel,” the Secretary arose and circled the table to offer his hand. “He will have a few final instructions.” He grasped North’s hand, shook it warmly. “A lot of people are counting on you, Colonel, though they don’t know it; uncounted millions of them.”
Colonel North saluted, about-faced and made for the door. General Armiston would be following. He could well