BOOK II:

OPERATION SNAKE EATER

Peace is a journey of a thousand miles

and it must be taken one step at a time.

— Lyndon B. Johnson

The pump don't work

'Cause the vandals took the handle.

—Bob Dylan

AND NOW THIS WORD FROM WASHINGTON

The man in charge had been expecting the red phone to ring, but he still wasn't sure what he was going to say.

He sat behind the desk, his big hands tucked against his belly. He was a tall man, taller than most who had held his position before him. The shelf of his brow was creased in deep worry, and his aggressive jaw was set. He felt like bellowing with rage, but he had to keep cool. If he did not, things were apt to get very, very hot.

He was used to giving orders, had been doing so all of his life, but very rarely had he ever felt anxiety. It was an uncommon feeling, but now it seemed to be leaking out of his every pore. He had not been sitting behind this desk for long, not even a full year. The man who had sat there before had been in a similar situation, and he had managed to defuse it. He'd often wondered how he would have handled it, or if he would have fumbled the ball and blown the whole game.

Things looked bad from where he sat. The Virtuous Mission had failed. The most powerful warrior in the West had gone over the Iron Curtain. A Soviet research facility had been obliterated by a nuclear explosion. And all signs pointed to American involvement. It was Cuba all over again, except this time he didn't know if he'd be able to—

The crisp buzz of the hotline cut through his thoughts cleanly. Well, time to pay the piper, he thought, and he picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" His accent, the slow drawl of the South, trembled a little.

"President Johnson?"

He recognized the voice on the other end immediately. The heavy accent, the carefully measured words. Johnson hadn't met Nikita Khrushchev in person, but there was no way it was anyone else on the other end of the line.

Johnson steeled himself for the questions he knew were coming. "Yes, I hear you, Mr. Chairman."

"You knew I was calling." Was that accusation in his voice?

"What can I do for you, Mr. Chairman?"

There was a pause. Then: "A few days ago, one of our country's main Design Bureaus, OKB-seven-five-four, was destroyed in a nuclear explosion. At about the same time, our anti-aircraft radar picked up a signature that appeared to come from one of your military aircraft. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

Johnson said nothing.

Khrushchev kept talking. "In retaliation, I have placed our armed forces on secondary alert. Depending on your response, I may be left with no choice but to order the military to maximum alert and unleash Armageddon." He paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. "With the help of your predecessor, I was able to survive the Cuban incident. But my power . . . it is not as great as it once was. If I am to survive this crisis, I must have your full cooperation."

Johnson leaned back in his chair. Sweat prickled his brow. "I should have contacted you myself," he said slowly, apologetically. "Did you know that one of our soldiers defected to your country a week ago."

A pause. Then: "No."

"So, you haven't heard then?"

Silence on the line.

Johnson took a deep breath. "From what we can gather, the man who arranged the defection was a GRU colonel by the name of Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin."

"Volgin?" Khrushchev repeated under his breath. "Of the Brezhnev faction?" He seemed to ruminate on this for a moment. "Go on. Who was this soldier?"

Johnson sighed. "A woman," he said. "A living legend. During World War II, she was the one who helped lead the Allies to victory. In Russia, you know her as 'Voyevoda.'"

"The warlord?" Then it dawned on Khrushchev, and his voice became hushed. "You mean . . . The Boss? The mother of your Special Forces?"

"Yes, that's the one," Johnson admitted. "And she took two miniature nuclear shells along with her."

"The Boss took two miniature nuclear shells?" Khrushchev sounded aghast.

Johnson nodded. "I'm afraid so. I believe they were a gift for her new hosts." He leaned forward in his chair. "The 'Davy Crockett' Atomic Battle Group Delivery System was completed two years ago. But serious problems were found with the launcher's range and precision. Although they were mass-produced, they've never been deployed in battle."

"But Sokolov's research facility was completely wiped out!" Khrushchev's voice rose, sounding almost hysterical. "The whole area is polluted!"

"I can only offer you my deepest condolences over this terrible tragedy," Johnson replied.

There was silence on the line, but Johnson could almost hear the gears turning in the Premier's head. When Khrushchev spoke again, his voice was softer. "So The Boss, with Colonel Volgin's help, stole two experimental nuclear shells and took them with her as a gift when she defected. Then, shortly thereafter, Sokolov's design lab—a top-secret military research facility—was destroyed by one of these weapons. Am I right so far?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"And the American government denies any involvement in the affair," Khrushchev went on. "Is that right as well?"

"That's correct." Johnson blotted his forehead with his tie. "We were not involved in any way."

Then Khrushchev pounced. "Then what was a US military aircraft doing on our radar screen?" he snapped. "It was clearly in violation of our airspace! And yet," he added coolly, "you say it was not acting under your orders."

"That's correct," Johnson said again.

"You expect me to believe that this was all the work of a single soldier?"

"I don't know what else to tell you."

Khrushchev grunted. "The army insists that this is all a ploy on your part, Mr. President."

Despite the sweating anxiety, Johnson felt that hot anger bubbling in his chest. "I've said it once, and I'll say it again," he said, his voice rising. "Our government had nothing to do with it."

"And I would like dearly to believe you," the voice on the line said. "However, I'm afraid my power over the military has . . . weakened since the Cuban incident. I will need some kind of proof that this was not the action of the American government."

"I'm listening."

Khrushchev's voice was low, deadly serious. "You have one week," he said. "You must catch The Boss yourselves and recover the remaining nuclear device. Then, you must find some way to prove your innocence."

"Prove our innocence?"

"Yes." Now the Premier's voice took on another timbre. Johnson felt like a mouse that had been caught by the cat. "Preferably with something . . . painful. Prove to me that this is not merely another one of your tricks."

Johnson mulled it over. "The Boss should be close to Colonel Volgin," he pointed out. "How about a little coaction?"

Khrushchev sighed. "I would not expect too much if I were you," he said. "The political situation here is, you might say, unstable. And Colonel Volgin is a member of the Brezhnev faction, which seeks to topple my government.

"One week," he reminded. "You have only one week. And if it is not too much to ask, do something about Volgin as well."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Johnson asked.

There was a long, pregnant pause. Then Khrushchev spoke again. "Nothing," he said slowly. "It means nothing. Call it a modest gentleman's agreement to ensure our continued relationship."

Johnson felt he had to ask the question that was gnawing at him. "What if we can't prove our innocence?"

"Then I will be unable to restrain the military," Khrushchev said. "I will be ousted, and they will seek their revenge."

Johnson knew what that meant all too well. It was what everyone dreaded, in their heart of hearts. Nevertheless, he felt he had to say it. "A nuclear attack on the United States."

Khrushchev didn't answer yes or no. Instead, he brusquely stated, "I leave the disposal of this situation entirely to your discretion, Mr. President."

"Disposal, huh?"

"If you fail," the Premier said softly, "it will mean the beginning of a new world war."

There was a click, then dead air.

Johnson lowered the phone. There was no choice in the matter now.

He thought for a moment, then reached for a different phone. He didn't know if it would work, considering the failure of the Virtuous Mission, but it felt like he didn't have a whole lot of options left.