The Krone Experiment Read online

  “There’s the new ultraviolet camera and spectrometer on the FireEye satellite my team launched a week ago,” said Deloach enthusiastically. “We could divert it to have a look at that carrier.”

  “We need that satellite where it is, Earle,” said Isaacs, trying to keep the patronizing edge off his voice, “over the new industrial area in Siberia.” Typical Deloach, thought Isaacs to himself: he’d look for the lost nickel under the street lamp where the light’s good. Too bad he doesn’t have the same sense for good intelligence he does for good hardware.

  “The fire obliterated anything useful you could have seen on deck,” added Martinelli.

  “The satellite ought to be stationed over Tomsk ,” McMasters said with a hint of bitterness.

  “We’ve learned everything we usefully can at Tomsk ,” Isaacs replied patiently. Isaacs was vividly aware that McMasters had developed the targets at Tomsk and that his ego was too tied up in them to grant that their usefulness was played out. He had not made a substantial contribution since. “We’ve been through the arguments in favor of Siberia in detail,” Isaacs said, and you’ve resented every one I made, he finished to himself.

  “Dammit, let’s stick to the subject in hand,” Drefke commanded. Isaacs nodded, chagrined at letting McMasters draw him in.

  There was silence for a moment, broken by Isaacs.

  “Surveillance of the carrier is useless, as Vince points out. The fire will have seen to that. We have to convince them we had nothing to do with it. They’ll want more than Presidential assurances. We must figure out what happened to them, or help them find out for themselves. Nobody on the Novorossiisk itself, Art?”

  “The Novorossiisk?” Boswank shook his head. “Sure, a few, but they’re the worst for rapid feedback. We can’t get to them until they return to Russia. We have to go through a Soviet contact: too dangerous for the source otherwise.”

  “Too dangerous?” Drefke asked rhetorically. “Danger is a paranoid with his finger on the button when someone pops a balloon. Your sources won’t be worth much if this gets out of hand. Can’t we get to them more quickly?”

  “We could, sir,” replied Boswank, “but if this blows over, we would have jeopardized a major component of our network. We must be very careful. In any case the earliest we could get to them would be when they put into port. We should hear from our higher source before that.”

  “None on the Novorossiisk have access to a radio?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose they would let us put an inspection team on board, as a gesture of cooperation?” asked Deloach.

  “Out of the question!” McMasters was adamant. “They’d never allow it.”

  Isaacs nodded his assent, McMasters was on target there. “Art can take the most direct step. We need to know what’s in that damage report to really understand their reaction, but that will take a little time. How about Ogarkov? Does hе know the basis for the charges, and would he tell us? Can we find out how he was briefed, or are there any message intercepts?”

  “Links to the embassy are some of the toughest to penetrate, of course,” replied Martinelli, “but I’ll put out a call for any intercepts that might give a clue.”

  Isaacs looked thoughtful.

  “This concrete event has grabbed our attention. What about related occurrences? Anyone know of anything that could possibly be tied to this, even indirectly?” The silence around the table answered his question. “Okay,” he said, “that’s a loose end that we can try to follow up. I’ll put some of my analysis people on it, and if we come up with anything, Vince, we’ll feed it to you.”

  Drefke leaned back in his chair. “I want all the stops out on this. I’ll tell the President we expect the details of the damage report in a few days, but that’s not good enough. We’ve given the President nothing to go on; all he can do is deny our involvement, and in the present crisis atmosphere that won’t wash. We need a handle on this business, and we need it now. Martinelli, if you turn up even a hint that we could use as bait or as a prybar on Ogarkov let me know immediately.”

  Martinelli nodded, and scribbled a note on his pad, “Save boss’s ass.”

  “Boswank,” Drefke pleaded, “isn’t there anything you can do with your d-,” he caught himself, “with your networks?”

  “I can put out a call, but I don’t know much what to call for,” Boswank replied curtly. “You tell me there’s a carrier with a fire on deck. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  Drefke stared at him a moment and then turned to Isaacs, “I’ll also tell the President that we’re doing everything possible to determine what happened to that carrier, and why the Russians suspect we are responsible. I expect your department to give us something to go on.

  “Let me remind you,” he glared around the table, “that until the Russians come to their senses on this, they are standing with the hammer cocked and the pistol at our head. It doesn’t matter that we think they’re mistaken. The present situation is very delicate and very dangerous, and it will remain so until we here in this room act to defuse it.” He pushed his chair back, stood, and looked sternly around the table. Then he turned and left with a brisk stride. The others rose and filed out of the conference room.

  Deloach tailed McMasters down the hall. Martinelli followed Isaacs and Boswank into the stairwell. “Well, kid,” he said to Isaacs, “looks like it’s up to us to save the bacon again.”

  Isaacs smiled, then sobered, “This one is dangerous, Vince. Too unpredictable. Neither side really knows what’s going on.”

  “True enough,” put in Boswank, “but the DCI’s got a case of first crisisitis if I’ve ever seen one. Damn, if he’d been around during that Austrian dustup he’d know what a crisis was. He’s got something to learn about running networks, too.” He shuffled through the door at the next landing.

  Martinelli was silent until they reached the landing on his floor. “McMasters is really beginning to ride you. That’s going to blow one of these days.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Isaacs replied. “I’ll try to keep a low profile, but he’s so stuck on those outdated programs of his, and, of course, I have to cross him every time we recommend something more useful.

  “Let me know if we can do some snooping for you.” Martinelli pulled open the fire door and stepped into the hallway.

  “And you let me know if you turn up anything that might be related to this carrier business.” Isaacs continued down another floor and went through the door there. He strode rapidly down the corridor, grabbed the knob on the door marked Office of Scientific Intelligence, turned it, and went in.

  Kathleen Huddleston had started in the Agency secretarial pool and worked her way up. She had been Isaacs’s executive secretary for three years now and was as familiar with his character as she was with the ebb and flow of the workload in this odd business. She recognized his step and put on a smile of greeting as the door opened. As he entered, she read his mood with a practiced eye. The familiar figure looked preoccupied, but more relaxed than usual this morning. She took in the dark curly hair only faintly tinged with grey in front of slightly protruding ears. The ears themselves were pink from recent Sunburn. The hawk nose rode above thin lips and strong chin. As usual, the eyes stood out, dark and penetrating, surmounted by surprisingly long, almost effeminate lashes. The lashes gave him a perennial boyish look despite the otherwise rugged face. Responding to her smile of greeting, the eyes crinkled, exercising a growing crop of laugh lines.

  “Hi, boss, welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kate,” he said with a mock bow, “it’s good to be back.”

  “How was Florida ? You certainly got some Sun!”

  He grinned more widely. “I did find some time for the beach. How have things been? Any excitement?”

  “Nothing the DCI and I couldn’t handle. You’ve just come from the meeting?”

  Her voice hinted at a question that Kathleen had not quite intended. Despite security t
here was always scuttlebutt. They both knew that Kathleen was discreetly aware of many issues that were formally beyond her ken. Documents had to be typed, and with that responsibility came necessary access. Kathleen and her cadre were too bright not to put two and two together on occasion. In this case she had heard nothing and that had caught her attention and natural, if unwarranted, curiosity.

  Isaacs perceived her questioning tone and the basis for it. The worse the emergency, the tighter the security. A grimace passed briefly over his face. “Yes,” he affirmed, “I need you to set up a meeting with the crisis team at,” he glanced at his watch, “ten-thirty.”

  Kathleen nodded and continued, “Bill Bans wanted some time. I suggested two o’clock and that seemed okay, unless you want to see him this morning.”

  Lord, thought Isaacs, something in Africa again.

  “This afternoon would be better,” he said, confirming her judgment. “I have a present for you, just to keep you out of trouble.” He plopped his briefcase on her side table, reached for his keys and unlocked it. He extracted and handed her a fat, black-clipped, typed manuscript. “These are the corrections for the Bulgaria report. I’ll need it Monday morning.” He enjoyed her mock groan, confident the job would be done quickly and exactly.

  He stepped into his inner office, deposited his case and hung his jacket on the rack. Circling his desk, he cranked open the blinds to expose the blue sky and thickly treed surroundings. His thoughts passed briefly from the carrier crisis to the Sunlit morning, to Alice Lavey’s neckline, and back, and he turned as Kathleen entered with a stack of intelligence summaries and a steaming cup of black coffee.

  He smiled “thanks” as he settled into his chair. She returned the smile, gave a breezy “you’re welcome” and slipped out, closing the door. He waited until the door clicked, then leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. Bad for the posture and image, but good for concentration, he thought, as he reached for the bound folder stamped “Orbital Visual and Infrared Reconnaissance Survey — Top Secret” and arranged the coffee within easy reach.

  He read quickly but thoroughly, skipping over familiar facts, pausing to sip coffee and ponder and assimilate new data. There was no question that the laborious analysis that had revealed the crucial infrared signal of the mobile launchers continued to be superlatively valuable. Each of the mobile stations had moved in the last week, and not only were the three new stations revealed, the movements of each of the old ones were uniquely determined.

  Satellite identification was still proving a difficult task. The launchings could be predicted over a week in advance and followed simply. Once in orbit the reconnaissance net was sufficiently dense that each satellite could be tracked, but a few escaped classification into the offensive, defensive, or reconnaissance categories.

  He finished the first report and started on the aircraft reconnaissance, continuing with desultory sips of his cooling coffee. The Chinese were beginning the reprocessing plant for their new reactor. The Warsaw Pact troops had interrupted their war games with the onset of the current crisis. He noted that two of the previously identified high speed tanks in Poland had been reclassified as older, slower models.

  He glanced at his watch as he finished with this report. 10:23. Time to start on the signal intelligence before his team assembled.

  He read along, stopping at an item already covered in the other surveys, the Soviet low tonnage underground event at Semipalatinsk. The satellite photos had shown the surface activity involved in setting up the experiment, and the infrared trace had indicated when the explosion occurred. This report outlined the results of monitoring the data links, both those uncoded and those for which the code had been broken. The result was that the Agency experts knew nearly as much about the test as the Russian scientists who performed it.

  The summary noted that the nature of the explosion was confirmed by the associated seismic signal. That statement caught Isaacs’s eye, and he stared at the ceiling, momentarily trying to recall a related tidbit of information he had filed away. As usual, the seismic reference was added simply for completeness since the Agency was not directly involved with the seismic monitoring system. He snapped his fingers and leaned forward to punch the button on his intercom.

  “Kathleen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you have — let me see, who might be available? — would you have Pat Danielson stop in just after lunch?”

  “Yes, sir. Time for the meeting.”

  “Right.” Isaacs swung to his feet and headed out of his office, flipping a goodbye sign at Kathleen. As he walked the short distance to his conference room, he began to sort out tactics for turning up clues to the fate of the Russian carrier. The meeting, frustrating and unproductive, lasted to noon and beyond.

  Temper lengthened Pat Danielson’s stride. Weasel, she thought. What garbage, lunch to discuss my report! Put a damn run in my stocking with his hangnail! She slowed her pace as she turned into the last hallway. How’s a person to get any credit? He probably didn’t even read it. Sure glad Isaacs is reasonable, knows I’m a woman, but listens. Hope this is good news.

  When she entered Kathleen”s office, the two women exchanged greetings. They were cordial to one another, but not close. Although they worked for the same man and Kathleen was only a few years older, the difference in their positions, secretary and professional, created a practical barrier. Kathleen waved the young woman into Isaacs’s office and followed her with a quick eye skimming the details of dress, hair, carriage before turning once more to her tasks as the door closed.

  Isaacs looked up as Danielson entered his office, her wide smile of greeting reminding him of his ebullient mood on the way to work this morning, a mood battered but not yet dead.

  “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Pat,” Isaacs replied. “Please sit down.” She seated herself in the chair across from his desk, a bit too tall and big-boned to be graceful, but with good control of her body, not gangly. Isaacs watched her sit and cross her legs. He caught a quick flash of a run before she reversed her legs to cover it up. He regarded her for a moment. Good worker, even disposition under everyday hectic conditions, but no real test yet. Some spine, but not bitchy. Attractive in a wholesome sort of way, wide face, high cheekbones, a vague sprinkling of freckles to complement the reddish tinge in her hair. His evaluation of her work did not depend on her appearance, but he was honest enough to admit he preferred a good-looking competent woman to an ugly one. She looked at him expectantly.

  “How’s your work going?”

  “Fine,” she replied, but he caught the hint of distress that passed over her face.

  “I can’t keep tabs on everything as much as I would like to. I called you because I have a small project I’d like you to take on, but if you’re having some trouble, we have a chance to talk now.”

  “No, no trouble,” she said quickly, then hesitated, and fixed him with a gaze. “My work is satisfactory, isn’t it?”

  “Very much so,” he said seriously. “There are some excellent data coming from the new satellite; you’re doing your part.”

  “Doing my part,” she repeated quietly to herself. “May I say something?”

  He nodded. There was something she wanted to get off her chest.

  “I really like this job. I think I’m doing something to help my country.” She paused. “But there are times when I wonder whether I’m getting due credit.” She straightened up and adopted a sterner tone. “The fact is, somebody made a pass at me at lunch, and I’m still upset. I don’t want to name names, but first he complimented my work too much, and then afterwards he said some unkind things.”

  “A superior of yours?”

  “Well, yes, but I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  “Sounds like you’re not the cause. Tell you what. First, let me repeat, you are doing well. That’s one reason I called you in here today. I’ll confess I’ve heard that you’re better than some who get as much credit, or more.
I’ll try to keep a closer eye on that. As we both know, you more than I, the Agency is still a man’s world. No use pretending you won’t have to work hard to get ahead. About this other thing, though, I won’t brook harassment.” He pointed a finger at her. “I want to know if that happens again.”

  Danielson nodded, but he knew she would not mention the subject again.

  “So, can you handle another project?”

  “Yes, sir, I can,” she said confidently.

  “Good.” Isaacs leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “You know I just came back from my tour of active duty?”

  “Yes, you were in Florida , I believe I heard.”

  “That’s right, at AFTAC, the Air Force Technical Assistance Center on Cape Canaveral. Do you know what they do there?”

  Her brow wrinkled. “No, I guess I don’t.”

  “Do you know about the Large Seismic Array?”

  She brightened. “A little. That’s in Montana , isn’t it? A collection of seismic detectors to monitor underground nuclear explosions and such things.”

  “That’s right,” Isaacs nodded, “among other things, AFTAC monitors the Large Seismic Array, other seismic detectors in a world-wide network, and a separate ensemble of underwater acoustic monitors. Basically, they maintain a surveillance system to complement the various aerial and satellite operations.”

  Danielson gave a brisk nod of comprehension.

  Isaacs continued, “I was stationed in the intelligence section at AFTAC. I spent some time looking at data from the LSA and reports on the analysis of the data.”

  His tone altered slightly as he added an explanatory note. “The data are analyzed at the Air Force Cambridge Research Lab in Massachusetts.”

  “Anyway,” Isaacs continued his narrative, “there was one little piece of information that piqued my curiosity. They’ve apparently picked up a repeated but very weak signal — only a careful analysis can pull it out of the noise — which has a period of about an hour.”