Page 39 of Stars
“And now a supposedly defunct and inoperable Soviet communications satellite is suddenly attacking our military satellites with this weapon no one in the world knew they possessed. General, this satellite has been up there for forty years. No one eversawthis?”
“Satellite 21038 was deemed inoperable and not a threat,” General Duncan said. His jaw was razor sharp, the muscles in his neck vibrating. Mark could feel his tremors all the way in Texas. “We do not actively monitor objects deemed to be nonthreatening. We have enough active threats to focus on, Madam President.”
President Wall took a slow, careful breath. “We need the Russian government to fill in the blanks for us.”
All eyes on the videoconference—from NORAD to the Pentagon to the White House, and even in the JSC executive boardroom—flicked to the lower left inset video.
The head of the Russian FSB, Ilya Ivchenko, scowled at the camera. He looked like a pouting pit bull who’d just been smacked with a rolled-up newspaper for shitting on the rug. His jaw rocked from left to right, teeth scraping together as if he was chewing nails.
Mark’s eyes narrowed as he read Ilya’s name again, the text printed on the bottom of the feed: IlyaIvchenko.
“Madam President,” Ilya began slowly. His face twisted, frustrated rage cracking through his ferocious glare. “We are doing everything we can to investigate this incident. I have all of my resources devoted to this situation. We are trying to answer the same questions you are: Where did this satellite come from? Who was responsible for its mission? Why has it suddenly activated? We will find these answers, Madam President.”
“Where is President Puchkov, Mr. Ivchenko?” President Wall asked. Her voice was frigid. “I would expect the president of Russia to take this threat seriously enough to join us.”
The others might not have noticed it. Perhaps they weren’t watching Ilya as carefully as Mark was. A twitch of his left eye. A flattening of his lips. His cheeks paling while the tips of his ears turned cherry red. “President Puchkov is unavoidably delayed. He will be joining us as soon as he possibly can. President Puchkov takes this situation extremely seriously, Madam President.”
President Wall was not mollified. “Mr. Ivchenko, the Outer Space Treaty of 1967explicitlyforbids the placement of weapons, including nuclear weapons, into orbit. Why are we picking up radiation signals consistent with nuclear warheads?”
“Madam President, at this time, I do not know—”
“This satellite was cataloged as a Raduga military communications satellite. Did the Soviet Union have a previously undisclosed history of concealing weaponized launches within the Raduga systems?”
President Wall had clearly read the briefing thoroughly. Mark took a slow, deep breath, sharing a quick look with Erica and Bob.
“Again, Madam President, I do not have the answers you are seeking—”
“That is unacceptable. Your nation is responsible for any actions of the Soviet Union. If this were any other time in history, what has occurred would be taken as an act of war. You have fired on and destroyed five United States military communications satellites. Forty years ago—or even ten years ago—I would not be on this call with you. I would be addressing Congress and requesting authorization to go to war, Mr. Ivchenko. We would not be negotiating.”
“We are extremely happy with our current relationship with the United States, Madam President,” Ilya growled. “And we are doingeverythingyou have asked. We are gathering our information, and we will share everything we find with you. Roscosmos is on a dedicated open channel with your NASA facilities. Nothing,nothing at all, is being hidden from you. We are trying to understand what has happened, and how. Please, Madam President. This satellite is forty years old. I was only a boy when it was launched. Records from the fall are scattered. Finding information is… difficult.”
Ilya jerked his head, looking off camera to the right. He growled, sputtered something in Russian, and stood. A moment later, President Puchkov took Ilya’s abandoned seat, smoothing his suit jacket and staring gravely into the camera. His hair was short and ash-blond, streaked with gray. He was clean-shaven. No glasses. Mark stared, tracing the lines of his jaw, his cheeks, the angles of his face.
“Madam President,” he said slowly. “I deeply apologize for my delay. I arrived as soon as I could.”
His voice hit Mark like an ejection at full speed.Oh, Sasha…
The Sergey he’d met three days before had been laughter and joy, easy smiles and kisses on Sasha’s shoulders and cheeks. He’d danced in the back of the ballroom with Sasha, holding him close as he glowed brighter than the moon, the happiest man on the planet.
This Sergey was dour, severe. His eyes were pinched, dark smudges that spoke of exhaustion marring his pale face. Grim lines drew caverns across his forehead and down his cheeks.
Flight time from Houston to Moscow in a private plane was approximately thirteen hours, and that was pushing it. He did the mental math, tried to remember when Sasha said Sergey was leaving. Sergey—President Puchkov—would have been stranded midflight when the attack occurred.
Why did it have to be this weekend? He’d pushed Sasha to invite his partner. Had he inadvertently contributed to a collapse of relations between the United States and Russia, if President Wall took Sergey’s absence personally?
And, fuck, where was Sasha? Mark had run right for Erica’s office as soon as he’d arrived, bumping his truck up onto the curb outside Building 1 and taking the stairs three at a time. He hadn’t seen Sasha since Sergey and Sasha had driven away from his lake house. How was he holding up?
When he opened his eyes, both Roxanne and Chris were staring at him, laser beam gazes fixed in twin glares. After years of working together, he read their message loud and clear.Shut the fuck up. Act right. Fly straight.
“Mr. President,” President Wall said, her voice clipped. She leaned back, sighing as she folded her arms across her chest. “What the hell is going on, Sergey?”
“I wish I could tell you. I have been making calls ever since I heard the news. No one at Roscosmos knows anything. Records from Baikonur before the collapse of the Soviet Union are difficult to obtain. I have people on the way right now to search for everything we can find about this satellite and its launch. I have my people at Plesetsk and Vostochny Cosmodromes tracking its orbit and trajectory—”
“Sergey,wecan track its trajectory. It’s moving into a semisynchronous orbit that will put it directly over the United States.”
Sergey winced. “Our best guess right now, Madam President,” he said, his face drawn, voice weary, “is that the satellite has misfired. Something has gone wrong with its operational systems. It may think it is the 1980s. Perhaps a malfunction has turned on programming for a… mission that may have been planned in the event of an outbreak of hostilities between the USSR and the United States.”
“You’re saying you think your satellite is executing amilitary missionthe Soviets programmed?”
