If there was any other solution to this newest development, Gorokhov couldn’t see it. For one of the rare times in his sixty years of service to his country, that made the big man hesitant. He always preferred to have options to compare. But in this case, there were none. Not that he could let his concern show in front of the others at the table. Apparently, though, he had stayed silent too long.
“Chief Administrator…?” Popovich was tentative, but clearly some response was needed.
Gorokhov looked up from the set of glossy prints that had been made of the perceivers’ output screens from their most recent session. He nodded sagely, projecting an aura of calm. “All very interesting,” he said. “But given the possible repercussions if our analysis is in error, we must be more than certain. We must be convinced.”
He glanced around the makeshift conference room. Two walls were bare rock, from the days this facility had been a mine. The other two walls were constructed of unpainted drywall, one with several video screens mounted on it, the other with a locked wooden door leading to a rock-walled tunnel. A space heater hummed in a corner, though it failed to bring the room to a comfortable temperature. His staff, seated around the plain wooden conference table, wore jackets and sweaters. None tried to hide his or her own uncertainty.
Gorokhov addressed his new head of mapping. “Do you have absolute confidence in the location of this incident?” If there was enough margin of error in the calculations that had determined where this perceived event had taken place, then that could also affect the time it was believed to have occurred. Despite the assurances of his experts, the projection of a disembodied consciousness was still more art than science.
Irina Roslyakova nodded, grim. “It corresponds to the direction the general was known to be traveling, and with the distance he could have been expected to cover in the time since the major’s … disappearance.”
Gorokhov understood her reluctance to use the word “death.” Major Kalnikova was missing, as were the two officers accompanying her. But until the major’s fate was confirmed, the chief administrator felt justified in continuing to expect that eventually she would make contact again. She was driven. She was expert. She was Russian. Defeat would not come easily to her.
“And these images…” Gorokhov turned next to VEKTOR’s senior technician. “Would they benefit from further rendering?”
Igor Byko looked back at his own set of images. They showed a blocky reconstruction of the Winnebago caravan the general was known to be driving. The vehicle was parked, headlights glaring, illuminating a group of men kneeling around a figure spread-eagled on the ground. The visual reconstruction algorithms had recognized one of the men, and his features had been filled in from the database of previously identified individuals: General Borodin. The algorithms had also recognized and filled in the details of the object on the ground beside the prone figure: a VEKTOR containment unit.
“It might be possible to identify the other members of the general’s squad.”
Gorokhov wasn’t interested, took on a sharp tone. “We know who the traitors are. What we don’t know is, who they have captured.” His thick finger tapped his own copy of the image. “Is this the major? Has Borodin actually transformed her into one of his shadow warriors?”
A long silence followed, broken finally by the psychologist, Dr. Jelavich. “It would explain why the perceivers couldn’t link with her.”
Gorokhov didn’t accept that. “Even if she were dead, the perceivers should be able to make contact with some essence of her, for six days at least.” Spontaneous post mortem contact had happened before, Gorokhov knew, even without the einstone.
“Of course, of course.” The psychologist made every effort not to appear to be in disagreement with his superior. “I simply meant, if what remained of her after death was captured in a containment unit, then she would be effectively shielded from contact.” He gestured to indicate the room around them. “As if she were protected within our own electromagnetic shields.”
Whatever phenomenon was at the root cause of remote viewing and the creation of what the world would call a ghost, it wasn’t something that disappeared at the moment of physical death. Instead, it faded over the course of days, a dying fire. If that fire could be captured in one of VEKTOR’s containment units, channeled by an einstone resonator, and held secure in a magnetic field powered by external batteries, then it could persist much longer, perhaps forever. Whenever it was released from the containment unit, it definitely could be sensed by a perceiver.
Gorokhov accepted the psychologist’s unspoken apology, then looked across the table at his deputy. “What about you? Nothing to add?”
Popovich had meekly folded his thin hands on the table, didn’t look up from his set of the prints. “I think, perhaps, the situation is moving out of control.”
To Gorokhov, it seemed as if all others in the room held their breath. He kept his own flash of anger subdued. “Would you care to explain, Deputy Chief Administrator?”
His deputy reluctantly made eye contact. “Out of … out of our control, sir. We are a highly specialized organization. But we don’t have the experience or personnel to run actual operations on the ground in a foreign land.”
If it had just been the two of them, Gorokhov would have encouraged him to continue in detail. While his deputy was not astute about matters of interpersonal politics, he understood operations and the need to plan for the worst possible outcome. But with the others present, Gorokhov could not allow his leadership to be questioned.
“Are you suggesting that Major Kalnikova was not sufficiently experienced to take on Borodin? As I recall, you selected her.” He made it easy for the others to hear the disdain in his tone.
Popovich’s face drained of color.
“I recommended her, and the others on all three teams, from the security personnel already seconded to us. I believe…” He swallowed hard, as if understanding how close to the precipice his words were taking him. “I believe we should expand our choices.”
“Go directly to the army. For assistance.”
Popovich nodded, nervous, voice cracking. “Yes, Chief Administrator.”
“Let me tell you what I believe.” Gorokhov spread his hands over the prints in front of him. “VEKTOR has the resources to deal with this, on our own.”
Popovich couldn’t seem to stop himself. “But … using those resources will bring the same risk Borodin has created for us—complete exposure.” He looked back at the tabletop. From the corner of his eyes, Gorokhov could see the others do the same.
“Is that all?” Gorokhov asked.
Another short, swift nod.
“Then we’re done. Imaging will continue to render the output screens to reconstruct additional details. Mapping will recheck the location from the beginning. Operations will prepare two sets of perceivers. One to stay with Borodin…” Gorokhov saw that his senior technician was about to protest, cut him off. “And I don’t care if the general becomes sensitive to the point where he can begin to see the perceivers. You will stay with him.”
The technician acquiesced without a word.
Gorokhov continued. “The second team will continue to attempt a link with the major.” He smiled. “Perhaps our friends at CROSSWIND captured her and she is safely shielded within their facility as she steals all their secrets for us.”
Everyone but Popovich smiled in reply, as expected.
Gorokhov stood and the meeting was over. Popovich hung back until he was the last to leave, remained in the doorway.
Gorokhov knew this was his opportunity to bring his deputy back into the fold, to remind him that questioning his chief administrator in front of the others was never acceptable. “Did you have something more you wished to say to me?”
“I apologize for speaking out of turn.”
Gorokhov studied his deputy closely, saw the uncharacteristic iron resolve hidden in his eyes, heard the lie in his tone.
He’s hiding something from me? Gorokhov thought. “I appreciate your counsel,” he said. “But in private, next time. Yes?”
“Of course, yes. Thank you, Chief Administrator.” He nodded as if grateful, then hurried away.
Gorokhov was puzzled by his deputy’s reaction, resolved to pay closer attention to his activities and his communications in the coming days.
It was one thing for VEKTOR to have been potentially compromised by the great general, Borodin. The man was legend, and there had been no indication of his treachery until after the fact. But if there were those in Moscow who thought Gorokhov must be held responsible for that failure, the chief administrator abruptly realized that Popovich would be the first person they would reach out to, to ‘correct’ the situation.
Here, alone, Gorokhov allowed himself a smile, a gentle laugh. As valuable as his deputy was to him, if Popovich had indeed made the fatal decision to ally himself with those in Moscow who harbored doubts about VEKTOR’s current leadership and the impending Operation Scythe, then one night not too far off, the thin man would finally get his chance to swim in the quarry lake.
Because Popovich and Moscow weren’t the only ones who could plan for the worst possible outcome. If, indeed, Kalnikova had failed and Borodin either sold his shadow warriors to the Americans, or unleashed them for some unknown purpose for all the world to see, Gorokhov didn’t see that as a problem. He already knew what the solution would be, the only solution that there could be.
Initiate Operation Scythe. Not next year when all the tests and plans were complete, but immediately.
True, that eventuality would remake the world in ways that couldn’t be completely foreseen, and Moscow might be taken by surprise by the chaos that would follow. But in the end, Gorokhov had no doubt that it would be he, and Mother Russia, who would be left standing as America was reduced to rubble and the rest of the world cowered in fear.
As it should.