Moscow, 0900 GMT (1200 Local)

“We have to tell the Americans something, Comrade General Secretary,” said Doryatkin gently. He and Nevsky had just been admitted to the General Secretary’s overheated office, with its special vaporizer hissing and making the air feel even hotter and very damp. The windows ran with water vapor, and Doryatkin felt his shirt clinging to his chest and armpits as his sweat dripped within it.

Nevsky looked cool and disinterested. Somehow these KGB executioners never sweated, thought the Foreign Minister. The Defense Minister still had not returned from his inspection tour of Warsaw Pact exercises in Hungary, though he had been summoned. Doryatkin missed the bluff old marshal; he would know enough to avoid adventuresome mischief in this situation. The marshal knew the Americans well enough to believe that they would have to act if the hostages were not released, so the Defense Minister would agree with Doryatkin that Russian units should be pulled back and out of harm’s way. The Spetznaz teams were too good to waste pulling the Libyans’ chestnuts out of the fire, especially since they could do little if the Americans came in with a major assault. Soviet reconnaissance overflights had confirmed that the American Sixth Fleet was now at twice its normal strength, with the entry into the Mediterranean yesterday of a second carrier battle group.

The General Secretary dabbed his watery eyes with a handkerchief. He sat slumped in a large leather chair, laboring to breathe. He looked at Nevsky, who nodded and opened a leather portfolio on the table in front of him.

“We have prepared a series of responses, Comrades, to various aggressive and provocative actions we may expect the Imperialists to threaten, or even undertake.” He passed single sheets to the General Secretary and to Doryatkin.

Doryatkin winced as he scanned the sheet. The KGB nearly always opposed the Foreign Ministry; they were natural enemies in that the Foreign Ministry sought to gain favorable positions for the Rodina by negotiating with her adversaries, whereas the KGB preferred to undermine and weaken adversaries directly by means of deceit, disinformation, and espionage. And the KGB had a natural enemy in the Soviet armed forces as well, since the KGB not only had its own military units, but also the right and the duty to infiltrate and spy on the armed forces by means of its Third Directorate. The KGB therefore often proposed policies that frustrated the careful initiatives of the Foreign Ministry, and as often sought to embarrass the military and weaken its influence. Nevsky’s paper, beautifully written in careful socialist logic, sought to further both these objectives at once.

“Comrade Chairman,” Doryatkin looked hard at the head of the KGB, “if we do any of the things you suggest, the Americans will view our actions as provocative! At the same time, since we all agree the Americans will attack if political means fail, our actions will not be effective in deterring them, and we will lose what little influence we retain in the Arab world by looking powerless to defend our friends. We lose both ways.”

Doryatkin carefully turned the KGB option paper around and pushed it halfway across the table toward Nevsky, who reddened, though his expression remained one of bland amusement. The General Secretary looked a bit shocked at the Foreign Minister’s sharp words. Good, thought Doryatkin. Maybe I have got his attention.

The General Secretary heaved his frail body up in his chair and reached for the glass of tea in front of him and took a sip. Nevsky and Doryatkin watched as his trembling hands spilled tea on his shirt as he drank. The old man coughed deeply and spat into a folded handkerchief as he slowly ran his finger down the five numbered points of the KGB paper. “Mikhail Ivanovich’s recommendations seem sound, Ilya Antonovich. Surely they will discomfort the Imperialists.” His voice was a querulous wheeze.

Nevsky smiled. Doryatkin spoke quickly. “Just my point, Comrade! Discomfort them, but not deter them! Cause them to trust us even less than they presently do! Cause them to withhold trade, especially in the technological items we desperately need. And when they attack, and we do nothing except lose a few brave Soviet soldiers who we do not even admit are in Libya, the black-asses from Morocco to Afghanistan will laugh in their filthy beards!” Doryatkin did not hold the “black-asses,” as all Muslims were disparaged by Russians, in contempt, but he knew that the General Secretary did, after his long experience in the Soviet Republics east of the Urals. Another blow, however weak, at Nevsky’s ties to Arab revolutionary movements, especially the Libyan Jamahiriya.

The old man blinked and dabbed his eyes. Once again, he seemed startled. Even Nevsky’s expression lost a bit of its composure. The General Secretary pushed the KGB paper gently to one side. “What, then, do you suggest, Ilya Antonovich?”

Doryatkin straightened in his chair. “Since we cannot oppose effectively an American attack upon our miserable Libyan ally, we must make every effort to see that the attack does not occur. We must intervene with Baruni, and anywhere else we have useful influence, to get those American hostages out of Libya. Our public posture will of course be quite different,” Doryatkin paused and favored Nevsky with an agreeable smile, “but we must assure the Americans privately that we will do everything we can to get their citizens out unharmed.”

“Assuring the Americans is, of course, one thing-” began Nevsky.

“No, Comrade, excuse me, but we must do more than give assurances; we must act effectively to get those Americans out.”

“Suppose you succeed, Comrade?” asked Nevsky, quietly and without inflection.

“Then we will have shown ourselves helpful to the Americans and responsible to a world fed up with terrorism.”

“And to the Arabs?”

“The Arabs give lip service to Baruni’s revolution, because they fear him. If we deny him a portion of the stage, the others will thank us, although of course, not publicly. Moreover, if we fail to act and the Americans give Baruni, with his Soviet arsenal and his Soviet advisers, a severe mauling, the other black-asses will thank the Americans, and not us.”

The General Secretary nodded with a shadow of his old vigor, and smiled. “Your ideas deserve consideration, Ilya Antonovich! Don’t you agree, Mikhail Ivanovich?” Nevsky nodded dutifully, his slight smile fixed. “Good. Let us meet and talk further this evening. And now, you are closest to the sideboard, Ilya Antonovich. Why don’t you bring us some vodka?”

Doryatkin rose and smiled broadly as he turned toward the sideboard to pick up the tray with the three different bottles of vodka and glasses. He hadn’t won yet, but he had scotched the KGB paper. Later he would present his own, and with any luck at all, the Defense Minister would be at the meeting and would support him.