Sword of Shiva - Страница 24

The Secretary of Defense sighed heavily. “I hate to say it, sir, but I would too. Any leader with the power and ability to strike back would retaliate just as strongly. When somebody slams you that hard, you don’t trade punches. You crush them.”

“That, I’m afraid, is our answer,” Brenthoven said. “If India really does this… If they bring down the Three Gorges Dam, China is going to hit them with everything…”

His last word hung in the air, and no one had any doubt at all what ‘everything’ meant in this context.

President Wainwright sat back in his chair. “We’re missing something here,” he said.

“We’re in the early discovery phase on this, sir,” Brenthoven said. “We’re still missing a lot of things. It may take the intelligence agencies a while to develop corroborating sources, and assemble the critical details.”

“I’m not talking about details,” said the president. “And I’m not talking about independent confirmation of the facts.”

He looked at the enormous aerial view of the Three Gorges Dam on the display screen. “We’re missing a critical piece in the chain of logic.”

“I don’t think I’m following you, sir,” Brenthoven said.

“Mary just summed it up perfectly,” the president said. “You don’t sit around trading punches when somebody slams you that hard. You crush them. Right?”

Brenthoven nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I don’t claim to understand the mindset of the Indian government,” the president said. “But they can’t possibly be too blind to know what will happen if they cripple China with an assault of this magnitude. This entire plan is practically begging for nuclear retaliation. So why in the hell are they even thinking about it?”

No one offered an answer.

“We’re missing something here,” the president said again. “Some vital piece of logical thinking.”

The Chief of Naval Operations drummed the fingertips of his left hand lightly on the table top. “What if it’s not logical?” he asked. “Before that nutcase, Zhukov, bombed Pearl Harbor, I would have said that nobody is fanatical enough to do something that idiotic. But these days, Mr. President, I’m not quite as quick to underestimate the power of stupid and crazy.”

President Wainwright grimaced. “You’ve got a point there, Admiral” he said. “But — crazy or not — our friends in India have got something up their sleeve. And we had damned well better find out what it is…”

CHAPTER 24

EMBASSY OF INDIA

WASHINGTON, DC

THURSDAY; 27 NOVEMBER

5:15 PM EST

Gita Shankar, the Republic of India’s Ambassador to the United States, rose from her seat as the American National Security Advisor was ushered into her office. She came around her desk to meet him, and extended her hand to be shaken as he crossed the last few meters of carpet.

The ambassador wore a dark blue sari of raw silk, over a simple gray blouse and a pleated business skirt. The broad strip of rich fabric wound around her waist, and crossed her upper body diagonally, allowing the loose end to drape over her left shoulder in a businesslike approximation of the traditional fashion. Around her neck was a single strand of pearls, and her short black hair was drawn back to reveal matching earrings.

Ambassador Shankar smiled as her visitor accepted her proffered hand and shook it. “Welcome, Mr. Brenthoven,” she said. “It appears that we have coordinated our colors today.”

Gregory Brenthoven glanced down at the sleeve of his suit. It was almost exactly the same shade of gray as the ambassador’s blouse, and his blue Salvatore Ferragamo necktie was a surprisingly close match for the color of her sari.

Brenthoven smiled. “I phoned ahead, Madam Ambassador, to find out what you were wearing. Then I dashed home and dressed myself to match.”

The ambassador laughed, and then motioned him to a pair of sofas rendered in the British Colonial style that remained popular among representatives of the Indian government.

“Please,” the ambassador said. “Make yourself comfortable, and then tell me what takes you away from your family on such an important American holiday.”

Brenthoven seated himself on one sofa, and the ambassador chose a seat across from him, on the other sofa.

Brenthoven’s eyes made a quick sweep around the elegantly-appointed office. “I don’t want to sound melodramatic, Madam Ambassador, but is this room secure?”

This brought a raised eyebrow from the ambassador. “It should be reasonably secure,” she said. “My office is swept daily for electronic eavesdropping devices, and my security staff employs certain technical measures to disrupt remote surveillance by other means. I’m sure you’re accustomed to similar precautions in your own government buildings.”

“Of course,” Brenthoven said.

“And I’m equally sure,” the ambassador said, “you realize that such defenses only reduce the threat of hostile surveillance. They do not guarantee privacy.”

The American National Security Advisor hesitated. He was not a representative of the State Department, and he had no diplomatic credentials. He was also not a trusted confidant of the Indian government, which meant that the rules of protocol would not allow him to request the use of the embassy’s ‘bubble.’

Like nearly every other embassy in the world, the Indian chancery building was equipped with an acoustically-isolated Plexiglas security chamber with specialized coatings to repel electromagnetic radiation. In diplo-speak, such a chamber was commonly referred to as a bubble. Theoretically, a properly-designed bubble was immune to external surveillance devices, and virtually impossible to bug internally. In reality, the ceaseless evolution of technology meant that any room — no matter how carefully protected — was potentially vulnerable to eavesdropping. Even so, a properly maintained bubble was as close to absolute security as it was possible to come.

Ambassador Shankar had not missed Brenthoven’s not-too-casual visual sweep of her office, and she had no doubt that he was fishing for an invitation to use her embassy’s bubble. But he had asked for this appointment on very short notice, and had circumvented many of the political niceties in the process. He had also not offered any hints about the topic he intended to discuss, which gave the ambassador and her deputy chief of mission no opportunity to prepare an official position on whatever it was that he wanted to talk about.

In view of these diplomatic lapses — minor as they were — she was not inclined to grant the man any immediate favors. When he revealed the mysterious topic of this meeting, she might change her mind and suggest a recess to the bubble, if she judged that such a precaution was necessary. Until then, it wouldn’t kill the man to deal with a bit of discomfort.

“I’m afraid that I don’t speak Sanskrit,” Brenthoven said, “so I must ask you to forgive my poor pronunciation.”

The ambassador smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Of course.”

Brenthoven gave a final glance around the office and paused again before speaking. “Madam Ambassador, have you ever heard of a missile warhead with the codename ‘Rudrasya khaḍgaḥ’?”

Ambassador Shankar frowned slightly. “I don’t believe so.”

“It’s my understanding,” Brenthoven said, “that the phrase refers to a sword owned by the Hindu god, Shiva, when he manifests himself as Rudra — the bringer of storms, death, and destruction.”

“That sounds like a reasonable translation,” the ambassador said. “But I’m not aware of any missile with such a codename.”

“It’s a Next Generation Penetrator,” Brenthoven said. “It was developed by your country’s Defense Research and Development Organization, to attack and breach exceptionally-hardened targets, such as massively-reinforced underground bunkers, or armored concrete missile silos.”

The ambassador shifted slightly in her seat. She didn’t know where this conversation was going, but she was already becoming uncomfortable with the tone. “I will take your word for that,” she said. “I believe I have a solid fundamental grasp of my country’s military capabilities, but I can’t claim to know every detail of every weapon system under development.”

Her voice grew a fraction sharper. “Is the United States suddenly concerned that this warhead you speak of is somehow in violation of international laws or treaties?”

“Not at all,” Brenthoven said. “It’s my understanding that the Rudrasya khaḍgaḥ warhead design is perfectly legal under all existing agreements.”

The ambassador relaxed back into the sofa cushions. “Then, may I ask what the problem is? It must be something serious, for you to show such concern regarding the security of this conversation.”

“It is serious, Madam Ambassador,” Brenthoven said. “We have received credible indications that your military is planning to use a number of these advanced penetrator warheads to force a catastrophic failure of the Chinese Three Gorges Dam.”

“I have not been briefed on any such plan,” the ambassador said. “But my country is engaged in defensive combat operations against an unprovoked aggressor. India was not the instigator of the current hostilities, Mr. Brenthoven, as I’m sure you are aware. So — given your own admission that the proposed weapons are not prohibited by treaty or law, and also given the fact that we are reacting to the slaughter of an entire village of unarmed civilians — I’m curious to know why my country’s military intentions have suddenly attracted the attention of the United States Government. I don’t mean to sound abrupt, but how does this qualify as your business?”