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“Submarines are sneaky devils,” Zhukov said, apparently determined to disagree with the foreign commissar because Gromyko had presumed to correct him. “The new ones, the ones with atomic motors, hardly need to surface at all. And even a diesel boat ”-he gave Gromyko another sour look-“with a breathing tube could be a long, long way from Australia before it had to fuel.”
However spiteful that was, it was also true. “No evidence, then,” Molotov said. No one disagreed with him. He wished someone would have.
“Ginger bombs are not something over which the Lizards will start a war, as they would over atomic weapons.” Gromyko coughed. “No one goes to war because he is made too happy.”
Beria chuckled at that. Zhukov remained grumpy. Molotov asked, “Were the Lizards made so happy, they could not carry on? If happiness of that sort incapacitates them, they may well fight to prevent it.”
“I believe that to be so, Comrade General Secretary,” Beria said. “Signals intercepts indicate that they feared nuclear missiles following on the heels of the ones loaded with ginger.”
Zhukov nodded. If he was annoyed enough at Gromyko to take Beria’s side, Molotov would have to do something about that. Before he could speak, Zhukov added, “Intercepts also indicate that the Lizards’ fleetlord was in Australia during the ginger attack. That must have made them even jumpier than they would have been anyhow.”
“Are you certain?” Beria leaned forward. “I have received no such reports.”
Zhukov looked smug. “Sometimes military intelligence can do what ordinary spies cannot. This is why we have the GRU as well as the NKVD.”
Beria scribbled something on a notepad, then angrily tore off the sheet, ripped it to shreds, and threw it away. Molotov sat motionless. Inside, though, he was grinning from ear to ear. He hadn’t even needed to turn Zhukov and Beria against each other; they’d taken care of it for themselves. And a good thing, too, he thought. Anything he could do to keep the Red Army and the NKVD at odds with each other, he would. And if he didn’t have to… so much the better.
Gromyko coughed. “In another matter, I have heard that there was an attempt to hijack the nuclear bomb the Jews are said to have in Poland. I am given to understand that it failed.”
“Too bad,” Molotov said insincerely.
“Not necessarily,” Zhukov said. “Some of those Poles might want to use the bomb against us, not the Lizards.”
“That is an unpleasant thought,” Molotov said in the same tone of voice he’d used before. “Even so, the greater the instability within Poland, the greater the advantages for us.” Everyone nodded at that. Molotov added, “This merely proves the nationalists’ incompetence. Knowing them to be ineffective is valuable for us. Were they better at what they do, they would be more dangerous.”
“Were they better at what they do, they would be Nazis,” Gromyko said.
Molotov nodded. “Many of them would like to be Nazis. Many of them, in 1939, were even more reactionary than the Nazis. Spending a couple of years under German rule would have been a useful corrective for that. But they have been under Lizard control for a generation now: time enough to forget such lessons. They will cause the Lizards trouble one day before too long, and that means they will also cause trouble for the Germans and us.”
“Then why,” Beria asked, “did you authorize our operative to tell the nationalists where the Jews were hiding their bomb?”
Before answering, Molotov weighed the startled expression on Zhukov’s face and the stony one on Gromyko’s. Gromyko looked that stony only when concealing what he really thought. Here he was probably concealing horror. Molotov did not look toward Beria. Maybe the NKVD chief would prove smug, maybe he would manage to hold in what he was thinking. But, just as Molotov stirred up dissension among his advisors, so Beria was trying to rouse dissension against the General Secretary. Yes, Lavrenti Pavlovich wanted to follow Himmler to the top.
“Why?” Molotov said, letting none of that show in his face or his voice. “Because I expected the reactionaries to fail and be discredited: a bomb like this early German model weighs a good many tonnes, and is not easy to move. And even if the nationalists did succeed in stealing it, they are likelier to use it against the Lizards or the Jews or the Nazis than against us. A small risk, I thought-and I was right.”
Zhukov relaxed. Gromyko went right on showing the world nothing. And Beria-Beria fumed. Like so many from down in the Caucasus, he had trouble holding on to his temper. Stalin had been the same way. Stalin, though, had been even more frightening. Molotov used Zhukov and Gromyko to check Beria. No one had been able to check Stalin, not in anything that really mattered.
Perhaps realizing he was checked now, Beria changed the subject: “Comrade General Secretary, I am pleased to report that we have successfully delivered a sizable shipment of arms to the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.”
“That is good news,” Molotov agreed. “I am given to understand, however, that Mao’s emissary to the United States still attracts a good deal of favorable notice in the American press, and that it is likely President Warren will try to get weapons through to the People’s Liberation Army.”
“If you want her assassinated, I will see what I can do,” Beria said. “Blaming it on the Lizards should not be too difficult.”
“Assassinations have dangerous and unpredictable consequences,” Gromyko said. “They are a strategy of last resort, not one of first instance. The risks here outweigh the benefits.”
“How so?” Beria said defiantly.
“America can never have the influence in China we do,” the foreign commissar replied. “Never, with geography as it is and politics as they are now. U.S. access to the mainland of Asia is too limited. The Japanese Empire and the Pacific Ocean prevent it from being anything else-especially when Japan has her own ambitions in China, which she does. We, on the other hand, can penetrate the Chinese frontier at any point of our choosing along thousands of kilometers. Let the Americans do the Lizards in China a little harm. It is all they can do.”
“A reasonable answer, I think, Lavrenti Pavlovich,” Molotov said. “Your comments? Counterarguments?”
“Never mind.” Beria turned his head to glare at Gromyko. The chandeliers overhead made the lenses of his spectacles look like opaque golden ellipses to Molotov. Yes, a barn owl, Molotov thought. That’s what he reminds me of. Gromyko looked back at Beria, imperturbable as always.
Molotov dismissed the meeting a few minutes later. He had a better sense now of what the Soviet Union should and should not try to do. He’d also kept his subordinates divided. As he lit a cigarette, he wondered which was more important.
13
“No, I’m sorry, Karen,” Major Sam Yeager said into the telephone, “but I can tell you right now that Jonathan isn’t going to be around tomorrow night. There’s a reception scheduled downtown, and he’s got to be there with Barbara and me.”
“Oh,” Karen said in a dull voice, and then, “Is it another reception for these Chinese women? I’d thought they’d have gone home by now.”
“Not for a while yet,” Yeager answered, which, he realized too late, was probably more than he should have said.
“The one my age-” Karen began. After a moment, she sighed and said, “I’d better go. I’ve got studying to do. Goodbye, Mr. Yeager.”
“Goodbye,” Sam said, but he was talking into a dead telephone. With a sigh of his own, he hung up. Sitting on the bed beside him, Barbara gave him a quizzical look. He shook his head. “Karen’s jealous of Liu Mei, that’s what it is.”
“Oh, dear.” Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Does she have reason to be jealous, do you think?”
“Why are you asking me? The one you need to ask is Jonathan.” Yeager held up a hasty hand. “I know, I know-he’ll say, ‘None of your business.’ I probably would have said the same thing when I was his age-but when I was nineteen, I was out on the road playing ball, making my own living.”
“Not so easy to do that
nowadays,” Barbara said.
“No, especially if you can’t hit a curveball,” Sam said, a little sadly. Jonathan wasn’t a terrible sandlot player, but he’d never make a pro, not in a million years.
Barbara said, “Maybe he is sweet on Liu Mei. You used to have to drag him to these receptions. Now he goes without any fuss, and the two of them do spend a lot of time together.”
“I know. Wouldn’t that be something, though?” Yeager shook his head in slow wonder. “Bobby Fiore’s kid…”
“Who is half Chinese,” Barbara said with brisk feminine practicality. “Who was raised in China-except when she was raised by the Lizards-who doesn’t speak much English, and who’s going back to China some time in the not too indefinite future.”
