Her eyes went round at the news. “Luke is dead, killed in space? I can’t really take in how horrible that is. Are you okay?”
When Kaz shrugged and nodded, Laura said, “I guess we had this conversation the night after Tom died.”
Her brow furrowed as she thought through the implications. “This means a whole new plan for surface ops.” Her frown deepened. “Sounds like less science is going to get done.”
Kaz nodded again. “You’re right. We need to come up with a new timeline tomorrow. One that Chad can support on his own, with maybe minimal help from the cosmonaut, Svetlana.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway,” Laura said. “The first woman on the Moon.”
There was a moment’s silence as they sat and pictured it, then Laura’s mouth cracked open suddenly in a wide yawn. She blinked. “The day’s catching up with me.” She stood and carried her plate and half-finished beer to the sink. She turned to meet Kaz’s eyes.
“I’m going to have a quick shower. How about you meet me when I come out?”
34
The Kremlin, Moscow
It wasn’t often that Vitaly Kalugin went inside the Kremlin. Rarer still that he was called there for an urgent meeting.
The Kremlin wasn’t physically far from his KGB office; just a 15-minute walk from Lubyanka, past the ornate, onion-domed St. Basil’s Cathedral on the corner of Red Square and through the primary business entrance at Spasskaya Bashnya, the Savior Tower. But on this fine April morning, he made it in 12. It was an important meeting. He glanced up at the large clock on the tower: 11:40. He wouldn’t be late.
Kremlin means “fortress,” and its 15-foot-thick, red brick walls implacably reinforced the name. Vitaly walked up to the guard at the base of the clock tower, showed his KGB badge and was allowed to enter. He followed the footpath through the deep gate and turned right.
It always surprised him how pastoral this fortress was inside its walls. Spring flowers were in bloom, and the long grove of trees, each neatly dedicated with a small sign to a Soviet hero, was coming into early leaf. The noisy gray grind of the vast city seemed suddenly distant, and the immensity of Mother Russia herself, still thawing from winter, almost unimaginable.
Vitaly checked the time yet again as he neared Building 14, the four-story yellow-and-white-painted Presidium. I need to calm myself! He deliberately slowed his pace before entering through the broad wooden doors and climbing the stone steps towards the meeting room.
The files were in his briefcase, clasped firmly in his left hand.
For an enormous, paper-driven bureaucracy, word had traveled fast. The night admin team at Lubyanka had taken the phone call asking what the KGB had on a cosmonaut, Senior Lieutenant Svetlana Yevgenyevna Gromova, and on two American military astronauts, Lieutenant Michael Esdale and Major Chad Miller. The immense filing system had churned on the names, flip cards leading to file folders in labyrinthine underground storage halls. Photostats had been made, the designated case officers identified, and papers distributed. When Vitaly had arrived at his desk that morning, early as usual, the Miller file had been on top of the pile in his inbox. A red bookmark was stapled to the front with “Srochna” typed on it. Urgent.
Vitaly had read the cover note, considered his moves over his first cup of tea and then started a cascade of revealing phone calls. All leading to now.
The hallway door was open. After a small pause, he entered the conference room.
The far wall was all windows, stretching from the low bank of radiators to the ceiling, to let in the natural light. The impact was marred somewhat by the drab view of an identical room across a small inner courtyard. Spider plants sat on the radiator sill, adding a touch of natural green. A long table paralleled the window. Apart from a young pomozhnitsa placing water glasses and teacups in front of each chair, he was alone.
He resisted the urge to recheck his watch. He chose an unassuming far corner seat, set down his briefcase and went to stand by the window. The server set up a tea trolley along the wall by the door and quietly left.
Vitaly looked out at the sunshine, reviewing the details in his mind, realizing this might be a watershed day in his career. He felt his heart start to race, and he scowled. Uspokoisya! Quiet yourself!
He heard a rumble of deep voices in the hall, and three people came in, led by a tall, wide man in a gray suit, his hair combed straight back off a broad forehead, thick, wire-rimmed glasses magnifying his tired eyes.
Vitaly was stunned. Andropov! The head of the KGB himself. The rumor was that he was soon to become a full Politburo member. What was he doing here? On the phone they’d said there’d be senior representation at the meeting, but he’d never thought it would be Yuri Vladimirovich himself. Bozha moy! Am I ready for this?