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Jack turned away from the speaker-phone. Now he was losing it, Goodley thought, now Ryan was pale and sick-looking. The Deputy Director of Central Intelligence stared out the windows at the CIA courtyard and the largely empty building beyond. He took a few deep breaths and turned back.

"Mr President," Jack said under taut control, "our opinion is that President Narmonov is in control of the Soviet government. We do not know the origin of the explosion in Denver, but there is no information in our possession that would lead us to believe that it was a Soviet weapon. Our opinion is that for the Soviets to undertake such an operation would be lunacy, and even if their military were in control - after a coup about which we have no information at all, sir - such a miscalculation is unlikely to the point of - the likelihood is so low as to approach zero, sir. That is CIA's position."

"And Kadishev?" Fowler asked.

"Sir, we have evidence just developed yesterday and today to suggest that his reports may be false. We cannot confirm one of the meetings that should -"

"One! You can't confirm one meeting?" Elliot asked.

"Will you let me talk?" Jack snarled, losing it again. "Damn it, it was Goodley who did this work, not me!" He paused for a breath. "Dr Goodley noted some subtle differences in the nature of the reports and decided to check up on them. All of Kadishev's reports supposedly came from face-to-face meetings with Narmonov. In one case we cannot reconcile the schedules of both men. We cannot be sure they met in that case at all. If they didn't meet, then Kadishev is a liar."

"I suppose you've considered the possibility that they met in secret?" Elliot inquired acidly. "Or do you think that a subject like this would be handled as a routine business matter! Do you think he'd be discussing a possible coup in a routine scheduled meeting!"

"I keep telling you that his information has never been confirmed, not by us, not by the Brits, not by anybody."

"Ryan, would you expect that a conspiracy leading to a military coup, especially in a country like the Soviet Union, would be handled in the utmost secrecy?" Fowler asked.

"Of course."

"Then would you necessarily expect to have it confirmed by other sources?" Fowler asked, talking like a lawyer in a courtroom.

"No, sir," Ryan admitted.

"Then this is the best information we have, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mr President, if it's true."

"You say that you have no firm evidence to confirm it?"

"Correct, Mr President."

"But you have no hard information to contradict it, either, do you?"

"Sir, we have reasons -"

"Answer my question!"

Ryan's right hand compressed into a tight, white fist. "No, Mr President, nothing hard."

"And for the past few years he's given us good, reliable information?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, based on the record of Mr Kadishev, this is the best available information?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. I suggest, Dr Ryan, that you try to develop additional information. When you get it, I'll listen to it." The line clicked off.

Jack stood slowly. His legs were stiff and sore from the stress of the moment. He took one step to the window and lit a cigarette. "I blew it," he told the world. "Oh, Christ, I've blown it "

"Not your fault, Jack," Goodley offered.

Jack spun around. "That'll look real good on my fucking tombstone, won't it? "It wasn't his fault" the fucking world blew up!"

"Come on, Jack, it's not that bad."

"Think so? Did you hear their voices?"

The Soviet carrier Kuznetzov didn't launch aircraft in the manner of U.S. carriers. Rather, it had a ski-jump bow configuration. The first MiG-29 raced forward from its starting point and went up the angled ramp and into the air. This manner of takeoff was hard on pilots and aircraft, but it worked. Another aircraft followed, and both turned to head east. They'd barely gotten to altitude when the flight leader noted a buzz in his headphones.

"Sounds like an emergency beeper on the guard frequency," he said to his wingman. "Sounds like one of ours."