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"Bob," said Hood, "we need you to help us tie this up with the Russians. One of their officers is on the extraction craft. We'd prefer if he could be snuck out of--"

"Paul, are you effin' crazy?" Herbert yelled. He rolled forward menacingly. "Give me a second to swallow this shit!"

"No," Rodgers said in a firm voice. "Paul is absolutely right. We're not finished yet. Lowell has to inform Congress about what's happened, Martha has to work her charms on the Russians, the President has to be briefed, and if the press finds out about this-- as I'm sure they will-- Ann will have to deal with them. We can mourn later. Right now, we've all got work to do."

Herbert looked from Rodgers to Hood. The red from his face had pooled over his collar. "Yeah, right." He turned his chair around. "Gotta keep the wheels of government spinning, with blood for oil. Nobody did much for me either when I got half blown up. Why should Charlie be any different?"

"Because this is what would have made him feel like he hadn't died for nothing," Rodgers shouted at Herbert's back. "We'll honor Charlie Squires, I promise you."

Herbert stopped and his head slumped forward. "Yeah, I know," he said without turning. "It just hurts like a bitch, you know?"

"I know," Rodgers said quietly as tears finally spilled from his eyes. "I surely do know that."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

Tuesday, 4:15 P.M., Moscow

Five minutes after the Pentagon intercepted the communication from the Russian jets to their base, Interior Minister Dogin received a call from Air Force General Dhaka's office.

"Mr. Minister," said the caller, "this is General Major Dragun. The intercept craft you requested found no sign of foreign aircraft. Only military and civilian passengers from the train."

"Then the team must still be down there," Dogin said.

"Moreover," Dragun persisted, "the General has asked me to inform you that a train you commandeered in Vladivostok has been spotted at the bottom of the Obernaya Gorge, east of Khabarovsk."

"In what condition?" Dogin asked, even though he knew the answer. Damn Orlov and his team, he knew.

Dragun replied, "The train has been destroyed, utterly."

Dogin's mouth opened as though he'd been punched. It was several moments before he could draw breath to speak. "Let me talk to the General," he croaked.

"Unfortunately," said Dragun, "General Dhaka is in a meeting with representatives of President Zhanin. It will be quite some time before they're finished. Would there be a message-- Mr. Minister?"

Dogin shook his head slowly. "No, General Major. There will be no message."

"Very good," Dragun said. "Good afternoon, sir."

Dogin slashed the cradle with the side of his hand.

It's over, he thought, all of it. His plan, his dreams, his new Soviet Union. And when Shovich learned that his money had been lost, his life would be over as well.

Dogin lifted his hand. When he heard a dial tone, he buzzed his assistant and asked him to get Sergei Orlov on the phone.

Or will he avoid me too? Dogin wondered. Maybe the Soviet Union had returned, though not in the way he'd expected.

Orlov came on immediately. "I was about to phone you, Minister. There's been a shoot-out in the museum. Colonel Rossky is in very critical condition, and one of his operatives, Valya Saparov, has been slain."

"The perpetrator--?"

"An agent who came in via Helsinki," said Orlov. "She escaped into a crowd of striking workers. The militia is looking for her now." He hesitated. "Do you know about the train, Minister?"

"I do," said Dogin. "Tell me, Sergei. Have you heard from your son?"

Orlov's voice was cosmonaut-professional. "There has been no communication with the people from the train. I know they were taken off-- but I don't know about Nikita."

"I believe he's all right," Dogin said confidently. "There's been so much carnage, like in Stalingrad. Yet one or two flowers always survive."

"I hope you're fight," said Orlov.

Dogin took a deep breath, trembled letting it out. "I appear to