The Romanov succession

“They’ll be Secret Service-they know their jobs, they don’t get in the way.” The American’s wide face broke into a crooked grin. “It isn’t you I have to care about-it’s the goddamned operation. Christ I don’t like wars much.”

“It’s nobody’s favorite pastime.”

“I get a feeling it was Devenko’s.”

“I didn’t know you knew him.”

“I only met him once-in England a little while ago. I got the impression he was a little tilted that way.” Buckner went back to the file drawers and rifled a folder. “Your letter of resignation from the U.S. Army. Need a pen?”

“I’ll use my own.”

Filled with contradictory emotions he bent over the brief document, read it, hesitated momentarily and finally put his signature on it.

“Date it a week ago, while you’re at it. And sign the copy.”

When it was done Buckner took it from him and tossed the two copies carelessly on the corner of the desk. Alex returned to his chair and experienced a momentary cold hollowness: as if he were resigning from reality.

Buckner watched him quietly. “You’re on your own now-if anything goes wrong it’s your own neck. We had nothing to do with it.”

“Understood.”

“Okay, now I’m dealing with you as the official representative of an Allied military operation. You’ve got the same status as the Free French and the Free Poles. Which is to say however much status we choose to grant you. It makes things a little precarious for you. But I guess you can see it’s the only way we can do it. All right-brass tacks now. What are you going to need from us?”

By “us” Buckner meant the government from which Alex had resigned less than two minutes ago; it gave him a very strange feeling-as if suddenly he were in an alien capital.

“Right away I’ll want two men.”

“Americans?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sticky.”

“I want them for training and organization. They won’t go in with us.”

“I’ll see. Who are they?”

“Brigadier General John Spaight for one. He’s in command of-”

“I know who he is. Who’s the other one?”

“An Air Corps squadron commander by the name of Paul Johnson. They call him Pappy. It’s a heavy bomber squadron — the Thirty-fifth I think.”

Buckner was writing the names down. “Major? Colonel?”

“Actually I think he’s only a captain.”

“The Air Corps works in mysterious ways,” Buckner muttered as he scribbled. He looked up. “I’ll try. They may not want any part of it-it could cost them their commands.”

“Not if you put them on temporary detached duty with the assurance they’ll return to their current posts.”

“How long are you going to need them for?”

“Not more than ninety days.”

“What do you need these two particular guys for?”

Alex shook his head.

Buckner didn’t press it. “I take it you had time to get the details of the plan from Devenko before he died.”

“No. But it isn’t his plan. It’s my own.”

Buckner showed mild surprise. “They’re going along with that? They set a lot of store by Devenko, didn’t they?”

“I didn’t give them much of a choice.”

Buckner thought about that and nodded. “They haven’t exactly got a surplus of qualified commanders to choose from. Which makes your security all the more vital. If you get knocked off who else have they got?”

“I don’t know. Most of my generation hasn’t gone in for anything more serious than steeplechasing.”

“Uh-huh. So what are you going to man your force with-jockeys and playboys?”

“My brother and I had a White Russian outfit in Finland. I expect to recruit out of that pool.”

“Aren’t they scattered to hell and gone by now?”

“No,” Alex said. “I know where to find them.”

“There’s one thing more. The timetable.”

“I’ll have it as soon as I can.”

“I didn’t mean yours. I meant Hitler’s. Inside a month it’s going to start raining in Russia. Another month and that’ll turn to snow. It’s September now-by November it may have been decided. If Hitler takes Moscow you can forget your pipedream.”

“Hitler won’t take Moscow. Not that fast.”

“You have a private line to the Reichschancellery that tells you this in confidence?”

“I spent some time in China,” Alex said. “The Japanese are being absorbed there.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of vodka?”

“Stalin’s got some of his best divisions on the China border waiting for a Japanese strike. The Japanese aren’t going to turn that way. Zhukov has already put in requests for those troops to be transferred to the Moscow front. Stalin will sign the authorizations-maybe a week from now, maybe a month; it depends how close Guderian comes to Moscow.”

“The timetable still applies. Stalin’s ahead of the game once it’s decided for sure. Your object is to knock him over while he’s off balance-while the war’s still undecided. That gives you your deadline.”

“It’s not a deadline,” Alex said. “It’s only a gamble. You know how military ops go. You can’t predict a thing. You go by the odds. I think Stalin’s on a tightrope and I think he’s going to stay on it for quite a while.”

“But the longer he has the better his chances. To fall off or to reach the safe end.”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t let any grass grow under you.”

“I’m already in motion,” Alex said.

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