behind the desk and crossed the office to a second door. "Come with me, please, Major."
The second door opened on a small, windowless briefing room, a gray steel map table centered in it. A single file folder was, in turn, centered on the table. A diagonal orange stripe ran across the file's gray cover, with a second bloodred bar down the spine.
As a security officer, Smyslov instantly recognized the document coding: Ultrasecret. Access by presidential authorization only.
Smyslov found himself wishing he still had his greatcoat. The office and the briefing room suddenly seemed colder.
Baronov gestured toward the file. "This is the March Fifth Event. It is possibly the single most critical state secret held by your motherland. Any unauthorized revelation of the contents of this file means an automatic death sentence. Is that understood?"
"Yes, General."
"You are now authorized access. Read it, Major. I will return for you shortly."
Baronov departed, locking the briefing room door behind him.
Smyslov circled the table, the room growing colder still. Sinking into a gray metal chair, he drew the file to him, his mind racing. March fifth? March fifth? There was something else about that date that he couldn't quite pull in, perhaps from a history class. Something foreboding.
He opened the untitled file.
The general gave the younger officer forty-five minutes. The file was not extensive, but Baranov recalled how, when he had been granted his authorization, he had gone through the documents twice in stunned disbelief.
In due course, Baranov rose from the desk again and unlocked the briefing room door. Major Smyslov still sat at the table, the closed file on the table before him. His face was pale under his tan, and he did not look up. His lips moved in a whisper. "My God...my God."
"It was much the same with me, Gregori Andriovitch," Baranov said gently. "There are perhaps thirty other men in the entirety of Russia who know of the full contents of that file. You and I are the thirty-first and the thirty-second."
The general closed and secured the soundproof door behind him and took the chair across from Smyslov.
The younger man looked up, mastering himself. "What are my orders, General? My true orders."
"Firstly, Major, I can now tell you that the anthrax reservoir is still aboard the aircraft. Obviously, it was never jettisoned. However, that is far from our primary concern in this affair. The March Fifth Event is!"
Smyslov's eyebrows arched. "I can see how that could be, sir."
"Attached to the American investigation group, you will be our point man on Wednesday Island," Baranov continued. "You will be our eyes and ears. We will be relying upon you to assess the situation there. But you will not be operating alone. A Naval Spetsnaz platoon, trained and equipped for arctic warfare, is being dispatched to the island by nuclear submarine. They will land shortly before your arrival, and they will deploy and remain in concealment. You will be given means to communicate with them, and they will await word from you."
"What...word am I supposed to give, General?"
"Concerning the March Fifth Event, Major. The Misha 124's political officer was under orders to destroy any and all evidence of the event at the crash site. However, he was also to destroy the aircraft and its anthrax warload as well. This plainly was not accomplished. Beyond this, all communication with Wednesday Island was lost before any confirmation of this sterilization was received."
"So the Misha 124's crew was never rescued?" Smyslov asked, his voice quiet.
"It was not feasible," Baronov replied with grim simplicity. "It is our profoundest hope that they eliminated all evidence of the March Fifth Event before...Your mission is to verify that this was accomplished. If such is the case, or if you can successfully destroy this evidence yourself, then the joint mission with the Americans to destroy the anthrax can proceed as overtly planned."
"But what if this evidence has not been or cannot be destroyed, sir, and what if this Colonel Smith and his people reach it first?"
"If the Americans learn of the March Fifth Event, Major, then they do not leave the island alive. You and the Spetsnaz platoon will see to this."
Smyslov came out of his chair. "You cannot be serious, General."
"Word of the Event must not be allowed to reach the world at large, Major, under any circumstances."
Smyslov groped for words, for alternatives. "General...I can fully understand the critical nature of the situation, but why not have the Spetsnaz go in immediately to procure this evidence before the Americans can arrive."