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much as a T-2 from the 94th Flight Training Squadron out of Colorado Springs dropping in. More important arrivals were even less frequent. Much had changed at Falcon. Much had changed in the world. One needed to look no farther than the trio of men walking through the soundproof steel door to find validation of that truism.
    “The Russian Defense Minister and their top missile guy hanging out in Cheyenne for two weeks.” Granger shook his head. “You pulled off something I never thought I’d see.”
    “It wasn’t just me,” Bud said, getting a “Yeah, right” look from the general. “Well...
    Granger heard the door into the building close with a metallic slap. “Old Vasiliy knows how to sweet-talk, doesn’t he?”
    “If he can mellow General Walker, I’m all for it. In any event, this should be done when the Japanese say so.”
    Granger’s head shook again, once more in astonishment. “I’m still surprised this hasn’t leaked out on their end. They’re gabby little buggers, you know. Love to brag about their coups, especially of this magnitude.”
    “They also respect the almighty buck, and this contract is worth a couple billion dollars to them,” Bud explained. That it was a couple billion American dollars made it all the more lucrative to the contractors, Sony and Panasonic among them. The complete replacement of the signal-processing end of the Soviet-era Ballistic Missile Early Warning System—the huge radar antennae facing north and west from the frozen wastes of the country would be retained—was a monumental undertaking that would bring the Russian system on par with its American counterpart. During the changeover, though, the nation would be half-blind, able to detect launches from its array of early-warning satellites but unable to confirm any threats by radar. That was where Bud had come in, suggesting that high-ranking Russian military personnel could be given access to one of the command centers from which the United States would wage nuclear war to ensure that the weapons slated for such use were sitting benignly in their silos, on their tarmacs, and tied alongside their piers. The latter, pulling the entire U.S. fleet of ballistic-missile subs in from their unknown patrol areas, had been the hardest to achieve. After protests from people like General Walker, the other CINCs, and, initially, Granger himself had been overcome, the first steps in the highly secret operation to upgrade the Russian BMEWS had begun. Japanese contractors—any from the United States had to be ruled out, for obvious reasons—under Russian and American supervision, designed the components and software in record time, and were at this minute awaiting the final word to begin dismantling the old to make room for the new, in figurative ways as well as literal.
    “Us, the Russians, the Japanese, and the Chinese,” Granger said, listing the non-European parties who were knowledgeable of the operation. “What did Beijing have to say about all this?”
    “Good luck,” Bud answered. “The thought of a nuclear exchange”—“exchange” sounded much more palatable than “war”—“starting by accident thrills them as much as it does anybody. Besides, the system pointing south will be unaffected; it was upgraded in ‘89. This is good for everybody, General.” Bud, old “Colonel DiContino” from his Air Force days, couldn’t bring himself to call a former superior by his first name. “The world will be a safer place when our neighbor can see if we throw rocks over his fence as well as we can see him.”
    Granger saw that the Gulfstream, which would take him and the NSA back to Washington, was being refueled from a tank truck—Falcon’s underground pumping system was now out of service and unlikely to be repaired. The Base Closure and Realignment Committee was sure to recommend its demise by the end of the following year. So much that was familiar was disappearing. The general knew it was necessary, but that