Admiral Hauch shrugged wearily. Three nights of midnight meetings were darkly written upon his face. “Joe, would you, please?” Joseph Vazzo extracted a notebook from his briefcase. Opening the binder inscribed “Confidential Cables,” he addressed the midnight assembly of officers and diplomats. The ventilators filled the plastic cave with the chill, scentless sigh of filtered air. The man from State adjusted his bifocals. “Following our Vienna connection, the Soviets informed us through direct communications that they are agreed to maintaining a secrecy lid on LACE, but at a price.” Even the somnolent Marine stenographer opened his eyes to hear what his fingers were tapping as the diplomat continued. “The Russians will observe a news quarantine only if they are permitted to have a cosmonaut crew on-station in space for the Intelsat-6 operation. I am advised that a Soyuz, Block-TM spacecraft is already stacked and ready for launch . . .” “Do the bastards understand the risk to their crew, Mr.
