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ty airport。 Buildings were going up。 Some of the first things that had been sent in were the ponents of a sawmill； and one thing you didn't have to import into this region was wood。 Large swaths were being cleared； and the trees cut down to clear them were almost instantly transformed into lumber for building。 First； the sawmill workers set up their own rough cabins。 Now； administrative buildings were going up； and in four months； they expected to have dormitories for over a thousand of the miners who were already lining up for the highly paid job of digging this gold out of the ground。 The Russian government had decided that the workers here would have the option of being paid in gold coin at world…price； and that was something few Russian citizens wanted to walk away from。 And so expert miners were filling out their application forms in anticipation of the flights into the new strike。 Bondarenko wished them luck。 There were enough mosquitoes there to carry off a small child and suck him dry of blood like mini…vampires。 Even for gold coin； it was not a place he'd want to work。
The oil field was ultimately more important to his country； the general knew。 Already； ships were fighting their way through the late…spring ice； shepherded by navy icebreakers like the Yamal and Rossiya； to deliver the drilling equipment needed to mence proper exploration for later production。 But Bondarenko had been well briefed on this subject。 This oil field was no pipe dream。 It was the economic salvation of his country； a way to inject huge quantities of hard currency into Russia； money to buy the things it needed to smash its way into the twenty…first century； money to pay the workers who'd striven so hard and so long for the prosperity they and their country deserved。
And it was Bondarenko's job to guard it。 Meanwhile； army engineers were furiously at work building harbor facilities so that the cargo ships would be able to land what cargo they had。 The use of amphibious…warfare ships； so that the Russian navy could land the cargo on the beaches as though it were battle gear； had been examined but discarded。 In many cases； the cargo to be landed was larger than the main battle tanks of the Russian army； a fact which had both surprised and impressed the manding general of the Far East Military District。
One consequence of all this was that most of Bondarenko's engineers had been stripped away for one project or another； leaving him with a few battalions organically attached to his fighting formations。 And he had uses of his own for those engineers； the general grumbled。 There were several places on the Chinese border where a couple of regiments could put together some very useful obstacles against invading mechanized forces。 But they'd be visible； and too obviously intended to be used against Chinese forces； Moscow had told him； not caring； evidently； that the only way they could be used against the People's Liberation Army was if that army decided to e north and liberate Russia！
What was it about politicians？ Bondarenko thought。 Even the ones in America were the same； so he'd been told by American officers he'd met。 Politicians didn't really care much about what something did； but they cared a great deal about what it appeared to do。 In that sense； all politicians of whatever political tilt all over the world were munists； Bondarenko thought with an amused grunt； more interested in show than reality。
〃When will they be finished？〃 the general…colonel asked。
〃They've made amazing progress；〃 Colonel Aliyev replied。 〃The routes will be fully roughed in…oh； another month or six weeks； depending on weather。 The finishing work will take much longer。〃
〃You know what worries me？〃
〃What is that； rade General？〃 the operations officer asked。
〃We've built an invasion route。 For the first time； the Chinese could jump across the border and make good time to the north Siberian coast。〃 Before； the natural obstacles…mainly the wooded nature of the terrain…would have made that task difficult to the point of impossibility。 But now there was a way to get there； and a reason to go there as well。 Siberia now truly was something it had often been thought to be； a treasure house of cosmic proportions。 Treasure house； Bondarenko thought。 And I am the keeper of the keys。 He walked back to his helicopter to plete his tour of the route being carved out by army engineers。
CHAPTER 36
SORGE Reports
President Ryan awoke just before six in the morning。 The Secret Service preferred that he keep the shades closed； thus blocking the windows； but Ryan had never wanted to sleep in a coffin； even a large one； and so when he awoke momentarily at such times as 3：53 he preferred to see some sort of light outside the window； even if only the taillights of a patrolling police car or a lonely taxicab。 Over the years； he'd bee accustomed to waking early。 That surprised him。 As a boy； he'd always preferred to sleep late； especially on weekends。 But Cathy had been the other way； like most doctors； and especially most SURGEONs： early to rise； and get to the hospital； so that when you worked on a patient you had all day to see how he or she tolerated the procedure。
So； maybe he'd picked it up from her； and in some sort of perverse one…upmanship he'd e to open his eyes even earlier。 Or maybe it was a more recently acquired habit in this damned place； Jack thought； as he slid off the bed and padded off to the bathroom as another damned day started； this one like so many others； too damned early。 What the hell was the matter？ the President wondered。 Why was it that he didn't need sleep as much anymore？ Hell； sleep was one of the very few pure pleasures given to man on earth； and all he wanted was just a little more of it。。。
But he couldn't have it。 It was just short of six in the morning； Jack told himself as he looked out the window。 Milkmen were up； as were paperboys。 Mailmen were in their sorting rooms； and in other places people who had worked through the night were ending their working days。
That included a lot of people right here in the White House： protective troops in the Secret Service； domestic staff； some people Ryan knew by sight but not by name； which fact shamed him somewhat。 They were his people； after all； and he was supposed to know about them； know their names well enough to speak them when he saw the owners thereof…but there were just too many of them for him to know。 Then there were the uniformed people in the White House Military Office…called Wham…o by insiders…who supplemented the Office of Signals。 There was； in fact； a small army of men and women who existed only to serve John Patrick Ryan…and through him the country as a whole； or that was the theory。 What the hell； he thought； looking out the window。 It was light enough to see。 The streetlights were clicking off as their photoelectric sensors told them the sun was ing up。 Jack pulled on his old Naval Academy robe； stepped into his slippers…he'd only gotten them recently； at home he just walked around barefoot； but a President couldn't do that in front of the troops； could he？…and moved quietly into the corridor。
There must have been some sort of bug or motion