Siro by David Ignatius (short books to read txt) 📕

terrified that the United States someday will launch a satellite that can broadcast television pictures across the Soviet Union. I know that from a friend of mine who works at Central Scientific Research Institute No. 50, in Bolshevo outside Moscow. He says that a few years ago the Politburo ordered his entire laboratory to stop work on anti-satellite weapons and find some way to prevent a television satellite from transmitting its pictures.”

“Is that so,” said Anna, trying to commit to memory the name and location of the institute. “What did they recommend?”

“Nothing. They said it was impossible, without shooting the satellite down.”

“But there isn’t any TV satellite over the Soviet Union.”

“No, but there is a television satellite over Europe, and there will be more.”

“Maybe so. But what good does it do you? You couldn’t pick up the signals in the Soviet Union. The KGB would spot a satellite dish in a minute.”

“Of course they would. But, my darling Miss Morgan, you do not need a satellite dish. You can use something else, no bigger than the top of this table.” He pointed to a small end table beside the couch.

“Nonsense.”

“It is called a phased-array television antenna. You can tune it, like a dish, to receive satellite pictures. But you point it electronically, rather than physically. You can hang it flat against the wall, or lay it on top of the roof. It’s practically invisible.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am completely serious. This is a very simple device, but unfortunately it is not yet sold commercially. I thought that perhaps your foundation could help us obtain one.”

“What would you do with it?”

“We would use it to connect Yerevan with the world. We would do it in secret at first. Set up the antenna with a video recorder, somewhere the KGB could not find it. Each night we would monitor the news of the world, and send a summary to our friends at the television station in Yerevan. After a while, maybe we would send them a bit of videotape, with pictures of some of the places in the news. And then, if they could be trusted, some more. And then we would send the whole cassette over, to use on Armenian television.

“And not just the news. Our people want to know what the world is reading, and what it is watching at movie theaters, and listening to at the concert halls. We want to learn about a world that is not bounded by the Caucasus, or the absurdities of Communism, or the tragedies of Ottoman history. We want to live in the present, with the rest of the world, without Turkish ghosts at the door. Then we can join the world of Europe and America, at last.”

“It’s a wonderful dream, Aram,” said Anna. “But you would never get away with it. The authorities would discover what you were doing and stop you the minute the foreign pictures were broadcast on Armenian television.”

“Don’t be so sure. Armenians are patriots. That is the thing about a people who have truly suffered. There is not one of us who would stand with Moscow against the Armenian nation.”

“But ultimately you would need the cooperation of all the people who produce Armenian television, and all the people who watch it.”

“So? To be an Armenian is to be a member of the conspiracy. It is that simple. We are ready. All we need is your help in obtaining the right kind of antenna.”

Anna wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously. It still sounded crazy, although somewhat less so than she had first thought. But it occurred to her, looking at Aram, that it didn’t really matter what she thought of the idea. It was his dream. Her only job—as an intelligence officer—was to help him realize it.

“Assuming we were willing to help,” she said, “what would you want us to do?”

“Aha!” answered Antoyan. “I hoped you would ask that.” He rummaged in his coat pocket and removed a sheet of paper covered with a handwritten wiring diagram.

“One of my friends prepared this,” he said. “It is simplicity itself.”

“Who is your friend?”

“I am sorry. I cannot tell you. He is an Armenian scientist, like me, but I cannot say more than that.”

“Is he a Soviet citizen, or French, or what?”

“Shhhh,” said Antoyan. “No more. You do not need to know anything about the man, because you have here the product of his research.” He pointed to the diagram and its precisely drawn circuits.

“Each of these points is a tiny antenna,” he explained. “There are many hundreds of them, all interconnected. When they are coordinated by a computer, they can be tuned to receive television signals with great precision, even when the antenna is not perpendicular to the waves.”

“I’m sorry,” said Anna, “but this is lost on me. I failed physics.”

“Take my word for it. The circuitry is simple. The only hard part is the computer. If your people build it, it will work. The real problem isn’t building it, but getting it into the country. Now, the question is: Can you do it?”

“Maybe,” said Anna. She was trying to be tough, trying to hold on to some measure of control.

“ ‘Maybe’ is not enough. Can you do it?”

“I will try. I can’t make any promises. I work for an organization. I have to get the approval of other people. This is the kind of thing they’ve approved in the past, but I can’t be sure.”

“Trying is not enough. I must have an answer.”

Anna stared out the window of her suite toward a small green garden, enclosed in a narrow courtyard. She desperately wanted to say yes. In a sense, this was the moment she had dreamed of when she joined the agency, a moment in which idealism and activism fused together.

“What is the answer?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

“What does ‘yes’ mean?”

“Yes, I will take this drawing to my colleagues and urge them to do what you want.”

“And if they say no?”

“They won’t say no. It’s not worth the trouble it would cause