Chapter 59
Situation Room
The White House
Washington, D.C.
“Yermilov has agreed to a call,” Mary Pat said. “Connection in five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” Ryan commented. “Quicker than I expected.”
He exchanged a knowing look with his DNI.
Diplomacy always had its nuances. When dealing with Russia, in Ryan’s considerable experience, it was something near an art form.
He and the NSC had spent the best part of an hour getting their intelligence ducks in a row, and after some debate, Ryan had decided the best course of action was a one-on-one call with the Russian president.
It would be a cagey interaction, as they always were, but he wanted to get a sense for two things. Was the Russian Federation behind this plot? And whether or not that was the case, would Yermilov be willing to help end it?
Minutes earlier, the White House communications staff had made a request for immediate contact through formal channels.
The quick response from Yermilov was the first signal to be parsed.
It was the middle of the night in Moscow.
Had they awakened Yermilov from a sound sleep?
Would he be surprised, even concerned, about an urgent call from his American counterpart at such an hour?
Or had Yermilov already been awake, perhaps following the events in North Africa? Maybe he was expecting a call.
Malenkov’s role in the pending radiological disaster was backed by rock-solid evidence.
Yet it seemed highly unlikely that this plot was a mere grab for self-enrichment on the oil markets.
Cui bono? No nation on earth had more to gain from a closure of the Suez than the Russian Federation.
It was Ryan’s job in the coming minutes to tease whatever truths he could out of the Russian president. Or barring that, see through the lies.
Admiral Kent said, “You had asked about the nearest Russian naval asset, Mr. President. The Admiral Makarov is the closest ship, a frigate from the Black Sea Fleet. She’s rounding Crete on her way to the Bosporus.”
“What would be her surface-to-air capability?”
“Are you asking whether the Makarov could engage these drones if they got airborne?”
“In theory.”
“She’d have a standard load of twenty-four SA-N-7s, but those only have a range of thirty to forty nautical miles. The corridor between Al-Jaghbub Airfield and the Suez…that’s at least two hundred miles away from where the Makarov is steaming at the moment. No way she could intervene.”
“Actually, that’s useful,” the President said. “The Makarov might be too far away, but that’s not the point. It’s a conceivable response.”
Mary Pat said, “You’re more interested in Yermilov’s reaction to the idea.”
“That I am.”
“Sixty seconds to going live,” said the Air Force lieutenant colonel coordinating the comms.
Ryan shifted to the “hot seat” on the far end of the room.
An impressive executive chair was backed by an American flag on a staff, yet the background was otherwise neutral.
Only the President would be in view to Yermilov, but the entire Situation Room would hear their conversation.
And there’s another point of attack, Ryan thought.
Determining if there’s anyone else in the room with the Russian president.
This was gamesmanship at its highest level. And as Ryan had learned years ago, Nikita Yermilov was a tournament-level player.
The main screen blinked to life and the president of the Russian Federation appeared.
He looked back at Ryan with a sharp gaze from behind a hardwood desk.
It wasn’t his office in the Kremlin, but Yermilov, too, was backed by a flag.
The usual stagecraft. Ryan saw no signs of a five-o’clock shadow or rumpled hair, and the Russian didn’t appear to have dressed hastily.
And just like that, the first point was established.
This wasn’t a man who’d been rousted out of bed in the small hours of the morning.
Ryan said, “My apologies if I woke you, Mr. President, but a matter has arisen that carries serious implications for the security of both our countries.”
“I was sleeping, yes. But I know you would not call without good reason. What matter do you speak of?” Yermilov’s English was decent if a bit halting. CIA interpreters would later analyze every word microscopically, hunting for possible missed usages or tells.
“We have reason to believe that an attack is imminent on the Suez Canal.”
“The Suez? How can a canal be attacked?”
“We believe drones may be sent to disperse a radiological agent that could contaminate some part of it. This has the potential to shut down the canal for many years.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Yermilov responded. “Your Israeli friends again? I hear they have had their eye on digging a canal of their own as an alternate route between the seas.”
Ryan sensed no wavering, yet something in that response seemed less than spontaneous. He pressed ahead. “The man running this operation is Andrei Malenkov.”
“Malenkov? How do you know this?”
Ryan let those words hang in the air for a long moment. “We were given proof of his involvement by Gunther Klaus, who has for years been running the foreign finances of your GRU. And as I suspect you know, Klaus was also the subject of a recent GRU manhunt in Tangier.”
Yermilov’s expression turned severe. Yet he made his first error. Ryan saw his eyes flick past the camera and focus on something beyond. Probably a note from an adviser.
“I know nothing about plots with drones, but I can tell you that Klaus is a thief. The fact that he wears an expensive suit and does his stealing on the exchanges doesn’t put him above the law. Klaus has committed financial crimes, and he will answer for them.”
“And Malenkov?” Ryan pressed.
“Malenkov no longer has any association with the Russian Federation. He left the service over a year ago. Whatever he might have gotten into as a private citizen is no concern of mine.”
“Private citizen,” Ryan repeated. “It occurs to me that this attack, should it succeed, would create a windfall to your nation in the oil and gas markets. Closure of the Suez would also amplify the importance of Arctic trade routes, which you have great control over.”
“What are you suggesting?” Yermilov said acidly.
“I am telling you that if this attack takes place, we will determine who is responsible. I also believe it is linked to the downing of our diplomatic aircraft in Turkey. When the guilty parties are identified, the United States shall give no quarter, bringing the full weight of our armed forces to bear if necessary.”
“These accusations are groundless! Russia has stood against such threats before!”
“And I will stand against state-sponsored terrorism!”
“You speak of terrorism? What of the freighter that was sunk in Tartus only days ago?”
“There are nine hundred more like it and all are vulnerable. Without them your economy would fail. The world is an increasingly dangerous place. It is in your power to make it safe. To end the escalation.” Ryan paused a beat, then downshifted to a less accusatory tone.
“Nikita, earlier this year you and I dealt with another crisis. In the course of it, I gave you advance warning of an attempt to replace you as the leader of Russia.”
Yermilov’s face went to stone. “I remember very well. But if you are trying to claim an owed favor…I should tell you that the chance of my being overthrown that day was not as great as you imagine.”
The two presidents locked eyes, neither yielding.
“Tell me what it is that you want,” Yermilov finally said.
“I want your help in stopping this madness.”
“What could I possibly do?”
“Perhaps you could find a way to get in touch with Malenkov. Order him to call off the strike.”
“I have no way to reach him—we haven’t spoken in a year. Surely America’s military can—”
“What about the Admiral Makarov?” Ryan said abruptly. “You could order her to intervene.” He watched Yermilov closely, but saw no reaction. The speed of his response, however, spoke volumes.
“There are no Russian navy ships anywhere near the Suez.”
“Funny you should know that.”
Yermilov brushed away the slight. “I am not convinced this scheme even exists, but as a display of goodwill, I will have the minister of defense look into it.”
“You’d better make it quick, Nikita. Because you are running out of time.”
Ryan gave a prearranged signal, tapping his index finger once on the table. The Air Force lieutenant colonel immediately cut the connection. The President looked expectantly down the conference table at the collective NSC.
“Well,” Mary Pat said, “that went badly.”
Van Damm added, “He knows more than he’s letting on. That bit about the Israeli canal—it’s true, of course, but it was a preplanned response to shift the blame.”
“I concur, Yermilov’s behind this,” said Admiral Kent. “It’s one thing to shoot yourself in the foot, but he’s using a damned elephant gun.”
“Maybe,” Ryan allowed. “At the very least, the man is on notice. When I said the guilty parties would be held accountable…I damn well meant it.”