sue.
“Well, the President is going to ask you some tough questions, and I suggest that you answer him directly, and with the truth. No artifice this time.”
“What?”
“Jacqueline Belleau did not go to Moscow on her own to help McGarvey kill Tarankov, as you suggest, you sleazy bastard. The SDECE sent her to help find him. And as for Elizabeth, she was kidnapped by Tarankov’s people, who are probably going to use her as a human shield if they can’t use her to draw Kirk out of hiding. And as DCI it’s my fault as much as it is yours. So I’m going to have to answer some tough questions as well.”
Ryan’s face turned ashen.
“Get your ass in gear, the President is waiting for us.”
Lubyanka Metro Station
Jacqueline’s Russian driver got her to Dzerzhinsky Square at 2:45 a.m. They’d encountered a great deal of military and Militia activity downtown but they weren’t stopped until they reached the barricades across from the metro station.
She jumped out of the car and gave her passport to one of the Militia officers, her knees shaking so badly she was afraid she was going to trip over her own feet. What she was going to try to do could very well end up getting her and Kirk killed.
“Get word to Colonel Bykov that I’m here, and I can help him,” she said in French. Her driver translated for her.
“I’m sorry, madam, but you’ll have to stay here—” the guard said.
“Merde. If you value your stripes, just get word to him. I’m trying to save lives here!”
The cop looked nervously from her to the translator, then studied her passport. Making a decision, he walked over to a squad car, its blue lights flashing, and spoke to the Militia officer there. The officer looked at Jacque line’s passport, glanced over at her, then got on the radio. A minute later he came over, and handed back her passport.
“Do you speak English, madam?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me, but your driver must remain here.”
“Return to the embassy,” she told her driver, then followed the Militia officer across the square and into the metro station where Chernov met her on the platform, Militia and military everywhere.
“How did you know to come here?” Chernov asked.
“We monitor your police frequencies,” Jacqueline said. “Have you found him yet?”
“No, but it won’t be long now. He’s in the storm sewer system, but we’ve blocked every tunnel within a kilometer.”
“How many people has he killed so far?”
“None. But he is wounded.”
“He’ll fight back, and believe me some of your people are going to come out of there in body bags unless you let me help out.”
“I’m listening.”
“Tell your people to hold their positions for the moment. I’ll go down there and find him for you. When he hears my voice he’ll give himself up. But you need to promise me something.”
Chernov looked amused. “What is that?”
“If I find him, you’ll allow him to come out unharmed.”
“He’ll be placed under arrest.”
“I understand. But I don’t want any trigger-happy cop shooting at shadows. I want to bring him out alive.”
“Why?” Chernov asked.
Jacqueline looked into his flat, gray eyes. “Because I happen to be in love with the man.”
“Ah, charming,” Chernov said. “But then you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
“None of us ever are, Colonel,” Jacqueline said. “How about it?”
Chernov nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It’ll take several minutes to get word to our people in the tunnels. It’s a problem of radio communication. When we’re ready I’ll have you escorted below.” He gave her an appraising look. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“Not especially,” Jacqueline said.
“Do you want a weapon?”
She shook her head. “We’re wasting time.”
Murphy and Ryan were ushered into the Oval Office at 7:10 p.m. Besides the President, also present were his National Security Adviser Harold Secor, and the Secretaries of State, Jonathan Carter, and Defense, Paul Landry. No one looked happy. “If what you suggested to me on the phone this afternoon is true, Roland, we don’t have much time,” the President said.
“Yes, sir. President Kabatov will have to be informed immediately. He’s the only one who can stop this now.”
“Spell it out.”
“We believe that Yevgenni Tarankov will not wait until the elections to make his move,” Murphy said. “It’s probable that he’ll attempt a military coup later today during the May Day rally in Red Square, with a very good chance of succeeding. If Kabatov has surrounded himself with enough moderates and government loyalists he still has a chance of preventing it, but only if he acts now, and only if he has all the facts.”
“That’s not a course of action I could recommend,” Ryan broke in.
“When I want your advice, you chickenshit, I’ll ask for it,” said the President, his voice hard. “In the meantime keep your mouth shut.”
Ryan was stunned speechless.
“Kirk McGarvey has made it to Moscow, and there’s still a better than even chance that if Tarankov shows up in Red Square McGarvey will assassinate him. Or try to do it, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him because now he has a personal stake. His daughter Elizabeth, who works for us, was kidnapped by Tarankov’s people, and he’ll do everything in his power to rescue her.”
“Did you send her over there?” the President asked Ryan.
“I sent her to Paris, not Moscow, Mr. President,” said Ryan, subdued.
“Go on,” the President told Murphy. The others in the room glared at Ryan, who sank down in his chair.
“The former KGB officer who heads the police commission trying to find McGarvey, is in fact a man by the name of Leonid Chernov. He’s actually Tarankov’s chief of staff, and from what we can piece together is a former KGB assassin whose brother McGarvey killed a few years ago.”
“Jesus,” President Lindsay said softly. “That’s quite a bombshell you’re asking me to hand Kabatov.”
“I’m afraid there’s more, Mr. President,” Murphy said. “We also learned that as a young missile service officer Tarankov worked for us.”
The President and his advisers were caught completely off guard.
“His code name was Hammer, and his contact was our chief of Moscow station. It didn’t last long, but what he gave us was so good that we paid him a great deal of money for it. So much money, in fact, that when he quit he was able to buy and equip the train he’s been using for the past five years.”
“Do we have proof?”
“Yes, sir,” Murphy said. He withdrew four thick file folders from his briefcase and laid them on the President’s desk. “These came to light recently, but it was my decision to sit on the information because it was so potentially damaging to us. If we were to let it become public knowledge Tarankov could accuse the United States of trying to manipulate Russian politics by inventing something which, on the surface, seems so patently ridiculous that it must be a lie.”
“Why weren’t we given this information earlier?” Secor asked. “It would seem to be a bad decision.”
“Let’s not become Monday morning quarterbacks. We’ve all made bad decisions,” the President said. “What specifically are you suggesting I tell Kabatov?” he asked Murphy.
“Just the truth, Mr. President, something he’s probably short of at the moment. After that it’ll be up to him,
