“Just like I promised,” Diele said. He wanted to see her reaction when Gormer dropped the bomb.
“Too bad Early’s not under oath,” Quinn said.
“The next time he’s on camera, he will be,” Greyhill assured her. “Just let him try and hide behind ‘executive privilege.’”
“I trust this means you’ll be moving forward with the impeachment resolution?” Diele asked.
“He delivered the goods, didn’t he?” Quinn was referring to the fact that Diele had spilled the beans to Gormer about Pearce and his operation.
“He sure did. And wrapped it all up in a pink bow.”
Quinn hoped that the Pearce revelation would be enough to throw Myers out of office and, with any luck, straight into a federal prison. During her election campaign, Myers ran a humiliating campaign ad featuring a Quinn quote that “Guam would capsize if too many U.S. Marines were stationed there” as proof of the idiocy of Congress. Quinn had barely won reelection and privately vowed revenge at the first possible opportunity.
What neither Quinn nor Greyhill realized was that Diele’s source for the Pearce revelation was Ambassador Britnev, and Britnev’s source was Ali, who had tortured it out of Udi just before feeding him to the pigs while he was still alive.
OCTOBER
57
Washington, D.C.
Myers stood alone in the secured media room at the White House, video conferencing with the Kremlin. Not even Strasburg had been allowed into the room with her.
On the other hand, Titov had several advisors in the room with him, including a half dozen scowling generals and admirals with chests full of gleaming service medals. The oldest was Colonel General Petrov, commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, with enough nuclear ICBMs at his disposal to destroy the United States a dozen times over. Two stern-faced women sat around the long table as well. Even Ambassador Britnev was there, perched on Titov’s left.
“You’ve seen and heard the video and audio files I’ve forwarded to you?” Myers asked. She was referring to the conversation Pearce had secretly recorded with Ali in the Padres luxury suite along with the video recordings that Yamada had made of the
“Yes, of course.” Titov had a bulldog face but his voice was surprisingly gentle, even calming. His English was excellent as well.
“My intelligence services are analyzing the files now. The first reports are that they are fabrications. Everybody knows how skilled your Hollywood technicians are at manipulating sounds and images. But I am waiting for the final analysis, of course.”
“Mr. Titov, we are far beyond the point of playing games. I’m standing here alone for a reason. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation is completely private. As you can see, none of my advisors are here with me, and I assure you none of them is listening in on this conversation. I have no desire to embarrass you or your government, nor do I wish to provoke a war with you. But the actions you have taken against my government are, in fact, acts of aggression, and I will not stand for them.”
Titov turned his head slightly to the general sitting next to him and grinned. The general whispered something to Titov that made Titov chuckle, and that set off a chain reaction of controlled laughter.
“Forgive me, Mr. President, but my Russian is terrible. Do you mind letting me in on the joke?”
“My colleague, Colonel General Petrov, said that you remind him of his ex-wife, a very unpleasant lady. Beyond that, I do not wish to repeat.”
Again, the Russians rumbled with laughter, including the women.
Myers smiled. “Perhaps the old missile general had an unhappy wife because his rocket was no longer able to launch.”
The old general’s face turned beet red. The Russians instantly roared with laughter, Titov most of all. Myers was alone in the room but she had been thoroughly briefed on the Russian high command.
“Forgive me, Madame President,” Titov said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I have clearly underestimated you.”
“In more ways than you can possibly know, Mr. President.”
That sobered him up.
“Then let us be frank. What is the purpose of this pleasant chat? To discuss the electronic fictions you have sent to us?” Titov asked.
“We are far beyond discussions, Mr. President. Here is my proposal. In twenty-four hours, you will announce to the world that your cross-border antiterror operations in Azerbaijan have been a success and that you will begin withdrawing your forces within seventy-two hours, abandoning the country entirely within seven days. My government will publicly commend you for your decision to withdraw, and privately you will negotiate with the Azerbaijanis over monetary compensation for the damages you have caused that nation.”
Titov glowered at Myers. “And why would we do such a thing? Because you simply order it?”
Myers pressed a button on her console. A live feed appeared as a picture within a picture on both of their screens. It showed a giant steel pipeline.
“Do you recognize this, Mr. Titov?”
“It looks like an oil pipeline.”
“It is. It’s the BTC pipeline. As I’m sure you know, it’s over a thousand miles long and pumps a million gallons of oil per day from Baku all the way to the Mediterranean. Right now, it’s the only viable means you have of transporting all of that Azeri oil you’re stealing out of the Caspian Sea into the European markets.”
Titov’s advisors murmured among themselves.
Myers pressed another button. Yet another live picture-in-picture image appeared, also of a pipeline.
“This is the 2,500-mile-long Druzhba pipeline, which your nation operates. It supplies 1.4 million barrels of oil per day from Siberian and Kazakh oil fields to end users all over Europe. This is your main oil artery to the West, Mr. President.
“In both cases, armed drones under my control are flying over these extremely vulnerable pipelines. On my order, they will destroy a section of each pipeline. No matter how quickly you are able to repair them, I will be able to destroy another section with the push of a button. Besides the environmental damage and financial cost these attacks will incur, the most important thing they will accomplish is to convince the Europeans that you are no longer able to deliver a reliable supply of oil. My nation, however, is prepared to step in and fill that void. Oh, and for what it’s worth, I have your natural gas pipelines targeted as well.”
Titov’s face hardened. “One moment.” He slammed a button that muted the sound on his end. Myers watched the room erupt into a frenzied conference. A minute later, he snapped the sound back on.
“You’re bluffing, Madame President. Your nation is not prepared to engage in a ground war with us. Your military has exhausted itself with its misadventures in Iraq and Afghanistan, and you yourself are about to be impeached for your war crimes against the people and government of Mexico.”
“Do not underestimate my nation’s capacity for war, Mr. President. But I concede your point. My nation does not desire war at this time, and my nation makes no threat to you.”
Titov pointed at the screen where the video images still played. “That is no threat?”
“I said, my
