“Naturally ordained?” McAtee said. “What the hell does that mean besides illegal? Can you cite some legal precedent for that phrase?”
“This conversation is terminated, President McAtee. Look at your watch. Unless my demands are met, exactly twenty-four hours from this moment, I will shut off the flow of energy through the Ukraine to Europe. They’re having an especially cold December, and it’s about to get a lot colder. Twelve hours after that, an unnamed Western city with a population in excess of one million souls will cease to exist. Then we move to five million population twelve hours later, then ten, and so on. Until you decide to be more cooperative. Do we fully understand each other?”
McAtee slammed the phone down.
“Christ,” McAtee said. “The man is absolutely insane! He’s threatening to shut off the gas pipelines to Europe and blow up the whole damn world one city at a time unless we pull back. Khrushchev was a bully and a thug, but at least Jack Kennedy didn’t have a deranged psychopath on his hands. Blow up a city of one million? Five million? How the hell can he do that, Brick? Dirty nukes?”
Kelly looked at the president until the anger had subsided and he was certain of his complete attention. “No, sir. Something far more insidious than dirty nukes. As Mike was saying, the FBI has been looking into how the Russians took out Salina. It’s not good news, I’m afraid. In fact, it’s extraordinarily bad news. Mike, would you continue?”
“The frightening thing is, sir, these are not idle threats. For decades, we’ve all been focused on big bombs, nuclear devices in the ten-to-twenty-megaton range. But Korsakov, over a period of many years, has been using countless millions of small, innocent-appearing devices to basically hardwire the whole world with inordinately powerful small bombs, preposterous as that may sound. At first, we found it hard to believe ourselves. These Zeta machines are-”
“Sorry, Mike. Zeta machines? Help me out here.”
“Computers, Mr. President. You probably know them as Wizards. Low-cost Russian computers, designed and built by Korsakov’s company, TSAR, that have been sold by the tens of millions everywhere on the planet. And inside every single Zeta is a bomb. Each computer contains eight ounces of a nonnuclear explosive called Hexagon, plus GPS transmitters that continuously broadcast the machine’s location. Each one capable of remote detonation. And-”
The president had a stunned look on his face. “How many of these things are out there, did you say? Millions?”
A young female orderly entered the room, mouthing the word
He folded the note, placed it under his water glass, then looked across the room and found Tom McCloskey’s desperate eyes. He gave the man a silent thumbs-up and mouthed the words
McCloskey dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders heaving. “Tens of millions of these weapons, Mr. President, in every city and town on the planet. Perhaps hundreds of millions. In homes, schools, office and government buildings, airports, churches, literally everywhere. The Pentagon, for God’s sake. Millions and millions of bombs. In every city and country on earth. At the push of a button, Korsakov can take out a city, a country, a continent, a-”
“Good Lord,” the president said, sinking back in his chair as the enormity of what he’d just heard began to sink in. All of the blood had drained from his face, and Kelly began to fear he was on the verge of a stroke.
A few moments later, he recovered a bit, leaned forward, and placed both hands on the table.
“He needs to be stopped, Brick. You, too, Mike. Now.”
“We’re working on that, Mr. President, believe me.”
“I want hourly updates. We do whatever it takes. State believes an invasion of Estonia is imminent. If one goddamn Russian soldier plants a foot where it’s not supposed to be, I’m going to Congress. I’m going to ask for an immediate declaration of war on the Russian Federation. I mean, we are going to the
“A preemptive strike against Russian cities?” Moore said.
“You’re goddamn right, Charlie. That’s exactly what I mean.”
Heavy silence followed, everyone rearranging pencils and papers as they saw the whole world going up in flames before their very eyes. They understood, all right.
The end of the world was in plain sight.
“That note, Mr. President,” an obviously relieved Tom McCloskey said, still unable to tear his eyes away from the folded white paper beneath the president’s water glass. “Any more news in there about the hostage situation?”
For the first time in days, the president smiled.
“Yes, there is, Tom. Very good news. Bonnie is safe. Distraught but physically unharmed. At this very moment, she is en route to Bermuda. A Navy plane there is warming up its engines, and she will be on it and headed home to Bethesda in less than an hour. She wishes you and the kids Merry Christmas and can’t wait to see you.”
“And the rest of the hostages, Mr. President?” McCloskey asked, his eyes shining.
“All of the hostages have been rescued, Tom. The airship itself is now under the control of the U.S. Navy, having been taken in tow by one of our submarines en route to Bermuda. There were some hostage casualties. Minimal, considering the extreme nature of the situation. But still, an intolerable loss of innocent lives.”
“Oh,” McCloskey said, bowing his head. “Oh, my God. Those poor people. Thank you for that message, Mr. President. I didn’t think I could-”
“Tom. I think you should go upstairs to the Residence and tell the children their mother’s coming home in time for Christmas.”
McCloskey rose unsteadily from his seat and headed for the door.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” the vice president said in a strangled voice as he left the room.
ALONE IN THE Oval Office, snow falling gently beyond the windows, McAtee quietly sat at his desk staring at the phone. He’d done all he could do. If the Russians were determined to have a war, by God, they’d get one. But there was something he was missing here. A critical piece of the Russian puzzle buried deep within his brain years ago, during the Cold War, back in the days when he’d chaired the Senate Arms Committee.
He stared at his phone until his eyes lost focus. It wouldn’t come.
And then it did.
The Brits had once had a mole deep inside the Kremlin. Not a high-level mole but a very effective one, as McAtee remembered. He was military originally, a colonel or perhaps even a general. Then, later, KGB. What the hell was his name? He’d been very helpful during the Korean Airlines incident, and that was the last McAtee had ever heard of him. He’d gone off the screen. But if he was still alive, and still an insider…
He picked up the phone and called Sir David Trulove’s home number. It was almost seven in the morning, U.K. time. Surely he’d be up and about, even though it was Sunday.
“Hello?” said a sleepy voice at the other end.
“David, it’s Jack McAtee.”
“Good morning.”
“You’ve heard the good news about the airship?”
“Yes. I received a call from Bermuda a few moments ago. The sub and all of the survivors are en route there now. Good show, I daresay. My heartfelt congratulations.”
“I want to thank you for Red Banner’s leadership on that one. Your man Alex Hawke did one hell of a job. Especially considering the fact that no one on earth had ever done anything like it before. And this woman-what is her name? The passenger who managed to get the hatch open for our boys?”
“Fancha is the name I was given by my chief of station. Not one of the passengers, apparently, a shipboard entertainer.”
“That’s it. Must be quite an amazing woman. Took enormous courage to do what she did. Well done all around.”
“Mr. President, I think the lion’s share of credit has to go to your young SEAL teams. Magnificent job, from what I understand. Very few casualties at our end. If transoceanic airships are the coming thing, and they may well be,
