had put him on the ticket, a decision he’d never regretted once.
The president looked at Kelly. “You’ve got human assets inside both Gazprom and Rozneft, isn’t that right, Brick? Deep cover?”
“Yes, sir, we do. Three Russian engineers manning the on/off switches are on our payroll. Unnumbered accounts in Geneva.”
“Could these guys actually stop this thing? If the Kremlin tried shutting everything down in Europe? Or the former Soviet republics?”
“Stop, no. Delay, yes. At least, they could buy us valuable time in a crunch. That’s why they’re there.”
McAtee smiled. “Well, good news at last. We’re on a roll. Anybody else?”
General Moore leaned forward, looking at his boss. “I ordered our overhead capability rerouted this morning. All sixteen of our low-level birds are now operating over the Russian mainland, Mr. President. Total satellite coverage.”
“Good work. We’ll need-”
“Mr. President?” Betsey Hall said, interrupting. McAtee’s secretary had cracked the door and stuck her head inside.
“Yes, Betsey?”
“An urgent call for you. From Moscow.”
“Who is it?” McAtee asked, looking at the blinking light.
“Someone named Korsakov. I believe he’s the late President Rostov’s successor.”
“Turn on the tape, Betsey,” McAtee said, returning to his desk, punching a button, and picking up the receiver.
“This is President McAtee,” he said.
“President McAtee, I am Ivan Korsakov. I’ve just been selected by the Russian Duma as the new leader of our government. You are the first person I’ve called.”
“Well, I’m glad you called. Congratulations, President Korsakov.”
“Actually, I’ve been proclaimed Tsar.”
“Tsar, is it? Well, that is interesting. Historic, one might say.”
McAtee covered the phone and said to his team, “They’ve got a Tsar now. Holy Christ.”
“Mr. President, I’m delighted we have this chance to speak,” Korsakov said. “And I look forward to working with you. Striving to build a better world.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, given recent troubling events.”
“Mr. President, the people of my great country are relying on me to restore Russian pride and honor. All Russian people, whether they are in the Baltics, in Estonia, Lithuania, East Ukraine, wherever, they are all relying on me to restore the cohesion of the Russian nation.”
McAtee paused a moment to gather his wits and then said, “I’m sure over time, we will be able to work through your issues and still develop a plan that will retain the current integrity of Europe.”
“Mr. President, I am not entirely sure of your meaning, but let me tell you what we feel we must do to reunite our citizens in the Baltics and East Ukraine.”
“This sounds an awful lot like irredentism, and I don’t think you-”
“If by that word you mean someone who advocates the restoration to their country of any territory properly belonging to it, then yes, that is exactly what I am saying to you. I am only speaking now of the territories mentioned. We can discuss Moldova and the ‘Stans’ at a later date.”
“I must be misunderstanding you. Surely you’re not proposing to alter the national boundaries of the European Community?”
McAtee looked up, surprised. His entire team had gotten up and gathered around his desk, lending him support. He smiled at them, grateful. He needed it.
He continued, “What you’re suggesting would cast us back into the confrontation we put behind us at the end of the Cold War.”
Secretary de los Reyes nodded her head, vigorously approving the tack the president was taking.
Korsakov said, “Now, now, Mr. President, please. There is no need for confrontations. Let’s not even speak in those terms.”
“Frankly, Mr. Korsakov, we don’t know each other. But let me assure you that you cannot expect me to remain silent and inactive while you prepare to cast aside all precedent and all the legal instruments that have given this world the stability it enjoys today. You are talking about illegally absorbing millions of citizens now happily part of other nations.”
“Mr. President, this is not a negotiation. I had hoped to avoid just this sort of overheated rhetoric. But then, perhaps you haven’t considered the security dimensions of the moment we seem to have arrived at?”
“Security dimensions? Is that a threat?”
“You are aware of the terrible incident at Salina, Kansas.”
“Of course, I’m aware of Salina. An unfortunate development. We’re sure it’s not likely to happen again.”
“On the contrary, that is exactly what is likely to happen again. But this time to a major population center and without benefit of advance warning.”
“Mr. Korsakov, think extremely hard about what I am about to say. You yourself are not nearly so immune to certain actions as you seem to think. Reprisals could be swift and overwhelming.”
“You are in no position to threaten me, I assure you.”
“I’m not?”
“No. Trust me, as you will soon learn, you are not.”
McAtee searched the faces of his team before replying. Each one of them made a slashing motion across the neck.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Korsakov. I am unable to continue this conversation any longer. Our ambassador will be in touch.”
He hung up.
“Play that back on speaker, will you, Betsey?” he said after a moment.
The team stood around the desk and listened as both sides of the conversation were played. Jaws dropped, eyes rolled, but no one spoke when it was over. The implications of what they’d just heard were too profound to be assimilated in an instant. The world had just shifted on its axis, and the floor beneath their feet felt as if it might give way at any moment.
“Well?” the president said. “Welcome to the parallel universe. We’ve fallen through a wormhole. I always wondered if things could get any crazier. Now I know.”
“Good Lord,” the vice president said, managing a grim smile. “We’re back to October 1962. Maybe worse.”
“Definitely worse. This man is insane. A genius, perhaps, but a raving megalomaniac. Khrushchev was merely a Commie thug with a grade-school education,” Mike Reiter said. The good-looking young director had only been on the job a few years. But he was a major history buff and had taught Russian studies at Georgetown before joining the FBI.
Consuelo de los Reyes felt her cell phone vibrate and stepped a few paces toward the Rose Garden windows to take the call. She listened for a few moments, then turned back to face the group, shaking her head, her face drained of all color.
“And the vice president’s wife? Is she all right?” they heard her say. She listened and then looked at McCloskey, nodding, giving him a brief smile that said she was okay.
“Tell us what’s happened, Conch,” the president said when she’d ended the call.
“The airship
“Friend of Hawke’s,” Brick Kelly said. “Ex-Navy SEAL. Hostage-rescue specialist.”
“My God, poor Bonnie,” the vice president said, wandering dazedly over to a sofa and collapsing into it. “She’s okay?”
“Yes. That’s what the hostage told Mr. Jones. She had seen her, and she was okay.”
The president stood up, staring at Charlie Moore.
