Georgi paused for a long moment. “That is correct. I should have been more accurate in my words. I have returned two of these specimens to their former glory. The third rocket does not have a warhead, but it is a powerful kinetic missile nonetheless.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying I have two twenty-kiloton nuclear bombs, loaded into the Space Head Modules of two of the three Dnepr-1 delivery vehicles in my possession. The missiles are in their launch silos, and I am in launch control. The weapons, I call them weapons because they are no longer mere rockets, are targeting population centers of Russia.”
“These nuclear weapons you speak of…”
“Yes. They are the missing bombs from Pakistan. My mujahideen fighters and I took them.”
“Our understanding from the Pakistanis is that the weapons cannot detonate in their current state. You are bluffing. If you even have the bombs, you cannot use them.”
Safronov had expected this. The Russians were so dismissive of his people, after all. He would have been stunned if it were any different.
“In five minutes I will send an e-mail to you directly, and the subdirectors of your agency, that is to say, men more intelligent than you. In the file you will see the decoding sequence we used to render the bombs viable warheads. Share it with your nuclear experts. They will attest to its accuracy. In the file you will also see digital photographs of the altimeter fuses we stole from the Wah Cantonment armaments factory. Share them with your munitions experts. And in the file you will also see several possible trajectory ploAts for the Dnepr rockets, in case you do not believe I can return the payloads to earth wherever I want. Show that to your rocket engineers. They will spend the rest of the day with their calculators, but they will see.”
Safronov did not know if the Russians believed him. He expected more questioning, but instead, the director of the Russian Federal Space Agency just said, “Your demands?”
“I want proof that the hero of the Dagestani revolution, Israpil Nabiyev, is alive. You give me this, and I release several more hostages. When you release Commander Nabiyev, and he is delivered here, I will release everyone else here except for a skeleton crew of technicians. When you remove all Russian forces from the Caucasus, I will take one of the nuclear-tipped Dneprs offline. And when myself, Commander Nabiyev, and my men have safely left the area, I will relinquish control of the other weapon. This situation that you find yourself in can be behind you in a matter of a few short days.”
“I will need to discuss this with—”
“You may discuss this with whoever you want. But remember this. I have sixteen foreign prisoners here. Six are from the United States, five are from Great Britain, and five are from Japan. I will begin executing the prisoners unless I speak with Nabiyev by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. And I will release the missiles unless Russia has quit the Caucasus in seventy-two hours.
72
In the beautiful library of Paul Laska’s Newport, Rhode Island, home, the aged billionaire cradled the handset of his telephone at his desk, and he listened to the low ticking of the Bristol mahogany grandfather clock in the hallway.
Time ticking away.
It had been five days since Fabrice Bertrand-Morel had reported that Clark had found Kovalenko and learned of Laska’s involvement in the dossier passed to the Kealty administration. In those five days Bertrand-Morel had called every twelve hours with the same story. The grizzled spy has not talked about his contacts, has not revealed whom he told or what he told them. Each time Laska added more questions for the French to ask the man, more things that, if only revealed, could create some sort of leverage for Laska in case the news of his conspiring with the Russians made it into the wrong hands.
It was no longer about defending the Emir, and no longer about destroying Jack Ryan, though Paul hoped for that even now. No, at this point the Czech immigrant was concerned for his own survival. Things had not gone according to plan, the FBI had fucked up the arrest of Clark, and FBM had fucked up the capture of Clark since he had already learned about Laska and passed that info on.
And now, Paul Laska decided, it was time to end this game. He lifted the phone from the receiver and dialed a number written on the blotter in front of him. He’d had the number since the beginning and he had doubted he would ever need to use it, but now it was unavoidable.
Four rings, and then a mobile phone in London was answered.
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Valentin. This is Paul.”
“Hello, Paul. My sources tell me there is a problem.”
“Your sources include your father, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, there isb a problem. Your father spoke to Clark.”
“Clark should not have made it to Moscow. Your mistake, not mine.”
“Fair, Valentin. I’ll accept that. But let’s deal with the world as it is, not as we would like it to be.”
There was a long pause. “Why did you call?”
“We have Clark, we are holding him in Moscow, trying to find out just what our exposure is on this.”
“That sounds prudent.”
“Yes, well, the men working for us are not interrogators. They have fists, yes, but I am thinking you would have some expertise that would be very helpful.”
“You think I torture people?”
“I don’t know if you do or not, though I can imagine it is in your DNA. Many people talked after a few hours in a basement with your father.”
“I am sorry, Paul, but my organization needs to limit its exposure in this enterprise. Your side has lost. The developing situation in Kazakhstan is occupying the concerns of everyone in my nation right now. The excitement about bringing down Jack Ryan has passed.”
Laska fumed. “You cannot just walk away from this, Valentin. The operation is not complete.”
“It is for us, Paul.”
“Don’t be a fool. You are in as deep as I am. Clark gave your name to his contact.”
“My name is, unfortunately, a matter of record in the CIA. He can say what he wants.”
Now Laska could hide his fury no longer. “Perhaps, but if I make one telephone call to
“You are threatening to out me as SVR?”
Laska did not hesitate. “You as SVR, and your father as KGB. I’m sure there are still some angry people in the satellites that would love to know who was responsible for the death of their loved ones.”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Mr. Laska. I am willing to forget about this conversation. But do not test me. My resources are—”
“Nothing like my resources! I want you to take custody of Clark, then I want you to find out who he is working for, what his present connection to Ryan is, and then you make him disappear so he cannot speak about what he has learned in the past month.”
“Or what?”
“Or I make phone calls in the United States and in Europe, revealing what you’ve been up to.”
“That is a poor bluff. You can’t reveal your involvement. You have broken laws in your country. I have broken no laws in mine.”
