want Khmelnytsky.”
“You decide! But time is running out.”
Korina seemed deep in thought. Finally, she sighed and said, “For obvious reasons, I can’t take this to my superiors.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
She frowned. “Then what are you asking?”
Will leaned forward. “For Khmelnytsky’s plan to work, the explosion must look like an American strike. Are you aware of anything that the Americans are about to do that, if combined with a nuclear explosion, could spark war?”
“I-”
“Any briefings you’ve received? Information coming out of agents? Signals intelligence? Anything?”
Korina extinguished her cigarette, pulled out another, and froze. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
Silence.
“What, Korina?!”
More silence.
Then she spoke. “An intelligence report. Naval matter. Given I’m GRU navy, I was cleared to read it.”
Will spoke with deliberation. “What was in the report?”
Korina lit her cigarette with a shaking hand. “Three U.S. Ohio — class cruise missile submarines are going to be sailing in the Barents Sea.”
A sea that was above northwest Russia.
“Not unusual.”
“No, but this deployment’s different. They’re going to covertly enter Russian waters. Not too far, but just enough. We believe it’s the first time the Americans have tried this.”
“A training exercise?”
“The report came to no conclusion, though it did make one stark observation.”
Will waited.
“The cruise missiles have a maximum range of fifteen hundred miles.”
Will’s stomach knotted. “They’re entering Russian waters to bring them within range of Moscow.”
Korina nodded.
“This has to be the trigger.” Will’s mind raced. “But it doesn’t prove that Moscow is Razin’s target. The Ohio ’s deployment is a test sortie, I’m certain. It’s unlikely that a first strike against Moscow would be made by a cruise missile submarine-more likely a ballistic submarine from somewhere out in the Atlantic.”
Roger interrupted. “I agree.” The former sailor also seemed to be thinking fast. “But if war had already started, the Americans might use Ohio subs in the second or third strikes if they felt confident that Russia’s missile interception capability had been diminished. I think it’s a training exercise, just to see if they can get close enough if there ever is a need to hit Moscow.”
Will felt frustration. “Moscow’s not Razin’s target, because a detonation there will not convince Russian high command that it was an Ohio missile strike. While Russian air defenses are at peak performance, it just wouldn’t ring true to them. That means Razin’s target could be anywhere much closer to the subs. But that still leaves a vast range of possible targets.” He punched a fist on his leg. “Damn it!”
Laith said, “Maybe this isn’t the trigger.” He looked at Korina. “Could be something else that you’ve not been cleared to read.”
Korina shook her head. “No. This is the trigger. Without a doubt.”
Will looked sharply at her. “How can you be certain?”
Korina blew out smoke. “Because the intelligence report was written by Taras Khmelnytsky.”
Will went cold. “Who was his source?”
Korina seemed hesitant.
“I have to know!”
She looked incredulous. “You can’t expect me to reveal the identity of an agent.”
“Under the circumstances, yes, I bloody well can.”
She puffed on her cigarette. “He’s a low-level American sailor, but he works for an admiral and therefore has a higher security status than others of his rank. Razin’s his case officer. Beyond that, I’d have to check my database to get extra details.”
“Can you get his identity and naval facility?”
“I can, but not until morning. If I log on now, it might look suspicious to GRU HQ.”
“Okay.” Will clapped his hands together. “There’s still a chance. The Americans can put the squeeze on the sailor-get him to send a message to Khmelnytsky saying that the subs are deploying on a different date, that they have to meet in person so he can give him the details. That’ll grab Khmelnytsky’s attention. Then”-he smiled-“we grab the bastard.”
Roger frowned. “Why don’t we just get the submarines to turn around so that the incident is avoided?”
“No. If we do that, Razin will strike another target and we’d have no idea when or where that would be.”
“He might, but unless he’s lucky it would be unlikely to spark war.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
Roger looked incredulous. “And yet you’re willing to take a gamble on something that certainly will lead to war if we fail.”
Will thought about this. “If we’ve not got him by the time the subs are drawing close to Russia, I’ll call it in.”
Korina said, “You’ll have to move quickly because the submarines will be entering Russian waters in four days’ time.”
Will’s smile vanished.
Four days.
One explosion.
War.
Part IV
Chapter Thirty-two
Colonel General Platonov walked through the grounds of his estate. It was late evening and dark, though the driveway’s lamps and discreetly positioned halogen lights gave him glimpses of the large garden’s brook, oak trees, ornate stone bridges, and special forces men with AEK-919K “Kashtan” submachine guns slung by their sides.
He hated having the bodyguards in his family home, but he was the highest-ranking military officer in the Russian armed forces and protection came with the job.
The man by his side was silent. That was understandable. The Russian president had a lot on his mind.
They stopped on a large rectangular area of concrete, where snow had recently been brushed away to reveal a symmetrical pattern of squares. At opposite ends of the yard were tall plastic chess pieces. On the edge of each corner of the yard, overlooking the giant chessboard, were man-sized stone statues of knights, their bodies and heads cloaked and hooded, their faces solemn, their hands clasped over the hilts of downward-facing broadswords.
Platonov looked at his house. The curtains were still open, all of the rooms illuminated. He could see the premier’s wife and his wife talking, smiling, glasses of wine in their hands. Upstairs, the young pajama-dressed children of Russia’s most powerful general were bouncing on beds with the children of Russia’s supreme leader. They were having a sleepover tonight. Their excitement was palpable.
The two men lit Montecristo cigars. Platonov could still feel the pleasant burn of his postdinner cognac in his throat. The evening had gone well. His wife was an excellent cook and a very intelligent hostess. As he looked at
