Devlin put the file under her arm and straightened her jacket. Except we know virtually zip about why they’re there. All we know is that the Russians are swarming all over Saint Lawrence, they’ve declared they’re acting under the authority of an Arctic treaty we never signed up to, and they’re putting enough firepower on that island to create a no-go zone for US aircraft and ships over the whole of the Bering Strait. Devlin sighed, and wiped her teeth with a fingertip in case there was any lipstick there. And they don’t look like they’re planning to leave anytime soon.
Kelnikov rose and buttoned his jacket over his expansive waistline. He didn’t smile, but gave her a small and almost ironic bow, “Madam Ambassador.”
Without any ceremony, she sat the LOSOS file down on the table between them and sat down opposite, “Minister Kelnikov.”
They looked at each other for a moment or two. There was no protocol to cover this. Devlin saw his eyes flick to the folder, but saw no immediate reaction. Give him time, she thought. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. The challenge now would be for her to reveal a little of what she knew, without giving away just how little.
“I believe you have a message from your government,” Kelnikov said. “Perhaps you have reconsidered your position and are willing to enter into negotiations for a new treaty guaranteeing free passage for all nations through the Bering Strait?”
It was all she could do to contain herself from swearing. The Russians had sunk one of their own ships, either themselves, or through a proxy. They had invaded US territory under the guise of a nuclear reactor emergency aboard one of their subs and then they had made wild allegations in the media about a US cyberattack on their sub, before declaring that they were taking control of the sea lanes and airspace over the Bering Strait to ‘guarantee freedom of navigation for all’ in the name of the Barents Euro-Arctic Council of Nations. Williams’ NSA report also stated that they had shot down two US reconnaissance drones. They had warned that any US military ship or aircraft breaking their no-go zone would be considered a threat to international shipping and dealt with ‘accordingly’.
“Minister, we are under no illusions about your real purpose on Saint Lawrence,” Devlin said. She reached down and took up the file, opening it to the first page as though she was referring to a briefing document. “Your Operation LOSOS? Is that how it is pronounced? It is nothing less than an old-fashioned land grab.”
That got a reaction. Kelnikov’s eyes narrowed. “The United States sinks one of our freighters and disables one of our submarines, risking hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives from possible nuclear disaster, and you accuse us of an ‘old-fashioned land grab’?”
“It is only you and I in this room,” Devlin reminded him. “So can we cut the hyperbole and discuss whether there is any way we can resolve this peaceably? Because I can tell you Roman, we are at about one minute to midnight on this one,” she said, referring to the infamous Doomsday Clock. Any student of history would know the last time it had been at one minute to midnight had been during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
“If the US is willing to negotiate a new Arctic treaty, this can be resolved very quickly,” he said equably. “Why could you possibly imagine we have any interest in taking control of a tiny island full of Eskimos and whale bones?” He was fishing now, she could feel it. Trying to see how deep her intel ran.
She pulled aside the first page of her dossier and ran her eyes over the list underneath.
“Let me tell you what I know, not what I imagine,” she said. “You have more than 500 ground troops on the island, four portable anti-aircraft systems capable of shooting down aircraft over US airspace, one submarine with a miraculously repaired reactor…” she paused and raised her eyebrows, “…and five littoral naval vessels, armed with ship to ship and ship to air missiles.” She looked up, seeing a slight smile on the man’s face. “You have a three-ship naval task force én route to the island from Vladivostok, you have activated almost every unit in your Eastern District air army, moved a squadron of Hunter drones to Lavrentiya and are staging continuous patrols up and down the Strait with manned Sukhoi and Mig fighters…”
“All in order to secure the waterway for international shipping…” Kelnikov began again, but she held up her hand.
“And…” she said loudly, interrupting him, “And, you have the entire population of the island in the villages of Gambell and Savoonga under lock and key. They are being held hostage.”
“No,” Kelnikov insisted. “Clearly your intelligence is unreliable. The local inhabitants have been moved to safe locations, so that there will not be any civilian casualties if you are foolish enough to respond militarily to our intervention.” He tapped the table, “They are being given food, shelter and even advanced medical care. Which I understand is more than their own government has given them for decades. When the situation is stable, we will allow the International Red Cross access to the residents to verify they are safe and well.”
“It is not your place to allow anything!” Devlin protested. “These are US citizens, being held against their will by the armed forces of Russia.”
“Protected,” Kelnikov corrected, leaning forward, “Against a rogue nation which has already demonstrated a reckless and violent disregard for the rules of international diplomacy and commerce.”
“You would be wise not to treat us like fools, sir,” Devlin said. “This aggression has one purpose, and that is to achieve Russian control of Saint Lawrence Island, and this we will not abide.”
The minute she spoke, Devlin saw her assertion was somehow wide of the mark. Kelnikov smiled and sat back in his chair, relaxing visibly. His eyes, which had been flicking between her file labeled LOSOS, and her face, settled now on the sleeve of his jacket as he picked lint from it, as though he had suddenly lost interest in the meeting. Struggling to maintain her outrage, Devlin continued, “Our demand is simple,” she said. “All Russian military forces and any other Russian nationals will depart Saint Lawrence within 48 hours, that is, by 1800 hours Tuesday, Alaskan Standard Time…”
“Please,” Kelnikov interrupted her. “Don’t tell me. You were about to say… ‘or there will be grave consequences’.”
“No,” Devlin replied. “That is what our President is saying to the world press and to your President. The message I have for you is a little more direct.” Now she had his attention again. Good.
“Go on.”
“I have been authorized to tell you that if you do not withdraw by this deadline, Russian forces on Saint Lawrence will be wiped from the face of that island with a fire and fury unlike any seen this century.” She drew a breath, “And the United States will hold Russia entirely responsible for any and all civilian casualties that result from your refusal to comply.”
As she walked to her car, Devlin glowered. She had delivered her message, but there was no victory in that. Kelnikov would pass the message to his President, of that she was sure. But the State Department’s theory that this entire affair was about creating a conflict over Saint Lawrence to test US willingness to defend its interests in the Bering Strait waterway had fallen flat on the floor. Kelnikov had smirked, as though by accusing them of it, she was just showing how ignorant she was. Dammit.
Her aide Harrison knew her well enough not to hit her with a barrage of questions as they climbed into her car. As it pulled away from the curb, he let her gather her thoughts. Finally, she spoke.
“This NSA Russia analyst, Carl Williams.” she asked, patting the file on her knees. “Tell me he’s on station here in Moscow, not in some bunker in Virginia.”