John had learned this very fact from a lifetime of hard living. In retrospect, he wished he’d learned it from a book instead.
Adara added, “Let’s let them think you are dead. If you go back out to the marinas and ports asking more questions, it won’t take them any time to realize you are still alive and still hunting for them.”
Clark realized Sherman was right. Still, he said, “What am I going to do for two days?”
“First, you’re going to call your wife and daughter and tell them you love them.”
Clark looked down at the floor, a little embarrassed. “Of course.”
“Good. And you don’t need me to tell you to do the other thing you have to do.”
“What other thing?”
Adara Sherman gave John Clark a hard look. “You are going to plan your next meeting with the men who did this to you.”
Clark nodded. No, he didn’t need anyone to tell him this.
61
Valeri Volodin watched the helicopter carrying Tatiana Molchanova leave his front lawn, take off into a night sky filled with swirling snow, and disappear on its way back toward Moscow.
She’d delivered her message from Jack Ryan. She did it slowly, her voice cracking from nerves.
Fucking bitch, he said to himself. Ryan had bested her in the interview; she looked positively shell-shocked by the end despite a “gotcha” line or two. And now she brings me this shit from the American President? Ryan clearly felt bold enough to make such a tactless comment only because the woman he was talking to had turned to mush in front of his eyes.
Volodin would see that Molchanova was replaced on Channel Seven. She’d be live reporting street crimes in Grozny with her cell phone before the end of the month.
Volodin had given no outward reaction to the insult when she delivered the demand from the American President that he should begin acting like a leader. Instead he thanked her and sent her on her way, masking his fury.
Now Volodin would show Ryan how a leader acted.
The door to his office opened, and he felt the presence of his secretary. She stood there silently, waiting to be noticed, knowing full well her president looked out the window when he wanted to brood in peace.
Volodin said, “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Director Grankin is here for his meeting.”
Volodin did not turn from the window. He just gave a curt nod and said, “Bring him.”
Grankin was in the office and seated in the chair across from the desk by the time the Russian president finally did turn around to acknowledge him. Volodin sat back down, reached for his tea, and took a sip, all the while looking at the director of his Security Council.
Mikhail Grankin’s nerves were showing, Volodin could see it plainly.
“What news?” Volodin asked.
“NATO will not deploy troops in Lithuania barring an Article Five declaration.”
Volodin nodded. “They know Lithuania is defenseless, which means they know full well that the moment there is an Article Five violation it will be too late for them to respond. It is as I have said all along. Our pressure has convinced them they want no part in war with Russia. Lithuania is ours for the taking.”
Mikhail Grankin’s face remained inexpressive, but he nodded slowly. He then said, “Did the American President agree to the summit?”
Volodin shook his head. “Some incoherent babble about needing it to be processed through proper channels.” Volodin waved his hand in the air like this key aspect of their plan was nothing but a trifle, as if it suddenly didn’t matter. “Forget the summit. We will take Lithuania with only a few shots fired. It will be easier than Georgia.”
Grankin said, “So we will begin the next phase?”
“The final phase of operation Baltic Winter Sixteen will begin immediately.”
Grankin nodded, then said, “The aircraft collision was an unnecessary complication. We didn’t need that.”
Volodin nodded himself with a rare authentic expression of frustration on his face. “I only wish that fucking Ilyushin pilot was still alive so I could have him killed. In the larger picture this was a non-event. A complication, to be sure, but all the military air operations we have been conducting the last year have served their purpose. Russia is feared, and therefore Russia is respected. A single negative incident was a small price to pay for the power this has given us.” He waved his hand. “Anyway, by this time next week, no one will be talking about an Airbus accident over the Baltic, I assure you of that.”
Grankin cleared his throat, hesitating. Volodin saw he wanted to say something, but was not sure of the moment.
“What is it, Misha?”
“One of my best men. Vladimir Kozlov. He has been on special assignment to your office for the past month.”
“Has he? Yes… I might have heard something about that.”
Grankin cleared his throat again. “Well… with the operation in Brussels coming to a head, with Baltic Winter kicking off… I expect an increase in intelligence requirements very soon. I really need Kozlov back.”
Volodin said, “You have other operatives in the Security Council.”
“True, sir. But we have been careful to compartmentalize the larger aspects of our plan, keeping information away from FSB, away from GRU. Morozov is in Brussels. My man Kozlov is crucial now for other aspects of the operation.”
Volodin shook his head. “Kozlov is your man when I give him back to you. For now he is my man. You will have to make do without him.”
Grankin said nothing more on the matter. He put his hands on the arms of his chair. “If you will excuse me then, I will make the calls to the necessary individuals to begin operations.”
Volodin nodded, Grankin left, and then Volodin returned to his view out the window. The snow had picked up a little.
His mind left the operation in the Baltic, and he considered the operation in the Caribbean. He’d received a short text from Kozlov this morning, indicating all was going according to plan. He didn’t go into any more detail, but Volodin didn’t want or need it. All he needed to know was that in two to three weeks, his money would be out of the reach of all internal threats, and invisible to all external threats.
Volodin hoped he wouldn’t have to touch it for a long time, but he knew what he was doing would make him either a hero of the Russian Federation or its most wanted criminal.
And he knew he had to prepare himself to play either role.
Peter Branyon’s gunshot wound to his shoulder and his broken ribs had been stabilized in a hospital in downtown Vilnius, and then he’d been flown from Lithuania to Ramstein Air Base in Germany on an Agency Learjet thirty-six hours after the attempted kidnapping.
Ding assumed the CIA CoS had been out of it for the entire time since the incident, but as he and Dom snapped the last of the 460 photos they’d been tasked to take by Mary Pat Foley, Ding found out Branyon had been busy, still working the phones, up until the moment he was given anesthesia to go into surgery to deal with his broken shoulder.
Ding’s mobile rang at seven p.m., just as they were on the highway back to Vilnius. He looked at it and saw it was a Lithuanian number he did not recognize.
“Hello?”
A man with a Lithuanian accent spoke in English. “Mr. Chavez. My name is Linus Sabonis. I am director of the State Security Department.”
Chavez realized he was getting a call from the Lithuanian equivalent of the director of the CIA. “How can I help you, sir?”
After a short pause, he said, “I think we should meet.”