A wider smile. “Perhaps it is out there. Perhaps it is not.”
“Do you mean a submarine in general or, like the Americans allege, the Knyaz Oleg?”
“The Americans should pat themselves on the back. They are correct in their determination that the Knyaz Oleg is fully operational and now part of Russia’s Northern Fleet. Whether it is in the Atlantic, in the Pacific, or patrolling the waters on Jack Ryan’s bathtub… this is something I will not reveal.”
“Of course,” Tatiana said, and she looked down at her next card.
“Unless you twist my arm,” Volodin added.
Molchanova glanced back up. She was a little confused about what she should say next, but Volodin’s testiness in some of their recent encounters was nowhere to be seen now, so she relaxed a little.
“Our viewers always appreciate your candor, when you are able to be candid, that is.”
“I will be very candid. It is very possible that one of our newest, greatest, and technologically superior submarines is, at this moment, in international waters, operating peacefully and within all maritime and international norms and limits… in the backyard of the United States of America.”
Volodin grinned.
Molchanova was stunned, and she struggled for both elucidation and closure of this topic. “If the Americans are correct that it is out there, on its way across the Atlantic, can you say what the purpose of such a mission would be?”
Volodin shrugged, leaned forward. “Pokazuka.” Just for show. He reached out and touched Tatiana Molchanova’s exposed knee, taking the hem of her skirt and pulling it down a little to cover it. It was an odd gesture, almost fatherly in a way that made it even creepier. Despite her years of experience, Molchanova was utterly taken aback. She struggled for something to say, but Volodin did not need her to say anything. He barely needed her in the room.
The audience was watching him, not her.
Molchanova remembered his direction to her and recovered quickly. “I wonder if you can tell the viewers, both here in Russia, as well as our large Russian-speaking audience all over the near abroad, how we can ensure the safety of our young service people who are stationed in the enclave of Kaliningrad Oblast, in light of the attack on the troop transport train passing through Vilnius last week?”
She saw from his look at her that she had pleased him by asking this question at this time, and she felt a wash of relief come over her.
He said, “I like you very much, Miss Molchanova, so I will use the opportunity of your news program tonight to make an announcement that I would normally make from my desk at the Kremlin. It is that important.”
She just nodded, urging him on.
“Our prosecutor general’s office has been loyally going through old cases for a number of years now, at my direction. Cases of theft, I am speaking of. I have long been concerned about things that may have been stolen from the Russian people — from your viewers, in fact.”
Molchanova was good, but she wasn’t used to working without a net. She had no idea what the hell the president was talking about now. Criminal matters in Russia?
“What… what things?”
“In the latter days of the Soviet Union, decrees and decisions were made without respect to the Russian people. One must distinguish Russia, the nation, from the Soviet Union, the amalgamation of nations.”
“Da,” Molchanova replied, only because Volodin looked at her in a way that told her a reply was demanded of her.
He continued. “The Baltic is an interesting case, I have always thought. This was land the Soviet Union won from the Nazis, on the backs of the Russian people. Russia bore the brunt of that war. Russia. Despite the fact the Soviet Union was the organizing body during the war, Russians fought, died, and earned the land of the Baltic through blood.
“The Soviet Union was acting illegally when it recognized Baltic independence in 1991, as at this time, the Soviet Union was an unconstitutional body. This land won by Russia, through a decree by an illegal body, was permitted to leave Russia’s area of influence. Everyone knows contracts signed by someone unauthorized to sign said contract are deemed immediately null and void.”
“But… what does—”
“The prosecutor has not been directed by me at all, although I have long felt the Baltic States should never have been granted release from our influence. Of course, he will do his work and look into all the details, the documents, the signatures, but in light of what has happened in Vilnius last week with the death of so many young, brave Russians, I encourage him to work diligently and quickly. There is no time to waste.
“Assuming he does, in fact, determine the recognition of independence was an illegal act, this will open the doors for Russia to revive the corridor between our friends and neighbors Belarus and Russia’s enclave of Kaliningrad. Lithuania is situated in the way of the safety of Russia’s commerce with itself, and if we need to ensure the corridor is protected from danger, we will do just that.”
Molchanova’s eyebrows were almost touching, so confused was she by what she was hearing.
But Volodin beamed as he spoke. “I have just today spoken with our wonderful friend and partner President Semyonov of Belarus, and explained to him the situation. He has promised his full cooperation with the results of the prosecutor’s office. If we need to reopen the corridor through Lithuania, Belarus will support us in that endeavor.”
Molchanova sat in awe now, staring at her president. He smiled at her, a cocked smile, almost a smirk of self-satisfaction. Like a chess champion who just declared checkmate.
She broke out of her stupor quickly, shrugged a little, almost apologizing for stating the obvious. “Yes. But… the Lithuanian government, it can be assumed, will not just let Russians enter their country and take the territory between Belarus and Kaliningrad.”
Valeri Volodin’s smile did not waver. “Tanks don’t need visas, Miss Molchanova.”
36
It was just before noon in Washington, D.C., and in the conference room off the Oval Office, a dozen men and women watched the live transmission of the Russian president’s interview on a large monitor. The volume was turned down, and a running translation came from a pair of interpreters sitting with their headphones on at the far end of the table. Helpfully for all, the female translator gave a running commentary for the female reporter, and the male translated the words of Valeri Volodin.
Jack Ryan was there in the room, along with several of his national security staff. They listened to every word in silence.
When it was over, all eyes turned to the President of the United States.
“‘Tanks don’t need visas,’” he said, a tone of resignation in his voice. “The president of Russia just declared the nations of the Baltic illegal states, and he all but promised to invade and take the corridor to Kaliningrad, at the very least.”
Mary Pat said, “Which, by the way, goes right through Vilnius, the capital city and the largest city in Lithuania, and Kaunas, the second-largest city in the nation.”
Arnie Van Damm wasn’t part of the President’s National Security team, but he almost always sat in on these meetings for the very simple fact that he ruled the roost of the President’s schedule, and national security issues required adjustments to this schedule. But although he was usually in the room when this group had their discussions, he rarely ever spoke unless Ryan’s schedule was in question.
Which meant every head in the room turned when he spoke now.
“You know… it’s remarkable. It’s brilliant, really.”
Jack Ryan said, “What’s brilliant, Arnie?”