His persistence paid off. The captain of the dive boat told him he’d seen the Spinnaker II sail into a remote cove of tiny West Seal Dog Island, an uninhabited rock a few miles northwest of the bay.
Clark knew he would have to make his approach carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was appear in front of the already suspicious men on the boat. He almost considered renting a new sailboat in Spanish Town to take into the area, but he worried this would just make the men on the Spinnaker II know he was up to no good if they recognized him on a different vessel.
After thinking it over for a long time, he decided he’d go to another nearby island and drop anchor for the night, far enough away from where the men were holding the Walkers that they couldn’t possibly detect him. And then the following day he would move into position along with the other boats approaching the uninhabited West Seal Dog for a day of diving, fishing, and snorkeling.
There would be safety in numbers, he told himself. He’d try to stay out of sight and blend in with the rest of the crowd.
Clark had picked up provisions in Spanish Town, so he decided to spend the night in some secluded spot, just on the off chance that the Spinnaker II might leave West Seal Dog and head to a Virgin Gorda marina for the night. He found a suitable secluded spot on Mosquito Island just before sundown, and he dropped anchor.
Clark had decided he would take up watch on the catamaran the following day, probably from shore on West Seal Dog, and then make a scuba approach to the Spinnaker II, not at night but during the daylight hours. A nighttime raid on the boat might have seemed to give him the most potential for success, but Clark assumed all five of the men he’d seen on his earlier surveillance of the catamaran would be on board during the overnight hours.
But if he arrived close enough to do surveillance tomorrow, he might well catch at least two of the men off the boat and ashore. Confronting three men who were wide awake but not expecting action was preferable to five men, even if some were asleep, especially if they had someone keeping watch.
Clark was all but exhausted from his full day of hunting for the Spinnaker II, but he’d achieved his objective. Now all he could do was get a good night’s sleep, and prepare himself mentally for the confrontation to come.
56
Tatiana Molchanova had interviewed world leaders before, but she’d never met any foreign leader with nearly the power of her own president. Today all that would change, and this would be thrilling enough to her, but the added element to this evening’s meeting with the American President had her positively electrified.
Molchanova spoke excellent English; she was the daughter of parents who’d immigrated to the UK in the early nineties, when anyone who had the means and the desire to get out did just that. She’d spent nine years in Sheffield, and she’d only returned to the land of her birth for college. She’d remained in Russia ever since, so she spoke her English with something of a British accent but she retained the lilt of Russian in her vowels.
It had added to her cachet in Russia that she had returned to the nation of her birth, eschewing the lures of the West because of the pride she felt in her heart in being a Russian woman.
This was a good selling point for Molchanova, but it had nothing to do with the reason she had really returned home. She wanted to be a broadcaster, and she knew her accent, while limited, would preclude her from making any name for herself in English because she was not a native speaker.
The interview was conducted in the living room of a suite at the Radisson Blu Royal Hotel in Copenhagen. It wasn’t the President’s actual suite, but rather one reserved for media broadcasts. A simple set had been assembled by moving furniture around, and behind the set was a window with a view overlooking the Tivoli Gardens.
President Ryan appeared right on time in the center of his large entourage of Secret Service agents and aides.
Molchanova was instantly struck by Ryan’s physical size as compared to Volodin’s — he was half a head taller — as well as his calm, relaxed mannerisms, again as compared to her own leader’s. Ryan smiled easily and shook her hand gently and with deference.
She had an icebreaker prepared. “Mr. President, I know the people of Russia appreciate you taking time to give your view on matters important to both of our nations.”
Ryan just nodded and said, “Happy to be with you, Miss Molchanova.”
She said, “With your permission, we will conduct our interview in English and interpreters will dub in the translations before this goes to air tomorrow evening.”
Ryan then surprised the Channel Seven anchor by switching into slow but understandable Russian. “Unfortunately, I am forgetting more and more Russian every year. One needs to practice, and I have no time.”
Molchanova had no idea Ryan knew a word in her language, and she was taken aback, but she retained the presence of mind to use the moment. In Russian she said, “Very impressive, Mr. President. I assume you learned when you were in the CIA?”
Ryan switched back to English and shook his head. “No, ma’am. In college.” He smiled. “But since your English is flawless, let’s stick with your plan to use the interpreters.”
As Ryan was miked and Tatiana readied herself in the chair next to him, she realized she hadn’t really known what to expect from the American President. She’d thought he would immediately try to get her to confirm that Channel Seven would play his comments unedited, or at least his aides would push her and her staff to commit. But the White House staff had been accommodating to the needs of the producers and technical people, much more accommodating than what she encountered when she interviewed mid-level Russian politicians in their offices.
And the President had said nothing on the matter himself. She wondered if she had expected him to be some sort of thug, or if, perhaps, she was accustomed to interviewing thugs.
The cameras began to roll, and Tatiana Molchanova read her introduction. After this, with a large white grin and a sparkle in her eyes, she turned to President Ryan.
“Mr. President, thank you for your time this evening, on what is obviously a day that is very important to you.”
“It’s my pleasure to speak to Russians in their homes. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Of course.” Her smile evaporated and she read her first question. “You are here, in Copenhagen, to ask NATO to move combat forces to the Russian border with Lithuania. How do you think this action will be received in Russia?”
Ryan said, “Defensive combat forces, Miss Molchanova. There is a difference.”
“Will they be armed? Could not their weapons be used for both offensive and defensive actions?”
“Any weapon is just a tool. But NATO is a strictly defensive alliance. If it were an offensive alliance, I imagine NATO would have probably gone on the offensive at least once in Europe in the sixty-seven years since the charter was signed. It has not. I hope your audience understands that. For all the talk the West is at your door and about to knock it down, the NATO nations that border Russia have the absolute least military presence in them.”
“But you wish to change that by sending troops to Lithuania.”
“I am requesting NATO move its Very High Readiness Joint Task Force into Lithuania, yes. Russia has twenty-five thousand troops on the eastern border there, and twenty-five thousand troops on the western border. The VHRJTF is five thousand, seven hundred men and women.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, Miss Molchanova. If your leader really wants to invade and conquer Lithuania, like he did in Georgia, like he did in the Crimea and Donetsk, like he tried to do in Estonia… I am sure he can pull it off. You will just have to come on television for him and explain to your viewers why they are suddenly at war with the West, why sanctions have been raised to the point where your only trading partners will be Cuba, Iran, and North Korea, and why no Russian will be allowed free travel outside their national borders.”