The unlock and launch authorization codes were held by Russia’s general staff at their command center in Moscow or backup facilities at Chekhov and Penza. Additionally, the Russians had their version of the U.S. president’s portable Presidential Emergency Satchel, commonly referred to as the nuclear footbalclass="underline" three suitcase-sized control modules code-named Chegnet—the monarch’s scepter. One was kept with the Russian president, another with the defense minister, and the third with the chief of the general staff.
Unfortunately, after two years of developing plans and probing for allies who could assist, Mixell had reluctantly concluded the effort was a bridge too far — the Chegnets and Russian strategic command centers were heavily guarded, and obtaining access to a fire control system with the protocols to arm the weapon and the personnel willing to launch it had proven too challenging. Fortuitously, Mixell had learned of an alternative. A software flaw that, with the right assistance, could be exploited.
Obtaining that assistance was still a tall order. There was a significant possibility America would retaliate, and he needed help from those who had no vested interest in their home country. It had taken another year, but he had finally found his men: one bitter, one disillusioned.
Bogdanov was the victim of a nasty divorce that had ruined him financially, and his reputation had been marred by vicious lies spread by his wife during the divorce proceedings. Additionally, Bogdanov was an only child, his parents dead. If America retaliated, he had no family in Russia to worry about. Only his ex-wife, who he’d be happy to see turned into ashes.
Korenev, meanwhile, had been passed over for promotions to senior positions several times, and a grudge against his government supervisors and the administration as a whole had steadily grown. He was now deeply disillusioned, and the opportunity to be recognized for his ability, even if that appreciation came from Mixell, along with enough money to live in luxury in an exotic country for the rest of his life, had been too tempting to decline.
Both men had agreed to their phase of the plot, but accomplishing it was another matter. There were significant obstacles to overcome.
“Have you arranged the assistance you need?” Mixell asked.
Both men nodded. Each executed a different element of the plot, but both required help, as each part was protected by safeguards requiring the concurrence of two persons with the required authorization. Altogether, four persons were required, but Mixell left it up to Bogdanov and Korenev to arrange the necessary assistance.
Mixell pulled a small case from a satchel and handed it to Korenev. “What you need is inside, along with instructions.”
Korenev examined the contents, then closed the case.
Mixell then retrieved a suitcase from the closet, placing it on the table before Bogdanov. He opened it, revealing a handheld laser cleaner and a thin disk about two inches in diameter.
After glancing at the contents, Bogdanov asked, “Where is the third item? It’s the most critical.”
Mixell turned to Korenev, who pulled a thin, handheld computer from his jacket, which he handed to Bogdanov. “This is what you need,” he said. “Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course. Does it have the authorization code loaded?”
“Not yet. Once I receive payment, I’ll provide the code.” Korenev smiled as he turned to Mixell. “Which gets us to the main topic of tonight’s meeting.”
“I have the money you requested,” Mixell said. “Forty million, U.S., for each of you, deposited into separate Swiss accounts.” He retrieved two letters from his satchel and handed them to Bogdanov and Korenev. “Here is the account information, along with instructions so each of you can create another account and transfer funds to pay for the assistance you require.”
After reading his letter, Korenev said, “This is only half of the money.”
“You’ll receive the other half after you complete your task.”
Korenev leaned forward. “This wasn’t the deal.”
“It is now,” Mixell said. “You’re not getting forty million dollars without assurance you’ve done your part. If you were in my position, you’d do the same.”
Korenev gave him a hard stare, then eased back in his seat. “I understand.”
Mixell handed a package to each man. “These are the documents for your new identities, both for yourselves and your assistants, so you cannot be tracked down afterward.”
Both men examined the fake identification documents.
With Bogdanov and Korenev officially committing to their part, everything had been arranged, leaving one last concern. Persuading Aleksandr Plecas to launch weapons against the United States had been difficult, and Mixell was convinced that if Plecas learned they were armed with nuclear warheads, there was zero chance he would have agreed. It was crucial that Plecas not discover what he was launching.
Mixell posed his question to Bogdanov. “You’re sure the submarine captain won’t know the warheads are nuclear?”
Bogdanov nodded. “Neither the Russian captain nor his crew will have any idea their missiles have nuclear warheads. If the arming code is already entered into the missiles, they won’t query the fire control software, requesting authorization. They will appear the same as missiles with conventional warheads.”
Although Mixell had heard it before, Bogdanov’s words were reassuring.
With everything arranged, the only challenge remaining was actually executing the plan. “The missile loadout is in three days. We’re on a tight timeline.”
Korenev replied, “I will obtain the code tomorrow night, but cannot transfer it until the morning.”
Bogdanov added, “I’ll be ready.”
12
SEVEROMORSK, RUSSIA
Shadows were creeping eastward across the snow-covered terrain, the deep red sun descending toward the hills to the west as Mikhail Korenev’s car coasted to a halt outside the headquarters of the Northern Fleet Joint Strategic Command. Established in 2014, the joint command controlled Russia’s Northern Fleet and all ground and aerospace forces in the Murmansk and Arkhangelsk Oblasts, as well as the offshore islands along its northern coast.
After passing through the building’s security checkpoint and nodding to the two armed guards on duty, Korenev rode the elevator to the strategic command center, located several hundred feet underground and encapsulated within a twenty-foot-thick concrete shell. Upon reaching the reinforced entrance door, Korenev swiped his badge and entered his passcode. The door unlocked, providing access to the sprawling but mostly vacant command center.
Although nuclear strike orders would normally be issued from the main command center in Moscow or the alternate sites in Chekhov and Penza, Northern Fleet Joint Strategic Command served as a backup in case the primary and alternate sites were destroyed or otherwise rendered inoperable. Once a year, a heavily scrutinized training exercise was held to ensure Northern Fleet personnel were capable of transmitting nuclear launch orders to strategic units and Fleet ships armed with tactical nuclear weapons. The remaining 364 days of the year, however, were uneventful, and tonight the command center was quiet, with only the watch captain and two other men on duty, manning three of the thirty workstations.
After two hours, with the boredom of the night shift seeping in, Korenev stood and stretched, taking his snack bag with him to the tea station at the back of the room. As he passed behind the watch captain, Korenev glanced at the third man in the room, Arkady Timoshenko, who nodded his head slightly, signaling his willingness to proceed.