“That’d be Mikhail Korenev.”
“And who is he?”
Bogdanov explained that Korenev worked at Russia’s Northern Fleet Joint Strategic Command in Severomorsk.
“What was he paid for?”
“He provided me with the arming code.”
“The arming code for what?”
“The nuclear warheads.”
Kaufmann stopped taking notes mid-stroke. He looked up slowly. “He did what?”
“He provided the arming code so I could arm the twenty Kalibr missiles scheduled for Kazan’s loadout. Morozov and I swapped conventional and nuclear missiles one night, then I armed the nuclear variants and exchanged the serial numbers and nose cones so the swap wouldn’t be detected.”
After a long pause, Kaufmann asked, “What are the targets?”
“I don’t know. Mixell didn’t share that with us. Only Plecas knows.”
Kaufmann turned to Anosov, who was already stepping from the interrogation room, pulling his cell phone from its holster.
It was silent in the room as Bogdanov cleaned the blood from his face with the towel wrapped around his arm.
Anosov returned to the room, directing Kaufmann to wrap things up.
“Once we find Morozov or Korenev,” Kaufmann said to Bogdanov, “we’ll confirm the details. You’ve been very helpful.”
“What? You haven’t found Morozov?” It suddenly dawned on Bogdanov that Morozov’s capture had been a charade. “You lied!”
Kaufmann smiled, then turned to Anosov. “Well done.”
47
GADZHIYEVO, RUSSIA
Andrei Voronin stood at the entrance to the nuclear weapons bunker, surveying its contents. Moments earlier, he’d been ordered to conduct another inventory, immediately, of the nuclear warhead variant of the Kalibr missile, and this time by serial number. The previous inventory of all ordnance at Gadzhiyevo Naval Base had been conducted by weapon type and quantity, and had revealed no discrepancies. All Kalibr missiles, both conventional and nuclear variants, had been accounted for, so he wondered what a serial number audit would prove.
Supposedly, twenty of the nuclear variant were unaccounted for, but there was no chance that was true. However, he had his orders and watched as two men went down the rows of Kalibr missiles, clipboard in hand, taking independent inventories, checking off each serial number.
When they were finished, Voronin approached both men, who handed him their clipboards. Both inventories matched; every nuclear-warhead-armed missile was accounted for.
As he stood between two rows of Kalibr missiles, he noticed a slight difference between the missiles on his left, versus those on his right. The white paint on the warhead section of one set of missiles was shinier than the others. It was probably just a different production lot, he figured. But just to be sure, he decided to count each version. He went down one side, adding up the quantity of shinier missiles, stopping suddenly when it totaled twenty.
He turned to the two ordnance handlers. “Remove the nose cone from this missile,” he said, pointing to the nearest shiny version.
The necessary tools were brought out and the nose cone removed. Voronin stared in stunned silence at the guidance and control section of a Kalibr missile armed with a conventional warhead.
With rising trepidation, he ordered the nose cones removed from every Kalibr missile in the stowage facility, both conventional and nuclear variants. Perhaps the twenty nuclear-warhead-armed Kalibr missiles had somehow ended up in the conventional storage bunker, but he already knew the answer.
He ordered the nearest worker to bring him the ordnance loadout manifest. It was soon in his hand and he went down the list, his finger stopping below an entry.
Twenty Kalibr missiles had been loaded aboard Kazan.
48
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Night was settling over the nation’s capital, a light rain falling from a blanket of dark gray clouds as a black Lincoln Navigator sped south on the George Washington Parkway. In the backseat of the vehicle, Christine O’Connor’s eyes were fixed on the passing scenery, but her thoughts were focused on the upcoming meeting. She had received the president’s call less than an hour ago, directing her to conduct a brief at the Pentagon tonight.
Earlier in the day, the staggering information had filtered in: Bogdanov’s confession in Sochi, followed by verification of his claims after a weapon inventory in Gadzhiyevo. The classified brief in Christine’s lap pulled together everything they knew: Mixell, Kazan, nuclear warheads, and Futtaim. There were still many unanswered questions, but enough information to warrant action.
The Lincoln Navigator peeled off from the parkway toward the Pentagon’s River Entrance, the portico’s bright lights in the distance wavering through the rain, illuminating the steps descending from the Pentagon terrace toward the Potomac River. Her vehicle stopped at the base of the steps as Cadillac One, bracketed by two more Navigators, ground to a halt behind her.
She stepped from her SUV as the president emerged from Cadillac One, joined by Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison, National Security Advisor Thom Parham, and the president’s senior military aide, Captain Glen McGlothin. Christine joined the entourage, flanked by Secret Service agents, as another vehicle arrived and Vice President Bob Tompkins and his Secret Service detail hustled to catch up.
There was no conversation along the way as they descended to the National Military Command Center, relocated to the Pentagon’s basement during the last phase of the building’s fifteen-year renovation. Upon reaching the entrance, Captain McGlothin swiped his badge and entered the cipher code, then held the door open for the president.
Christine accompanied the group into NMCC’s Current Action Center, with several tiers of workstations descending to a fifteen-by-thirty-foot electronic display on the far wall, then into a conference room along the top tier. Already seated and rising when the president entered were the Joint Chiefs of Staff: the heads of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and National Guard, plus the vice chairman and chairman, General Gil Bohannon. On the other side of the table sat several members of the president’s cabinet: Secretary of Defense Tom Drapac, Secretary of State Dawn Cabral, and Secretary of Homeland Security Nova Conover. Christine took a vacant seat at the end of the table, across from the president.
The president looked to Christine. “Go ahead.”
Christine passed around copies of the brief, then began.
“There are a lot of unanswered questions, but the high-level takeaway is — we believe the Russian submarine Kazan is carrying twenty Kalibr missiles armed with nuclear warheads, and that the submarine’s commanding officer has been paid to launch them.”
There were murmurs around the table, as some of those present hadn’t yet been briefed on the latest details.
Christine flipped to the first page of the brief. “Here’s what we know.”
She walked everyone through the issue and what they had learned thus far: who Lonnie Mixell was, that he had funded the cancer treatment for Plecas’s daughter, paid Bogdanov and Korenev to swap and arm twenty Kalibr nuclear warheads, and that the missiles had been loaded aboard Kazan. Based on the letter from Plecas to his wife, Kazan would launch its missiles in approximately three days.
There was a somber silence in the conference room as the occupants digested the information.
“What are the targets?” Chief of Staff General Bohannon asked.
“We don’t know,” Christine replied. “Kazan could target anywhere in Europe or most of Africa from the Mediterranean or Atlantic. However, based on the projected timing of the launch, it’s likely the targets are along the East Coast of the United States. Using the datum of Kazan’s interaction with USS Pittsburgh near the GIUK Gap and a transit speed of ten knots, Kazan will be within launch range of major cities near the Eastern Seaboard in three days.”