“We have no idea what they’re planning, either here or in Russia, do we?”
“We can probably rule out an EMP attack.”
“But do you think it’s possible it’s something of similar magnitude?”
“I think it’s a mistake to underestimate the Russians and a mistake to underestimate Taras Bor.”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever underestimated him, Michael. He just seems always to stay one step ahead.”
“He’s more than just one step ahead now. He’s been invisible. But he’s here. There’s evidence of his presence from Dallas to Cleveland, from Atlanta to D.C.”
“Do you think he’s in the house?”
“Can’t say. Bor likes to move. If there’s anyone in the house, they’re part of his team. He might, however, drop in at some point.”
“You’re only there to perform surveillance, right?”
His subconscious registered the question as another possible expression of concern. “Just surveillance. We need to enlist the cavalry, Olivia. So impress upon Brandt the urgency of this. I need sanction and I need a reconstituted Omega, and I need them last month.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“Just surveillance, Michael.”
“Just surveillance.”
CHAPTER 49
MOSCOW,
AUGUST 17, 2:30 A.M. MSK
Egorshin couldn’t very well return to Tatiana’s apartment with soiled trousers. So after the degradation and humiliation at the hands of Stetchkin, he went to his own apartment, showered, and put on some fresh clothes.
He sat morosely at his kitchen table with a glass of vodka. He didn’t drink it; he rarely drank. It was just a security blanket.
Stetchkin was insane. He was also powerful and cunning—a terrifying combination of qualities in an enemy.
Stetchkin’s hatred for him was baffling, but Egorshin no longer dwelt on it. Regardless of the reason or lack thereof, Stetchkin had identified Egorshin as someone to torment, and there was nothing he could do about it. The important thing was survival. Egorshin was certain the reprieve he’d gotten earlier was fleeting and Stetchkin was determined to kill him.
He spun the glass slowly on the table. His immediate objective was to survive the next twenty-four hours with his prefrontal lobes still intact. The only person he knew who might help him achieve that objective was his uncle, whom he hadn’t been able to reach since leaving Stetchkin’s office. Morosov, he hoped, had spoken to President Mikhailov’s senior aide, Alexei Vasiliev. Mikhailov would stop this lunacy. Mikhailov needed Egorshin.
Or did he?
CHAPTER 50
MOSCOW,
AUGUST 17, 2:35 A.M. MSK
Yuri Mikhailov was as tall as Stetchkin but nearly ninety pounds heavier. He’d been a discus thrower on the 1984 Soviet Olympic team, after which he’d spent a brief stint in the KGB. Before becoming the Russian president he’d amassed a small fortune in the energy sector, in no small part due to his position and contacts in the KGB.
Mikhailov was one of the few men in Russia not fearful of Stetchkin. In fact, Mikhailov found Stetchkin barely tolerable. More than once he’d considered getting rid of the man. But Stetchkin was efficient, effective, and useful. Once he ceased being all three, however, Mikhailov would cast him aside like a rotten apple core.
Mikhailov had reluctantly granted Stetchkin an audience. The man might be useful, but his presence was grating and bearable only in small doses, with appreciable intervals in between.
The pair had just sat a few feet apart on matching leather chairs in a large Baroque anteroom in Mikhailov’s office. Two small tables next to each held glasses of water. A massive chandelier hung overhead. They were alone.
“Chao-Li sends his regards, Aleksandr,” Mikhailov said, referring to the Chinese president. “He asked me to tell you how much he enjoyed your visit to Beijing last year during the joint exercises.”
“He is a good man,” Stetchkin said.
“He is better than his predecessor,” Mikhailov conceded. “But I do not trust him. His trade delegations have made repeated inquiries about traveling throughout lower Siberia, ostensibly to boost commerce to the benefit of both countries.”
“Given the current state of our economy in that region, I would say that may redound to our benefit, particularly the mining sector.”
“They are not interested in mining, Aleksandr. They are not interested in commerce.”
“Then where lies their interest?”
“Lebensraum.”
“I have seen no aggressive actions on their part.”
“Merely because there have been no aggressive actions does not foreclose the certainty that they are being planned. I am a bit concerned you seem not to have considered this.”
“It is, in fact, something my staff has evaluated in great detail,” Stetchkin lied.
Mikhailov was not fooled. He hadn’t been fooled by any underling in his entire professional career. That, combined with sheer ruthlessness, was how he became, and remained, president of Russia.
“Then why haven’t you reported your staff’s evaluations to me, Aleksandr?”
“They are not yet complete.”
“Then you should get better staff. Your current staff is a collection of idiots. There is no evaluation to be done, Aleksandr. It is common sense and simple math. China is a nation of 1.5 billion people on 3.7 million square miles of land. Siberia, on the other hand, is more than five million square miles of land inhabited by barely forty million people—less than three percent of China’s population on twenty-five percent more land. Lebensraum.”
“We have enjoyed good cooperation regarding disputes with the West,” Stetchkin countered.
“Of course. Nations have no permanent allies or enemies, only interests.”
“Kissinger.”
“Lord Palmerston said it more than one hundred years earlier,” Mikhailov informed him. “We will cooperate with the Chinese when it is in our mutual interest to do so. But they have an overriding concern that cannot be obviated: too many people on too small a landmass. And just north of them is vacant land as far as the eye can see. The largest expanse on the planet. They are building artificial islands in the South China Sea to claim those waters. The Americans were too stupid and feckless to even raise an eyebrow about it. We will not be so stupid. If we permit the Chinese a foothold on our territory—whether it is a plant or refinery or farm or weather station—they will use that in the same fashion they are using the islands in the South China Sea. We, however, are not the Americans, Aleksandr.” Mikhailov took a sip of water before changing subjects. “You have absorbed Uganov’s operations?”
“Yes.”
“How has the absorption improved operations?”
Stetchkin began speaking and stopped. He began again and stopped once more. He really couldn’t say how operations had been improved. “The operations are streamlined,” he offered weakly.
“You turned a good man into a walking vegetable to streamline operations with no identifiable improvement in performance?”
“Uganov was troublesome and unreliable. We could not depend on him.”
Mikhailov, his eyes hooded, stared at Stetchkin. “Understand something, Aleksandr. I give you latitude because you produce results, not because I am fond of you. If you do not produce results, not only will you receive no latitude; you will be useless to me.” Mikhailov picked a piece of lint from the leg of his trousers. “You should endeavor never to become useless to me.”