“I shall.”
“If you cannot tell me of any improvement in the operations, tell me the status of the operations.”
“We remain on schedule. All simulations have been successful.”
“Timing is important, Aleksandr. As you know, we have several components to the plan that must mesh.”
“I understand. Out of curiosity, has NATO given any indication they are even aware of our various movements?”
“NATO has been silent, as expected. They have undertaken a simulation similar to Locked Shields recently, but it appears the timing was mere happenstance.”
Stetchkin chuckled derisively. “They behave as raccoons. They believe if they put their hands over their eyes, the predator will not see them and will leave them alone.”
“The West remains preoccupied with the EMP issue, with the bombing campaign against Iran. They cannot conceive of a second potential cataclysm following so soon after averting the EMP. In this, I do not fault them. It is a rational conclusion driven by human nature. And even though our history is one that instructs us that one cataclysm can certainly follow soon after another, we, too, would likely be lulled into complacency, a sense of security.”
“But we do not think in one-dimensional terms as they do,” Stetchkin noted. “Even some of their leaders have acknowledged that they play checkers while we play chess.”
“Even so, Aleksandr, we likely would never envision such a deceptive maneuver.” Another sip of water. “Do any contingencies remain at your end?”
Stetchkin saw an opening. “Our preparations are complete. It is just a matter of initiating the procedure. For that reason, Colonel Egorshin is no longer integral to the operation.”
Mikhailov could barely restrain rolling his eyes. Stetchkin had little capacity for subtlety. “You are saying he is unnecessary?”
“Yes.”
“And you wish to remove him?”
“That is correct.”
“In the same fashion you removed Uganov?”
“Not exactly,” Stetchkin replied slowly.
“So you wish to kill him.”
“He is useless now.”
Mikhailov examined the crease on his pant leg, running an index finger along its crest. He remained silent for several moments. “You wish to kill a brilliant young man because he has successfully completed an enormously complex task so all that remains, essentially, is to push a button, so to speak…” Mikhailov looked up. “Are you completely deranged, Aleksandr?”
Stetchkin stammered, at a loss for how to respond.
Mikhailov continued. “You worry me. I have given you enormous authority to ensure our objectives are met. I am growing concerned I may have made an error of judgment. I have long been aware of your… eccentricities. Your accomplishments, however, outweighed the eccentricities, and so I tolerated them. But there are limits to my tolerance. This is one of them.”
“It is merely that he is an affront—”
“Listen to me,” Mikhailov interrupted. “You acted on Uganov without checking with me. Although somewhat pedestrian, Uganov was competent. I did not object because Egorshin was the true center of the operation.” Mikhailov leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “That did not mean I approved, and I must approve. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”
Stetchkin nodded.
“I understand your reputation. I helped create your reputation. But you are not free to simply eliminate essential personnel without seeking my approval beforehand. That is unacceptable.”
“I understand fully.”
“Then understand this also: Only when you can certify to me that the event can proceed with one hundred percent certainty without Egorshin may you act as you wish. If you act without so certifying, you will be fortunate to suffer the same fate as Uganov. Am I clear?”
Stetchkin swallowed nervously. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 51
MOSCOW,
AUGUST 17, 3:12 A.M. MSK
After dismissing Stetchkin, Mikhailov retreated to his study and spent several minutes looking out the window at Kremlin Park, thinking about what the world was about to look like. Of one thing he was certain: No matter how it looked, he would be regarded as the most consequential Russian leader since Peter the Great.
A light rap at the door preceded the entry of Mikhailov’s senior aide, Alexei Vasiliev. Like most competent aides, Vasiliev had a good understanding of his boss’s thought processes and tried to anticipate what he would need or do next. Without a prefatory greeting, Vasiliev said, “Stetchkin planned to kill Egorshin?”
“Yes.” Mikhailov turned from the window. “Make a note, Alexei. When this matter is concluded, we must reevaluate Stetchkin. He’s proved valuable. A man with his qualities usually is. But he strikes me as increasingly… odious. The issue of Uganov, for example. That advanced nothing except Stetchkin’s own preferences.”
“Morosov—Egorshin’s uncle—contacted me again a short time ago. He is a sober individual. He provided details of Egorshin’s encounter in Stetchkin’s office. From what Morosov described, Stetchkin is either a peculiar motivator of personnel or dangerously unhinged.”
“Since I have known him he has been both. It seems lately his behavior leans increasingly toward the latter.”
“The Uganov episode was something of a retrogression.”
“Yes, it certainly was. Stetchkin seems to imagine himself a modern-day Beria. If he is not careful, he will come to a similar end.”
“Everyone can use a Beria.”
“Perhaps. Until he becomes a liability. Stetchkin is balancing precariously close to the edge.”
“Morosov agrees.”
“I directed Stetchkin he may take no action unless he is able to certify to me with one hundred percent certainty that the event can proceed without Egorshin. He cannot objectively make such certification.”
Vasiliev nodded. “Egorshin is the architect and the engineer. Without him, the most Stetchkin can guarantee is a ninety percent probability of success.”
“Egorshin is the future. Stetchkin is the past. You may tell your friend Morosov that Stetchkin will not move against Egorshin.”
Vasiliev began to leave but paused at the door and turned to Mikhailov. “May I ask, Mr. President, what the consequences would be if Stetchkin continues to act… odiously?”
A wry smile crossed Mikhailov’s face, as if he were enjoying the prospect. “Then Stetchkin will receive a visit from Taras Bor.”
CHAPTER 52
GEORGIA,
AUGUST 16, 8:30 P.M. EDT
Ruth Ponder continued to persist, inspiring others to rally around her.
The kids had reclaimed their childhood bedrooms, and sleeping bags and air mattresses were laid down for the grandkids. Bob and Sue Lampley were, of course, fixtures in the living room and kitchen, respectively, Bob making phone calls to every law enforcement contact he knew and Sue keeping food warm and serving the other folks in the house. Amy Randall of the church choir, whose sister was the insurance adjuster, was sitting on a couch in the living room charging her cell phone in the wall outlet nearby. She had made dozens of calls to anyone and everyone who might possibly have information on the people responsible for Amos Ponder’s murder, and she had been invaluable—primarily because her calls prompted other people to make their own calls, which in turn kept the authorities from relaxing even one little bit.
According to Amy’s sister, the LaCrosse had been impounded and was being examined for evidence. Amos’s body was also being examined by the Cobb County coroner, after which it would be prepared for transport back home. Everyone in the house prevailed upon Ruth to stay put and not go up there—Amos’s body would be back soon enough.