Egorshin sat straight with his hands on his knees, a look of surprise on his face. “What? How did you get this information?”
“I am SVR.”
“What do you mean she spurned him?”
“From what I gather, Stetchkin became enamored…” Morosov paused. “No, enthralled with Tatiana when she was still in the fashion industry. He arranged to meet her. I am told—I do not know how my sources know this, but it is eminently believable—that he assisted her transition to television, that he is the reason she got the opportunity to host her program. She gladly took advantage of the opportunity. The story I was told is that she manipulated Stetchkin’s affections quite adroitly until she was secure in her position and then ignored him. She did not take his calls. She refused to see him.”
“Tatiana is the reason Stetchkin hates me?”
“It appears so.”
“She never told me anything about this. She knows I have been experiencing difficulties with Stetchkin, but she never uttered a word.”
“Perhaps she’s not proud of her actions, but it is not as if her conduct was unique in history. And Stetchkin certainly hoped that Tatiana would accept his offer of assistance. Whether she reciprocated as he hoped was a gamble, not a contract.”
“So Stetchkin wants me out of the way so he may pursue Tatiana.”
“So to speak.”
The look on Egorshin’s face was that of near panic. Morosov leaned forward and patted his nephew’s knee.
“Calm yourself, Piotr. Mikhailov is just as ruthless as Stetchkin, but smarter. More important, Mikhailov is president. He will not permit Stetchkin to harm you.”
“Are you certain? I may only be of use to Mikhailov until…”
Egorshin fell silent.
“I know you are involved in something of importance to Mikhailov, Piotr. I am informed that Mikhailov considers you valuable even after the important thing is concluded, whatever it may be.”
“That would give me comfort if I thought Stetchkin were rational. A rational person would not do anything to incur Mikhailov’s displeasure, let alone his wrath. I remain concerned that Stetchkin will let his impulses overcome his intelligence.”
“Vasiliev informs me that Mikhailov made clear to Stetchkin that he was to leave you alone. Stetchkin has been around too long to make the mistake of letting his interest in women negatively affect his fortunes—even a woman as attractive as Tatiana.”
Egorshin shook his head. “All of this for Tatiana? Do not misunderstand. Of course she is attractive. Spectacular. But it is crazy for a man as powerful as Stetchkin to jeopardize his position for her. And I believe he is crazy. Anyone who saw what he did to Uganov would concur.”
Morosov smiled. “So, I suspect, since you are my sister’s son and since my sister is insufferably prepared for any and every eventuality, that you have made plans to further protect yourself.”
“I have not.”
Morosov arched his eyebrows. “That is not like Svetlana.”
“I have made preparations, but not to protect myself. Such preparations are futile. If Stetchkin is determined enough to try to kill me in defiance of Mikhailov, then I am a dead man. Nothing can save me. So I have made other preparations.”
“To what end?”
“Revenge.”
“Revenge? How does a dead man exact revenge?”
“Through his uncle, the magician.”
“You are asking me to kill Stetchkin? Do you want our entire family killed?”
“I do not want you to kill Stetchkin. Mikhailov will do it.”
“Then what would you have me do?”
Egorshin reached into his pocket, pulled out a small object, and pressed it into his uncle’s palm. Morosov examined it with a quizzical expression. “And what is this?”
“Revenge.”
CHAPTER 62
MOSCOW,
AUGUST 17, 7:43 P.M. MSK
“Bor reports that all assets are in place and they are ready to execute.”
Mikhailov leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Is he satisfied that the impediment has been removed?”
“He made no mention of the impediment. I gather, therefore, that in his estimation he is no longer an issue,” Vasiliev replied.
“No matter. The impediment was Bor’s concern, not ours. The event would take place regardless. Summon General Maximov, Stetchkin, and Egorshin. Tell them to meet me for a final briefing before implementation.”
Stetchkin sat alone in his office examining time-lapse aerial photographs of Russian troop movements in the Caucasus on his desktop computer. There were dozens of photographs spanning the last three days. The last series of six photographs showed no movements whatsoever. The troops had reached their penultimate destination. Now they were merely staging, coordinating, and preparing.
Stetchkin tapped his keyboard and a completely unrelated image appeared. It was a single document: the final assessment report from Egorshin’s unit, prepared by Egorshin himself. All simulations had been concluded. The unit’s preparations were complete.
Stetchkin manipulated the mouse and the screen displayed another image pertaining to Egorshin’s unit. It was a long list of categories and names. Next to each was a small box. Every single box contained a checkmark. In the upper-right-hand corner of the screen was a small digital clock, the numbers of which were declining. It was a countdown. Very little time remained before all of the digits reached zero.
Stetchkin tapped the speaker function on his desk phone and then pressed four keys. There was a brief buzzing sound before someone picked up.
“Yes, sir.”
“It is time,” Stetchkin said and disconnected.
CHAPTER 63
NORTHERN VIRGINIA,
AUGUST 17, 1:12 P.M. EDT
Local police arrived at the parking lot behind the woods in the rear of the dead man’s house almost contemporaneously with Congo Knox picking Garin up from the front. Knox had waited, as Garin requested, for a time before placing an anonymous call to alert the police of the dead bodies to give Garin time to surveil the entire house.
Knox drove toward Dwyer’s house, where Dwyer, Matt, Olivia, and additional DGT personnel were assembled.
“You look like hell,” Knox observed.
“Thanks.”
“Cut your arm?”
“Propane torch.”
“My mom told me to be careful around open flames.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Why are you doing this, Mike?”
Garin looked sharply at Knox. “What do you mean, why am I doing this? Did you somehow forget the shootout in Dale City? Did you forget about the EMP? Forget Bor?”
“No, Mike. I mean why you? Why do you, as opposed to anyone and everyone else in our security apparatus, have to do this?”
“Because right now, who else is there? Besides you, Dan, Olivia, and Matt?”
“There’s no Omega anymore. But even if the nation’s security apparatus was involved, I bet you’d still be involved. So why you?”
“Why not? I’m an operator. I’m an American.”
“Okay, then, how?”
“You lost me, Congo.”
“You’re…” Knox searched for a word. “Inexorable. You keep coming, like some genetic freak—if there’s a gene for determination, that is. You act like you can’t die.”
Garin didn’t respond. I can’t, he thought. I’m already dead.
“So, did you get anything useful in there?”
“Maybe. How long until we get to Dwyer’s?”
“With the traffic, about twenty-five minutes.”