Two other guards forced him to dress at gunpoint. He was gagged, handcuffed again, wrapped with a blindfold, and led through what seemed like a labyrinth of hallways. He had no idea how long it had been since the last time he’d stood up, but the pain in his legs intensified.
His breathing was labored. With the gag in his mouth, he could barely draw enough air through his nose and was afraid he was about to suffocate or at least pass out.
After what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes, Bennett heard a door open and felt a blast of humidity. He was outside. Then he heard a car door open, and he was ordered into the backseat.
“What does Gogolov really want?” asked the president.
Marsha Kirkpatrick took off her half-glasses and leaned back in her chair.
MacPherson watched her as she considered the question. Six years in the White House as the national security advisor had taken its toll. MacPherson was actually surprised she’d stayed on this long.
“It’s the worst-case scenario, Mr. President,” she began. “Sergei Ilyushkin was the devil we knew. But I don’t know what we’re dealing with now. That was a very shrewd speech, and I suspect it went a long way toward calming a very anxious Russian citizenry. Gogolov hit all the populist angles while also staying true to the LDPR’s nationalistic and pro-military objectives. He also sent a strong signal to Europe that he considers us the enemy, not them. That could complicate our lives enormously, depending on how Paris, Berlin, and Brussels react.”
“You think he’s trying to drive a wedge into NATO.”
“No question about it. The question is why. Dividing NATO isn’t an end in itself. It’s a means. But to what? What does Yuri Gogolov want? Is he a true disciple of Zhirinovsky and Ilyushkin, something better, or something worse?”
“What could be worse?” asked the president.
Kirkpatrick paused for a moment, then said, “For one, Gogolov could have had Ilyushkin killed when he’d outlived his usefulness. And if that’s the case, there’s no telling what else he’s capable of, including provoking a war with us.”
Bennett finally felt the car slow down.
It entered what sounded like a parking garage or a tunnel of some kind. When the vehicle came to a complete stop, he was ordered to get out and start walking, a gun to his head, a guard holding each arm.
They trudged up a flight of stairs, went through a set of revolving doors, down a hallway, and stepped onto an elevator. No one spoke. The elevator rose for a long time. Bennett had little sensory data to go on. He suspected they were heading to the top floor of a large office building, or perhaps an apartment high-rise.
A bell rang, and the elevator door opened. He and his handlers got off, walked down another long hallway, and stopped. Now he could hear whispers. There were others around, and there was an echo.
For a fraction of a second he heard someone on a walkie-talkie, until it was abruptly turned off. Bennett cocked his head. He’d been here before. He recognized the ambient noise, the tone of the room. He ran through his mental Rolodex of all the places he’d been to in Moscow, trying to place it.
Suddenly Bennett’s hands were uncuffed and he was roughly pushed down into a chair. His gag was removed, then his blindfold. He instinctively shielded his eyes, trying to adjust to such bright light.
It took a few moments.
When he looked up, he found himself in the presence of Yuri Gogolov.
He had been taken back to the Kremlin.
All thought of his own pain vanished immediately. Bennett had only one objective. He demanded to know where Erin was and to be taken to her immediately.
Gogolov took off his glasses to clean them. “You are in no position to make demands of me, Mr. Bennett. You will learn of her fate in due time.”
Bennett’s instinct was to lunge for Gogolov’s throat. He wanted this man to suffer. He wanted this man to die a grisly, horrific death. But attacking Gogolov would do nothing to bring McCoy back to him. Indeed, if she was still alive, such a move could condemn her to certain death. And did he really think he would live through an attack on the new czar of Russia? The man was surrounded by bodyguards. Gogolov himself was trained to kill. He trained others to kill. Bennett would have no chance. It would be a suicide mission, and Bennett wasn’t about to sacrifice himself for nothing.
With his makeup for television wiped away, Gogolov’s face was even more pale in person, making his deep-set and almost hypnotic eyes all the more striking. His voice was soft and measured, his message concise.
“I would like you to write this down, Mr. Bennett, so there are no mistakes, no misunderstandings.”
An aide stepped in and handed Bennett a pen and legal pad. His mind churning with conflicting thoughts and emotions, Bennett took them without question.
He was not used to feeling powerless. Back in Washington, the entire White House staff and State Department bureaucracy moved at his command. As the personal emissary of the president of the United States, he was given great honor and deference in capitals all over the globe. His motorcades stopped traffic. His speeches made headlines. Yet suddenly it was as if he were a slave in the presence of Pharaoh, as impotent as he was inconsequential. He began to feel numb.
“Take this down carefully,” Gogolov began, utterly disinterested in Bennett’s physical and psychological trauma. “In the pursuit of justice for those Russians who died aboard Aeroflot flight 6617, Russia expects reparations from the United States in the amount of $1 billion per passenger, as well as a formal American apology to the Russian people, passed by the Congress, signed by the president, and read aloud before the United Nations Security Council.”
Bennett heard the words but was having trouble focusing. He wasn’t used to taking dictation from Fascist dictators, and he had to force himself to record every word.
Gogolov waited for him to catch up, then continued. “If over the next twelve months the United States government can assure the Russian people — and the people of the world — that it means Russia no harm, the czar is open to reestablishing relations, albeit slowly.
“The new Russian Federation has no territorial designs or military ambitions with regard to the United States. Russia no longer believes in the efficacy of an East-West conflict. The times have changed. The world has changed. So long as the U.S. and her allies show no further hostility toward Russia and her allies — so long as Mother Russia’s pursuit of her own economic and geopolitical interests is not interfered with — Washington need not be concerned with the government of Gogolov. After all, the Marxist-Leninist era is over. A new day has dawned, a day of unprecedented peace and prosperity for everyone of goodwill.”
His right hand now cramped, Bennett finally finished writing and looked up.
“Now, as to your fiancée,” Gogolov said without expression. “I am not unsympathetic to your love, Mr. Bennett. Miss McCoy was a beautiful young woman and a zealot for her country. But I am afraid she is no longer with us.”
Bennett couldn’t breathe.
He shook his head and felt the room begin to spin. He winced as shocks of intense pain now streaked through his body. He tried to suck in enough oxygen to keep from collapsing and keep him from breaking down and sobbing in front of this monster. He refused to give Gogolov the satisfaction.
No. He refused to believe she was dead.
They were lying. Gogolov was a liar. They were holding her hostage. He was using her as a bargaining chip. She was still alive, Bennett told himself again and again. She had to be. He couldn’t live without her.