“You’ve known Yuri for a while?”
“We joined the SVR at the same time and spent a few years in the field together. We are good friends.”
Hippchenko’s eyes moved to the scar on her cheek. It was thin and would fade over time, she’d been told, but not completely. While wearing makeup, the blemish was barely discernible, and she wondered why Hippchenko had noticed it.
“I’m not a sadistic animal like Gorev,” he said. “But we share one trait. I will do what is in Russia’s and Yuri’s best interests, removing any obstacle that threatens either. Do you understand?”
Hippchenko was like Gorev, in more ways than one. But Christine wasn’t going to be intimidated by him either.
“I’m a little unclear,” Christine replied. “Could you spell it out for me?”
He gritted his teeth for a moment, then smiled. “I see why Kalinin likes you so much. You are a lot like Natasha.” The SVR director leaned closer, lowering his voice. “However, there are other influential people in Russia, me included, who don’t like you. Be careful.”
Christine was about to respond when President Kalinin approached. Hippchenko pulled back as Kalinin eyed him.
The Russian president turned to Christine. “I see Director Hippchenko has been bothering you, despite my direction.”
“Actually,” Christine replied, “he’s been quite helpful, suggesting places in Moscow to visit when I have free time. He even recommended I ask you to take me to the Bolshoi Theatre.” She smiled at Hippchenko.
“He did?” Kalinin turned to the director.
Hippchenko replied, “Of course. I recommend Anna Karenina. I was thinking of a balcony suite, in full view of everyone in attendance. I’m sure there’d be a cell phone video clip of you two, holding hands, on the evening news.”
The smile faded from Kalinin’s face. When he turned back to Christine, Hippchenko’s eyes narrowed.
Christine reached toward Kalinin’s arm, running her hand along his forearm. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t wrap my arm around Yuri’s waist right now?”
Hippchenko turned and left.
Kalinin watched him disappear into the crowd. “You’ll have to forgive Josef. SVR directors can be a bit overzealous at times.”
“You were the SVR director.”
“And I was a bit overzealous at times.” He smiled. “But Josef has a point. Our friendship must remain discreet for now. He’s made the necessary travel arrangements so your detour from Bucharest to Gelendzhik isn’t discovered.”
“Hippchenko is in charge of my travel arrangements?”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
Christine took another sip of champagne, unconvinced by Kalinin’s assurance.
The ballroom lights flashed, signaling it was time to enter the dining room.
“I will probably not have an opportunity to talk with you again tonight,” Kalinin said. “But we’ll have time at Gelendzhik.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
14
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
It was almost midnight when General Andropov entered his office in the Ministry of Defense building. The state dinner at the Kremlin had dragged on longer than he’d hoped, but he and the other leaders of Russia’s military had finally slipped away. Before departing his office this afternoon, he’d drawn the curtains so no one with the interest, and ability, would notice the late night meeting. He sat at his desk as the two colonel generals and admiral took their seats opposite him.
“Have you decided?” Andropov asked.
Colonel General Volodin replied, “Do you have a Zolotov controller?”
“I do. We now have the ability to activate the option ourselves. Based on the timing of the American exercise, we must implement the option tomorrow night. Everything is ready, aside from your commitment.”
There was no immediate response from the three men until General Glukov raised the critical issue.
“And what of President Kalinin?”
“He will be detained, kept sequestered so he cannot countermand our orders. To the public and the rest of the military, it will appear as if we are executing the president’s desires.”
“And the long-term plan for him?”
“After we gain control of the objectives and verify the United States will not intervene, we will return Kalinin to power. Once he sees what we’ve accomplished, he will take full credit for the operation. He won’t reveal it was initiated without his authorization. The revelation that he lost control of the military would be politically disastrous. All will be forgiven.”
Of the last part, Andropov wasn’t certain. However, since he had no intention of returning Kalinin to power, the issue was moot. There would be no repercussions.
Glukov glanced at the two men beside him. Colonel General Volodin was the first to nod, followed by Admiral Lipovsky.
Turning back to Andropov, Glukov declared, “We will support all efforts related to this operation, with or without Kalinin’s authorization.”
Andropov suppressed a smile. “I appreciate your support. Operational plans will be provided to you by courier in the morning. I will need you at your command centers by nightfall.”
After a short pause, Andropov said, “Kalinin is scheduled to spend the weekend at Gelendzhik. I will visit him tomorrow evening.”
15
GELENDZHIK, RUSSIA
Atop a three-hundred-foot-high plateau overlooking a pebble-sand beach, with the scenic Caucasus Mountains rising to the east, lies the forty-acre Residence at Cape Idokopas, often referred to as Putin’s Palace. Dominating the complex is an Italianate mansion, similar in design to the tsars’ Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, completed at a cost of over one billion dollars. The sprawling compound has its own church, casino, and three-pad heliport, along with a summer amphitheater, courtyard swimming pools, teahouse, and staff apartments.
Just before noon, under a clear blue sky, a black limousine approached the massive granite facade surrounding the complex, stopping before wrought iron gates crowned with a golden double-headed eagle. The gates slowly parted, and the sedan pulled forward to complete the last leg of Christine O’Connor’s journey.
After departing Moscow this morning, her C-32 transport had stopped in Bucharest. After descending onto the airport tarmac, she’d boarded a Dassault Falcon executive jet and was airborne minutes later, landing at Gelendzhik Airport, a few miles from Kalinin’s residence on the shore of the Black Sea.
As the limousine coasted to a halt in the inner courtyard, Christine spotted three men waiting at the base of the steps leading to the mansion entrance. She recognized one man as Andrei Yelchin, Kalinin’s executive assistant. When Christine stepped from the limousine, Yelchin greeted her while the other two men attended to her luggage.
After exchanging pleasantries, Yelchin escorted her up the steps, where two servants opened towering French doors. Christine entered a stunning two-story foyer lined with white marble, illuminated by a triple set of chandeliers hanging from a ceiling painted in the High Renaissance style, with scenes reminiscent of Michelangelo’s work in the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel. Directly ahead were two curved staircases spreading up in a “Y” design, leading to the second level of the three-story mansion.
Yelchin led Christine up the right staircase to a row of bedroom suites, opening the door to an exquisitely furnished room with gilded ceilings, complete with a king-size canopy bed with white drapes. He informed her they’d be heading out on Kalinin’s yacht, then waited outside while Christine changed into an outfit she’d packed for the weekend: tan capri pants and blue blouse.