When she reached the pub entrance, she turned and sprinted toward the forest, checking over her shoulder occasionally. When she was a few yards inside the tree line, she stopped and looked back. The man had wisely chosen not to follow.
It took an hour and a half to make it back to the abandoned cabin, finding Kalinin where she left him. She held the cell phone up proudly and smiled, then tossed it into his lap.
“I almost forgot about the passcode. You should have reminded me before I left.”
“Obtaining the passcode goes without saying. You clearly don’t have much experience stealing things.”
Christine folded her arms across her chest. “I clearly need to stop hanging out with you.”
Kalinin dropped the line of conversation. “Let’s call the American president and arrange new transportation, shall we?”
She sat beside Kalinin and entered the phone’s passcode, then Kalinin used the map application to determine their location. Christine checked her watch; it was 3 a.m. at the White House. Instead of the Oval Office, she dialed the president’s cell phone. The call didn’t go through.
Kalinin examined the phone. “It does not have international service. You stole the wrong phone.”
Christine grabbed the phone from him. “I did not steal the wrong phone.”
She opened the phone’s Play Store application, then downloaded and launched a free app. After swiping through several screens, she tapped on a hazy image in the top right corner and a greeting popped up, requesting her user name and password. Christine filled in both fields and pressed Enter, and several icons appeared. She pressed the phone symbol and a man answered.
“Name and verification code?” he asked in a monotone voice.
“O’Connor, Christine Taylor. Access code 851051.”
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then the man said, “How can I help you?”
“I need to talk to the president, immediately.”
It took a moment to make the connection.
The president sounded groggy, but his voice cleared once he heard Christine on the other end.
44
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The president entered the Situation Room in the West Wing basement, joining four men around the table: Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison, SecDef Dunnavant, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Brian Rettman, and Vice Admiral Dusty Rhodes, director of the Navy’s Strategic Systems Programs, responsible for the Trident missiles and their launch systems. Although the CNO and Admiral Rhodes were required only for the second topic of this morning’s meeting, they had arrived at the original 8 a.m. start time as directed.
Following Christine’s middle-of-the-night call five hours ago, the president had set Dunnavant onto the task, directing him to have a rescue proposal by 8 a.m., which they would discuss first.
“What’s the plan?” the president asked.
Dunnavant placed a map on the conference table, showing Christine and President Kalinin’s location, a few miles inland from the Black Sea. “Following the failed Delta Force rescue, we evaluated whether we should just hide Kalinin somewhere inside the country — we have a CIA safe house in Sochi, for example. But the consensus is we need to get him out of the country as soon as possible. We can’t afford to let him fall into the wrong hands.
“Given what happened to the Black Hawks, any new rescue plan must avoid the air. The Russians obviously have capable anti-air assets in the vicinity. That leaves land and sea, and we have the perfect solution. Michigan is in the Black Sea, positioned off the coast of Odessa for potential Tomahawk missile support in Ukraine. She’s also carrying two platoons of Navy SEALs. We’re still finalizing the details, but the basic plan is to send a team of SEALs ashore to retrieve Kalinin and Christine.
“Michigan needs to reposition from Odessa, which will take about a day, and the SEALs will head ashore at nightfall. We’ve considered options to extract them faster, but we think this plan has the highest probability of success.”
The president glanced at the Chief of Naval Operations.
Admiral Rettman said, “If there’s a way to get them out, our SEALs will get it done.”
“Proceed with the plan,” the president said. “Let’s hope for better success this time.”
After Dunnavant acknowledged, the president said, “Let’s move on to the second topic.”
Steve Kaufmann was one nervous cat, Lyman thought as she watched him pace around the Roosevelt Room. He’d fidgeted in the car during their trip from Ronald Reagan National Airport into Washington, D.C., and his eyes had grown wide as their sedan forced its way through the throng of reporters outside the White House. Despite the administration’s denials, the press had connected the dots between the Trident missile issue and the B-2 bomber crashes, and speculation was rampant. Cameras flashed as Kaufmann’s car passed by in the dawn, as reporters snapped pictures of the unfamiliar White House visitors.
He was wearing an ill-fitting suit Lyman had borrowed from one of her NCIS buddies last night. She’d taken Kaufmann home to pack for the trip, realizing there wasn’t a suit in his wardrobe. His slacks and collared polo shirts were sufficient for Curtain Labs’ casual dress policy, but wouldn’t do for briefing the president of the United States. A quick call to one of the agents assigned to the Curtain Labs investigation had produced the slightly too small suit for the tall software engineer.
Kaufmann returned to the conference table, slumping into his chair between Agent Gililland and Diane Traweek, Curtain Labs’ chief executive officer. Kaufmann tapped his fingers on the folder containing the brief for today’s meeting, which he’d quickly put together before departing Curtain Labs last night. He sat still for only a minute before he stood and started pacing again, pausing to scrutinize President Theodore Roosevelt’s Nobel Peace medal on the fireplace mantel before moving on. Lyman intercepted the nervous engineer on his route around the Roosevelt Room.
“Take a deep breath,” she said, “and try to relax. You’re going to do fine. You’ll be the expert in the room, so talk with confidence.”
“They’re gonna think I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. It’s a unique, but solid solution.” Lyman straightened his tie. “One more piece of advice. The director of the Navy’s SSP — Strategic Systems Programs — is Vice Admiral Dusty Rhodes.”
“Dusty Rhodes, like the wrestler?”
“Exactly. Don’t make any jokes. He’s heard it a million times. I’ve never met him, but I hear he’s a crotchety old fella, a former master chief who started over, working his way up the officer ranks.”
“Got it,” Kauffman said. “No jokes or sleeper holds during the meeting.”
“Not funny.”
The door to the Roosevelt Room opened and an aide entered. “The president is ready to see you. Follow me, please.”
The aide led the way to the West Wing basement, opening the door to the Situation Room. Waiting inside with the president were two civilians and two admirals, who were introduced after the new arrivals took their seats.
SecDef Dunnavant began by explaining the reason for the navigation upgrade to their nuclear weapons, which they’d spent ten years implementing. In the end, it had to do with hardened targets, but he provided the background first.
Submarine-launched ballistic missiles, while sitting in their launch tubes, were untargeted. They had no idea where they were nor where they were supposed to go. That information was supplied during missile spin-up, with two pieces of information provided to each missile: where it was on the planet, which was provided by the submarine’s navigation system, and where the warhead aim points were. Unfortunately, submarine positions weren’t always accurate.