The president’s secretary looked up when Christine entered her office. “Is the president available?” Christine asked.
The secretary checked the president’s schedule. “He’s open for the next ten minutes. Will that be enough time?”
Christine nodded. The secretary knocked on the president’s door and inquired. After his response, the secretary stepped aside and Christine entered the Oval Office.
The president was at his desk, framed by towering colonnade windows providing a view of the Rose Garden and South Lawn. He put down the document he was reading.
“Afternoon, Christine,” he said, gesturing toward the three chairs in front of his desk.
Christine took one of the proffered seats, gripping the folder on her lap with both hands. There must have been something in her body language, because the president leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses above his forehead, studying her carefully. He waited for her to begin.
“I apologize for the interruption,” she said, unsure of how to broach the subject. After a quick reflection on the issue, she decided to start at the beginning.
“I want to thank you for the opportunity you provided, choosing me as your national security advisor. I appreciate your faith in my ability and your willingness to look beyond my party affiliation. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed working for you and I hope you’ll consider me again if another opportunity arises in the future.”
There was no response from the president, so she continued. “In the last three years, I’ve ended up in situations that go far beyond what I expected. I’ve done things that violate my core principles. I’m not sure what I stand for anymore.”
Her eyes went to the folder, then she handed it to him.
After reading the letter, the president said, “I must admit that you’ve been forced to make difficult decisions. But I think you’re being too harsh on yourself. I can’t express how impressed I am with how well you’ve handled yourself in these challenging situations.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Let’s work on keeping you out of trouble from now on.”
The president closed the folder and pushed it across the desk toward Christine. “I’d like you to reconsider.”
Christine leaned forward, pushing the folder slowly back to the president.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure, but Hardison was right. She needed to step away for a while.
“I am, Mr. President.”
The president leaned back in his chair again and folded his hands across his waist. “You’ve provided a two-week notice. I have another idea. You’ve worked hard on the new nuclear arms reduction treaty with Russia, establishing important personal relationships. I’d like you to continue as my national security advisor until the final details have been hammered out.”
“That could take months,” Christine replied.
“How about this: two months or when the agreement is final, whichever comes first?”
Christine contemplated the offer. The rationale was sound, but the meetings alternated between the two countries. After what she’d done on the shore of the Black Sea, returning to Russia didn’t sound like a good idea.
“Can we conduct all future meetings in the United States?”
“That could be arranged,” the president replied, “but I think we can leave the venue unchanged. I don’t believe there’s anything to worry about if you meet in Russia. Diplomatic relations have returned to normal and Russia is currently on their best behavior. Plus, President Kalinin assured me there will be no retribution for what you did in Russia.”
“I wasn’t aware of Kalinin’s assurance.”
“I considered mentioning it, but since you’ve avoided the subject, I decided not to.”
Christine appreciated the president’s thoughtfulness, but the issue had never been far from her mind.
“Two months?” Christine asked.
“Two months. And if you happen to change your mind in the meantime, you may withdraw your resignation.”
“You’re just stringing me along, hoping I’ll change my mind.”
“I am.” The president smiled.
Christine stared at the folder on the president’s desk as she contemplated his offer. Two months. It gave the president plenty of time to hire a new NSA, plus it provided an opportunity to finish what she’d started — a new nuclear arms reduction treaty with Russia.
“I agree,” she said. “Two months or a new treaty, whichever comes first.”
“Excellent,” the president replied. “Now why don’t you spend some time annoying Hardison. You’ve been far too amenable lately.”
It was Christine’s turn to smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
5
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Russian President Yuri Kalinin took his seat at the head of the Kremlin conference table, populated by the same men who had joined him the previous day: Defense Minister Nechayev, Foreign Minister Lavrov, plus Chief of the General Staff Sergei Andropov and the commanders of the Russian Ground Forces, Aerospace Forces, and Navy.
“What is the status?” Kalinin asked.
Defense Minister Nechayev replied, “Alexander failed the test.”
“What is the prognosis for correcting the issue?”
Nechayev looked to Fleet Admiral Oleg Lipovsky, who answered defensively, “We are pushing the boundaries of both physics and technology. The challenges are significant and we’ve overcome most of them.”
“I understand the issues,” Kalinin replied. “Will there be a solution anytime soon?”
Lipovsky shook his head. “The next proposal will require dry-docking Alexander to retrofit some of the components. That will take several months.”
General Andropov joined in. “We do not need the Alexander class. The Zolotov option is sufficient. We have the opportunity to demonstrate our capability in three weeks, and we must take advantage of it. We don’t know when the next opportunity will occur.”
“I’m uncomfortable with the Zolotov option,” Kalinin replied. “We don’t know how the Americans will respond, and if the situation spirals out of control, the consequences would be dire.”
“The Americans won’t respond,” Andropov insisted. “That’s the point of the Zolotov option. They will be paralyzed, providing an opportunity to reestablish our border security.”
Kalinin replied, “Perhaps we should be content with our current border situation.”
Disapproving looks formed on each man’s face. Kalinin contemplated the issue and the events that had shaped his advisors’ perspectives.
The painful memories of World War II, referred to as the Great Patriotic War within Russia, weighed heavily on the Russian psyche, something the West seemed incapable of understanding. The United States, for example, extolled its Greatest Generation — those who fought in World War II — along with their enormous sacrifice: over 400,000 dead. A sacrifice that paled in comparison with the Soviet Union’s: seven million military personnel killed, along with twenty million civilians as the German Army exterminated ethnic groups during their occupation and razed entire cities to the ground as they retreated.
Twenty-seven million.
And those were the casualties from just the last invasion by a Western European power. First the Poles in the seventeenth century, followed by Napoleon’s army in the nineteenth century, with both armies sacking Moscow.