He muted the cell phone microphone, then pressed the button on his desk phone for the SVR operations center. When the supervisor answered, Hippchenko said, “Trace the call to my personal cell phone immediately.”
After the supervisor acknowledged and hung up, Hippchenko decided to stall for time, concocting a flippant response, but with a sound premise. It was unlikely the president of the United States was on the other end. Hippchenko unmuted his cell phone.
“Not likely,” Hippchenko replied. “You’re the third American president who has called me today.”
There was a muffled laugh on the other end of the phone.
The man replied, “How can I convince you?”
“There are protocols in place for the United States president to communicate with Russian officials. Calling my personal cell phone isn’t one of them.”
A different person responded. “Josef, this is Director Cherry.” Hippchenko immediately recognized the CIA director’s voice. She continued, “Considering what’s going on right now, we can’t use official channels. We can’t afford to take a chance our plan is discovered.”
“What plan?” Hippchenko asked.
“We have President Kalinin.”
Hippchenko leaned back in his chair. The intelligence reports had been accurate. A U.S. Navy SEAL team had been sent into Krasnodar Krai to extract Kalinin. Whether the effort was successful hadn’t been determined. Until now.
“What do you plan to do with him?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you help.”
“How can I assist?”
“Kalinin needs your help to defeat General Andropov’s coup.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Cherry outlined the plan, then waited for Hippchenko’s response.
It didn’t take long to decide. Yuri was one of his closest friends, plus General Andropov’s invasion had gone too far. Andropov was convinced NATO was too weak to wrest back control of the occupied territories, but that didn’t mean NATO wouldn’t try. Hippchenko was dedicated to furthering Russia’s ambitions, but in a more civilized manner. Andropov’s plan would spill blood needlessly, plus the long-term ramifications for Russia were too complicated to accurately predict.
Hippchenko’s desk phone buzzed. “One moment,” he said, then muted the cell phone again. He picked up his desk phone handset. “Hippchenko.”
It was the SVR operations center. The call had been traced to the Oval Office in the White House. It was useful information, but he’d already convinced himself he was talking to the American president and his CIA director. He hung up and unmuted the cell phone.
“I will provide the requested support and evaluate whether the FSB units can be trusted.”
The American president responded, “Thank you, Director Hippchenko. What is the best way to coordinate our efforts?”
There was a secure conference room in the SVR operations center, where Hippchenko could confer with his most trusted subordinates and communicate with American and FSB leadership. He provided the number to the direct line.
Before ending the call, the American president said, “We need you to keep the plan limited to the fewest people possible until the last moment. We can’t afford to alert any of General Andropov’s sympathizers.”
“I understand, Mr. President.”
81
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Inside the main Ministry of Defense building, on the third floor underground, Christine O’Connor sat on the edge of her cot in a dark cell. The accommodations were spartan: a cot, toilet, and sink, plus a locker at the foot of her bed for personal items, although she had none. It was dead quiet inside the eight-by-eight-foot room, one she concluded was soundproof. Whether that was to prevent sound from entering or exiting, she wasn’t sure.
When Anna opened the door to her home in Beregovoy yesterday, soldiers stormed inside. There was little Christine could do aside from lying on the floor as directed. Her hands were handcuffed and she was led into an armored personnel carrier, enduring a bumpy half-hour ride. She was then transferred to a military helicopter, and after a long transit north, the chopper touched down on one of two landing pads atop Moscow’s main Ministry of Defense building.
Her interrogation had started this morning, and the day-long event had gone as well as she could have hoped. She’d refused to provide any information concerning NATO war planning and hadn’t been harmed. After being threatened and cajoled, with neither tactic producing results, she’d been returned to her cell a few minutes ago. Before departing the interrogation room, however, the GRU colonel in charge had informed her that tomorrow’s interrogation would go much differently. She had no idea what that meant, but had imagined a few scenarios.
She was about to settle into her cot for the night when her cell door opened. Two soldiers entered, while the GRU colonel who’d led the interrogation effort waited by the doorway. Christine was handcuffed and escorted down the corridor, then shoved inside another cell that looked more like a hospital room, with two more soldiers inside. What caught her attention immediately were the straps attached to the bed for her feet and hands.
Her handcuffs were removed and she was forced onto the bed by two soldiers, then held in place by all four as they strapped down her wrists and ankles. Christine considered resisting, but didn’t see the point. She’d be overpowered and the result would be the same.
Another man entered the cell, wearing a white lab coat. After a short discussion with the colonel, he stopped by Christine’s bed.
“My name is Andrei,” he said in English. “I understand you’ve refused to provide the requested information. I’ve been directed to make you more pliable. Unfortunately, there are severe side effects to this process, and you will not be the same afterwards. There will be a window of lucidity, about eight hours, after which you will be permanently insane. You won’t know who or where you are. You will merely exist in a vegetative state.”
“Your scare tactics won’t work, doc,” Christine replied, trying to quell the rising fear as she evaluated the man’s claim.
Andrei frowned. “I’m not trying to scare you, Christine. Only provide you with accurate information so you may make a wise decision. I have done this many times and do not enjoy it. I don’t want you to end up a drooling shell of your former self.”
Andrei leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Tell them what they want to know. Your silence isn’t worth what this will do to you.”
Christine stared at him, her mind reeling at the scene created by his words — an image of herself sitting in a chair in an insane asylum, drool being wiped from her chin as she gazed into the distance with vacant eyes.
Okay, the scare tactics are working.
Andrei saw the indecision play across her face and waited patiently while she vacillated, alternately deciding to tell them what they wanted to know, then immediately admonishing herself for the thought. Her resolve gradually crumbled and she was about to acquiesce when she reminded herself that the issue was bigger than herself. Providing the requested information would cost countless lives and jeopardize the NATO offensive. Although she didn’t know what strategy General Wheeler would employ, she knew the options.
She turned away from Andrei and looked at the ceiling.
“Well, then,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
Andrei went to a small refrigerator and retrieved an IV bag containing a clear solution, which he hung from a stand beside Christine’s bed. He disinfected her arm, although Christine wondered what the point was, then inserted a needle into a vein. He attached the IV tubing to the needle, then adjusted the drip rate. Christine felt the cool liquid enter her bloodstream.