An officer on one side was berating his men, ordering them to open fire again. McNeil aimed his MP7 and put a bullet in his head, while another SEAL did the same to an officer on the other side. Additional SEALs surged into the control center, fanning out along the back balcony as the control center doors closed behind them. McNeil ordered them to hold their fire.
Kalinin poked his head above the console and grabbed a microphone at the station, pulling it to the edge of desk. He spoke in Russian, giving a short speech, then one by one, the soldiers placed their weapons on the floor and stood. The SEALs moved swiftly along the top tier, gathering the weapons and ensuring the Russians were disarmed. McNeil looked over the balcony; the soldiers on the main floor had also put down their rifles.
McNeil signaled to Kalinin that it was clear and the Russian president slowly stood. He pulled the microphone to his mouth again and talked for a short while. In addition to the Russian soldiers, there were two dozen personnel on watch on the ground floor, wearing the green, blue, and tan jumpsuits of their respective military branches. The watchstanders turned to their consoles, and McNeil spotted a supervisor moving behind them, giving direction.
Kalinin took a seat at the center console on the third level, and the one-hundred-foot-wide video screen on the far wall morphed into sixty black squares arranged in five rows. Images of military commanders slowly replaced the dark squares, with most of the video being grainy headshots of army and aerospace generals, some rubbing the sleep from their eyes. When the final black square was replaced with video, Kalinin spoke for several minutes.
When he finished, every square went black again, but not until each officer repeated the same phrase, which McNeil translated to “Yes, sir.”
President Kalinin spoke into the microphone again and the supervisor on the main floor looked up at him, then gave additional directions to his watchstanders. A list of Russian four-letter codes appeared on the left side of the screen, the text color of each switching from red to green. McNeil beckoned to a SEAL who spoke Russian, who approached and translated. Kalinin had directed the command center to activate the emergency broadcasting system, tapping into every Russian television and radio station feed so he could address the entire country. It was 4 a.m. in Moscow, but the president’s speech would be broadcast repeatedly throughout the day.
When the final television station on the list switched to green text, the supervisor below reported that they were ready. Kalinin sat up in his chair, then began.
88
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It was quiet in the Situation Room as the president and his advisors followed the events in Russia. They’d gathered seven hours ago as Michigan’s SEALs began their journey ashore, watching satellite images as they emerged from the Black Sea into a secluded cove. Two helicopters landed and the infrared images of Navy SEALs and President Kalinin had boarded them. It’d been a long wait during the transit to Moscow, then the unit dropped from the helicopters skimming low over the Moskva River. Nothing had been heard from them since.
Things took a turn for the worse at 3 a.m., when the SEALs were supposed to enter the Ministry of Defense building. Russian soldiers emerged from a nearby building, inside the perimeter of the SVR and FSB forces and hidden from their view. Several dozen soldiers rappelled over the concrete embankment of the Moskva River, then entered the same tributary tunnel the SEALs had. There was dead silence in the Situation Room; the mission had been compromised.
The president waited, the tension ratcheting up when GRU Spetsnaz brigades arrived at the perimeter of the Ministry of Defense building. The GRU troops halted when confronted by the SVR and FSB Spetsnaz, content to form a perimeter around them. The SVR and FSB troops would not escape either.
The information technician’s voice came across the Situation Room speakers. “Mr. President. General Wheeler from NATO’s Allied Command Operations center is requesting a videocon.”
“Put him through,” the president said.
The satellite video display on the far wall was replaced with General Wheeler’s image. “Mr. President,” he began, “I have good news. Russian troops are starting to retreat.”
Wheeler’s report injected a jolt of energy into the Situation Room. The president’s advisors sat up at the table and in chairs along the cramped room’s perimeter.
“If you’ll go to split screen,” Wheeler said, “we’ll send you an additional feed.”
The president ordered the monitor on the far wall split in half. Wheeler’s image moved to the left and a map of Europe appeared on the right, with red icons along the Vistula and Siret Rivers and the Carpathian Mountains, opposed by blue icons of various shades. The image zoomed in on the Vistula River, where several red icons were moving eastward. The image shifted to a satellite view and zoomed in further, showing armored personnel carriers and tanks forming into convoys on nearby roads, headed east.
General Wheeler added, “The Russians are pulling back along the entire front: Poland, the Carpathian Mountains, and Romania.
The president replied, “Thank you for the update, General. We believe President Kalinin has defeated the military coup and ordered the withdrawal.”
“I understand, sir,” Wheeler said. “We’ll monitor the situation.”
General Wheeler’s image faded from the display, along with the NATO satellite feed. The president was about to address his staff and cabinet when the IT specialist’s voice came across the speakers again.
“Mr. President. Director Cherry is on the line. She has a video feed she’d like to send us.”
Cherry was monitoring events from the CIA operations center in Langley.
“Patch it through.”
President Kalinin appeared on the Situation Room display, sitting at a control console as he spoke to his countrymen. His speech was repeated in English by a CIA translator, who voiced over Kalinin’s remarks as he explained what had occurred: a military coup, which had been defeated. The men responsible would be held accountable.
89
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
In the upstairs study of his two-story home in the Moscow suburbs, Colonel General Viktor Glukov glanced at the pistol on his desk. He was partially dressed in his ceremonial uniform; everything except for his jacket, which hung from a hanger on the door. It had just come back from the cleaners and Glukov was pinning his medals back on, paying meticulous attention to the spacing and alignment. In years past, his wife would’ve done this for him, but she had passed away not long ago. They had no children, so Glukov had dedicated the rest of his life to his one remaining love. His country.
Upon seeing President Kalinin’s image on the television this morning, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the Interior Ministry or FSB forces apprehended him. Kalinin would have his head, but not before making a public spectacle of him, sending a message to those who might entertain similar treasonous thoughts. That was something Glukov would not allow. He had served his country admirably and would do what he could to prevent his name from being dragged through the mud. Yes, he’d supported the coup, but for all the right reasons.
Like the Germans in World War II, NATO would eventually want what Russia had — enormous reserves of oil and natural gas. It was only a matter of time before natural resources ran low, and Western European countries struggling for their economic survival looked east. Although NATO was currently weak, it was a twenty-nine-country alliance against — Russia. It wouldn’t take NATO long to rebuild their militaries, or worse yet, resort to tactical nuclear weapons to take what they wanted. Glukov supported the coup for the sole purpose of protecting Russia. There was no personal gain involved, only risk.