Andropov pondered his future. He had few allies left, but there were some who could be counted on. Former Fleet Admiral Georgiy Ivanov, fired by President Kalinin after the events at Ice Station Nautilus, harbored a grudge, and there were several generals who had served under Andropov who would demonstrate their loyalty if given the proper opportunity. As the evening wore on, while staring at a dark TV, General Andropov plotted his revenge.
Above Andropov’s dacha in the Siberian hinterland, five Trident warheads, already separated from the missile’s third stage, descended through the atmosphere at four miles per second. Just before impact, the warhead nose cones separated, releasing dozens of heavy tungsten rods, which spread evenly in a circular pattern centered around a single dacha. The tungsten rods impacted the ground with the destructive force of over one hundred tons of TNT, obliterating everything inside a three-thousand-square-foot circle.
93
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Inside the White House, there are three dining rooms: the President’s Dining Room in the West Wing, often referred to as the Oval Office Dining Room; the first family’s private dining room in the Prince of Wales Room on the second floor; and the most formal of the three, the Family Dining Room on the first floor. It was just before noon when Christine O’Connor followed the president into the Prince of Wales Room, where they sat opposite each other at a round mahogany table. Servants brought in their lunch; nothing lavish, just Caesar salad with a grilled chicken breast cut into strips.
Christine concluded that the choice of venue for today’s lunch indicated something important was on the agenda. The president was likely to make one final effort to convince her to withdraw her resignation. The extra effort wouldn’t be required, however. She’d already decided to continue serving as his national security advisor.
The last few weeks had been hectic overall, but the quiet hours hiding in the forest with President Kalinin and the long flight back from Moscow had provided Christine with the opportunity to reflect on everything she’d done over the past three years. What crystallized her thoughts was watching Harrison put a bullet in the head of a defenseless man in the Ministry of Defense security center to coerce the other watchstander into opening the control center doors. It was no different than what she’d done in China.
Her actions during the last three years, except in one instance, had been driven by the desire to save lives. The singular case, putting a gun in Gorev’s mouth and pulling the trigger, had been driven by revenge alone and had been the catalyst for the crisis that led to her resignation. However, President Kalinin’s assessment during dinner at Gelendzhik had been correct. She was holding herself to too high a standard, one requiring her to make the correct decision every time, regardless of the circumstances. That she had trouble dealing with why she’d killed Gorev was a good thing, she concluded.
Christine had finally worked her way through what she’d done over the last three years. She was about to inform the president that she was pulling her letter of resignation and was looking forward to working for him another five years — after his reelection next year, of course — when the president spoke first.
“I’ve hired a new national security advisor who will start next week.”
Christine was at a momentary loss for words. She dropped her eyes to her plate and poked her fork through her salad. She hadn’t expected to be replaced so easily. The president had often commented on how valuable her insight was and how fortunate he was to have her as his NSA. Now, she’d been tossed aside. She had only herself to blame, though. She’d handed him her resignation.
The president continued, “We’ve both held up our end of the agreement. You’ve completed the nuclear arms negotiations with Russia, and I’ve accepted your resignation.”
Christine searched for an appropriate response, settling on, “Thank you, Mr. President.” She forced a smile.
The president was silent for a while, watching her as she brought a piece of chicken to her mouth and chewed slowly. The president said, “I think it’s for the best.”
She didn’t know what else to say; she just wanted to leave before her voice or face betrayed her feelings. She placed her fork on her plate and wiped her mouth with her napkin, then placed it on the table, signaling she was done. She’d have to wait for the president, however, who still had a fork in one hand and knife in the other.
The president cut into a strip of chicken as he asked, “Have you given much thought to what you’d like to do next?”
She had, but wasn’t about to tell him she’d decided to pull her resignation. “I’ve received several offers over the last few years. After I’ve turned matters over to the new NSA, I’ll look into them.” She considered asking who the new NSA was, but decided otherwise. She’d rather not think about who would so easily replace her.
The president chewed his chicken thoughtfully, then said, “I’ve got an idea.” Instead of explaining, he took a sip of water.
Christine knew the president well enough to know he was dragging the discussion out. To what end, she didn’t know. She played her part.
“Something interesting?”
“I think so.” The president brought another forkful to his mouth. After swallowing, he smiled.
Christine’s curiosity was piqued. But before she could ask her next question, the president said, “Director Cherry is retiring next month.”
Another sip of water.
Christine wondered about the sudden change of topic, from discussing her next job to the CIA director’s retirement. Unless—
She stared at the president in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”
“I am,” the president said.
“Let me get this straight. I offered my resignation as NSA because I’ve been getting into too much trouble, and your solution is to make me the director of the CIA?”
“Exactly. You’ll be well-insulated in your white palace at Langley. You’ll have plenty of operatives around the world to do the heavy lifting and keep you out of trouble. But I’ll expect you to immerse yourself sufficiently in the details to keep tabs on what the agency is actually doing. That’s why I’m offering you the job. I’m not saying I don’t trust the CIA, but I am saying I need someone I can trust inside the organization.”
“You want a spy inside your spy agency?”
“You could put it that way.”
“What’s going on?”
“Career spies are very good at hiding things, and I need someone smart and persistent enough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Cherry was excellent at it, and I need a replacement just as good.”
Christine considered the proposal. CIA directors were political appointees, their exposure to CIA operations often limited to their time on a House or Senate intelligence committee. She had more relevant experience than many of her predecessors. Plus, as CIA director, no one would touch her, which offered protection against her current SVR death sentence.
“I need some time to consider,” Christine said.
“I’d like to have your answer by Monday.”
“How about Tuesday? I have a date this weekend, flying back into the country on Monday.”
“An international date? With Kalinin?”
Christine nodded. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”