“You’re talking about invading Ukraine,” Egorov said.
“In a matter of speaking,” Grigorenko replied. “The Donbas region has already declared its independence from Ukraine, and its pro-Russian governments have confirmed that they will not object to their residents becoming Russian citizens. That leaves the Zaporizhia and Kherson oblasts, which connect the Donbas with Crimea. All told, we’re talking about transitioning only two of Ukraine’s twenty-four oblasts to Russia, plus the small region of the Donbas that remains in Ukrainian control.”
Grigorenko continued, “We prefer to think of this not as an invasion, but a realignment of territory to its rightful owner. History is on our side. Not only have European borders changed numerous times throughout history, but these oblasts were Russian territory in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The argument can be made that these four oblasts, which have a significant ethnic Russian population and whose populations speak primarily Russian, belong in Russia, not Ukraine.”
Egorov canvased the other three men at the table. “Are you in consensus on this matter?”
“We are,” Foreign Minister Trutnev replied. “The limited scope of this territorial realignment is an attractive element. The problem with our previous invasion of Ukraine is that it was too ambitious, forging onward into NATO countries. Keeping this military conflict limited to only a small percentage of a non-NATO country, over territory that was once part of Russia, will deter NATO from intervening. With only Ukraine to combat, we can seize the desired territory and dig in until the Ukrainians grow weary of war.”
Anton Kravtsov, the president’s chief of staff, asked, “What about the sanctions the American secretary of defense threatened in his speech?”
President Egorov replied, “Let them try. The American president may think his threat of economic sanctions has us by the throat, but we have Western Europe by the balls. Their governments were foolish enough to let their economies become dependent on Russian oil and natural gas. The West will squeeze us only so hard, because we can squeeze harder. And when we squeeze, it’ll hurt a whole lot more.”
There were nods of agreement around the table.
“One last issue,” Egorov said. “The assassination of the American secretary of defense. I realize that I had asked you to send a message to the United States — that our new administration would not respond kindly to American intervention in Russian matters — and you were accommodating enough to implement this plan before I was inaugurated. However, the secretary of defense was killed moments after threatening sanctions against our country. I was hoping for something less obvious regarding our culpability.”
The four other men cast uneasy glances around the table until Egorov’s chief of staff responded. “The method was chosen by Josef Hippchenko,” Kravtsov replied, referring to the director of Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service — the successor to the First Chief Directorate of the KGB — “although we were aware and approved the plan. We thought that something obvious and direct would be the most effective method of dissuading the United States from meddling in our affairs.”
Egorov nodded. “I understand.”
The topic then turned back to the proposed invasion of Ukraine.
“What are your wishes?” Kravtsov asked.
Egorov contemplated the matter, then replied, “Begin preparations to seize control of the southeastern oblasts in Ukraine.”
6
POTOMAC, MARYLAND
In an affluent neighborhood just north of the Potomac River, Vance Verbeck turned onto Highland Farm Road, passing several twenty-thousand-square-foot mansions. The last to arrive in preparation for today’s event, Vance stopped before a black iron gate blocking the entrance to his wife’s East Coast home.
After Vance identified himself, the gate slid aside and he pulled up to the mansion’s entrance. He handed the car keys to a house attendant, who parked the vehicle inside the home’s six-car garage, hiding it from sight to preclude giving away today’s planned surprise birthday party for his wife, Brenda. Considering the events of the last few months, Vance and Brenda’s brothers had decided she could use a private, but festive, occasion to lift her spirits.
Three months ago, Brenda had been forced to resign as secretary of the Navy. After learning that her brother, Dan Snyder, had sold high-speed centrifuges to Iran that would accelerate the regime’s enrichment of uranium to weapon-grade purity, Brenda had used her influence as secretary of the Navy to protect her brother’s plot from discovery. The effort had failed and Dan had struck a plea deal, landing him in federal prison for fifteen years.
Brenda should have been pleased that the only consequence of her actions was resignation; her transgressions had been far worse than Dan’s. She could have spent decades in prison for arranging the murder of two men who had learned too much about Dan’s ill-advised scheme to earn a quick billion dollars. But with the president up for reelection later this year, the fact that a senior member of his administration had likely been involved in a murder plot had been swept under the rug. Instead of being thankful for the president’s decision to limit the repercussions to her resignation, Brenda had spent the last three months fuming.
As Vance was escorted through the richly appointed mansion toward the back patio, he pondered the current state of affairs, with him living in San Diego while Brenda remained in Maryland. Her move to the Washington, D.C. area, while Vance remained in San Diego as technical director of the U.S. Navy’s Arctic Submarine Laboratory, had made sense following her appointment as secretary of the Navy. Since her resignation, however, she hadn’t yet made plans to move back to California. That told Vance much — that his beautiful, rich, and ambitious wife was planning something.
Vance reached the patio, inhaling the savory scent of chateaubriand and lobsters roasting in the ovens along the way. He was greeted by Brenda’s three other brothers: Bob, Ray, and Tim Snyder, drinks in hand. After ordering one for himself, Vance joined the men at the patio railing overlooking Brenda’s estate, ten acres of sprawling Maryland countryside. The conversation covered nothing of importance, mostly catching up on what everyone had been up to since the last time they were together — while avoiding the recent events that were undoubtedly on their minds — until a member of Brenda’s staff interrupted the discourse.
“Mrs. Verbeck has arrived. She just passed through the front gate.”
Vance and Brenda’s brothers moved to the sides of the balcony, hidden from Brenda’s view until she stepped onto the patio, supposedly to talk with a neighbor who had stopped by for a visit. A moment later, she arrived and was greeted instead by her husband and brothers.
Brenda’s face lit up in delight. She acted surprised, but Vance could tell she had somehow deciphered their plan ahead of time. She offered Vance a brief but passionate kiss. It had been several months since they had been together.
Dinner was soon served, and they took their seats at a round patio table covered with a white tablecloth, with place settings of porcelain china and crystal glasses. The conversation throughout dinner was jovial, as Brenda’s brothers recalled childhood stories and antics, attempting to keep their sister’s spirits high. At the end of the meal, Brenda’s birthday dinner was punctuated by her favorite dessert, cheesecake topped with strawberries and drizzled with caramel.
After the sun dipped beneath the horizon, they sipped drinks around a fire pit. However, despite the best efforts of the four men accompanying her, as the night chill seeped in and the flames danced in the pit, Brenda slipped into a gloomy mood.