There was no fear evident, despite the possible ramifications of a surprise visit such as this one. If Krupin decided that the former general’s continued existence was no longer in Mother Russia’s best interest, Sokolov would accept that assessment without question.
“Andrei,” Krupin said, embracing the man. “It’s been too long.”
“Not long enough,” Sokolov disagreed as they pulled away. “You shouldn’t be here, sir. The Americans watch everything.”
“Of course. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Sokolov led him to a modest office in the east wing of the house. It was almost identical to the one he’d insisted on at the Kremlin so many years ago—windowless and lined with books on every subject under the sun. The volumes on his desk suggested that his interests were currently centered on the Roman Empire under Trajan.
On the rear wall was a map of western Russia and the countries bordering it. Sokolov had inserted red pins representing the Russian military presence on the borders of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia, as well as troops stationed in Ukraine. Blue pins depicted NATO forces, including surprisingly accurate information on the ongoing exercises in Poland. Undoubtedly the intelligence had been gleaned from news reports in English, Russian, and German, the languages he’d spoken when forced into retirement. Perhaps there were more now.
“Tea, Mr. President? Coffee?”
“Something stronger, I think,” Krupin said, rearranging a few of the pins to create a more accurate picture. Sokolov froze for a moment, calculating the strategic ramification of the changes before continuing to a disused bar.
Krupin tossed back the vodka he was given while Sokolov pretended to sip at his. He’d never been much of a drinker. Dulling that magnificent mind apparently made him uncomfortable.
“You think you can intimidate NATO into refusing to accept Ukraine as a member?” Sokolov asked, glancing at the modified map again.
“You don’t?”
“It’s hardly my place to comment.”
“It’s always your place, Andrei. I greatly regret that I had to remove you. Your absence has been keenly felt.”
“I put you in that position,” Sokolov said. “It was my failure alone and I’m grateful for the generous way in which you handled the situation. I deserved less.”
Krupin laughed. “Always the dutiful soldier. In fact, you deserved more than I could give. Do you know that in some American polls, I’m more popular than their president? Me, the man dedicated to destroying the Western alliance! That and everything else began with your vision, Andrei.”
“Human nature can’t be denied, sir. The world is so complex that the average person is no longer able to understand it. In the face of that, they can be counted on to retreat into tribalism. Nationalism. People need something to hate to reinforce their own identities. And it’s the internal threats—the people they interact with every day—whom they hate and fear most.”
“An astute observation made at just the right moment in history,” Krupin said, taking a seat behind Sokolov’s desk. It was the only chair and his exhaustion was starting to drag at him.
“But you’ve taken it far beyond anything I ever imagined, Maxim. And you fanned the flames of chaos in Syria quite effectively. The refugee crisis you created has widened the cracks in Europe.”
“But is it enough?”
“NATO spending is significant,” Sokolov said. “But largely wasted creating theatrical displays instead of pursuing real readiness. Britain has left the EU behind, Poland, Turkey, and Hungary are moving back toward authoritarianism. And America is pulling back from its leadership role in the world with its democracy in turmoil. In many ways, the West is as weak as it’s been in modern history.”
He fell silent and Krupin watched as the former general ran a finger absently around the rim of his still full glass.
“I know you too well, Andrei. You’re flattering me before dropping the other shoe.”
“No,” the man said. “I’m long retired. Let’s drink and talk about old times.”
“You don’t like to drink.”
Sokolov stared at him through a silence that wouldn’t last long. He was a respectful man but one who found it difficult to hide the force of his intellect. The wait was even shorter than Krupin anticipated.
“The meddling in U.S. politics has been successful in weakening them but it’s made them more volatile than docile. Further, now that they’re aware of our disinformation campaign, they’ll learn to combat it. And while the Europeans are suffering from divisions, their nationalist politicians are struggling to win elections. The rise of Russia and the United States turning in on itself has given Europe a sense of interdependence and purpose. Their reliance on America’s strength has always given them the luxury of being weak. They’re now realizing that time has passed.”
“And what will the Europeans do with their newfound resolve, Andrei?”
“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility that they’ll accept Ukraine into NATO. And if that’s the case, Georgia and perhaps even Finland won’t be far behind. Our buffers will be lost and with them our strategic flexibility. With a resurgent European military alliance posted a few hundred kilometers from Moscow, the Russian bear will be declawed.”
Krupin reached for the bottle on the desk and poured himself another drink. His head was clear and pain free, making his time with Doctor Fedkin seem like a fevered dream. At that moment, he could almost make himself believe that the tests were a lie and Fedkin was working for the Americans. That the attacks had been a temporary affliction that would never reappear.
“I spoke out of turn,” Sokolov said, misinterpreting the lengthening silence between them. “It’s still a weakness of mine. I hope—”
“No,” Krupin said. “You said what needed to be said. And now I’ll do the same.”
“Sir?”
“I’m sick, Andrei. Cancer.”
“What?” Sokolov said, looking genuinely stunned. “What kind of cancer?”
“It’s in my brain. They’re talking about surgery and then starting a course of chemotherapy, radiation . . .” His voice faded.
“Prognosis?”
Krupin forced a smile. “It will take more than cancer to kill me, Andrei. But I’ll be weakened during the treatment. Significantly so.”
“Are you suffering from symptoms now?”
“At this moment? No. But I have episodes. Debilitating headaches. Blurred vision . . .” He paused. It was against his every instinct, but he had to disclose everything. “As well as brief periods of confusion.”
Sokolov began to pace across the office. There was no guile in the man’s expression, no indication of ambition. He had been presented with a problem and was now calculating a solution.
“Who knows about this?” he said finally.
“A handful of medical personnel know I’m ill. I haven’t told them about the mental confusion, though it’s possible they can extrapolate it from their examinations. One loyal guard knows I’m having medical tests done, but not the type or results.”
“Where are these people?”
“I’m holding them in a hidden facility outside of Zhigansk with no way to contact the outside world.”
Sokolov nodded thoughtfully. “I assume that you need to start treatment immediately?”
“That’s what I’m told.”
“Have you looked into unconventional protocols? I’ve read a great deal about them. Stem cells, viral ther—”
“My doctor is considering all possibilities, but he discounts many as too experimental, ineffective, or dangerous.”
“Doctors!” Sokolov said in disgust. “They’re nothing more than technicians. What do they know of science?”
“Whatever course of treatment I decide on, I’ll need the help of someone capable of operating the political machine I’ve built. And more important, someone whose loyalty I don’t question.”
Sokolov stopped pacing, looking genuinely confused. “Me?”
“You’re the only one, Andrei. The only one I’ve ever been able to trust.”
CHAPTER 14
JOINT BASE ANDREWS
MARYLAND