Krupin rose and started for a nondescript door behind him. His hunched posture was reflected by a large mirror in the corner, and he forced himself to straighten as he reached for the knob.
The private room beyond was smaller and simpler than the intentionally overwhelming office where he received visitors. Bringing in a bed was out of the question, but a sofa had been installed. He lay down on it, glancing at his watch. One hour to a meeting that could prove to be not only his defining moment, but a defining moment for the modern world order.
? ? ?
Not finding the president in his office, Sokolov knocked on the door at the back. When there was no answer he cautiously opened it. Krupin was lying on the sofa, utterly motionless. A television across from him was playing a shaky, chaotic cell phone video. It went dark and immediately looped back to the beginning, allowing Sokolov to identify the subject matter: the brutal death of Muammar Gaddafi at the hands of his own people.
“Mr. President?”
Krupin’s eyes fluttered open, but he seemed confused as he struggled into a sitting position. Sokolov made no offer to help, instead examining the awkwardness of his movements and the blank expression on his face. Would he be capable of doing what had to be done? One hour was all that was needed. After that, the die would be cast.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“It was Rapp,” Krupin said by way of an answer. “He was at Chkalov’s house. With Azarov.”
“It may be true, but what of it? Semieducated assassins, sir. I hardly—”
“Don’t underestimate them, Andrei. And don’t forget that Rapp rarely moves without the knowledge of Irene Kennedy.”
“They’re two men armed with pistols, Maxim. And Kennedy is constrained by America’s useless politicians. While they flail in the darkness, you’ll be using your army to reshape the world.”
Krupin managed to get to his feet without assistance and smoothed his suit in a way that was familiar to everyone who spent time with him. His eyes were partially obscured behind new glasses and his face was a bit drawn beneath uncharacteristic stubble, but otherwise he looked much like he always did.
The hallway had been cleared of personnel and they passed through it in silence. At the end, Sokolov opened the door to an ornate conference room and allowed the president to enter. The military leadership sitting around the table stood out of respect for Krupin but their attention was focused on Sokolov.
They had been informed of his new leadership position but none had actually seen him since his appointment—particularly not with the insignia of the Marshal of the Russian Federation. Sokolov knew all of them to some extent from the time before his forced retirement. Krupin had chosen them carefully and all were reported to be competent commanders.
“Be seated,” Krupin said, taking a position at the head of the table. “I believe all of you know General Sokolov?”
There were murmured greetings and respectful nods, but little more. None of these men knew why they’d been called there and all knew of the war crimes accusations that had led to Sokolov’s removal. They would remain guarded and analyze their new operating environment. At least for now.
“I’ve developed a plan for dealing with the challenges presented by NATO and Andrei’s been instrumental in developing a strategy for carrying out that plan. In acknowledgment of that, I’m going to allow him to give the initial briefing.”
Krupin punctuated his words with a regal nod and Sokolov responded with a calculatedly subservient one. It was uncommon for the president to cede leadership, but their history together and the military nature of the meeting would provide cover.
Sokolov stood next to a map of the region and met the eye of each of the officers now under his command. “As you all know, Russia is being encircled by its enemies. The Baltics are gone and Finland’s military is increasingly coordinating with NATO forces. If Ukraine falls, then it’s likely Georgia won’t be far behind. Belarus will be all that remains of what was once a significant protective buffer. This is something that we can’t tolerate. The last time we showed weakness to the West, Hitler murdered millions of our people and hung their bodies from trees to protect his soldiers from the wind.”
There were a few nods and a murmur of assent, though not from everyone.
“President Krupin has determined that now is the time to act, and he intends to do so decisively.” Sokolov turned his attention to the commander of the Russian ground forces. “What is our state of readiness?”
The old soldier seemed confused by the question. “Disastrous, General. My best troops have been reassigned from Ukraine to join the exercises on the borders of the Baltics. Our equipment is also being diverted. And while replacements have been coming in—flooding in, really—all are reservists or men recalled from retirement. Some haven’t trained in decades and are as old as fifty. As far as the replacement equipment . . .” His voice faded for a moment. “Much of it isn’t in working order and some is so old that finding the correct ammunition will be virtually impossible. It’s my understanding that all of this was done at your order.”
“It was,” Sokolov said simply.
The man shrugged. “If we achieve air superiority quickly we can still take Ukraine, but the fight will be more difficult and longer than we anticipated.”
Sokolov once again scanned the faces of the men at the table. Their confusion was expected. They still believed that Ukraine was the objective. He’d purposely left them in the dark, interested in seeing their reaction when they learned the truth.
“The plan devised by the president is a simple one. We will continue to ratchet up our pro-Russia propaganda campaign in Ukraine and we’ll continue flooding the country with the men and equipment you find so inadequate. The West will become focused on the situation and the precariousness of it will exacerbate the rifts between the Americans, Ukrainians, and Europeans.”
He tapped a finger against the map near eastern Poland. “NATO’s current exercises will be coming to a close before long and the foreign forces will be returning home. Their men will be spent both physically and mentally, and their equipment will be in need of servicing.”
The generals were beginning to lean forward, gazing intently at the map, unclear where he was going with this.
“After the NATO forces disperse—but before most have returned to their bases—we’ll use the troops we have massed on our western border to simultaneously attack Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. If we act decisively, we can gain control over all three countries before NATO forces can respond. Once secured, we’ll set up tactical nuclear missile batteries in those countries and make it clear that we consider them Russian territory. That any counterattack will be treated as an incursion into Russia itself.”
The men’s attention turned to Krupin, who managed a smile behind his artificial tan. The illusion was an impressive one. The great man, undiminished.
“With all due respect . . .”
The man speaking was the youngest in the room. Oleg Gorsky had been chosen as the commander of Russia’s aerospace forces because of his admittedly impressive grasp on technology. More and more that kind of expertise was becoming a requirement for anyone directing a modern air defense system.
“Yes?” Sokolov said.
“While I think what you’re suggesting is logistically possible, the ramifications seem incredibly far reaching. The economic sanctions against Russia will be tightened—”
“You don’t think President Krupin has thought of this?” Sokolov asked, letting the anger creep into his voice. “Those sanctions will be offset by the increase in commodity prices that always follows instability.”
“That’s not all, though, sir. The Americans—”