Krupin finally spoke up. “The American president is in no mood to send his men into a bloodbath to liberate three countries his constituents have never heard of. And the Europeans will be paralyzed by the thought of a nuclear weapon being used against Stockholm or Berlin.”
Krupin’s voice was quieter than it would normally have been, but the force of it was still sufficient to cause the young general to retreat.
“I want to be clear, sir. I’m in favor of moving against Ukraine if they insist on bringing NATO membership to a vote. But what you’re describing is very different. A miscalculation by any one of myriad players could cause an escalation that no one can control.”
“NATO is utterly unprepared for a move like this and doesn’t have the men or matériel in place to stop us,” Sokolov said. “In the aftermath of this humiliating defeat, the alliance will fail. Why would any nation be interested in membership in an organization that is incapable of carrying out its mission? Why would—”
“I agree with your tactical assessment,” Gorsky said, daring to cut him off. “We’re in a position to take the Baltics. But what then? Perhaps NATO will implode, but just as likely it will wake from its stupor and retool itself to resist an active threat. I agree that the West won’t risk nuclear retaliation with an attack en masse, but that’s not their only option. What if they just encroach slowly from Poland—pushing their border out? Or quietly insert special forces via the endless Baltic coastline? What if they simply supply an endless insurgency like they did decades ago when we moved into Afghanistan?”
Sokolov glared at the man, but didn’t immediately say anything. He had no issue with his junior officers speaking their minds and this particular one voiced valid concerns. The problem was that none of these men understood the situation in its entirety. Nor could they be permitted to.
This wasn’t just about the external threat posed by the West. It was about preventing Russia from falling into the hands of some weak-kneed political hack. Now, more than ever, they needed war. They needed a level of chaos that Krupin could disappear into. But even more, they needed glorious victories that reminded the Russian people who they were and what they could again become.
It was Krupin himself who broke the silence stretching out in the room. “If you don’t feel you can do your duty, General Gorsky, I would be happy to remove you.”
The man stiffened. “I made an oath to give my life in service of Mother Russia. I intend to keep that oath.”
“Then General Sokolov will follow up with you individually to clarify what’s expected of you in the coming days and weeks.” He rose from behind the table with a movement that was a little too careful, but not so much so that anyone would notice. “We’re adjourned.”
CHAPTER 23
EAST OF MANASSAS
VIRGINIA
USA
RAPP accelerated through his isolated subdivision, scanning its dark edges even more thoroughly than he normally did. There were a few completed houses with lights on and two more under construction, but most of the lots were empty. One day, they’d all be occupied by shooters he trusted and connected by a linked security system.
Not that it would matter in the shit show he now found himself in. All his plans were built around the idea of turning back a bunch of terrorist pricks or, at worst, a private contractor he’d crossed. Maxim Krupin was a very different kind of threat.
Rockets, drones, gas. Hell, bio. What good was concrete and bulletproof glass against that? And what about the water supply? They were on a combined well that would be a bitch to compromise by ISIS, but a walk in the park for the Russians.
He passed Scott Coleman’s nearly finished home and heard the sound of a circular saw running. The former SEAL liked tinkering after work even though he was paying a contractor an unconscionable amount of money. He said he found it relaxing. Distracting was more accurate. A Spetsnaz team could roll by in a tank completely unnoticed with the racket that saw made.
A barn emerged on the left and in the road next to it, a tiny figure was walking north. He pulled alongside and leaned out the window, looking down at Claudia’s seven-year-old daughter.
“What are you doing out here at night, Anna?”
“You’re back!” she said, not breaking her stride. “Did you have a fun trip?”
“I asked you a question.”
“I was working on the horse stall. Scott said he’d help me paint it. It’s gonna look cool. Maybe tomorrow. And it’s not really night. It just got dark early ’cause of the clouds.”
She’d been wearing him down on this horse crap since she moved in. Of course, she’d promised to take complete responsibility for her new half-ton pet, but he knew what that was worth. He and his brother had said the same thing about the dog they’d conned their parents into buying.
“Get in the car.”
“I can just walk,” she said, picking up on his mood. “I’m okay.”
“I said get in the car. Now.”
He stopped and Anna jogged around the front, yanking the door open and slipping in. She focused silently on the dashboard as they accelerated up the street and passed through the gate that protected his house.
“I want you to stay inside the walls after dark from now on. Do you understand? And if you leave during the day, you need to tell me or your mother where you’re going.”
“Why?” she whined.
He was about to say “because I said so” but then remembered how much he’d hated those words when they’d come from his mother.
“Because it’s not safe.”
“But there’s no one up here, Mitch! Just a bunch of your friends.”
He pulled to a stop near the front door and turned off the engine. “Don’t argue with me, Anna. Just do what I tell you.”
“Fine!” she said, displaying a flash of the rage that had gotten her father in so much trouble. She tried to slam the door but the Kevlar made it too heavy for her to get the desired effect. Rapp swore quietly under his breath as he watched her run into the house. At what he wasn’t sure. Probably the fact that he was playing around at the edges of fatherhood and he sucked at it.
Finally stepping out into the warm evening, he walked through the open front door and tossed his keys in a bowl that probably wasn’t meant to do anything but radiate artistic significance. The house was built around a central courtyard and he slipped through the slightly overgrown landscaping to get to a glass door leading to the kitchen.
Claudia was lying on her back in the cabinet beneath the sink, leaving only her long legs and grimy work jeans visible.
“What are you doing?” he said, stopping near her feet.
She writhed sideways, nearly knocking over the trashcan in an effort to look up at him.
“Welcome home!” she said in French. “The garbage disposal died. Can you believe it? Almost brand-new. I’m replacing it.”
“Ever heard of a plumber?”
“I couldn’t get any to return my calls.”
“There are at least two working on houses in the neighborhood.”
“Hard to get their attention for such a small job.”
“Are any going to be working tomorrow? I’ll get their fucking attention.”
She put down her wrench and stood, looking into his face with her head slightly cocked. “The company sent me a new one and the instructions are easy. I don’t think we need to shoot any plumbers in the knees.”
He didn’t respond, instead walking to the refrigerator and digging around for something to eat.
“I understand that Russia didn’t go exactly as planned,” she prompted.
He closed the fridge empty-handed and turned back toward her. “No.”
“But Irene tells me you’re all right.”
“Fine.”
“And Grisha’s at the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the one-word answers?”
“I’m just tired.”
“No, you’re not. You sleep like a baby on planes. What’s wrong with you, Mitch?”
He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “If Krupin doesn’t know that was me at Chkalov’s house yet, he probably will by tomorrow.”
“And?”