The Russian stood and approached the frozen image, examining the beginnings of a beard on Krupin’s chin and then his obscured eyes. “He’s ill.”
McCormick didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “That’s exactly the conclusion we came to. It fits everything we’ve seen: the absence, the marginalizing and imprisoning of his political opponents, killing Tarben Chkalov who had an uncanny way of figuring out what was happening in Russia. And most of all, risking bringing back Andrei Sokolov, the man he trusts more than anyone else in the world.”
“When you say ill,” Rapp said. “What are we talking about?”
“Still working on that.”
“He must have a personal physician,” Kennedy offered.
“Eduard Fedkin. A man who’s normally pretty easy to find—he has a family and a well established practice. Interestingly, he dropped off the radar recently.”
“Can you locate him?” Rapp said.
“If Krupin’s behind it? Probably not. He’s pretty much all powerful inside the borders of Russia and he knows how to keep secrets. Particularly ones like this. So we’re casting a wider net. If he really is ill, he’s going to need a medical team specializing in whatever his problem is. And he’s going to go for top people.”
Rapp looked around him. Azarov’s face was blank—either reveling in imagining Krupin dying a slow, painful death, or trying to figure out how to get to him before Mother Nature robbed him of the kill. Kennedy, on the other hand, looked shaken. Few people would have noticed, but Rapp had known her for too long.
“Thank you, Anton,” she said finally. They watched in silence as McCormick packed up and headed out the door, closing it behind him.
“Thoughts?” Rapp asked.
Kennedy was the first to speak. “We recognized the potential for this a long time ago. The hope’s always been that he would die of a sudden heart attack or, frankly, be quietly murdered by a rival who was in a position to take over. A prolonged illness is a worst-case scenario for us.”
“Agreed,” Azarov said. “Krupin’s always been wary, but watching the fall of dictators like Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi has made him paranoid. He pictures his bleeding body being dragged through the streets and then hung from a Moscow bridge. I can tell you that there is nothing—nothing—that he won’t do to prevent that from happening.”
“Then there’s only one question we need to be asking,” Rapp said. “Where does he go when he’s not in Moscow? If he’s sick and his doctor’s disappeared, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s got a hidden treatment facility somewhere. And if secrecy is at the forefront of his mind, he’s going to be away from population centers with limited security coverage.”
“There’s more to this than finding him and killing him,” Kennedy said.
“Really? What do you think, Grisha?”
“I’m very much in favor of finding him and killing him.”
“Thank you both. That’s very helpful.”
Rapp leaned forward in his chair. “Come on, Irene. I know you. I can see those wheels spinning around in your head. You’re thinking about making a deal to help him to keep Russia stable and move Sokolov out. You want to force the Euros to kiss his ass enough that he’s comfortable putting one of his rivals in his chair. It’s not going to work. What you’ve got out there is a wounded animal with a nuclear arsenal.”
“All the more reason not to run in with guns blazing, don’t you think?”
“Running in with guns blazing is pretty much my job description. And if I remember right, it’s made a lot of your problems go away over the years.”
She leaned back and examined him for a moment. “This is still speculation. We don’t know for certain he’s sick and if he is we don’t know how serious it is. My main concern now is Ukraine. NATO’s in a staring contest with a man who may not have anything to lose. Up until now we’ve explained away the troops flowing into Crimea and Southern Ukraine as an intimidation tactic. But now I wonder if the opposite is true. Maybe he needs this fight.”
“So what’s our move?” Rapp asked.
She turned to Azarov. “Do you have contacts in Ukraine?”
“None at all, Director Kennedy. If I arrived in that country, it was for only one reason.”
“What about you, Mitch? You used to know the head of their Foreign Intelligence Service, didn’t you?”
“We did an op together once. Probably almost fifteen years ago. I wouldn’t say we were close.”
“I seem to remember that you saved his life.”
Rapp shrugged. “I’m not sure he’d remember it that way. Scott has solid relationships in the region that are a hell of a lot more recent.”
“In that case, I’d like you and Scott on the ground there. I need a clear picture of what’s happening with the Russian troop movements in the south. The international observers can’t get access anymore and I’m working mostly with reports approved by Ukraine’s political machine. If I’m going to make recommendations to President Alexander, I’m going to need a lot more than speculation about Krupin’s health and the word of Ukrainian politicians.”
CHAPTER 25
WEST OF DONETSK
SOUTHERN UKRAINE
“MAKE another pass to the east,” Sokolov said.
The green carpet of southeastern Ukraine stretched out in every direction beneath the helicopter. After the annexation of Crimea, Russia had helped separatists in this region gain autonomous status. Control was in a constant state of diplomatic dispute, but it was all for the cameras. Everyone knew that Moscow held sway.
He regretted having been forced out of the military for many reasons, but this was one of most poignant. There had been an opportunity to push farther west, which would have made it easier to link up with troops stationed in Crimea. An opportunity lost, but in retrospect an unimportant one. In the chess game between Russia and the West, Ukraine had been demoted from queen to pawn.
His pilot came in low, allowing Sokolov to examine a series of half-constructed barracks and a heavy machinery maintenance facility that was somewhat further along.
Satellite photos of the structures were undoubtedly being examined in great detail by Western intelligence agencies and he was committed to ensuring that all those details were perfect. In reality, the buildings were just hollow shells designed to divert NATO’s attention from the growing military presence on the borders of the Baltic states.
This visit was designed to serve a similar purpose. He was arriving in civilian clothing and by way of a civilian helicopter, but the details of his arrival had been purposely leaked. Spies would be everywhere, documenting as much about his time there as possible, further stoking fears of an impending attack into the heart of Ukraine.
The chopper touched down and Sokolov ran crouched toward a man waiting twenty meters away. General Ruslin Nikitin had been a well thought of junior officer when Sokolov was removed. By all reports, he was competent, efficient, and patriotic—a man whose loyalty to Krupin had thus far proved unshakable. He was also somewhat notorious for speaking his mind.
“Welcome, General,” Nikitin said, offering a hand in place of a salute. Unaware of the true purpose of this inspection, he wouldn’t do anything that might reveal Sokolov’s identity. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”
Sokolov shook the man’s hand and nodded before starting toward a pre-fab building to the north.
It wasn’t until they passed through its doors that Nikitin offered a crisp salute. “It’s a pleasure to host you, sir, but I haven’t been provided an agenda. It would have been helpful to prepare for your needs.”
“I wanted to come personally and get your opinion of your readiness.”
The man looked concerned. “We’re escalating the propaganda campaign aimed at ethnic Russians, but informal polling suggests we’re not making much headway. They want autonomy from Ukraine and close ties to Russia but not necessarily Russian rule. And the hope that we can count on them during a push north is optimistic in the extreme. More likely, many would see it as overreach and turn against us.”