His expression turned guarded. “What are you saying, Irene?”
“Mitch is on the ground and he believes that Krupin’s forces there are a smoke screen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It appears that the Russians are moving in empty transport trucks and men unfit for duty. Then they’re using the trucks to remove crack troops and cutting edge weaponry.”
“Why? Where are they taking it?”
“To reinforce the troops on the borders of Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia.”
The timer on his phone chimed and he silenced it with a jab of his finger. “You’re telling me that you think the Russians are going to simultaneously invade three NATO countries?”
“Yes, sir. Our best guess is that they’ll initiate the attack at the most opportune time during the breakup of the exercises in Poland. When Western forces are in disarray and on their way home.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Irene? Those exercises are winding down now!”
“Yes, sir,” she said calmly. “Our people expect the Russian army to start their push into the Baltics in approximately three days.”
Air Force One started to accelerate down the runway and the president stood, steadying himself against his desk. “Are you seriously sitting there telling me that World War III is scheduled for later this week?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I wish I could have given you more notice, but this just wasn’t a scenario we were gaming. Krupin only does things that strengthen his position at home and an invasion of the Baltics never qualified.”
“Until now,” he said numbly.
“Until now,” she agreed. “This will disrupt every aspect of Russian politics and everyday life. Normally, that’s the kind of instability that he works to counter. But now it’s the goal. Everyone will be just as off-balance as he is. And, in the long run, if it turns into a disaster—”
“He doesn’t care,” Alexander said, finishing her thought. “He’s thinking in terms of weeks, maybe months. There probably is no long run for him.”
“Exactly.”
He sank back into his seat, looking uncharacteristically out of his depth. “I . . .” His voice faltered again. “Recommendation?”
“Our first order of business should be to announce an extension of the NATO exercises. That could cause the Russians to delay their invasion.”
“It’s primarily a European operation,” Alexander said. “We’re not running it. Just participating.”
“That would have to change. We need to announce that we’re joining them in a significant way and massively expanding the scope of the exercises.”
He considered that for a few moments. “If we move a bunch of ships in there and put thousands of boots on the ground in the Baltics, the Russians will call it a provocation. Krupin will see his window closing and he’ll use our increased presence as political cover. At that point, his invasion won’t look crazy, it’ll look decisive—a strike against the West before they march on Moscow.”
“I don’t disagree, sir. But you asked for recommendations and that’s the best we’ve been able to come up with.”
He shook his head slowly, trying to process the information he’d been given. “If you’re right, there is no way to stop it. He isn’t going for economic gain or geographic expansion or to put down a threat to his country. His goal is chaos. How do you deter that?”
It seemed to be a rhetorical question but she answered anyway. “I’m not convinced that we can. And I don’t think we can get sufficient troops and equipment in place to repel it. I also don’t think that we can win those countries back by conventional means once they’re gone. Krupin will declare them Russian territory and threaten a nuclear response to any counterattack.”
“So you’re telling me that seventy-two hours from now, three NATO countries are just going to disappear? What good is a military alliance that can’t protect its members from the exact threat it was designed to fight off?”
“I don’t know, sir. Playing a game against someone who isn’t in it to win is . . . Problematic.”
He locked his eyes on hers. “You always choose your words so carefully, Irene. Why did you say problematic instead of impossible?”
“Let me answer your question with another question, sir. When you were a quarterback in college, what would you have done against a team whose only goal was to injure as many of your players as they could?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Taken my guys off the field.”
“Exactly. Years ago, we helped the Baltics create a contingency plan for a Russian invasion. The goal was to bog the Russians down long enough for NATO to respond. Unfortunately, the plan is so destructive to their infrastructure and economy that no one’s ever even dreamed of using it as a preemptive strategy. But what if we could convince them to trigger it prior to the invasion? Krupin needs a worthy opponent to make him look powerful. He needs spectacular battles, glorious victories, even heart-rending defeats. For him, this is about drama and nationalism and disruption. What if it was possible to deny him all that?”
CHAPTER 30
SALEKHARD
RUSSIA
“THEY say I can’t even have one glass of wine. I’ll bet if I were Russian it wouldn’t be problem.”
Azarov gripped his phone tighter, knuckles whitening and the plastic flexing noticeably. Cara’s voice barely carried over the marginal connection. The energy and joy that had once propelled it was gone. Taken by him.
“You didn’t laugh,” she said. “My delivery isn’t as good as it used to be, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
His apology sounded laughably hollow. Sorry for what exactly? Dragging her into his world? Letting her sacrifice herself for his sins? Leaving her to fend for herself, full of tubes and trapped in a hospital bed? The list seemed to have no end.
“What are you doing?” she said, trying to pry more than two words out of him. While she was undoubtedly improving, conversations in which he took the lead were easier for her.
“I’m at CIA headquarters. Helping them understand what’s happening in Russia.”
Another lie that would eventually lead to another apology. In fact, he was sitting in a dilapidated apartment in northwestern Russia, staring through a dirty window at the rain. Across the street, a gray house listed slightly to the right behind an unmaintained wooden fence. It was the home of a former soldier who shared it with his wife and two school-aged daughters. He’d left the army almost a decade ago to take a series of mining jobs throughout the country. This would be the last of them, though. It was here that his brain tumor had been discovered and deemed inoperable.
He’d been offered an opportunity to participate in Krupin’s sham medical trial but refused. His situation was hopeless and he wanted to go quickly surrounded by his family and in possession of all his faculties. A brave man looking to spare his family the pain and burden of a lingering death.
“Are you getting anywhere?” Cara said. “I’ve been watching the news about Russia. Isn’t that funny? I don’t think I’ve ever watched the news in my life. But now I feel like I’m part of it . . .” Her voice withered and he could picture her taking a labored sip from the cup next to her. “Imagine, Grisha. Me. Mixed up with Maxim Krupin and the CIA. Maybe they could make a TV show about us. It’d be like that movie with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
“How do you know that? You sleep through every movie I put on.”
“You taught me to surf. Maybe it’s time I teach you to fight.”
“I don’t think it’d suit me. Maybe I could just play your adoring secretary. Like the one James Bond had. What was her name? Moneypenny. That’s it.”