“Sir, there is no—”
“We’ll abort our invasions of Lithuania and Estonia. The freed-up troops will be used to reinforce our attack on Latvia. We’ll bring such an overwhelming force to this war that the insurgency will never have a chance to take hold. It’ll be clear to the Latvians that resistance can produce nothing but the destruction of their country and the loss of their lives.”
“Sir, we have meticulously laid plans to take all three countries. I’d advise against changing them at this late date.”
Krupin’s instinct was to make it clear that his orders were not to be questioned, but forced a softer response. The stimulants would soon wear off and Krupin’s next treatment was already scheduled. For the time being, the general had to be kept happy.
“Field commanders are always clamoring for more men and equipment, Andrei. Now we can give it to them. We’ll split the Baltics and still deliver a humiliating—perhaps even fatal—blow to the Western alliance. Lithuania and Estonia will still fall to us. But not today.”
? ? ?
Krupin strode down the hallway clutching a portfolio in one hand and keeping the other in his pocket. His vigor and ability to concentrate had been waning, forcing him to inject another vial of Fedkin’s stimulants. They’d done their job, but at the cost of a dangerously racing heart and a shaking in his extremities that had to be obscured.
The gilt doors looming ahead began to open and he heard the familiar rumble of people rising from their seats. The sound system announced his arrival and he picked up his pace as he entered the auditorium. The full membership of the Federal Assembly filled his peripheral vision but he ignored them, focusing on taking the steps to the podium at his customary half jog. The hand in his pocket felt unnatural enough that he removed it, letting it swing loosely by his side before slipping it behind a lectern placed center stage.
It was a substantial, ornate piece of furniture that hid most of his body and had a small desktop where he could still his trembling hands. The quilted velvet upholstery on the back was a new addition, but everything else in the room was familiar—the vaulted ceiling high overhead, the gold chandeliers, and, most of all, the faces of the politicians staring up at him.
“Please be seated.”
They did as he asked, the sound of their movements once again echoing through the hall.
“I’ll keep my remarks brief. As you know, Russia has been the target of increasing aggressions from the West. Their overtures in Ukraine and growing interest in Georgia. Their provocative ongoing exercises in Poland, the treatment of ethnic Russians in former Soviet republics . . .”
He paused and looked out over the nervous faces of his audience. All were aware of the cyberattacks targeting the Baltics and would be worried about being called into this emergency session. Cowards.
“More recently, our intelligence community has uncovered a plan by NATO to place men and equipment on our border with Latvia, less than six hundred kilometers from our capital.”
A lie, of course, but one that caused concerned murmurs to fill the hall.
“We can no longer tolerate this slow campaign of encroachment. Our country is being carved up and encircled. Marginalized and isolated. I had hoped that our diplomatic efforts and deep commitment to peace would halt the aggression, but it’s only served to emboldened our enemies.”
The sweat broke across his forehead but he resisted the urge to wipe it away.
“Ten minutes ago, and with great regret, I found myself with no other option than to move our military into Latvia.”
There was an expected stunned silence and then a cacophony that quickly turned deafening. A number of his bolder political opponents actually dared to stand and shout directly at him.
“Be seated!” he said, bringing his mouth closer to the microphones lined up in front of him. “We had—”
The force of the explosion slammed him into the lectern, toppling it and sending him sliding across the floor. The heat was next, penetrating his suit and scalding the back of his neck as smoke billowed over him.
Other than that he was uninjured. The carefully calibrated direction of the blast and the heavy upholstery on the lectern had done exactly what Sokolov said they would.
Krupin managed to stand, squinting through the haze at the members of the Federal Assembly visible in the first few rows. Most were panicking, running over the top of one another in a desperate effort to escape. A few were unconscious and at least two appeared dead, the victims of a flagpole that had become a projectile.
Krupin began barking orders, pointed to an injured woman struggling to remain upright as her colleagues rushed past her. He made a show of trying to fight off his security detail as they began dragging him offstage, but it was just for the cameras. His breath was becoming labored and his heart felt oddly hollow in his chest.
He’d accomplished what was necessary and now it was time to rest.
CHAPTER 36
SALEKHARD
RUSSIA
GRISHA Azarov slipped on his coat and buried the bottom of his chin in a coarse wool scarf. A threadbare fedora pulled low on his forehead completed the disguise. Not the most extravagant he’d ever worn, but in the rain and darkness it would suffice.
He descended the apartment building’s stairs, crossing the poorly lit entry and opening the front door a few centimeters. There was a single man standing behind the ambulance, his eyes sweeping up and down the empty street. Pushkin and the two remaining men had gone inside Yuri Lebedev’s home with a gurney.
Azarov finally stepped through the door, slapping his arms around his torso against the cold as he crossed the street.
“Is Yuri all right?” he asked the man posing as a paramedic.
“Just fine. You should go back inside.”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Azarov said, ignoring the advice. “I know he’s been ill.”
“Just a little trouble breathing. We’re taking him to the hospital for an evaluation. Now why don’t you go back to bed? It’s late.”
The front door of the house opened and Pushkin came out, leading his two men and a rolling gurney. Strapped firmly to it was an unconscious Yuri Lebedev. His wife appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking terrified and periodically turning to speak to someone behind her. Undoubtedly a feeble attempt to reassure her two daughters.
Azarov stepped back, keeping the vehicle between him and Pushkin. When they started loading Lebedev inside, he pulled a GPS tracker from his pocket and used the magnet to secure it to the chassis.
He retreated farther into the darkness as two men climbed in the back with their patient. By the time the vehicle pulled away, Azarov had slipped into a muddy gap between his apartment building and the one next to it. The CIA tracking application on his phone took a few moments to locate the hidden GPS, but finally a blue dot appeared on the map.
He dialed as he walked toward the car he’d parked two blocks north. Joe Maslick picked up on the second ring.
“Please tell me you don’t need another cooler.”
“Nikita Pushkin just picked up Lebedev. The tracker is five by five. I’ll be able to follow them at a comfortable distance.”
There was a brief pause over the line. “Roger that. I’ve got it up on my screen. Target heading east. I’ll call Dr. Kennedy and see if we have any satellite coverage but your weather doesn’t look like it’s cooperating. I’m a few hours out on getting you backup.”
“Understood. Keep me updated on your progress.”
Azarov disconnected the call, struggling to keep his pace from accelerating unnaturally. Would that ambulance lead him to Krupin? Could it be that easy? Kennedy had made him promise that he wouldn’t make a move without her approval, but she would be fully aware that he was lying. Krupin’s death at his hands would leave her with Sokolov to deal with, but that wasn’t an insurmountable problem. He was a clever and ruthless man, but also one with many powerful enemies.