Krupin watched as they strapped him to a bed. His screamed obscenities echoed through the hall for a moment, finally going silent when the soundproof door swung closed. Pushkin started back toward the hall, leaving the security chief to secure Lebedev’s remaining free leg.
“Sir,” Pushkin said, saluting crisply, but failing miserably to keep the surprise and concern from playing across his face. There had been no reason to tell him anything about this and he still wouldn’t know if Krupin had remained hidden in his living quarters. It mattered little, though. He wouldn’t be leaving.
“I need you here now, Nikita. I need to be surrounded by people I can trust.”
“Of course, sir.”
The thought of having Pushkin close provided a certain amount of reassurance. Outside of the prison Krupin had confined himself to, his enemies were multiplying and becoming stronger. Even Sokolov’s eyes were beginning to become glassy with visions of glorious battles and subjugated enemies. His strength and brilliance were beyond question, but his loyalties were complex. The general romanticized Russia like a Soviet schoolboy. He would give his life and anyone else’s to see it rise again.
Pushkin lacked such grandiose aspirations—or any aspirations at all, really. That, as much as his physical prowess, had been critical in qualifying him to replace Grisha Azarov. While not as smart or mentally tough as his predecessor, his simple nature and tendency toward hero worship were benefits that outweighed any drawbacks.
“You’ve become very much a son to me, Nikita. I’m pleased to have you at my side during these times.”
As always, Pushkin stood a little straighter at the affection denied to him by his own father. There was no question that, unlike Azarov, this boy would carry out his duty until he drew his last breath.
“I’ve arranged quarters for you. You’re dismissed.”
? ? ?
Andrei Sokolov slowed and finally came to a stop in the dim overhead light. Twenty meters ahead, Krupin was once again standing with one hand around a wheeled IV pole and the other pressed against the glass looking in on the test subjects.
It was disorienting to see a force of nature like Maxim Krupin stand so still. To watch him waste his hours obsessing over people who were of no importance.
Sokolov started forward again unnoticed. Without Fedkin’s stimulant cocktail, the president had lost his awareness of what was happening around him, falling further and further into himself. Now that it loomed so near, he shared the same pointless fear of death that lesser men did.
It was something that had always baffled Sokolov. Even the longest-lived creatures existed for only a blink of an eye. What mattered was building something that was greater. Bending that uncaring universe to your will and finding immortality through those efforts. Caesar died in his fifties, but what he built—his reshaping of civilization—would live on until the last human turned to dust.
“I don’t understand your fascination with these lab rats, Maxim.”
Krupin was slow to respond. “What are you going to do to him? To Lebedev?”
Sokolov followed the president’s gaze to a man fighting futilely to free himself from the straps securing him. “We’re exploring the possibility of using the Zika virus to attack cancer cells without damaging the healthy brain tissue around them. Promising, but experimental. More important, how is the burn on your neck? Please let me apologize again for that. The force of the explosion was controllable, but the heat from it less so. The threat to you had to look . . .” He paused for a moment. “Dramatic.”
“And?”
It was concerning that Krupin spent his time here instead of monitoring the media—something he’d done to great effect before his illness.
“You appeared quite heroic and powerful. The state-run news programs are blaming Latvian terrorists and suggesting that they had American support. Perhaps even more important, a number of your most strident detractors in the Federal Assembly were badly injured.”
“But not Prime Minister Utkin.”
“He’s of no importance. Sending him around the world exchanging gifts with leaders no one has ever heard of has made him look weak. Now, after the invasion, he’s being assaulted daily with questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t just look weak, he looks like a fool.”
“You underestimate him, Andrei. He has supporters in Russia. Not just in the population, but in the military and the government. If my position weakens, it’s he who most benefits.”
“Your position hasn’t weakened, my friend. Latvia is fully under our control in less than half the time we anticipated and with far fewer casualties.”
“Not a victory,” Krupin said. “There’s little support to be gained from our tanks rolling into empty cities and our men being massacred at the Riga airport.”
“It’s simply a matter of spin,” Sokolov countered. “Instead of hard-won, courageous victories, we’ve pivoted to saying that the lack of resistance was proof that Latvia wanted to return to the Russian fold. That they’ve come to understand that NATO is a useless ally.”
“That lack of resistance won’t last, Andrei. NATO has declared Article V and the Latvians have laid the groundwork for an effective insurgency. Arrange a call with the other generals. I want an update on our situation.”
“I’d strongly recommend against that,” Sokolov said, searching for a reason to explain his objection. “A video call would be expected and that’s impossible in your present condition. I’m concerned that even your voice could invite questions. You don’t sound like yourself.”
When Krupin glanced in his direction, there was a hint of something in his eyes that couldn’t be easily identified. Suspicion?
“So all my information is to come from you then, eh, Andrei?”
“For a short time, Mr. President. Until the effects of your therapy have diminished enough for you to use Dr. Fedkin’s stimulants again.”
“Then let’s hear it. Where do we stand?”
“In very good position,” Sokolov exaggerated. “The troops you ordered in from Lithuania and Estonia are already crossing the border and we’ll soon have an overwhelming force in place. The damage to Latvia’s infrastructure from sabotage was more extensive than we anticipated, but we have enough engineers and men in place to repair it. NATO troops are moving into Lithuania and Estonia as we anticipated, but they’re still in disarray from the dismantling of their exercises. To date, they’ve made no particularly aggressive gestures. It appears that your conversation with the American president was productive.”
“Air?”
“We have complete superiority.”
“So you’re telling me that we’ve met no resistance?”
“Not at all. In fact, we’ve had higher than expected casualties due to a more extensive SAM capability than we anticipated. Also, the Latvians are flying cross-border sorties from Estonia and Lithuania, which has slowed our ability to set up our own defenses. We’ll get them in place over the next week, though.”
“But no NATO aircraft, Andrei? Just Latvian planes?”
Sokolov considered lying, but it was difficult to tell just how engaged Krupin was. Not the man he had once been, but likely still the most formidable political leader in the world.
“We’re seeing more sorties than we would have expected the Latvians to be capable of. That suggests that NATO is reflagging planes and using them to supplement the Latvian force. We don’t have any hard evidence of that yet, though. If we can shoot one down and capture a foreign pilot—”
“It’s just the beginning,” Krupin said. “Their navy will move into the Baltic. They . . .” He fell silent for a moment. “You have to finish this, Andrei. Quickly. We can’t get bogged down in another Afghanistan.”
“Sir, this isn’t Afghanist—”