All of which meant this was working out better than Sokalov had hoped for. Within hours he would hobble the most powerful crime family in Moscow, kill the woman who could ruin him, and solve the president’s more pressing issue: how to get back the two would-be assassins and save face on a world stage. In return, the president would direct Petrov to name Sokalov his successor as chairman of the National Antiterrorist Committee, whereupon Sokalov’s first order of business would be to fire Gavril Lebedev.
The purpose of this meeting was to discuss the options each man had come up with to get back Pasternak’s two unsuccessful assassins, and by default, identify whose head would roll. American intelligence still refuted any suggestion they held Pasternak’s men, which left hope the CIA would be open to negotiations, once advised Russia held Mr. Jenkins.
“I am told this matter is now well up the Kremlin chain of command,” Petrov said gravely. He sucked on a cigarette and laid the butt in the ashtray. “Our diplomats have been of little help. They are like young men with their first woman, feeling around the edges to determine how she will respond, and so far the Americans have been cold and uninterested.”
“Why have the Americans not responded?” Lebedev asked rhetorically. “This information would go a long way toward impugning the Kremlin, and this type of opportunity does not come around very often.”
“Perhaps they are doing so because they hope to negotiate for something important, but do not yet know what that is,” Sokalov said. “In which case our time would be better spent undermining whatever it is they are seeking to do by eliminating the potential the Americans have to embarrass us all on a world stage.”
“I believe we should take a different tack, an offensive tack,” Pasternak said, speaking like a true general.
“Which is what?” Petrov asked.
“The Kremlin can publicly accuse the Americans of improperly detaining two Russian citizens, claim the weapons allegedly confiscated were planted, and demand that the Americans either release my men or provide solid evidence to support their allegations,” Pasternak said. “By making a bold first statement, we have the opportunity to direct the flow of information and plant the seed that this is nothing more than American hypocrisy, another attempt to impugn the Kremlin. We can then disavow any information the Americans release as false or misleading and designed to spin world opinion in their favor.”
“A bold plan, General,” Petrov said. “You would be poking the hornet’s nest with a stick and hoping not to get stung. We cannot be that na?ve, Kliment. The Americans have more than enough evidence to do significant damage to Russia’s reputation.”
“Has anyone determined the source of the leak that led to the men’s capture?” Lebedev looked directly across the table at Sokalov.
Sokalov smiled. “Do you have some evidence that something untoward has occurred in my directorate, Gavril?”
“I’ve heard that Ms. Kulikova has not been in the office for several days,” Lebedev said.
“Yes, that is true, but it is certainly no mystery,” Sokalov said directly to Petrov, deliberately dismissing Lebedev. “Ms. Kulikova is having female issues. I have sent someone, in an abundance of caution, to her apartment to ensure her well-being. I am told she is contemplating a hysterectomy.”
“Then let us hope her recovery is speedy so she can come back to Lubyanka,” Lebedev said, dripping sarcasm. “How ever are you managing without her?”
“Perhaps,” Sokalov said, “your time would be better spent directing your division’s attention to finding a solution, rather than casting aspersions, Gavril. That is, after all, what the chairman asked of us.”
“And do you have something?” Lebedev asked, falling directly into Sokalov’s trap.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and again directed his attention to Petrov. “My office is currently monitoring classified communications that indicate we just may obtain something the Americans would consider valuable enough to trade for the general’s two men and keep this matter strictly confidential.”
“And what is that?” Petrov asked.
“Not what, but who,” Sokalov said, now the cat playing the three mice. “Charles Jenkins.”
For a moment the announcement was met with silence. Lebedev looked like he had deflated.
“He has returned?” Petrov asked.
“It appears so,” Sokalov said, empowered by the information. “My office has worked diligently, as you asked, Director Petrov, to find a solution the Kremlin can use. The task force formed under my command to identify and capture any remaining American assets known as the seven sisters has picked up communications through an encrypted chat room that indicate Mr. Jenkins is in Russia.”
“Why was my office not made aware of this development?” Petrov asked.
“With all due respect, Director, I believed it wise to keep knowledge of this development to a limited few within my department to ensure the proper management and dissemination of the information. My intent was to provide you with a complete debriefing when Mr. Jenkins was in hand.”
“Mr. Jenkins has been in Russia twice before . . . that we know of,” Lebedev said, puffing air back into his deflated torso and looking to Petrov for support. “And he escaped. Russia is a large country. Knowing he is here and capturing him are two different things.”
“Yes. A good point, Gavril,” Sokalov said. “But I have it on very good and reliable authority that Mr. Jenkins has been traced to Irkutsk, that we have eyes on him, and that his capture could be imminent.”
“Do you wish to provide us the specific details of this operation?” Lebedev asked, not sounding convinced.
“I would. But as you said, Gavril, we seem to have a leak in the chain of information, and I am concerned that leak could result in someone tipping off Mr. Jenkins and result in his fleeing at this very critical time. In the interest of protecting the president, and those within the Kremlin, as well as the chairman, I opted to handle this matter internally.”
Lebedev looked as if he was chewing on a piece of bitter leather.
“When will you have information on Mr. Jenkins’s capture?” Petrov asked.
Sokalov made a showing of checking his watch. “Within the hour, I would say. I will monitor the situation closely and advise you when it has been accomplished.”
“Do so,” Petrov said.
With that, they moved toward the conference room doors. “But understand, Dmitry,” Petrov said, drawing their attention. He wore a thin, malevolent smile. “That your decision to act alone means that you alone will receive the Kremlin’s praise and gratitude when the operation succeeds, perhaps even this very position as chairman.”
Sokalov deflected the praise. “I do not wish—”
Petrov cut him off. “And you and you alone will suffer the Kremlin’s wrath and castigation if you fail.”
50
Irkutsk Meatpacking Plant