“Sir, defense spending was shifted to other priorities, such as antiship missiles, aircraft carriers, and fighters,” Sokolov said. “The S-500 is primarily an air defense weapon intended for use against cruise missiles and stealth aircraft, and later adapted as an antisatellite and antiballistic-missile weapon with the ‘S’ model. After our bomber and cruise-missile attacks on the United States that virtually eliminated their bombers and intercontinental ballistic missiles, air defense was not given a very high priority because the threat was all but gone. Now that space is a higher priority and the S-500S has proven successful, we can start to build more, but as I said, sir, that pivot takes time to—”
“More excuses!” Gryzlov shouted into the video teleconference microphone. “All I want to hear from you, Sokolov, is ‘yes, sir,’ and all I want to see are results, or I will get someone else to carry out my orders. Now get to it!” And he hit the button that terminated the connection with his defense minister.
At that moment Tarzarov sent the president a private text message, which scrolled across the bottom of the video teleconference screen: it read, Praise in public, criticize in private. Gryzlov was going to reply “F*ck you,” but decided against it. “Daria, good work,” he said over the teleconference network. “Let me know what you need me to do to assist.”
“Yes, sir,” Titeneva replied with a confident smile, and signed off. Gryzlov grinned. Daria Titeneva had definitely become a changed woman over the past several weeks: aggressive, creative, demanding, even vulgar at times . . . in and out of bed. Gryzlov continued the video teleconference with his other cabinet ministers for a few more minutes, then signed off.
“Your anger and temper will get the best of you eventually, Gennadiy,” Tarzarov said once all the connections to the president’s ministers were securely terminated. “Constantly warning you of it does not seem to help.”
“It has been over ten years since the destruction of the American bomber and intercontinental-ballistic-missile fleet, Sergei,” Gryzlov complained, ignoring Tarzarov’s advice once again. “The Americans reactivated their military space station and made the switch to space-based weapons instead of rebuilding their bomber and missile weapons, and they made no secret of it. What in hell were Zevitin and Truznyev doing all those years—playing with themselves?”
“The former presidents had institutional, political, and budget problems during most of that time, Gennadiy,” Tarzarov said, “as well as having to rebuild the weapons destroyed by the Americans in the counterattacks. It does no good to point fingers at past presidents. Very few heads of state, including you, are completely in control of their country’s fate.” He checked his smartphone, then shook his head in exasperation. “Ilianov and Korchkov are waiting outside. Are you not done with this project, sir? Ilianov is nothing but a thug in an air-force uniform, and Korchkov is a mindless automaton who kills because she enjoys it.”
“I will be done with those two when their task is complete,” Gryzlov said. “But for now, they are the right persons for this job. Get them in here.” Tarzarov escorted the Russian officer and his assistant into the president’s office, then took his “invisible spot” in the office and effectively blended in with the furniture. Ilianov and Korchkov were in military dress, Ilianov in his air-force uniform and Korchkov in a plain black tunic and trousers, with no decorations or medals, just insignia of rank on the epaulets, a characteristic of the elite Spetsgruppa Vympel commandos. She also wore a knife in a black sheath on her belt, Gryzlov noticed. “I expected to hear from you days ago, Colonel,” he said. “I also have not heard anything in the news about the death of McLanahan’s son, so I assume your squad failed.”
“Yes, sir,” Ilianov said. “Team One reported to Alpha, the command team, that they had McLanahan, and then Alpha lost contact with them. Teams Two and Three picked up McLanahan and an individual that McLanahan had been doing self-defense and conditioning training with driving out of the city.”
“Who is this individual?” Gryzlov asked.
“A retired noncommissioned officer named Ratel, now a self-defense and firearms instructor,” Ilianov said. “He makes occasional contact with several individuals that also look ex-military—we are in the process of identifying them now. One man looks as if he was burned by chemicals or radiation. He appears to be the one in charge of the ex-military men.”
“This gets more interesting,” Gryzlov said. “McLanahan’s bodyguards? Some sort of private paramilitary group? McLanahan the elder reportedly belonged to such groups, both in and out of the military.”