The C-32 touched down at Moscow’s Vnukovo Airport, and after descending the staircase onto the tarmac, Christine was met by her Russian counterpart, National Security Advisor Sergei Ivanov. This was her first time meeting Ivanov, who’d been out of town during her last visit. Although Christine was handling the negotiations from the American side, Russia had defaulted to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which negotiated New START. As they shook hands, Ivanov gave her an odd look, reacting the same way many within the Russian administration did upon meeting her for the first time.
Standing beside Ivanov was Mark Johnson, Christine’s interpreter for the negotiations, supplied by the American embassy in Moscow. Christine and Johnson joined Ivanov in the back of his limousine, which sped from the airport toward the Kremlin. Along the way, Ivanov described the Russian landmarks they passed, and it wasn’t long before Red Square appeared through the car windows.
Preparations were under way for Russia’s Victory Day celebration, commemorating the surrender of Nazi Germany to the Soviet Union at the end of World War II, referred to within Russia as the Great Patriotic War. Huge banners draped the facades of buildings along the perimeter of Red Square, and the roar of jet engines pulled Christine’s eyes skyward as a dozen jets streaked overhead; a squadron of Sukhoi Su-35s, Ivanov explained, practicing for the Victory Day parade, which would include a flyover by 150 military aircraft.
The limousine passed within the five-hundred-year-old Kremlin walls, pulling to a halt in front of the triangular-shaped Kremlin Senate, the Russian version of the White House, with its distinctive green dome. Ivanov escorted Christine to the third floor of the building, entering a twenty-by-sixty-foot conference room containing a polished ebony table capable of seating thirty persons. As before, on one side of the table sat Maksim Posniak, director of security and disarmament in Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, along with his interpreter, although neither side had needed one for the initial discussions. Posniak’s accent was thick but his English understandable.
Waiting in the conference room along with Posniak was Russia’s minister of defense, Boris Chernov. The three men at the table rose as Christine and Ivanov entered the room.
“Welcome back to Moscow, Christine,” Chernov said. “It’s good to see you again.”
Christine noticed Chernov’s use of her first name, instead of addressing her as Miss O’Connor as was customary. “It’s good to see you again, too, Boris.”
Chernov smiled. “You should find Russia’s recent concessions incorporated into the new document Maksim has for you, but if not, please don’t hesitate to contact me. As for the details, I leave that for you two to work out.”
He checked his watch. “I cannot stay, but before I leave, I must inquire. Will you be attending the ball tomorrow night?” Chernov’s eyes wandered as he spoke, examining her body; he seemed unaware she could follow his eyes.
“Yes,” Christine answered. “I received the itinerary for my visit and packed the necessary attire. If I may ask, what is the occasion?”
“It’s a Victory Day gala.”
“I thought Victory Day was on the ninth.”
“We have managed to turn the entire month into a celebration,” Chernov replied. “Several foreign leaders have already arrived, and we plan to keep them entertained.” He added, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop by to see how things are going tomorrow, and of course, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Chernov and Ivanov departed the conference room, leaving Christine with Posniak and the two interpreters.
Christine turned to Posniak as she eased into her chair. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
MAP
19
ARISH, EGYPT
The Sinai Peninsula in the northeast corner of Egypt, with the Mediterranean Sea to the north and Red Sea to the south, serves as a land bridge between Africa and Asia. Given Egypt’s arid climate and vast desert terrain, it’s counterintuitive that almost half of the peninsula’s northern coastline is a swampy lagoon: three hundred square miles of brackish water and marshland separated from the Mediterranean Sea by a narrow limestone ridge.
As a result, Arish is the only major city along the Sinai coast. Serving as an outpost during the Egyptian dynasties and fortified during the Roman and Ptolemaic eras, Arish is a city with a great deal of history and very little to show for it: a litter-strewn beach giving way to a sprawling city of low-rise cement-block buildings. Even so, Arish is one of the country’s better holiday destinations — less than two hundred miles from Cairo — and as close as many will come to the clear blue waters and pristine sands of the Menorca coast or French Riviera.
Not far from the palm-fringed coastline, Anton Belikov worked quickly in the dark, attempting to gain access to a small building. The temperature south of Arish had dropped significantly after sunset, and for that, Belikov was thankful. Although the temperatures in the Arctic, where Belikov and his team had worked less than forty-eight hours ago, were frigid, he preferred the colder climate. That was expected, however, since Belikov was from Norilsk, Russia, located above the Arctic Circle and encased in snow up to nine months each year.
The door unlocked and Belikov pushed it slowly open. There was no one inside, only automated equipment. Belikov activated the pale blue light strapped to his forehead, providing just enough illumination for him to tend to his task. Moving swiftly toward the massive machinery, Belikov slid a black duffel bag from his shoulder, laying it carefully on the ground. As he worked in the faint blue glow inside the building, the other members of his platoon were working at various points farther inland.
It didn’t take long and everything was soon in place, with one last item remaining. It had been disconcerting at each previous location — with the equipment controlled remotely — and this time it was no different as he entered the required sequence of numbers. The panel activated, confirming proper operation. Belikov wrote down the GPS coordinates and, after collecting his empty duffel bag, headed to the exit. After securing the light on his forehead, he stepped into the cool night.
20
USS MICHIGAN
Captain Murray Wilson climbed the metal ladder through the Bridge trunk, pulling himself through the hatch into the darkness at the top of the submarine’s sail. Stepping into the Bridge Cockpit, faintly illuminated by a full moon hovering in a cloudless sky, he stood between the Officer of the Deck and the Lookout, the latter with binoculars to his eyes, scouring the barely discernible horizon for contacts. Wilson breathed in the fresh air, and after verifying there were no contacts nearby, he shifted his gaze to the navigation repeater, examining the submarine’s position. Hours earlier, Michigan had reached the northern end of the Red Sea, surfacing before entering the shallow Gulf of Suez. Behind Wilson and atop the submarine’s sail, the American flag fluttered in the brisk wind as Michigan headed northwest at ahead standard, and it wouldn’t be long before they began their journey through the Suez Canal.
The 120-mile-long Suez Canal, enabling travel from the Pacific into the Mediterranean Sea without transiting around Africa, would cut Michigan’s transit from weeks to mere days, but the transit wasn’t without risk. Less than a year ago, during America’s war with China, mercenaries sank three oil tankers with shoulder-fired missiles, temporarily blocking the canal, forcing America’s Atlantic Fleet to take the long route around Africa into the Pacific. During the Arab-Israeli Six-Day War in 1967, both ends of the canal were blocked by scuttled ships, trapping fifteen merchants in the canal for eight years.