“What do you recommend?” the president asked.
“One option,” McVeigh offered, “is to damage a major Russian warship. The Russian Northern Fleet has entered the Mediterranean Sea, and most of their surface combatants have docked in the Syrian port of Latakia, loading food and fuel. Their aircraft carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov, remains at sea with Russia’s other nuclear-powered combatants. This gives us a number of targets and options.
“Admiral Kuznetsov is the most appropriate choice as quid pro quo for Roosevelt. However, it also has the highest potential for escalating, depending on how we engage and the response from her escorts. A better target, perhaps, is Marshal Ustinov, a Slava class cruiser docked in Latakia. She’s the most formidable Russian warship in port, and the third most powerful in Russia’s Northern Fleet after Admiral Kuznetsov and the battle cruiser Pyotr Velikiy, both of which are nuclear powered and remain at sea.”
“How would we execute the attack?”
“You could order an air attack, hitting Marshal Ustinov with enough missiles to send her back to Russia for repairs. However, she’s tied up along the waterfront with several merchants nearby, and there’s the possibility of collateral damage if any missiles lock on to the wrong target. We could go with a torpedo. Michigan will enter the Mediterranean Sea soon, only a short distance from Latakia, but you’ve got the same problem: their torpedo could lock on to the wrong target with so many ships nearby.
“Another alternative,” McVeigh said, “is the SEAL detachment aboard Michigan. They’re trained to sink enemy combatants in port, which is the scenario we’re looking at, plus they can ensure we get the right target.”
“Is that too aggressive,” Hardison asked, “sinking one of their ships in return for damaging one of ours?”
McVeigh replied, “Marshal Ustinov won’t be a permanent loss. Sunk alongside the pier, the Russians will raise her, like we did for most of the ships sunk during Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor and the ships we lost in the Taiwan Strait last year. But we can put her out of commission for six months to a year, which is a reasonable response for what was done to Roosevelt.”
“Assuming we sink the Russian cruiser,” the president said, “what do we tell Russia when they imply our involvement?”
McVeigh suggested, “You could tell President Kalinin the same thing the Russian ambassador told you. That SEALs from Michigan were on a training mission, and accidentally attached real ordnance to the bottom of their cruiser.” McVeigh smiled.
After a moment of deliberation, the president replied, “Send the order to Michigan. Sink Marshal Ustinov.”
23
MOSCOW
It was 8 p.m. when the sedan carrying Christine O’Connor and her interpreter, Mark Johnson, pulled to a halt not far from the Kremlin Senate, stopping behind a procession of cars depositing their guests for the evening’s event. As the men and women, dressed in tuxedos and formal evening gowns, stepped from their cars onto a red carpet, they were welcomed by Kremlin officials who escorted them into the green-domed building. For this evening’s gala, Christine had selected a blue dress that hugged her curves. Her hair was up, pulled back to reveal the sleek lines of her neck, accenting her high cheekbones and slate-blue eyes. Diamond earrings, matching pendant, and blue Valentino heels completed the look.
Christine and Johnson’s car inched forward, eventually reaching the red carpet. Stepping from the sedan, they were greeted by Russian Foreign Minister Andrei Lavrov. After passing through the security screening, Christine and her interpreter were escorted by a young man to the building’s third floor, entering an expansive ballroom with crystal chandeliers illuminating a glossy parquet floor. The room was faced with white marble, with one wall decorated by a painting depicting Moscow, and the other wall, St. Petersburg, symbolizing the centuries-long rivalry between the historic and “northern” capitals of Russia.
Christine and Johnson mingled as waiters carried silver platters of drinks and hors d’oeuvres throughout the crowd, and Christine selected a glass of champagne as a tray passed by. Several Russian dignitaries introduced themselves, with most needing the help of her interpreter. But others kept their distance, shooting quick looks her way. Christine was used to turning heads when she entered a room, but these glances were more furtive, not the typical wide-eyed, admiring stares. She observed the scene more closely, seeing heads bent in whispered conversations as she passed by, and felt sure they were talking about her.
Spotting the American ambassador to Russia not far away, Christine decided to inquire about the strange looks. As she moved toward her, Defense Minister Boris Chernov appeared, stopping Christine halfway to the ambassador.
“Good evening, Miss O’Connor,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Christine offered a smile as Chernov’s gaze swept her from head to toe.
They talked briefly, then Chernov excused himself to mingle with other diplomats. Christine scanned the crowd for the American ambassador again, spotting her in line to greet Russian President Yuri Kalinin, who was talking with the new Chinese chairman of the Central Military Commission — the head of China’s armed forces — and a female companion. Given what occurred during Christine’s last visit to China, when she’d been detained during China’s war with the United States, she decided it’d be best to wait until the two Chinese moved on before joining the ambassador.
Assisted by her interpreter, Christine chatted with several Russian dignitaries while she kept an eye on President Kalinin. After the Chinese bade farewell, Christine excused herself and headed in the president’s direction. However, she didn’t get far before a voice stopped her.
“Miss O’Connor.”
Christine turned as Semyon Gorev, head of Russia’s counterpart to the CIA, approached.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said as he shook her hand. “I have heard much about you.”
Christine had heard much about Semyon Gorev as well; the authoritarian director of Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service had earned a reputation for ruthlessness and a thirst for revenge during his time as a field agent.
“Only good things, I hope,” Christine said, keeping her tone deliberately light.
“But of course,” Gorev replied.
He offered a friendly smile, but Christine registered tension behind his expression. She wondered if he’d read her file. She’d killed two Russians at Ice Station Nautilus, but considering Russia lost almost one hundred men in the conflict, her role had been small.
Their discussion remained cordial, however, and Christine glanced occasionally in Kalinin’s direction, watching the American ambassador work her way up the line. Confident and poised, President Kalinin greeted his guests with ease. During one of her glances, she noticed Kalinin looking her way and their eyes locked for a few seconds. When Christine returned her attention to Gorev, there was a scowl on the director’s face, replaced quickly with a forced smile.
When the American ambassador was next in line, Christine prepared to disengage from Gorev and join the ambassador. But then the ballroom lights dimmed momentarily. The ballroom floor cleared as guests moved to the perimeter, and a Russian dance company took the floor. Christine deposited her empty champagne glass on a tray as a waiter passed by, then turned back to Gorev. But the Russian was gone.