“You are under arrest,” said Borovik.
“Traitors! You will never get away with this,” roared Kozlov.
“I think we will,” said Borovik. “Particularly after we release the information about how you and your friends have been robbing this country blind over the past twenty years.”
“All lies,” said Kozlov, with less assurance.
“You can either choose to come voluntarily with us,” said Borovik, “and face trial in a few weeks. Or…”
“Or what?” asked Kozlov, only now beginning to comprehend what was happening.
“We cut your phones and leave you alone in this office for a few minutes with whatever it was you were trying to get from your desk drawer.”
On the other side of the world, in the Oval Office, the red-faced American president continued his furious Twitter offensive, with no idea what was happening to his Russian counterpart.
“Back off Klepto Kozlov or missiles could fly! USA-USA!@PresStokes”
In a frenzied daze, Stokes hit a key to begin another tweet. Nothing happened. He pounded the key again. Still nothing. A notice came up: “Your Twitter account is no longer active. Contact Twitter.com/admin.”
Back in the bunker in London, Steve Penn kept waiting, monitoring CNN and the BBC for any sign that the next phase of his plan had kicked in. Now that he had set Stokes and Kozlov at each other’s throats, it would be disastrous if the Republicans still lacked the guts to oust an obviously dangerous and deranged Republican president. But it was the military that acted first.
A “BREAKING NEWS” alert suddenly appeared on CNN. It was CNN Pentagon correspondent Jim Dreyfuss. “Wolf, I’ve just been informed that all commanders of U.S. nuclear forces have been instructed by Admiral Len Coop, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, to execute no orders from the president unless those orders are first confirmed by the chairman himself. We are…”
The reporter paused for a moment to listen to a message in his earpiece. “Excuse me, Wolf, but things are breaking real fast here. The chairman has also just ordered all U.S. military units on full alert. No troop movements to occur without specific authorization of the chairman. General officers known to be sympathetic to Stokes are being relieved of their commands. Chairman Coop has also apparently been in touch with his Russian counterparts to ensure that calm is maintained on both sides. That’s all at this point, Wolf, but obviously this is a very fast moving situation.”
Steve immediately put in an encrypted call to Senator Bill Gurd in the Rayburn Building.
“Jesus,” said Steve, “it sounds like a military coup.”
“At least a partial one,” said Gurd. “I just spoke with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He put in a conference call to me and the other leadership. Gave us an ultimatum. Either we act to get rid of Stokes, and at least preserve the façade of civilian government, or the military will do it themselves.”
“So what’s stopping you?” asked Steve.
“Most of the leadership is ready to act,” said Gurd. “But a few are still holding out. The White House is threatening to release some pretty strong stuff the Russians hacked from the Republican National Committee prior to the elections.”
“Blackmail? This late in the game?”
“Exactly,”
“Including you?”
The Senator paused. “I think I made that clear when we first met. But it’s not going to work, not any longer. It’s my relationship with one of my legislative assistants. She’s – she’s only twenty-one – and black. I may one day be able to work things out with my wife, but politically, it will probably destroy me. In any case, no turning back. Gotta go. I’m meeting with the leadership in a couple of minutes.”
Two miles away, in the Eisenhower office building, Cliff Dayton and Jorge Ramos, who ran the secret S-Team, were calling sources, attempting to determine what exactly was going on in the Pentagon. They were interrupted when three officers walked in, one colonel and two captains.
“Who the hell are you?” Dayton barked.
“Colonel Tom Dean, U.S. Army Military Police. As of this moment, your office is shut down. My men will also impound all your records. Any attempt by you or anyone on your staff to destroy files will be considered a criminal act. You and Mr. Ramos are under arrest.”
“Under arrest for what?” asked Dayton, drawing himself up.
“A number of suspected crimes,” said the Colonel, “We could start with conspiracy to murder two former CIA officers: Brian Hunt and Charles Doyle.”
“Really?” sneered Dayton. “And under what authority are you acting?”
“The Joint Chiefs.”
“That’s bullshit, they can’t do that.” Dayton picked up the phone to call the Oval Office. There was no dial tone.
Back in London, Steve called Ed Diamond at Focus to relay the latest information he had from Senator Gurd. Five minutes later, Diamond called back. “Steve, I’ve checked with a couple of my own sources. This is definitely the wildest situation the U.S. has ever known. The military is ready to move. Congress still doesn’t have the votes to act.”
“That’s what Gurd told me,” said Steve.
“Stokes is screaming military takeover,” said Diamond. “But he’s unable to get anyone to broadcast his statement. His Twitter account has also gone dead.”
“So why don’t you finally air the report we did. If you put it out, there’s no way Congress could still hold back.”
“Exactly what we’re planning,” said Ed. “The asshole who ordered us not to broadcast the report is now saying to put it out immediately as a special. We’re doing a quick, new open and close. It’ll be on in an hour.”
“But have you heard what’s just happened in Moscow?” said Ed.
“What?”
“The reports are still very sketchy, but it looks like Kozlov is out. Also some kind of military coup.”
“What happened to Kozlov?” said Steve.
“No one knows. There’s talk of shooting in parts of Moscow. Everything still very vague.”
Steve’s mind was whirling. If there was chaos in Moscow, what was happening to Maya and her family? Could she have been executed as some last act of vengeance by Kozlov and his thugs? And what had happened to the kids, to his son? He repeatedly attempted to reach General Borovik, but was unable to get through. The line was constantly tied up.
Nearby in London, in the working space she’d been given at MI5’s headquarters at 12 Milbank overlooking the Thames, an increasingly agitated Jean Swanson was also watching live reports of events in Washington, when she received a call. It was her boss, Jorge Ramos. “Captain Swanson, our operation has been shut down.” Again, his usually firm voice was quavering.
“Shut down?”
“As of five minutes ago. It’s over. Done.”
“It can’t be,” said Swanson.
“It is. You are to stand down immediately, end all operations.”
“On whose orders?”
“On mine. On Dayton’s. On the Pentagon’s.”
“But I’m ready to act. You said the mission was mine.”
“Yeah, well, forget the mission. It’s too late.”
“How do I just forget the mission?”
“Another thing,” said Ramos. ”You never heard this from me. But destroy all records of everything you’ve done for the S Team. Everything. Something else…”
“What?”
“Don’t be in any hurry to come back to this country. You might think of going somewhere far away where no one knows you and stay there for many years.”
“What the shit? It’s my country.”
“You heard me.”
“Fuck you, Ramos.”
She hung up.
