“I’m sure you’ve heard about the assassination of Russia’s Defense Minister,” she said and wiped her lips with her black napkin.
McClain nodded.
Maggie sipped her coffee. “Yes. It took everyone by surprise, since it came after a long period of calm, and it was such a well-planned and well-executed attack.”
She reached for a briefcase next to her chair and pulled out a few folders. She pushed to one side her small plate, which still held a slice of bread, and put the folders in front of her.
“The public has heard only half the truth.” She opened the first folder. “According to our sources, the Russians are not sharing most of their intelligence, which is to be expected.”
She looked up and her gaze was met by McClain’s suspicious eyes.
“We’re reluctant to exchange intelligence, as well, but as I said earlier, we’re working on fixing that,” she said quickly and flipped through the documents in the folder. “You have probably realized by now that this is a safe place to have such sensitive conversations. The owner is on our payroll, and we sweep the restaurant for bugs on a daily basis.”
“I had figured out that much,” McClain said, “but it’s good to have your affirmation. Who are your sources in Russia?”
Maggie said, “I will get to that in a moment. Let me tell you what the Russians are keeping to themselves. The assassin was not just a militant of a Chechen terrorist organization. He was a well-trained sniper, a part of the security team of the Defense Minister.”
Justin frowned. “You mean it was an inside job?”
Aaron nodded.
“Yes, and not only that, but the initial plan included a massive suicide attack in one of Moscow’s metro stations.”
Justin looked at the document in Maggie’s folder. It was a printout, with small letters and a black-and-white picture. He could not make out the words.
“How… you have a source within the FSB?” McClain asked.
His eyebrows had formed an arch, showing his surprise. He leaned forward, intent on not missing a word of the conversation.
“Had. We had a source close to the FSB.”
McClain’s curious eyes asked the question that came up in Justin’s mind.
Maggie sighed. “The FSB has been cleaning house, and our CIA station in Moscow is getting hit pretty hard. They detained one of our diplomats and accused him of trying to recruit FSB operatives. Then they exposed our station chief and gave his name to the media, something that did not happen even during the Cold War.”
Aaron shook his head. “It used to be that we kept their secrets and the Russians kept ours. Not anymore.”
“Yes, the FSB doesn’t play by the old rules. New team, new game, new rules,” said McClain.
“So you pulled your man out as soon as you could?”
“Woman,” Maggie corrected him. “We pulled out our female agent before her identity was compromised.”
“And your diplomat?” asked Justin.
“He was deported two days ago. We’re in the process of deporting one of their embassy secretaries, and we’ll leak the name of their chief of station in Washington, D.C. to the media. You know how it is.” Maggie shrugged.
Justin nodded. The war of spies had its own rules, some of which countries never broke. Diplomats suspected of espionage were deported, sometimes secretly, sometimes — when it was deemed useful — publicly, after they were paraded in the media and in the courts as enemies of the state. The Russians were flexing their muscles, conveying to the world the message that they were as strong, if not stronger, than before. If they could name and shame American spies, the ones belonging to the only superpower in the world, no one else was safe within their borders. The Chechen militants were just a small headache and not to be taken too seriously by anyone.
McClain gestured toward the folder. “So who exactly was the assassin?”
Maggie flipped the document over toward McClain and handed it to him. “His name was Vladimir Oborin. He worked for the Ministry of Defense for almost three years and was in the army for ten years before that. Quite clean, no misconducts or insubordinations.”
McClain studied the file, then pushed it toward Justin. “So what made him snap?”
Maggie shrugged. “We’re not sure. Chechen Islamists turned him, as proven by our documents. The Islamic Devotion Movement, a brutal Chechen terrorist group, bragged about his success on their jihadist websites, confirming that Oborin was one of their faithful members.”
McClain drew back his lips and shook his head. “Something doesn’t make sense. The FSB had no idea Oborin was a Chechen terrorist?”
Maggie pulled another file from her briefcase. She opened it and handed a two-page document to McClain. “Oborin and a team of FSB operatives were working to infiltrate different Chechen terrorist groups. Oborin had family connections to Chechnya and the wider area. The FSB thought it could take advantage of those connections.”
“But the Islamists ended up convincing Oborin to join their cause and to turn against his country,” Justin said.
“That’s a correct assessment,” Aaron said. He exchanged a quick glance with Maggie, then looked at McClain.
“All right,” McClain said. “Oborin kills the Russian minister. What’s this story of blowing up the metro?”
“Our source reports the metro suicide bombing was part of the original plan. FSB agents discovered an explosive cache in the same building where they found the assassin. They easily tied the explosives to Oborin and to the Chechen militants.”
McClain scratched his left temple. “I can see why Russians don’t want this intel to become public. It hurts them and shows them as weak. If they can’t rule their own house, how can they control the region and crush the terrorists?”
Maggie nodded. “Yes, and that’s the problem. Instead of working together against our common enemy — global terrorism — we’re bickering and playing spy games.”
McClain held Maggie’s cold eyes. “And that’s the favor you’re asking from the CIS: help you play nice with the Russians.”
Maggie frowned. “You make it sound like we need a babysitter. We don’t. The Russians are not sharing their intelligence, even though we have given them everything we have.”
Everything would be an exaggeration, Justin thought. You gave them what you thought was enough to make them reciprocate, but it didn’t happen, so now you’re turning to us.
McClain’s face was calm, but Justin knew his emotions were boiling just underneath the surface.
Maggie said, “After the Las Vegas bombing, which as you know was the works of Chechen rebels in retaliation for US Middle East policies and our support for Israel, we agreed to cooperate and share intelligence with our FSB counterparts. We keep our side of the deal, but the FSB has been very unreliable. The documents we receive from them are old, incomplete, and at times completely useless.”
Maggie rubbed her forehead. Before she could continue, someone knocked on their door. A moment later, the waiter opened it and pushed a cart with their orders. Their conversation came to a halt, as the clattering of dishes and the mouthwatering aroma of veal, lamb, and mushroom tortellini filled the room.
They took the first bites in silence, enjoyed the delicious food, seemed to forget about their earlier conversation, and simply commented on the supreme quality of their meal. The waiter reappeared a few moments later, to check whether they found everything to their liking. They did and he left.
Maggie finished chewing a small bite of her Caesar salad, then said, “I was saying how the FSB’s cooperation is quite disappointing. Add the political tension because of the conflicting positions of the US and Russia with regard to Syria and Iran, and some European issues, and you’ve got some cold, almost frozen relations.”