‘Yes. I can.’
Vitruk closed Tuuq’s file and, briefly alone, he called an encrypted number at the Russian Embassy in Washington, DC As he had anticipated, the ripple effect of his tiny military incision in the far-away Bering Strait had prompted an early morning crisis meeting at the American Federal Reserve.
FIFTEEN
By the time Roy Carrol, Chairman of the Federal Reserve, stepped into the high-ceilinged chandeliered boardroom of his head-office building on Constitution Avenue, the Asian markets had fallen and then picked up, unsure how to react to Russian occupation of American territory. News channels broadcast the Duma’s emergency session, defining the story as a global crisis. On-screen experts earned their large retainers by predicting the worst.
As Fed Chairman, Carrol’s task was to let politicians do their jobs while ensuring no cracks opened in the financial institutions, and not just in the United States. The dollar remained the go-to global crisis currency. If the Russian stand-off threatened stability, demand would build up. Carrol had to see that it was met smoothly. No one person, even one government, could make, break, repair, or damage the global economy. Even so, a word from the Chairman of the Federal Reserve could shake markets. If he spoke, the words had to be right.
‘Is this meeting really necessary, Roy, so damn early?’ said his ex-wife, Lucy Faulks, as he walked to his place by the tall mantelpiece end of the large oval table.
‘And a very good morning to you too, Lucy,’ said Carrol, leaning over to adjust the small American flag that hung from a gold-plated stand on the table. Just over twelve hours earlier, he had been examining it with his Russian counterpart, Karl Opokin, while showing him and his entourage around the building.
Faulks was there because she chaired the Federal Reserve Bank in New York, one of twelve such banks in the country and by far the most powerful. Their marriage, of two fiery ambitious economists, had never been smooth. Carrol’s appointment over her to the top job broke it. Or at least it did for her. Carrol had never worked that one out.
‘It looks to me like some Lagutov grandstanding,’ she said. ‘If someone leaks that you called a crisis meeting it will only make things worse.’
‘We’ll have a quorum, so by all means leave, if you need to go shopping.’ Carrol pulled out his chair, unsure why he couldn’t stop himself using words that were guaranteed to rile the mother of his children. He brushed the black leather seat with the back of his hand. ‘But if you’d listened to Bob Holland last night you would be forgiven for thinking we were all standing on the edge of history.’
‘Hence we meet?’ She eyed him curiously. He was sure he detected the twitch of a smile. She wore a dark pinstripe trouser suit, and had her blonde hair up as if to remind him that added to her formidable will and intelligence she was still stunningly attractive, but, as he had discovered too late in life, impossible to live with. Same old story.
‘You happened to be in town. You didn’t get my job, but you got the Fed in New York and you chair the Global Financial System Committee. I could use your input.’ He smiled affectionately. ‘And besides, I wanted to see you.’
Before Faulks could answer, four other board members came in, led by the stooped, bespectacled Lewis Ash, whose brief was to keep a watch on financial stability. ‘Before you ask, Roy, we’ve reached out to the big six. HSBC, Citi, and J. P. Morgan have already got back to us and insist they would be solid through a world war. We’re talking now to Europe, Canada, Moscow, and Beijing.’
‘What’s Moscow saying?’ asked Faulks.
‘Karl’s in Washington,’ said Carrol, mentioning the British Embassy dinner. ‘I dropped him at the embassy last night. He didn’t seem to have a clue what Lagutov’s up to.’
‘Based on Ukraine 2014, if it’s not resolved in twenty-four hours, we can anticipate five hundred billion dollars in capital flight,’ said Ash.
Carrol sat down, thinking about how any military operation with this level of international impact would need parallel financial planning, which pointed to an outside financial guarantor. ‘Lagutov would have factored in capital flight and debt servicing,’ he said. ‘So who’s underwriting this?’
A momentary silence fell among them. Lucy Faulks immediately tapped a message into her phone while she took a chair next to Carrol. Most of the huge table was left empty. Carrol’s personal assistant came in to take notes. She sat on one of the upright chairs at the far end of the room. The meeting was being recorded.
‘This may end up being nothing,’ began Carrol. ‘When Russia went into Georgia back in 2008, the economic reaction was muted. That was pretty much repeated in Ukraine in 2014. On the other hand, this time, because America is directly involved, today may turn out to be the longest day of our careers.’
‘God forbid,’ said Ash a veteran of thirty-six-hour days during the 2007 financial crisis.
‘We have two known unknowns,’ continued Carrol. ‘What is Russia doing and what does it want to achieve? There is nothing new about securing power at home by testing limits abroad. What is new is the decision to pick a fight directly with us.’ He stopped on a signal from Faulks.
‘Sorry, Roy,’ she said. ‘There have been large movements of money through Shanghai, Hong Kong, Istanbul, and London, all with a connection to Russia.’
Carrol looked pensive. If true, it meant Moscow was shoring up its capital. And if Karl Opokin was really being kept out of the loop, it pointed to a sophisticated plan. ‘We must be certain we can withstand anything that this day throws at us,’ he said. ‘The second unknown is the inauguration. The President has very few hours left in office. He will try to defuse the situation, but as soon as President-elect Holland steps in it will become more fluid and possibly more confrontational. In the White House last night, Holland wanted us to storm the island of Little Diomede, even if it involved direct combat with Russian troops. That would put pressure on the dollar and the markets. The President has asked Holland to come up with—’
Those were Carrol’s last words. A bomb exploded under the table. It splintered the thick wood as if it were paper. It blew out all three of the huge windows, tearing down and setting fire to the draped curtains. It shattered the mantelpiece, ripping a hole in the wall, hurling out plaster and propelling marble fragments around the room like shrapnel. The two chandeliers were torn from the ceiling and with dust and debris fell ablaze into the rising inferno.
No one in the room survived.
SIXTEEN
Eyes welling, President Christopher Swain held Stephanie in an embrace. She allowed it for a second — she needed human warmth too — but couldn’t stop her concentration returning to the news screens. The cameras focused on the charred rims of three boardroom windows, gaping holes, burnt shreds of curtain, and blackened patches along the white walls.
Inside the building two friends had been murdered, just like that. ‘Vaporized’ was the word the newscasters were using. She had known Roy Carrol and Lucy Faulks for a long, long time. Lucy had been funny and supportive during Stephanie’s divorce. She and Carrol were separated by then, but Stephanie could tell she respected him, probably still loved him.
‘What’s going on, Steph?’ Swain whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Russia walks into our territory, and half the board of the Federal Reserve is wiped out in a terrorist attack.’ Swain stared stone-faced out of the Oval Office window. ‘I’m heading down to the Situation Room. Are you going to your embassy?’