‘Hold a moment.’ Prusak turned up one of the television screens showing Russia Today. The scene was the school gymnasium, laughter between villagers and soldiers, displays of medical equipment, school books and games for the children. The newscast moved to split-screen with the anchor on one side and, on the other, a still photograph of an old document in Cyrillic script described as the original treaty of the 1867 Alaska Purchase.
‘The nerve of it!’ she exclaimed, then she stood up to point to a line of words on the document. ‘They’ve changed this sentence and are claiming that the original agreement states that the border runs twelve miles east of Little Diomede, putting it right up against the US coastline.’ She paused, glancing through the document. ‘The rest of the treaty, all seven articles, seems exactly the same as what we have on record.’
The screen returned to the newscaster. Stephanie listened, then said, ‘She’s saying the seven point two million America paid for Alaska is the equivalent of one hundred and fourteen million today. That would barely buy an apartment block in New York. It was two cents an acre, which would make the land worth thirty cents an acre today. So, it was theft.’
‘We paid three cents an acre to buy Louisiana off the French in 1803 and they’re not complaining,’ said Swain. ‘Have we located the treaty yet?’
‘They’re saying this is it,’ said Stephanie. ‘The issue of the lost treaty arose when I was in Moscow. Neither you nor they could find the original document.’
‘We need to move on,’ said Swain. Prusak muted the TV screens. Stephanie sat down.
‘Prime Minister, how far will Britain and the rest of Europe support us?’ asked Swain. ‘If we can come up with a united policy, we can see this problem off. If Europe divides, we’re in trouble.’
‘It depends what you plan,’ said Slater.
‘If you’re not with us, we’ll do whatever it is without you,’ said Holland.
‘Hold off on the swagger,’ said Swain.
‘Europe is geographically closer to Russia, so it’s more complicated,’ said Stephanie. ‘We burn Russian gas to keep warm, more than thirty percent in Europe and seven percent in the UK.’
‘Mr President,’ said Prusak. ‘The Defense Secretary asks if he can update us for a couple of minutes.’
‘Can it wait?’ said Swain.
‘He says not.’
A Secret Service agent opened the door and Michael Pacolli walked in. Prusak opened a darkened screen to a map of Europe.
‘The Russian navy has been put on a high state of readiness, sir,’ Pacolli said, as two circles appeared on the screen. ‘It’s the equivalent of our DEFCON 2. There is increased activity in Kaliningrad, the Russian military enclave between Poland and Lithuania, and down here in Crimea.’ He pointed to the areas on the map. ‘Two Novorossiysk submarines left Kaliningrad on January 10th and two more went out from the Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol the next day. Within the past hour, they have brought three stealth T-50 fighter aircraft into Kaliningrad and four to the Baherove airbase in Crimea.’
‘Where are the submarines now?’ asked Holland.
‘These are diesel-electric vessels. With engines off, running on batteries they are near impossible to track. The Novorossiysk is the quietest naval vessel in the world.’
‘Answer my question, Mr Secretary. Where are they now?’
‘We don’t know, sir.’
‘You didn’t track them?’
‘We don’t have those resources.’
‘And damn you, Christopher Swain, for denying us the money to protect America.’ Holland pressed the palm of his right hand hard into the table.
Part of Holland reminded Stephanie of Harry, her ex-husband, the use of anger to get what he wanted. Harry imagined himself enveloped in hostility from everyone around him, including his wife, and dealt with it by lashing out. She worked out, far too late, that his temper was a cover for fear. Outside of his general unhappiness, Harry posed no threat. As President-elect, Holland did. His aggression might be pre-inauguration nerves, which were fixable. Or, like Harry, it might be embedded within his mental template, in which case America was in trouble.
Holland drummed his fingers loudly as if waiting for an order to be obeyed. Pacolli stood by the door, ramrod-straight. Prusak’s eyes shifted from his tablet to the screen. Slater drew columns on the notepad in front of him. Then, after three minutes of silence, the President sat back, arms folded and said, ‘Mike, give me strike options on both Kaliningrad and Crimea.’ Pacolli looked relieved to have clear instructions.
Swain continued, ‘We screw down Russian companies operating here. Use IRS, RICO, FBI, with the whole toolkit — bank accounts, parking tickets, visas.’
He turned to Holland. ‘Bob, Prime Minister Slater advised you to get your ducks in a row. So, I’ll tell you how they line up. In Latin America, we will have allies in ten of the twenty governments. Africa, I wouldn’t count on more than five and none of the big hitters — South Africa, Nigeria, Kenya. India will stay neutral or side with Russia. Pakistan is with China and China is likely to side with Russia. Southeast Asia will be split. South Korea and Japan are with us. In the Middle East, we may have Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar, and the Sunni states. But those are fragile monarchies that could flip the other way at any time. Syria and Iraq will be with Iran and Russia. We have Israel, of course.’
‘And if things go from diplomatic to hot?’ asked Stephanie.
‘Fewer allies, far fewer, and a lot will depend on China. Many are in Beijing’s pocket, which is why I would strongly advise against the President-elect thinking along the lines of a “for or against us” choice.’
‘I’ll make that decision with my team,’ said Holland.
Swain ignored him. ‘Phones, corridors, embassies, trade, education, aid, threats, muscle — use them all.’ He turned to Slater. ‘Prime Minister, can you deliver Europe?’
‘If there’s no more combat, I will give it my best shot.’
‘Then we hold everything until Prime Minister Slater and I address our people.’
‘We don’t address “our people” in the UK,’ said Slater. ‘The monarch does that.’
‘An interview. The BBC at the embassy?’ said Stephanie.
‘No,’ said Slater.
‘Where then? It can’t be at the White House.’
Slater brushed the inside of his wrist with his finger, a habit Stephanie saw several times when he was thinking hard. ‘I’ll ask Jeff Walsh to set up a session with union workers. Against a Manhattan backdrop. The Nine Eleven memorial. That’ll be recognizable to a British audience and the dockers will be a familiar audience for me. I’ll do it better.’
‘That would be the Port of New Jersey,’ said Prusak as Stephanie’s forehead creased with doubt. It wouldn’t work, she thought. How could it? An unknown, left-wing British Prime Minister suddenly talking to dock workers in New Jersey. She understood Slater’s thinking. His stirring off-the-cuff oratory among blue-collar, working-class backdrops, factories, housing estates, closed coal mines had won him the popular support that propelled him into the top job. Speaking live on television would put him at the heart of the crisis, a British and European leader convincing Americans to do what was right, no stuffy formal interview, the night shift at a container terminal. In one way it was brilliant. But it was too subtle for today’s media and therefore very high-risk, the location so surprising that no one would remember a word of what Slater said.
‘We need to see your speech,’ said Holland.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Then let me guess,’ said Holland. ‘You’ll talk about negotiations that will invite Lagutov’s Red Army into Europe.’