“I’ll do my best,” Cohen promised.
“You’ll do more than that, Luke,” Barbeau said sharply. “You either keep a lid on this or I’ll find someone else who can. Is that clear?”
The New Yorker swallowed hard. “Yes, Madam President.”
“That’s just fine, Luke, honey,” she said, relenting slightly. “And as soon as you’ve handled all of that, I want you on a flight to Moscow.”
“Moscow?”
Barbeau nodded. “Get in touch with Gryzlov’s people. Arrange a private one-on-one with that smooth-talking son of a bitch. Push him, Luke. See if you can get a read on what the hell he’s planning.”
Major General Arkady Koshkin stood stiffly in President Gryzlov’s outer office, trying very hard not to fidget. He was uneasily aware that the continued existence of both Q Directorate’s cyberwar initiative and his own personal fate rested on the outcome of this hurriedly called meeting with Russia’s mercurial leader. While the computer viruses his specialists had crafted had done enormous damage to Romania’s Cernavodă nuclear plant, the results had fallen short of his more optimistic promises. He wished now that he had not so blithely assured Gryzlov that a total reactor meltdown and containment breach was inevitable and unstoppable.
A droplet of sweat rolled down his high forehead and dripped onto his spectacles. Nervously, he took them off, distractedly mopping at the thick lenses with his handkerchief.
The door to Gryzlov’s inner office swung open, held by Ivan Ulanov, the president’s private secretary. “You may go in, General,” the younger man said. There were dark bags under his eyes. Russia’s president kept late hours. “They are ready for you now.”
Quickly stuffing the handkerchief back in the breast pocket of his suit, Koshkin hurried through the door. Ulanov closed it silently behind him.
Hands clasped behind his back, Gennadiy Gryzlov stood by the far windows, looking out across the darkened Kremlin. Minister of State Security Viktor Kazyanov sat bolt upright in one of the two chairs set squarely in front of the president’s ultramodern desk.
Without looking around, Gryzlov said, “Sit down, Koshkin.”
Sweating even more heavily now, the head of the FSB’s Q Directorate did as he was ordered. Kazyanov didn’t so much as nod in his direction.
Abruptly, Gryzlov swung round and sat down behind the desk. “I have been going over your report on the Cernavodă operation,” he said, not bothering with any of the usual pleasantries.
Koshkin felt sick. “Mr. President, I—”
Gryzlov waved him into silence. “You and your people did well, Arkady,” he continued.
Caught by surprise, Koshkin could only gabble, “But… the reactor… the containment building, I mean…” He forced himself to slow down. “I regret that our attack was not entirely successful.”
“Calm yourself, Arkady,” Gryzlov said patiently. “No weapon works perfectly the first time it is used.” He shrugged. “And you certainly couldn’t have anticipated that the Poles and their American mercenaries would react so quickly and so effectively to the reactor meltdown.”
“No, sir.”
“What matters is that we now know your new cyberweapons are as powerful as you promised,” Gryzlov said. “Which is why we’re going to use them on a much larger and grander scale.”
“Mr. President?”
Gryzlov bared his teeth in a quick, wolfish grin. He tapped the slick surface of the computer built into his desk. The large LED display set into the same desk lit up, revealing the first page of a document marked Top Secret and headed Operatsiya Mor, Operation Plague. “Take a careful look, Koshkin. The time for tests and experimentation is over. Now is the time to put your prized theories into practice!”
Eyes widening, Koshkin leaned closer to the screen, rapidly skimming through the list of targets outlined in the detailed operational plan the president showed him, flipping through page after page with a flick of his finger across the display. He whistled softly in wonder.
“Well,” Gryzlov demanded. “Can you execute this operation?”
Still astonished by the scope of his president’s ambitions, Koshkin sat back in his chair, thinking fast. At last, he nodded cautiously. “We can, sir. Q Directorate has all of the essential cyberwarfare capabilities needed to strike these targets.” He pursed his lips. “But hitting them with the necessary precision and speed will require some additional work to fully weaponize specific computer programs.”
Gryzlov’s expression soured.
“It’s not a question of hardware,” Koshkin hastily explained. “Between the new supercomputer at the Perun’s Aerie complex and equipment at other sites, we have all the computing capacity needed.”
“Go on,” Gryzlov said, through gritted teeth.
“It’s a matter of personnel, Mr. President,” Koshkin said, sweating again. “To keep up with the proposed operational tempo after our first strikes go in, my directorate will need the services of additional special information troops. Coding is labor-intensive work and each attack demands malware individually tailored for the precise target.”
“Very well,” Gryzlov said curtly. “Present your requirements for more komp’yutershchiks to Tarzarov on your way out. He’ll find the hackers you need.”
“Sir.”
“And inform me at once when you are ready to launch Mor’s first phase.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Koshkin said, already moving toward the door.
“Oh, and Arkady?”
The head of Q Directorate looked back toward Gryzlov. “Mr. President?”
“Be quick about it,” Gryzlov said. “Remember, no man is irreplaceable.” His eyes conveyed all the warmth of the Siberian tundra in winter. “Do not learn that the hard way, eh?”
When the door closed behind Koshkin, Gryzlov turned his icy gaze on his minister of state security. “You were very quiet just now, Viktor.”
Kazyanov actually squirmed nervously in his seat, an oddly unbecoming gesture in one so tall and powerfully built. “I did not wish to interrupt, Mr. President.” He spread his hands in an embarrassed gesture. “This new cyberwar technology is not something I fully understand. At least not yet.”
“Yes,” Gryzlov said contemptuously. “That much is all too clear. Though perhaps I should expect more from you, since Koshkin is at least nominally one of your subordinates.”
He watched the other man’s face turn gray. Insulting poor, fearful Viktor Kazyanov really was about as dangerous as kicking a toothless puppy, Gryzlov decided. It might be enjoyable, but there really wasn’t much sport in it.
“On the other hand,” he said. “The reports from your GRU unit outside Cernavodă were excellent.” He shot the bewildered and frightened minister of state security a cynical smile. “It was fortunate that Usenko and his team were ready and waiting to catch a glimpse of one of these Iron Wolf machines in action, was it not?”
“You knew one of those combat robots would enter the damaged reactor building?” Kazyanov realized, unable to conceal his surprise.
Gryzlov shrugged. “Let us say that I thought it more likely than not.”
“What game are you—” Kazyanov stopped himself in midsentence, obviously afraid that he was crossing onto dangerous ground.
Gryzlov let that slide. “But we still need more information about these Cybernetic Infantry Devices.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “That bitch Barbeau, for all her high-minded prattle about international cooperation, still won’t tell us all she knows about their design, their capabilities, and their weaknesses.”