With that, he turned away from the microphones and nodded to someone standing off in the shadows.
Cohen recognized Sergei Tarzarov, his Russian counterpart. Expressionlessly, the old man nodded back at Gryzlov, and then spoke a single word into his cell phone.
In moments, a small army of plainclothes Kremlin security officers poured out into the courtyard. Politely, but firmly, they shooed the TV crews and other reporters away.
When the journalists were all safely out of earshot, Gryzlov turned to Cohen. “I regret this awkward incident,” he said perfunctorily, scarcely bothering to hide his amusement. “But I am afraid the impertinence and intrusiveness of the press is a cross that must be borne by all of us who live in truly free societies.”
“That rat fucker!” President Stacy Anne Barbeau snarled, watching the footage from Gryzlov’s “impromptu” press conference play across the big screen in the Situation Room.
When it finished, she spun around in her chair to glower down the length of the long table at her national security team. “Well, that tears it,” she said bitterly. “Gennadiy Gryzlov may be a lying sack of shit, but he’s also fricking clever. And right now he’s running rings around us.”
“How so, Madam President?” CIA director James Nash asked, plainly confused. “Nobody with any sense will buy the idea that we’re behind the cyberwar attacks in Europe.”
“Of course not!” Barbeau snapped. “But that’s not the point, Jimmy.” Nash looked hurt. She sighed, fighting for patience. After all, she was the one who’d opted for loyalty, not brains, in picking the former senator to head the CIA. It was hardly fair to expect brilliance from a man whose principal strengths were looking good on television and knowing how to read persuasively from a teleprompter.
“Look,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “You’re right that most European leaders will pin the blame on the Russians — right where it belongs. But this media ambush he just pulled on Luke still screws us over.”
Barbeau saw Ed Rauch nodding slowly.
Good, she thought, at least one of these clowns gets it. But some of the others still looked unsure. “Follow the timing, people,” she said flatly. “First, Poland’s banking system gets trashed. Then hackers fry the electrical grid in most of Eastern Europe. And now Gryzlov ‘accidentally’ reveals that we’ve been holding secret talks with the Kremlin the whole time. What do you suppose that will suggest to those with suspicious minds, like Piotr Wilk and his gang?”
“That we’ve either signed off on this Russian cyberwar campaign or, at the very least, that we’re just standing on the sidelines, willing to let it happen,” Rauch said.
“That’s about the size of it,” Barbeau agreed. “Which pretty much screws over any chance we could have used this crisis to strengthen our own position in Europe. Before Gryzlov’s little press conference, we had a shot at peeling away some of the weaker members of the AFN by offering our help. Now we probably don’t.”
Secretary of State Karen Grayson frowned. “I guess I don’t see the problem.” She looked troubled. “I mean, I thought our policy was pretty much to hunker down here in the States while we rebuild the Air Force’s bomber and fighter wings. You don’t really want to expand NATO back into Eastern Europe again, do you?”
Barbeau stared coldly at the other woman until she wilted back into her chair.
Good God, she thought contemptuously, was her secretary of state really that naive? Couldn’t she figure out the difference between a public-relations front and serious strategy?
“This isn’t about expanding NATO, Karen,” she said finally, regaining some control over her temper. “But there’s a big difference between having the countries of Eastern and central Europe act as neutral buffer states that are friendly to us… and watching the Russians frog-march them back into submission to Moscow. I may not want them tied to our apron strings, but I’m sure as hell not happy at the prospect of seeing Gryzlov calling all the shots in Poland, Hungary, and the others the way the Soviets used to.”
Rauch cleared his throat. “There might be a way we could regain some influence in the region, Madam President,” he said tentatively. “And help stave off this new Russian onslaught at the same time.”
“Which is?” Barbeau said sharply. From the pained look on her national security adviser’s face, she was pretty sure he knew she wasn’t going to like his proposal.
“Given the changed strategic circumstances, maybe we should ease off a bit on our arms restrictions,” Rauch suggested. “I’m not saying we should supply weapons to Poland and the other countries ourselves. But if we looked the other way while they bought combat systems and munitions from Sky Masters and other companies…” Seeing the expression on her face, he trailed off uncertainly.
“Not a chance,” she said. “The restrictions stay.” She shook her head. “I may be pissed off at Gryzlov’s moves, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk getting sucked into a war, of any kind, on the side of the Poles and Martindale’s paid killers.” Her mouth turned down in disgust. “Especially since these so-called geniuses appear completely outmatched by Russia’s cyberwar forces.”
“Then what is our policy?” Rauch asked carefully.
“We look to our own defenses,” Barbeau said. She frowned. “I hate playing a waiting game, but I don’t see that we have much choice. Not after Gryzlov managed to poison the well so deftly just now.”
She looked down the table at Admiral Scott Firestone, the new chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Unlike his predecessor, the short, stocky Navy man seemed content to leave high-level policy in the hands of his elected civilian masters. He rarely spoke up at these meetings unless asked a direct question. As a rule, she found that restful, though there were occasional moments when she wished the admiral would be a little more proactive.
“Pass the word to Cyber Command, Admiral,” Barbeau said. “I want stepped-up efforts to harden our key computer systems. Now that we’ve seen what the Russians can do, let’s not get caught with our pants down around our ankles. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Madam President,” Firestone said.
“And tell your people to work even harder developing more of our own cyberweapons,” she added coldly. “If that son of a bitch Gryzlov ever decides to sic his goddamned hackers on us, I want to be able to hit him back — and hit him so hard that he’ll wet himself.”
Sergei Tarzarov closed the door to Gryzlov’s office behind him. His face was impassive.
The president looked up from his desk with a satisfied grin. “That went well, didn’t it?”
“If you mean that you successfully humiliated Cohen, and through him, the American president, then yes, it ‘went well,’” Tarzarov said. He frowned. “But I am not sure this was a sound political move, Gennadiy.”
Gryzlov laughed. “You’re such an old woman sometimes, Sergei.” He leaned back in his big chair, folding his hands behind his head. “If Barbeau thought she could use our Operatsiya Mor to scare her former NATO allies back into Washington’s arms, I’ve spiked her guns.”
“And in the process, you may also have managed to persuade her that we are a dangerous enemy worth opposing,” Tarzarov pointed out. “Rather than an equal with whom she can negotiate.”
Gryzlov shrugged. “If so, who cares? Barbeau may be a foolish bitch, but the scales were bound to fall from her eyes sooner or later. Besides, what can she do?”