He mashed the button and heard the phone ring.
Fannie Legat slid out of bed in the middle of the night. The tall Russian major snored soundly and never noticed her ease toward the door and back out of the cramped room. He didn’t notice her smile, either. It had been a wonderful night. In truth, she wasn’t sure why she had approached him at first. She was always thinking of the Cause before anything else and viewed him as a potential source of information. She clearly liked him and appreciated his manners, but the American major had similar manners. It was just something about this Russian that melted her will, and she had given herself to him freely in the end. Maybe it was because the Russians, like most Muslims, had very little materially and the U.S. had so much. Did that make it jealousy? Was she envious of the American lifestyle? She shook off the notion.
It was against the established norms of Islam and her own standard of behavior to sleep with a man who was not her husband. It was not like she was a virgin. In fact, before she had seen the true path she had had many liaisons, mostly with other students. But she was a woman, and men paid attention to her. Sometimes it had an effect. She had no regrets about this lapse, but the last thing she wanted was for Amir to find out. She didn’t care what the little dope thought of her, but she could not have him reporting back to their superiors that she was free with her favors and sleeping with men.
She hurried down the narrow hallway with her robe wrapped tight. The hotel was saving money by not heating the hallways, and she wanted to avoid anyone who might be out at this ungodly hour.
Just as she reached her room and turned the knob she had purposely left unlocked, the door next to her swung open, and Amir thrust his head out and barked, “Just what do you think you are doing?”
“More than you.”
“Harlot.”
Fannie answered the only way she knew how, by slapping him hard across the face, then stepping into her room with as much dignity as she could muster. He would be a problem, and she would have to deal with him soon.
Derek Walsh knew that hesitation could kill him, or worse, kill Alena. When the phone in his pocket rang and distracted the man with the gun, he lowered his head and instantly charged forward like a linebacker. He let his full weight slam into the man and heard the pistol clatter onto the hardwood floor and bounce off the wall into the hallway. He turned and reached for his own pistol in one movement. As soon as he had it aimed at the other man’s face, the man dropped the cord, and Alena slipped back into the chair, immediately gasping for breath and grabbing her throat with both hands.
His mind was clouded with a thousand details, but he knew he had to grab Alena and get out of there now. He yanked her from the chair and pulled her along as he bolted out the door and turned toward the stairwell. She was keeping up and sounded like her airway was open as they hit the stairway, and he sent her ahead so he could turn and back down slowly with the pistol pointed at the top of the stairs. No one seemed to be following.
Who in the hell were these guys?
17
Putin had made a great effort to make his schedule appear as normal as possible. But he needed to speak with Andre Maysak about the Estonian operation, and everyone involved had agreed that no discussions about it would take place over a telephone.
One of Putin’s aides had found a reason for him to visit the administrative offices of the Federal Council in its main building on Bolshaya Dmitrovka Street. The six-story main office building had no architectural significance. It was an ugly, efficient building constructed in the eighties.
Putin’s security team had already met with security at the building, which escorted them quickly from a side entrance to the long, sterile hallways. The executive elevator only operated for the highest-level members of the council. Putin and his group took it to the fifth floor, where Andre Maysak’s maze of aides and clerical people worked in cubicles that surrounded Andre’s office.
Putin walked alone down the Persian rug that led to the two wide oak doors. He pushed open the door to see his old friend come out from his wide desk to greet him.
As soon as they were seated facing each other in matching Karelian birch chairs that were as uncomfortable as they were unsightly, Andre fired questions at Putin like a Western reporter.
Putin held up his hand and said, “Andre, you sound like a nervous old woman. Let me give you a summary. Then you can ask your silly questions.” He smiled to put his friend at ease and let him know they were equals in this endeavor.
He jumped right in with the most important information. “Andre, all is well, I assure you. The operation continues without interruption. Most importantly, no one has detected our troops on the Estonian border. We have held different military exercises in the area over the past year and pulled together sixty thousand troops who believe they are part of a new exercise. We picked just the right spot. The troops and three hundred tanks are dispersed over a fairly wide area and not attracting any attention. There’s been no movement at all from NATO. Not even the Estonian defense force has noticed our buildup. It’s all coming together now, from our choice of a target to our idea of using such a small force.”
Andre chuckled and said, “There are few countries that would consider more than sixty thousand troops and three hundred tanks a small force.”
“We’re lucky to be able to do so. Besides, what’s the use of having such a massive military if we never use it?”
“And how will the world look at us for using that massive military on such a tiny, undefended neighbor?”
“Not much differently than they looked at us when we took Crimea. This is a chance to claim a quick, bloodless, decisive victory and show the world that Russia is no longer dormant and cowering from Western military strength.”
“And how many civilians will be killed during this ‘bloodless’ victory?”
Putin did not care for his associate’s tone, but he answered anyway. “We hope to avoid casualties. That’s the goal. But once the operation begins there is no telling.”
Andre shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “What about the civilians already killed by the terror attacks in Western Europe and the United States?”
“Those casualties are unfortunate and relatively few, considering the size of the countries involved. They are also necessary. If Russia is to be resurgent, we must be bold. We must act boldly. Besides, the terrorists would have eventually acted on their own to hit the U.S. All we did was convince them to do it at the same time as our operation in Estonia.”
“Vladimir, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself. How bad will the terror attacks get?”
Putin considered his answer and everything he had been told by Yuri Simplov. Then he said, “The first wave of attacks is almost over. There will be more, but nothing like we’ve seen. There are only so many radical jihadists available in the Western countries, and their intelligence services and police services are really quite good at detecting these attacks. But we can’t lose sight of our main objective, the military aspect of our operation and the quick takeover of Estonia.”
Andre still appeared unconvinced. Putin was frustrated and not used to explaining himself, but he had few enough people to talk to about this operation, and he would need Andre’s support later on.
“Do we continue to suffer the EU sanctions and live in fear of toothless resolutions from the United Nations?” Putin asked. “Do we stand idly by while NATO expands and offers invitations to our former republics? This Estonian action will show the world how ineffective NATO really is. It is a chance to assert ourselves and discredit NATO at the same time.” Even Putin was surprised at his passion while explaining it to Andre. Maybe more passion than he had realized. He sounded and felt like a patriot.