Russia had a fraction of the military power that the USSR had once held. But it still owned more nuclear warheads than any other nation on earth. And even today, its military was quite formidable compared to most of the West.
“Good day, Mr. Ambassador.”
The Russian ambassador to China was all smiles. He walked up to Jinshan’s desk and shook his hand, commenting on the strength of the proposed military plans. Jinshan preferred never to show his hand. But he knew of the Russian president’s obsession with military and intelligence details, and he needed him to get on board. So he had given them a glimpse.
“Moscow is very impressed. And our leadership wishes to extend to you once again our warmest regards. Russia and China are strong strategic partners, and we want to continue this prosperous relationship in the future.”
“Of course.” Jinshan sipped his tea. It was cold now, but his voice was growing hoarse from talking. “That is why I have invited you here. I can’t trust this message to a phone call or the written word. I need you to travel back to Moscow and deliver this directly to your president.”
“What shall I tell him?”
“I need Russia to contact all the countries in the European Union and the Middle East. I would like your president to express his neutrality in this war, once it begins in earnest. But I also want him to pose to these nations an ultimatum. If they enter the war, or pledge allegiance to the United States, Russia shall do the same with China. And Europe shall be Russia’s prize.”
The ambassador listened happily, his jowls jiggling as he nodded. “I understand. You wish to keep this between the United States and China. And you want Russia to be the neutral deterrent. Standing by in case any of the European nations join the fight. Do I have that right?”
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador. I would like you to make these conversations happen over the next twenty-four hours, if possible.”
“The people of Russia would like nothing more than for you to succeed, Mr. Jinshan.”
Jinshan nodded. He knew that the Russians would cooperate. Europe was their prize, they had been told. Whether any of the EU nations joined the fight or not.
8
David took a bite of buttered toast and scrolled through the news headlines on his phone.
Coming off their vacation in Florida had been an adjustment. Even if they had only stayed for a few days, it had been great to get away. But now they were back to the grind.
It was dark outside, and the kitchen light was dimmed down all the way. He sat at their round kitchen table across from his wife. She was wearing a worn purple bathrobe. Taylor — their six-month old — lay sleeping in her rocker on the floor, bright-colored plastic shapes dangling over her tiny head. She had just fallen asleep after nursing, a look of pure satisfaction on her face.
Lindsay stole a sip of coffee from David’s cup and whispered, “Between Maddie and this one, I was up five times last night.”
He looked up from his phone. “I’m really sorry.”
“I’m going to be a zombie today.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry.”
“So — okay.”
“You men have it so easy.”
David looked at his watch. “I have an early meeting.”
“Get going. Leave your wife. She’ll have a hot meal for you when you return.”
“Hot wife, hot meal. Can’t ask for more than that.” He got up and smooched her on the cheek, which she held out for him.
He grabbed his keys and waved goodbye again, careful to shut the door quietly so as not to wake up either of the two kids. The drive to the CIA headquarters only took about twenty minutes at this time of the morning. It helped that David lived close by.
As he drove along the streets, flashes of the past few weeks rolled through his mind. While he still wasn’t quite sure what a normal week would be like now that he was officially a full-time CIA analyst, he was liking the work so far. The last few weeks had been anything but ordinary.
As a technologist for In-Q-Tel, the CIA’s private equity firm, he had traveled the country evaluating new software and hardware that might have military or intelligence applications. Now, he was evaluating Chinese technology, as well as geopolitical and military intelligence estimates, as part of the SILVERSMITH team.
David passed the security checkpoints in the CIA headquarters and began walking towards his office space. He wasn’t sure if he would see his brother today. Chase, while technically part of the SILVERSMITH team, was a different type of CIA employee. He was one of the special ones.
Chase Manning was a former US Navy SEAL and had entered the CIA two years ago as a member of its elite Special Operations Group. But a few recent high-profile and successful missions had put Chase in very high demand. He wasn’t an operations officer — he didn’t have the training and experience of that world. But he had become a sort of hybrid agent — working with the operations officers and the Special Operations Group. Chase learned fast, and his ability to quickly solve problems and integrate seamlessly with special operations units made him a valuable tool of the SILVERSMITH program.
Alas, his desk was empty. They must have him out on assignment. David expected to receive either an email or an intel report over the next day, letting him know more about his brother’s whereabouts.
“Morning, David.”
“Morning, Susan.”
Susan Collinsworth was pushing fifty years old, with strands of gray starting to overtake her otherwise short brown hair. She had the look of a stern elementary school librarian — she wore rectangular Coach glasses and a cashmere sweater vest over a white button shirt.
As far as David knew, she had no kids and had never been married. The Agency was her life. She was always in the office before him and worked like a dog.
Susan had taken David under her wing during his brief time here at Langley. In his conversations with her, he had learned a bit about her history. While she was modest in her self-description, David had learned that Susan had made a name for herself early on in her career. In the ’90s, she had been running agents out of various European stations. Several of them had been former KGB operatives, struggling with how best to navigate the transition to the modern Russian spy game.
David was fascinated with that part of the work. While his brother was getting more than his share of it now, it was foreign to David. In his own section of the intelligence world, he was relegated to research and analysis. His little wins came while identifying the technical clues that made the geopolitical puzzle clearer.
Behind closed doors over half a dozen lunches, Susan had regaled him with stories of foreign agents and dead drops on dark city streets. Surveillance operations on diplomats. Hunting moles within their own agency. “In one European city, I was running this girl — a pretty little thing, a secretary — who was sleeping with the Ukrainian ambassador…”
She was careful about how much she gave away, even decades later. But it became clear to David that Susan had been there and done that. From her stories, David learned that the real goldmines weren’t garnered from computer hacking or telescopic lenses. The most fruitful bounties came from long nights of note taking with reliable assets. Assets with inside access to their own national intelligence organization’s knowledge and plans. These bits of information allowed US intelligence to ferret out moles, to protect their own agents, and to continue the flow of valuable information into the hands of the policy makers.
David followed Susan into their meeting room and sat down at the long, glossy conference table. About six others were already sitting at the table. Most were typing on computers and sipping coffee, trying to achieve the proper level of caffeination.