“Anatoly Maksimovich,” he said. “I see that you were not wasting my time when you asked me to come.”
“I would not, sir,” Grigoriyev said.
“Very good. You have arrested some American spies, I’m told.”
“I have, but the matter is more complicated than that. There is evidence that these spies were working with one of our own,” Grigoriyev told him.
“And you have detained this traitor?”
“That is why I came here, to detain the man.” Grigoriyev turned and looked at the Russian general. “But Arkady Vladimirovich would not surrender. He ordered his men to abet his attempt to resist arrest. I have several wounded men, some seriously.”
“An extraordinary accusation,” the Russian president noted. “I presume you have extraordinary evidence. Arkady has done much for the Rodina over the years.”
“More for himself, I think,” Grigoriyev replied.
President Daniel Rostow looked up from the file in his hands, the FBI’s summary of the Russian ambassador’s departure from the country. “It’s a start,” he said. “Not a good one, but I’ll take something over nothing.” He closed the file and passed it back to the FBI director. “I’d be a happier man if I was sure that more of these Russian diplomats lined up at the ticket counter at Dulles were really intelligence officers.”
“Yes, sir.” Isaac Menard’s tone was an unhappy mix of embarrassment and resolution, heavy on the former. “We listed everyone who we ever imagined was a spy and plenty more who were just abusing their diplomatic immunity to get out of driving violations. We have a second tranche who are members of the Russian delegation to the UN in New York City under review, so we’ll be able to hit them up there if this goes on.”
“Good,” Rostow encouraged him. “And I want you back here tomorrow for lunch. I’m calling down the House and Senate Intel Committee chairs. I want to discuss hiking your counterintelligence budget—”
The telephone on the Resolute desk sounded, calling for Rostow’s attention. He touched the button. “What is it, Vickie?”
“Mr. President, the Watch Office has the deputy director of national intelligence on the line. She’s asking to speak with you.”
“Kathy Cooke?” Rostow rolled his eyes and looked to Menard. “What’s it about?”
“They didn’t say, but she is calling from Moscow,” the secretary replied.
“Moscow? Put her on.” The line went mute as the secretary began to connect the call. “How did Kathy Cooke get into Russia?”
“No idea,” Menard said, shaking his head. “They stopped approving visas for any of our people the minute this started. Maybe she called someone senior over there.”
“I don’t like this—”
“Mr. President, now connecting you with Deputy DNI Cooke,” the secretary announced.
“Kathy?” Rostow asked. “What are you doing in Moscow?”
“Sir.” The distance delayed Cooke’s answer a second, and the president found even that short wait intolerable. “I came over yesterday with Clark Barron from CIA to meet with FSB Director Anatoly Grigoriyev. We’ve recovered our analyst who was abducted in Germany, and Alden Maines is presently in my custody—”
“Kathy,” Menard interrupted, “it’s Isaac. You have Maines?”
“Technically, he’s in FSB custody, but they’re going to release him to us,” Cooke told him. “I’ll need as many of the Bureau’s special agents at the embassy as you can muster to report to GRU headquarters as fast as they can get over here.”
“How did you manage that?” Rostow asked, incredulous.
“This is an unsecured line, Mr. President, so I can’t explain the details here. I’ll call you from the embassy as soon as I can. But we need someone to arrange a medical evac flight for two seriously wounded officers. Maines and Jonathan Burke were both tortured by the GRU. I want to evac them to Rammstein for treatment.”
“I’ll have the Pentagon set it up,” Rostow confirmed. “I want to hear back from you in a half hour.”
“I can do that, if Isaac’s people can get over here and take over for me,” Cooke replied.
“I’m on it.” Menard’s hand was on the Oval Office door and he was setting his course for the White House Watch Office before Rostow disconnected the call.
“Can you explain this, Arkady?” The Russian president stared down at the quarter-million euros filling the satchel retrieved from Lavrov’s car. Bullets had struck the bag and perforated several stacks of the bills.
“My officers retrieved the funds from this woman—” Lavrov pointed at Kyra. “She is a CIA officer detained by my men when she attempted to enter her embassy.”
“A partial truth,” Grigoriyev added. He held out his smartphone, Sokolov’s picture of Kyra’s letter on the screen. The president took the phone and stared at the photograph, zooming and scrolling as he read. “Arkady, this could refer to you.”
“I am not named—”
“Of course not!” the president snapped. “The CIA is not stupid enough to name an asset in a communiqué like this one! I was the FSB director once! You think I do not know how assets are run?”
“No, sir—” Lavrov started.
“Enough!” The president turned to Grigoriyev. “Is this all?”
“No. I have a GRU interrogator in custody who has confirmed that the general personally interviewed this woman alone, outside the presence of witnesses and with the cameras turned off on his order. General Lavrov personally destroyed that letter, not realizing that a photographic copy had been taken. Then he left with the money in hand and did not deliver it to his staff for accounting.”
The Russian president frowned and returned the smartphone to its owner. “And then you resisted when Anatoly asked you to come with him to explain yourself. This looks very bad, Arkady.”
“He wants to remove me from my post,” Lavrov protested. “You know this.”
“Politics is no defense for this,” the president replied, anger flashing in his eyes.
“This is a deception operation!” Lavrov yelled, thrusting his finger at Kyra and Barron again. “I have gutted their operations and now they are trying to undo me!”
“And yet you killed General Strelnikov without discussing the matter with Anatoly or myself. You have executed three other Russian citizens without trial or any evidence of their guilt other than the word of a source who you have allowed no one to interview.” The president shook his head. “I believe I have given you too much latitude, Arkady. Your successes in straining the Main Enemy by providing technology to our allies blinded me to your excesses.”
“Mr. President—”
“No, I will hear no more from you here. You will surrender yourself to Anatoly. He will investigate your actions and then we will decide what to do. You are relieved of your command of the GRU and your Foundation for Advanced Research will cease all its dealings with foreign buyers until I decide otherwise.” The president nodded to Grigoriyev, who waved his hand. An FSB officer approached the Russian general and pulled his arms behind his back.
“Sir, we have his alleged source and the wounded CIA officer he kidnapped in Germany in our custody. That matter needs our attention,” Grigoriyev said.
“What would you suggest?”
“We have no grounds to hold the kidnapped officer. His forced extradition to Russia was entirely illegal and would complicate our relations with Europe. I believe he should be sent home,” Grigoriyev offered. “As for the general’s source, his information cannot be trusted. At this moment, we do not know whether he truly is a traitor to his country or a loyal officer who Lavorv tortured for information. But in either case, he committed no crime on our soil, none that we would want to bring to public trial anyway. I suggest he be sent home as well.”