“I’m retired, but yeah, why?”
The line went dead. Then Marcus heard two light raps, not on the door to the hallway but on the one that connected to the adjacent suite.
“Who’s there?” Marcus asked as he walked to the closed and locked door.
“Don’t you recognize my voice?” the man said from the other side.
Marcus tried to place the voice but couldn’t. It was definitely a native Russian speaker and a Muscovite. But the man was speaking too quietly for accurate identification.
“No, I don’t.”
“Agent Ryker, this is Oleg Kraskin. Please let me in. We must talk.”
Oleg Kraskin? Why in the world would the son-in-law of the Russian president be staying in the suite next door?
Marcus wished he had one of the Sig Sauer pistols Nick had given to his team, but there was nothing he could do about that now. When he heard two more knocks, Marcus decided to take the bait. He unplugged the lamp on the nightstand, wielded it like a club, and unlocked and slowly opened the door. He was tense, suspicious, and ready for a fight.
To his astonishment, it really was Kraskin. He wore a black silk shirt, black jeans, and snakeskin boots, and he was alone—no handlers, no security.
“May I come in?” Oleg asked, his Russian accent thick, almost overpowering.
Marcus looked him over for a moment, then glanced behind him to see if there was anyone else in Oleg’s room. Not seeing anyone, he finally nodded and stepped aside. Oleg was shorter than him—though not as diminutive as Luganov—and rail thin, almost gaunt. But he strode in with great purpose, through the bedroom and into the adjoining sitting room, and sat down on the couch.
Marcus closed and locked the door behind Oleg. He set down the lamp and followed the Russian into the sitting room.
“To what do I owe this early-morning honor, Mr. Kraskin?” Marcus asked, standing there in boxer shorts and a T-shirt.
“I don’t have much time,” Oleg said in a whisper. “So I’ll get straight to the point.”
Marcus opened his hands as if to say, The floor is all yours. Then he sat down in a chair opposite Oleg.
“Agent Ryker, you must promise me that whatever I share with you, you will tell no one that you heard it from me. Please, I must insist. I am putting my life in your hands by even coming to meet with you.”
“I’ll do my best,” Marcus said. “But I have no idea what you’re about to say.”
“I can give you information critical to your national security and that of your allies. But I cannot do so unless I have your word that you will protect my identity.”
Was this a trap? Marcus immediately asked himself. Was he being set up? Recorded? Videotaped? How could he make such a promise without knowing answers to these and so many other questions? Marcus glanced around the room, but Oleg quickly assured him that the rooms were no longer bugged.
“That all went out with the Cold War,” he insisted.
“Fine,” Marcus said. “But why come to me?”
“My motives are my own business.”
“Yet you ask me to trust you.”
“I do.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Believe me, Agent Ryker, you will want to hear what I have to say.”
“Maybe so,” said Marcus. “But let’s be honest. I could be in danger—as could the senator—simply by you coming here.”
“Not as much danger as I am in,” Oleg replied. “Tomorrow or the next day, you all can leave. I cannot. But neither can I remain silent. I must tell someone, and I’ve chosen you. Perhaps you don’t have reason to believe me. Fine. I ask you only to listen, and then go back to Washington and independently evaluate everything I tell you. If I speak the truth, perhaps you’ll trust me to tell you more. But I need your word you will never betray my identity, and I need it now.”
It was not an unreasonable request, Marcus concluded. Yes, taking the meeting was a risk, but perhaps it was worth it to spend a few minutes with a man so close to the Russian president. Even if the man had come to plant disinformation, simply hearing what he had to say might prove very valuable. So Marcus gave Oleg Kraskin his word.
“Perhaps you should write all this down,” said Oleg.
“Say what you’ve come here to say; I will remember every word,” Marcus assured him.
Oleg stared at Marcus for a moment, then closed his eyes. He seemed to be steeling his resolve for whatever task he had set for himself. Finally he reopened his eyes and looked directly at Marcus again. “Very well,” he began. “You must understand that everything—or nearly everything—my father-in-law said to you and the senator and your team last night was a lie.”
Marcus said nothing.
“He’s not going to pull our forces back from the border of the Baltics,” Oleg continued.
“Why not?” Marcus asked.
“Because twelve days from today—on or about October 7—he’s going to invade the Baltic states.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am,” Oleg said. “He’ll pull our forces off the border of Ukraine, as he promised, but your president must not be deceived. He will only do so to reinforce the units he’s going to send into the Baltics.”
“Let me get this straight,” Marcus said, incredulous. “You’re telling me your president has decided to invade not one but three NATO countries?”
“Yes.”
“That’s madness. Why would he do it?”
“Because he can,” Oleg said. “My father-in-law is convinced no one will stop him, that these nations are his for the taking. He grabbed one-fifth of Georgia, and no one did anything. He took Crimea and eastern Ukraine, and what happened? Nothing.”
“This is completely different,” Marcus said.
“Because it’s NATO.”
“Of course.”
“Nevertheless, he’s gambling he can strike so fast and hard that no one can stop him, and once he’s got what he wants, no one will want to risk nuclear war to take it back.”
Marcus sat there trying to make sense of it all. It’s not that what Oleg was saying was far-fetched. But it was surreal hearing it from the mouth of someone in the Kremlin inner circle.
“You say he’s going to move on October 7?”
“Give or take a day or two, yes,” Oleg said. “His original plan was to attack on October 25, the anniversary of the Russian Revolution. Now he’s pushing the generals to be ready sooner, and my father-in-law is not a man to whom one says no.”
“But I don’t understand. This doesn’t make sense. He’s willing to risk nuclear war to seize three tiny states most people couldn’t find on a map?”
“Perhaps most Americans cannot find them,” said Oleg. “But I assure you that every Russian can.”
“You believe they’re yours.”
“They are ours.”
“That’s why you want them back.”
“Of course,” Oleg said.
“Then why are you here telling me this? Why tip your hand? Why not let your father-in-law seize them in a surprise blitzkrieg?”
“The answer to that is very simple,” Oleg said. “He is ready to risk nuclear war and the deaths of millions to get these three countries back. I am not.”
60
The weight of that statement stunned Marcus into silence.
Glancing at his watch, Oleg continued. “Few people really know this man, Agent Ryker. I do. I married his daughter. I became part of his family. But I had no idea what I was stepping into. My parents revered him. My Marina worshiped him. What reason did I have to think of him any less highly? But now I have worked for him for years. I’ve traveled the world with him, been in most meetings with him, taken his dictation, handled his personal and professional correspondence, been sent on delicate diplomatic missions for him. I’ve spent more time with this man than with my own wife. And I’m telling you, I’m sickened by what I see. He uses people to gain whatever he wants, and then he destroys and discards them without another thought.”