“And what does he want?”
“Power. Riches. Glory. Sexual pleasure. You name it. And not in moderation. His appetites are insatiable. When he has something, he craves more. When he does not have something, he will kill to get it and to stop others from getting it. He is a man without conscience and without remorse.”
“Another Stalin?”
“No, I don’t see him like a Stalin or a Khrushchev. He’s not like any Soviet-era leader. Yes, he was shaped by those times, but he was never truly a Communist. He joined the party in order to advance his own ambitions, not the party’s. When Communism died, he discarded it and moved on.”
“A Hitler then?” Marcus asked. “Ready to grab the Rhineland, ready to show the Western powers that they didn’t have the will to stop him, ready to kill millions—tens of millions—when they finally did try to stop him?”
Oleg shook his head slowly. “No, he’s not a fascist or a national socialist.”
“Then what?”
“He sees himself as a czar.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he sees himself as a visionary—an imperialist. He is determined to regain and restore the glory of Mother Russia by any means necessary. He believes Russia was humiliated by the Western powers in the previous century.”
“And is that how you see him?”
“In part.”
“But…?”
“I believe the best way to think of him is as the head of a crime family.”
“Like the Godfather?” Marcus asked. “You’re saying he’s Vito Corleone?”
“I’m saying he’s Sonny,” Oleg replied coldly. “Ambitious but rash, reckless—and he has a nuclear arsenal and the willingness to use it.”
Marcus stood and walked over to the window.
“You do not believe me?” Oleg asked.
“No, I do believe you,” Marcus replied, closing the drapes completely, then checking the hallway through the peephole to make sure no one was standing outside his door. “But I’m not sure who else will.” He paced for a moment, then sat down again. “If you’re telling the truth, you’re committing treason by talking to me,” Marcus said as much to himself as to Oleg.
“I am telling the truth, but I am not committing treason,” Oleg retorted. “I am not betraying my country, Agent Ryker. The president is. The whole reason I have come to you—the whole reason I am telling you this—is because I want to save my country.”
“How?” Marcus asked.
“You must tell Senator Dayton what I’ve told you—without telling him your source. The senator must then tell President Clarke, and Clarke must order his generals to send the necessary troops and tanks and planes to the Baltics to create a serious deterrent—a speed bump, as it were, large enough to cause my father-in-law to pause, to think twice, to back down before it’s too late.”
“Why not just go to the U.S. Embassy or to the media?”
“Because then I’d be found out and murdered for certain.”
“And you think coming to me is safe?”
“Not safe, but perhaps safer.”
“Perhaps?” Marcus asked.
“Agent Ryker, please listen to me. Ever since I first heard about this madness and saw the war plan, I’ve been trying to come up with a way to stop it. The only way I see is to get word to the White House of what is being planned. When the senator’s request for a meeting came across my desk, I saw you were traveling with him. That’s why I immediately recommended to my father-in-law that he take the meeting. It took some effort to persuade him, but in the end he accepted my logic and agreed to receive the senator and his delegation. I did not do it to meet Mr. Dayton. I did it to meet you, because I realized you might be the one person to whom I could plead my case. Do you recall that time in Berlin, when we first met?”
Marcus nodded.
“Do you remember what I called you?”
“No.”
“I called you a hero.”
“I’m not. I was just doing my job.”
“You were willing to take a bullet to protect your president, your country, your country’s government and way of life. And that wasn’t the first time. I have read a great deal about you, Agent Ryker. I know that when your country was attacked on 9/11, you volunteered to join the Marines. I know you served in Afghanistan and Iraq. I know you are a patriot. I suspect you have not agreed with every decision made by every leader you protected. But you defended their legitimate right to make even poor decisions because they were chosen by the people and would be held accountable to the people. Well, I am no different, except that I don’t have the luxury of living in a democracy. My leader is a thug, accountable to no one, and he is leading our nation—the country I was born in, the country I love—into disaster. I have come to you at great personal risk because I believe you can understand this better than any politician. And I’m asking you to help me, Agent Ryker. Because time is short, and I don’t know who else can.”
The praise made Marcus uncomfortable, but he sensed it wasn’t flattery. Perhaps it was really what Oleg Kraskin believed. Then again, perhaps it was an effort to manipulate him. This could be a setup, another plot to deceive, maybe even masterminded by Luganov himself. But why would the Russian leader send his son-in-law here in the middle of the night to tip the Americans off to an invasion of three NATO countries? What advantage did that give the Kremlin?
“I can’t take this story to the senator without proof,” Marcus said. “And the senator certainly isn’t going to President Clarke unless he has proof that an invasion is really coming. He would need evidence, something concrete and compelling.”
“Don’t worry,” Oleg said. “I have all the proof you need and more.”
61
It was nearly six in the morning when Oleg left.
Marcus waited as long as he could, which was about thirty-five minutes. Then he called Nick Vinetti. He apologized for calling his friend so early, but Vinetti said he’d already been to the gym for an hour and was just about to head to the office.
“It was great to see you last night—all of you guys, but especially you and Pete,” Vinetti said. “The ambassador found the whole conversation fascinating. He hasn’t been invited to sit with Luganov since he arrived in the country. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think he was a tad jealous.”
“Thanks, Nick, but this is not a personal call,” Marcus said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s come up. I need to see you immediately.”
“Sure, no problem,” Vinetti replied. “My morning’s full, but I’ve got time around two. How about then?”
“No, Nick—it has to be now. Clear your schedule.”
“Why? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t say.”
“Even on a secure satellite phone?”
“No—it’s too sensitive. Can I come over now? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t critical and time sensitive.”
“All of you?”
“No, just me.”
“It’s that serious?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. It’s—what—6:39 now? Can you get there by seven?”