“Loyalty?” the president asked.
“It’s a bit complicated.”
“Give me the short version.”
“Well, sir,” said McDermott, “Marcus was under my command back in Afghanistan. So was a guy named Peter Hwang. During Senator Dayton’s trip to Kabul, we came under attack by the Taliban. Two of our choppers were shot down. One was a total loss. The other—the one Dayton was in—had survivors. We had to make an emergency landing and found ourselves in a pretty serious firefight with a clan of jihadists. All of my men fought with tremendous distinction, but no one more so than Marcus. When it was all over, Dayton credited Marcus with saving his life. Every year on the anniversary of that attack, Senator Dayton either calls Marcus personally or sends him a handwritten note. I’ve heard them get into some rip-roaring fights on policy and politics. But they genuinely like and appreciate each other. Marcus believes he got into the Secret Service, in part, on the basis of a recommendation Dayton wrote for him.”
“Loyalty,” the president said. “Got it.”
“So that’s what put Marcus Ryker in Moscow,” McDermott noted. “It’s still not clear to us why this source—whom we’re calling the Raven—came to Marcus. But Marcus says the Raven reached out to him, made the initial contact, and I believe him. Marcus believes the source is totally legit. Says he’s wired in at the highest levels, though he won’t give us a name or a title or even a hint at who he is, out of fear of putting the man’s life in danger.”
“We’re sure it’s a man?” asked Secretary Foster. “No possibility of a honey trap?”
“Marcus says it is, and I have no reason to doubt him,” McDermott replied. “Ryker has served our country honorably. He took a bullet in the line of duty, Mr. President. I don’t see any evidence that suggests he was compromised, nor do I believe he could be.”
“Was Ryker subjected to a PDD?” asked the White House chief of staff.
“What’s that?” the president asked.
“He’s referring to a psychophysiological detection of deception test,” McDermott said. “More commonly known as a polygraph.”
“So was he?” the president asked.
McDermott looked back at Stephens.
“He was, sir,” said the CIA director.
“And?”
“He passed with flying colors.”
At that, Clarke pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. He walked over to the windows and looked out at the falling leaves and changing colors of autumn.
“So, bottom line, gentlemen, you believe this case officer—who is not a case officer at all—is credible. And by reading ahead in the PDB, I gather that the Raven’s statements and the documents he’s handed over to us have borne out so far. Correct?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Stephens confirmed.
“Meanwhile we have Russian fighter and bomber squadrons and tanks and ground forces being transferred in recent weeks from the Pacific theater to the borders of the Baltics and Ukraine.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“And the written orders the Raven turned over indicate that Luganov intends to use these forces to invade NATO allies?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And both the CIA and DIA assess that unless we move a whole lot of men and matériel into the Baltics in the next few days, Luganov actually does have a credible capacity to seize Latvia and Estonia in less than sixty hours, followed by Lithuania in another forty-eight to ninety-six hours, give or take.”
“We do, sir,” Stephens confirmed.
“Moreover, the Raven claims that Luganov’s trip to Pyongyang is nothing but a smokescreen.”
“Correct.”
“Yet Luganov has signed a strategic alliance with North Korea, and the North Koreans have promised to fully dismantle their nuclear program and turn all the components over to the Russians.”
“Correct.”
Clarke was now pacing around the Oval Office. “Not only that, but Luganov has just held a press conference in Pyongyang saying fears of a Russian invasion of Ukraine and/or the Baltics are preposterous. He says the Russian military is merely conducting exercises and that in the interest of international peace and harmony, he has ordered all or most of these forces to be withdrawn by next week at the latest.”
No one said a word. It was all true.
“So those are the banner headlines we’re waking up to,” the president continued. “Luganov defusing two regional crises in a single day. Looks like a genius. A man of peace. And what do I look like if I mobilize the Eighty-Second Airborne and the 101st and start moving battle tanks toward the borders of Russia?”
Every eye in the room turned to the secretary of defense.
“Mr. President,” Foster said calmly, “I don’t see that we have a choice. We have to move, and we have to move fast. You can announce that the moment Russia really does remove 150,000 troops off the borders of our allies, you’ll be happy to consider redeploying our forces elsewhere in Europe. But until then, you have an obligation to ensure the NATO alliance is strong and that our capacity deterrence is unmistakable.”
Clarke stopped pacing. “My only obligation, as you put it, is to the American people, who elected me in no small part to end our involvement in overseas conflicts, not exacerbate them and certainly not to potentially spark an international crisis by sending troops into a standoff with Russia. Until we have more information, until we have absolute proof that the war plan the Raven gave us is genuine, I will not send a single American soldier, tank, or plane into harm’s way.”
69
MOSCOW—26 SEPTEMBER
“I think we need a plan to assassinate Luganov,” Marcus said.
Jennifer Morris was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a briefing on her Agency laptop. Marcus was standing at the sink, filling a kettle to make a pot of tea. He had just finished cleaning his Glock 9mm pistol, which lay on the table across from Morris along with a spare magazine. Beside them were bottles of cleaning solvent, gun oil, a soiled toothbrush, a cleaning rod, and a small box of Q-tips. It was clear from the stunned expression on Morris’s face that he’d caught her completely off guard. But in his mind the conversation couldn’t wait.
“Assassinate the president of Russia?” she whispered, standing and moving across the kitchen to have the conversation up close and as quietly as possible.
“Yes,” said Marcus.
“Are you insane?” she replied. “We’re trying to stop a war, Ryker, not start one.”
“But what if Clarke refuses to order U.S. forces into the Baltics? Or what if he does, but he doesn’t send enough? Or he can’t persuade the rest of NATO to send forces to help us create a deterrent? What if Luganov simply moves up his timetable and invades earlier than the seventh? We can’t base our entire plan on building up a big enough deterrent force in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. We need a plan B.”
“Maybe so,” Morris said. “But it’s sure not going to be an assassination.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, it’s illegal.”
“Okay, there’s that.”
“Second of all, who’s going to kill him—you?”
“I’d rather not, but…”
“But what?” Morris asked, incredulous. “Ryker, you really are mad. One, if you were actually to assassinate the leader of Russia, that’s an act of war. And who’s to say that would derail things? Why wouldn’t Luganov’s successor use the moment to invade anyway? Two, if you’re unsuccessful—if you’re killed or captured while trying to take out the leader of the Russian Federation—then you’ve given Luganov the ultimate pretext not just to seize the Baltics but to carry out any other crazy attack he’s planning. Three, it’s a completely stupid idea. And four, did I mention how stupid an idea it is?”