“I’ve been asking the same question all day. But my people in the field say no. If we want this guy, it’s the only way. I don’t have to tell you the risks if our people are caught or killed in the process. But the upside would be enormous. It’s your call, sir.”
“Has the Raven asked us to set the plan into motion?”
“Yes, tonight.”
“Does he understand what’s at risk?”
“Ryker says he does. But Luganov has ordered a mole hunt, so they think it has to happen immediately.”
“Are you guys ready?”
“Almost—we’re finalizing everything as we speak, Mr. President.”
“Do you want to walk me through the plan?” asked Clarke.
“Actually, sir, I’ve told you the most critical piece—I think the less you know the better,” Stephens said. “But I can keep you apprised of developments throughout the night, if you’d like.”
“Very well—coordinate through Colonel McDermott.”
“So the mission is a go, Mr. President?”
“It’s a go,” Clarke said, then turned to Defense Secretary Foster. “Cal, the Agency is clearly doing what they can to get us the best intel possible. What do you and your men recommend we do with it?”
“Mr. President, in light of this new information—and working on the premise that it’s all accurate—I have three recommendations.”
“Lay them out.”
“Yes, sir. First, I recommend we move to DEFCON 3 and stand by for a possible move to DEFCON 2. This will put all U.S. conventional and strategic nuclear forces on high alert. If nuclear war becomes imminent, we may have to move to DEFCON 1 for the first time in history. Second, you should direct the secretary of state to call an emergency videoconference of the North Atlantic Council to explain to NATO as much as we can of the latest intel and the imminence of a Russian invasion. Make it clear to our allies that any attack by Russia on the Baltic states or any other NATO member will trigger Article 5. And third, Mr. President, I recommend we get you on the hotline to talk with President Luganov directly and see if you can’t head this thing off before the missiles start flying.”
79
Everything he’d learned to protect our president, he was now using to take out theirs.
Given that he couldn’t say a word to Morris or draw on any of her assets or expertise, Marcus rated the chances of success of assassinating Luganov at no more than one in five, if that. Still, that wasn’t his main focus just at the moment. The plan for getting Oleg out was. This was one topic he could discuss with Morris, but it wasn’t going well. They’d gotten the go-ahead from Washington only to learn one of the pilots they needed to fly them out was sick in bed with a 104-degree fever. The copilot was already doing all the preflight checks, but the flight plan hadn’t been approved. And now a massive winter storm that no one had seen coming was moving in.
At least the weapons Marcus had asked for had come in. He had in his possession a Vul—a silent Russian pistol—and the Vintorez sniper rifle favored by Soviet Special Forces.
Marcus pulled off the main highway. He parked the white Volga GAZ-21 in the shadows behind a self-service Lukoil gas station that was open but deserted. Grabbing his satphone, weapons, and keys, he locked the beat-up old sedan and jumped into the brand-new Mercedes SUV that Jenny Morris was driving right behind him. Several hours from now they would leave the Mercedes here and proceed to the airport in the Volga, hopefully throwing off anyone who might observe them driving to or from their next destination.
As they drove the six miles to Rublyovka, home of Moscow’s wealthiest and most powerful families, Marcus briefly considered telling Morris who his source really was, how they had met, and that they were actually going to meet him at his parents’ house. The moment she saw him, after all, she would know exactly who he was. Still, he’d made a promise to the man, and he wasn’t about to break it. If Oleg were killed in the house or taken down while trying to kill the president, Marcus might never need to tell her. If Oleg actually lived through the next several hours and made it to the plane, he could give them a proper introduction then.
The house should be deserted, Marcus knew. Oleg had assured him that his parents had left the country hours earlier and should be halfway across the continent by now. The Kraskin estate was nearly a kilometer away from the nearest neighbor. What’s more, Oleg’s childhood home was surrounded on three sides by dense woods, long manicured lawns, and even a pond in the backyard with a small island in its center. Oleg had given Marcus all the passcodes they would need to enter both the main gates to the community and the gates to his parents’ property and to disarm the security system. And they had nearly a two-hour head start to get everything ready.
Neither Marcus nor Jenny Morris was prepared for the spectacular size of the secluded mansion or for the fantastic wealth Oleg’s family had built up in the post-Soviet years. Marcus had understood they were successful but not that Oleg’s father was an actual oligarch. Yet as they pulled through the iron gates along the half-moon drive up to the front door, they found themselves gaping at a sprawling, forty-room, Scottish-style baronial castle with steeped gables, ornate conical turrets, and even four black “witch’s hat” roofs, one in each corner.
Marcus put on his gloves, pulled a black balaclava over his face, and donned night vision goggles as they approached. Morris did the same. The plan called for her to drop Marcus off in front of the huge house, then speed off down a service road, past the five-car garage and several stone outbuildings before pulling the Mercedes deep into the forest, cutting the lights, and parking a half klick from the house to begin setting up her equipment.
Marcus disarmed the security system and entered the house cautiously. There were no signs of life, no sounds but the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the opulent vestibule, replete with Italian marble floors and seventeenth-century French artwork. The silenced pistol drawn—and the disassembled sniper rifle slung over his back—he stealthily moved from room to room, confirming that no one was inside, starting with the top floor and working his way down. Given the building’s length and breadth, it took longer than Marcus had planned.
On the top floor, he found twelve bedrooms, including a master bedroom larger than any single room at the White House. Each bedroom had its own bathroom. There was a library and a study for Mr. Kraskin and another for his wife, as well as a workout room. On the main level, Marcus found a private movie theater with both a state-of-the-art digital projection system and a 35mm film projector. There was an indoor pool that could open to an outdoor pool overlooking the pond. A large screened porch adjoined a glassed-in breakfast room along with enormous living and dining rooms, a piano room, and a kitchen large enough to feed the Red Army. In the basement Marcus found three more guest rooms, a Jacuzzi room and sauna, a billiard room with a full bar, and laundry facilities.
He also found the panic room Oleg had told him about. He entered the code he’d been given and stepped inside. Fourteen feet by fourteen feet, with reinforced steel walls, ceiling, and floor, it was really more of a bomb shelter than a panic room. At one end was an independent oxygen system, several large drums of potable water, a chemical toilet, a small round table with four wooden chairs, and a television and shortwave radio. Bunk beds lined the side walls. At the near end of the room was a tiny kitchenette, a pantry with canned goods, and shelves lined with battery-operated lamps and flashlights. The room’s systems operated from an independent power source that should remain up and running even if power went out in the rest of the house.