Commander-In-Chief (45 page)

V
aleri Volodin watched the helicopter carrying Tatiana Molchanova leave his front lawn, take off into a night sky filled with swirling snow, and disappear on its way back toward Moscow.

She’d delivered her message from Jack Ryan. She did it slowly, her voice cracking from nerves.

Fucking bitch,
he said to himself. Ryan had bested her in the interview; she looked positively shell-shocked by the end despite a “gotcha” line or two.
And now she brings me this shit from the American President?
Ryan clearly felt bold enough to make such a tactless comment only because the woman he was talking to had turned to mush in front of his eyes.

Volodin would see that Molchanova was replaced on Channel Seven. She’d be live reporting street crimes in Grozny with her cell phone before the end of the month.

Volodin had given no outward reaction to the insult when she delivered the demand from the American President that he should
begin acting like a leader. Instead he thanked her and sent her on her way, masking his fury.

Now Volodin would show Ryan how a leader acted.

The door to his office opened, and he felt the presence of his secretary. She stood there silently, waiting to be noticed, knowing full well her president looked out the window when he wanted to brood in peace.

Volodin said, “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Director Grankin is here for his meeting.”

Volodin did not turn from the window. He just gave a curt nod and said, “Bring him.”

Grankin was in the office and seated in the chair across from the desk by the time the Russian president finally did turn around to acknowledge him. Volodin sat back down, reached for his tea, and took a sip, all the while looking at the director of his Security Council.

Mikhail Grankin’s nerves were showing, Volodin could see it plainly.

“What news?” Volodin asked.

“NATO will not deploy troops in Lithuania barring an Article Five declaration.”

Volodin nodded. “They know Lithuania is defenseless, which means they know full well that the moment there is an Article Five violation it will be too late for them to respond. It is as I have said all along. Our pressure has convinced them they want no part in war with Russia. Lithuania is ours for the taking.”

Mikhail Grankin’s face remained inexpressive, but he nodded slowly. He then said, “Did the American President agree to the summit?”

Volodin shook his head. “Some incoherent babble about needing it to be processed through proper channels.” Volodin waved his
hand in the air like this key aspect of their plan was nothing but a trifle, as if it suddenly didn’t matter. “Forget the summit. We will take Lithuania with only a few shots fired. It will be easier than Georgia.”

Grankin said, “So we will begin the next phase?”

“The final phase of operation Baltic Winter Sixteen will begin immediately.”

Grankin nodded, then said, “The aircraft collision was an unnecessary complication. We didn’t need that.”

Volodin nodded himself with a rare authentic expression of frustration on his face. “I only wish that fucking Ilyushin pilot was still alive so I could have him killed. In the larger picture this was a non-event. A complication, to be sure, but all the military air operations we have been conducting the last year have served their purpose. Russia is feared, and therefore Russia is respected. A single negative incident was a small price to pay for the power this has given us.” He waved his hand. “Anyway, by this time next week, no one will be talking about an Airbus accident over the Baltic, I assure you of that.”

Grankin cleared his throat, hesitating. Volodin saw he wanted to say something, but was not sure of the moment.

“What is it, Misha?”

“One of my best men. Vladimir Kozlov. He has been on special assignment to your office for the past month.”

“Has he? Yes . . . I might have heard something about that.”

Grankin cleared his throat again. “Well . . . with the operation in Brussels coming to a head, with Baltic Winter kicking off . . . I expect an increase in intelligence requirements very soon. I really need Kozlov back.”

Volodin said, “You have other operatives in the Security Council.”

“True, sir. But we have been careful to compartmentalize the larger aspects of our plan, keeping information away from FSB, away from GRU. Morozov is in Brussels. My man Kozlov is crucial now for other aspects of the operation.”

Volodin shook his head. “Kozlov is your man when I give him back to you. For now he is my man. You will have to make do without him.”

Grankin said nothing more on the matter. He put his hands on the arms of his chair. “If you will excuse me then, I will make the calls to the necessary individuals to begin operations.”

Volodin nodded, Grankin left, and then Volodin returned to his view out the window. The snow had picked up a little.

His mind left the operation in the Baltic, and he considered the operation in the Caribbean. He’d received a short text from Kozlov this morning, indicating all was going according to plan. He didn’t go into any more detail, but Volodin didn’t want or need it. All he needed to know was that in two to three weeks, his money would be out of the reach of all internal threats, and invisible to all external threats.

Volodin hoped he wouldn’t have to touch it for a long time, but he knew what he was doing would make him either a hero of the Russian Federation or its most wanted criminal.

And he knew he had to prepare himself to play either role.

•   •   •

P
eter Branyon’s gunshot wound to his shoulder and his broken ribs had been stabilized in a hospital in downtown Vilnius, and then he’d been flown from Lithuania to Ramstein Air Base in Germany on an Agency Learjet thirty-six hours after the attempted kidnapping.

Ding assumed the CIA CoS had been out of it for the entire
time since the incident, but as he and Dom snapped the last of the 460 photos they’d been tasked to take by Mary Pat Foley, Ding found out Branyon had been busy, still working the phones, up until the moment he was given anesthesia to go into surgery to deal with his broken shoulder.

Ding’s mobile rang at seven p.m., just as they were on the highway back to Vilnius. He looked at it and saw it was a Lithuanian number he did not recognize.

“Hello?”

A man with a Lithuanian accent spoke in English. “Mr. Chavez. My name is Linus Sabonis. I am director of the State Security Department.”

Chavez realized he was getting a call from the Lithuanian equivalent of the director of the CIA. “How can I help you, sir?”

After a short pause, he said, “I think we should meet.”

•   •   •

C
havez, Caruso, and Linus Sabonis met in a room at the Kempinski Hotel in Cathedral Square. Sabonis had a dozen armed men watching over him, so Chavez and Caruso were surprised when they were not searched, wanded, or run through any sort of security before finding themselves sitting in front of the nation’s top intelligence officer. They just simply entered the room, shook hands with a few men, and sat down.

“My friend Peter Branyon told me what you did.” Sabonis shrugged. “Not so much who you are, though, other than the fact you are not current employees of his organization.”

The Americans did not respond.

Sabonis said, “I thank you for what you have done for my country already, but I would like to ask something more of you.”

Chavez said, “We’d be happy to help in any way we can.”

“We know of over one hundred Russian assets or agents here . . . I am speaking of Vilnius, not even the whole of the nation. FSB men and their informants, working in the city. They have a good operation to monitor SSD employees like myself, as well as CIA, MI6, and other agents friendly to our cause. It is truly their main role in the nation, neutralizing their opposition. Keeping our eyes down and our ears tuned in to the countersurveillance mission.”

Dom said, “You are saying there is an intelligence stalemate here, which works to their advantage, because they can just wait for an invasion, at which point they can simply round the intelligence opposition up.”

“That’s right,” Sabonis said. “Except there is an interesting wrinkle in the status quo. Another group of opposition here in the city. My men have tried to pin down who they are and what they are doing. Clearly they are on the side of the Russians, but they are not Russian, not from any of the other embassies here.”

“How do you know about them?”

“We’ve heard rumblings, both out in the border towns and now here in Vilnius. These are not the Little Green Men who are actually Russian military. No, this is a foreign proxy force of some kind.”

Dom said, “Like the guys who we came in contact with last night?”

“Exactly like those men you speak of,” said Linus Sabonis. “I am thinking you two men might be the only people on our side of things who have actually encountered them.”

“Any idea what they are doing here?” Dom asked.

“My feeling is they were brought in because the FSB is aware that they are known to us. This other force is being kept here in the city, ready to act in some way in support of the invasion. In what capacity, I do not know.”

Ding said, “They were damn well trained. I was sure they were
some sort of Spetsnaz force until Branyon insisted they weren’t even Russian. I’ve got to assume they are here to disrupt any defense. Political assassinations, deniable actions. Obviously they are trained in kidnapping as well. You’ve got problems, Mr. Director.”

“Which is why I wanted to talk to you. I’d like you to attempt to draw these men out in some way. Just enough to find out who they are. If we can identify another actor here in country, we can reveal this to the international media. Perhaps pressure whatever country these forces come from to withdraw them.”

Chavez said, “I get it. You want to use us as bait.”

Sabonis shrugged. “There is a benefit around here to not being known by the opposition. My first thought was to do this without asking your permission. Since I am known to the Russians, just walking up to you in a café and sitting down would put the eyes of the FSB upon you. At that point you would be marked by the opposition.”

Dom didn’t like the thought of this guy forcing them into playing bait like that. He said, “And the only reason you didn’t was because you didn’t know if that would just get the FSB you already know to tail us, as opposed to the other guys.”

“Frankly, yes. These are desperate times for my nation, as you can imagine. My intentions are in the best interests of Lithuania.” He leaned forward. “But now that I have told you how I want to use you, it might interest you to know I have a plan how you can attract the interest of the correct unit. Just to draw them out.”

“How?” Chavez asked.

“Since the shootout at the border, a group of men has been outside the apartment of Peter Branyon, conducting surveillance on the building. We received a report of this from a local, who was adamant these men were speaking some language other than Russian. I can only assume they found Branyon’s home address when
they kidnapped him. A key, a receipt, a laundry ticket, something on his person. They are not FSB, we are certain of that, because they are not in interaction with anyone we know here in the city, and we have the FSB in a stalemate.

“Our first thought was to get the local police to pick them up and check their documents, and to perhaps interview them, but it occurs to me they wouldn’t be here without good cover stories and good-looking credentials. No, we need to catch them in the act of doing something . . . something where we will have some leverage over them.”

Caruso said, “Again, you want to use us as a way to entrap them.”

Sabonis nodded. “If the two of you went to Branyon’s apartment and entered it, made it clear somehow that you had an objective of an intelligence collection or operations nature, then perhaps you would be recognized as the two men involved in the gunfight at the border. At that point, I can only assume you would be followed by the proxy force. They will want to know who you are. Their lack of knowledge about your existence the other day led to the deaths of five of them, after all.”

Dom said, “And when these guys start following us, your men will swoop in and take them down.”

Director Sabonis lit a cigarette. The Campus men had yet to encounter a soul in Lithuania who did not smoke. He said, “If it were that easy we would do just that. But my entire staff is being followed, as I said. If my men come to your aid, you will also draw the attention of the FSB.”

Now Dom really didn’t like where this was going. “So you want the two of us to reveal ourselves to some malevolent group we haven’t identified, and then . . . what? We take them down ourselves?”

Sabonis shook his head. “No, of course not. You two are the
carrot. You simply use other men from your organization to serve as the stick.”

Dom had been sitting forward on the sofa, but now he rocked back, looked away in frustration.

Chavez just smiled. “For all intents and purposes, Director Sabonis, the two guys sitting in front of you represent the entire operational capacity of our organization.”