by Bob Thomas
“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests and dignitaries, the President of the United States.”
There was a polite smattering of applause as President and Mrs. Kiger entered the room. Both smiled nonchalantly with a nod and a brief wave of the hand. President Kiger was not fond of formal announcements of himself, except into the halls of Congress. There, it was an invocation of his office. Here, it was personally uncomfortable. He wanted it over as quickly as possible. He was a tall and handsome man of mid-fifties, looking every part a presidential man. Susan Kiger was his perfect match; professional, intelligent, his confidant, and drop-dead gorgeous. She was more than the perfect political wife. She was a political asset, born to be the First Lady. But she did love the spotlight a little more than he preferred.
After a polite smattering of applause, POTUS began a reserved mingling within the crowd as the groups and parties quickly returned to their own conversations. He just had to give it some time and let the alcohol begin to flow. POTUS was not a stranger to dealing and deal-making. Though he was a principled man, he, like others in the war of politics, knew how to dig for information and dirt. Booze was always an ally. Edwin Kiger looked up, nodding as he caught the eye of his chief of staff. Things would heat up soon.
Martin Powell waved off the server with the sterling silver tray filled with champagne flutes. It simply wasn’t his preference, and certainly not tonight. Bubbles gave him a headache. Along the wall was a full-service bar for those who preferred something harder, and his target just happened to be standing there. It was time to get the show on the road.
“Bourbon, neat.”
“Yes sir,” came the bartender’s reply.
“American liquor, eh?” Andrey Volkov straightened as he turned towards his counterpart. “You should try a nice Russian vodka.”
“Andrey,” Marty said as he extended his hand, “pleased to meet you.”
“Da. It is for me as well.” The Russian chief of staff wrapped his thick hand around Martin’s.
“Doesn’t sit well with me.”
“One day, you will come to my country. I will serve you the best vodka you have ever tasted.”
The American chief lifted his crystal glass, the caramel-colored fluid rocking slowly against the sides.
“One day I hope to take you up on that, Andrey.”
The two glasses met giving the distinctive clink that only expensive crystal could make. Each took a sip as they eyed each other, silently sizing up his counterpart. Martin rested his glass on the bar as Andrey craned an inquisitive eye on his. It only took a second before the Russian drained it, a satisfying look upon his face.
“Das good. Better than I would expect.”
“It likely did come from your country,” Martin noted.
“Kaliningrad, specifically,” the bartender said.
“Really?” That raised the heavy eyebrows of the former Russian general.
“Why is that important?” Marty asked.
“Many vodkas are made for export. Some stay in our country. Those made in Kaliningrad are not for export.” Andrey turned to the bartender. “How would you know of this?”
“Sir, I have worked in the White House for many years.”
“So, you are a CIA spy?” Andrey smiled as he shot a glance towards Marty. “Clever. A bartender always has the ear of his customer.”
“Would that it would be so simple,” Marty laughed in reply. “Andrey, I hope you and I have a chance to speak later tonight.”
“We shall make a point of it.” The two men shook hands again as they parted, each with his own duties to perform as the night went on, but the American’s focus was single-minded.
The head table was placed near the center of the dining section of the hall and not at the end of the room, as POTUS distinctly disliked others staring at him while he ate. The circular table was arrayed with dignitaries and their wives, specifically the Russian president and Johann Sorenson, the Prime Minister of Denmark. Edwin Kiger and Yuri Novichkov sat opposite each other. It was a test of nerves as to who would look away when eye contact was made. The Prime Minister of Denmark was to POTUS’s right. The President of the United States cleared his throat and the table fell silent.
“I would like to thank each of you for this visit tonight. Here’s to smooth sailing.” POTUS lifted his glass, the champagne bubbles filling the crystal flute. Each in turn lifted their own in acknowledgment.
“Mr. Prime Minister, I did not know you would be attending until a few days ago,” Yuri remarked casually.
“I was giving a speech at the United Nations, and President Kiger was gracious enough to extend the invitation.” He extended his arm with a raised glass. “Again, I thank you.” His salute was returned with a raised glass from the president.
“Gentlemen, I would offer a solution to our dialog this evening.”
“Mr. President,” Yuri remarked, “I do not think it wise to discuss too many world events with our guests present.
“I would agree, though I simply meant, it will become laborious if we continue to use each other’s titles as we go forward. I would propose, for tonight, a first name basis should be the norm.”
“I think that is wise, Edwin,” Johann replied with a smile.
“Da, it will be good to be less formal for a time.”
“Then it is settled,” Edwin smiled, “by a vote of three to zero, first names all around.”
The conversation settled in on the mundane workings of their respective homes and how the leaders of the world still answered to their wives. It brought everyone into the conversation, the women often shooting hard stares at their respective husbands. But it made the mood much lighter than POTUS envisioned, and he was glad for it. He knew any hard talks would come at a level lower than chief of state.
Martin Powell’s eye rarely left his counterpart. He watched as Andrey Volkov worked his way about the room. Odd, he thought that the chief of staff would be the one beating the carpet. But how different would that be if the shoe were on the other foot? In a foreign country with few other ranking diplomats, he would likely be doing the same thing. He lifted the glass to his lips and let the bourbon slip into his mouth. He felt the twang as it washed across his tongue. ‘Damn, that was good’, he thought. He watched as Andrey finished his latest conversation and slipped into an anteroom. Martin set his drink on the table beside him and started in that direction.
He followed Andrey from conversation to conversation. It was always prodding toward the same context, the situation in Alaska. What was he trying to find out? What had happened? Surely this was a task for diplomats, not an administrative hack, like himself. Then the thought struck him. ‘An administrative hack who used to be a general in the Russian Air Force. Someone who had influence; knowledge of how to get things done. Someone who was … involved.’
The light went off in Martin’s brain like an explosion.
“ … I mean it does get awfully cold up there, especially this time of year.” President Novichkov bristled at the turn the conversation had taken. He had tried to keep the attention away from that part of the world. The ladies hadn’t intended it, he was sure, but there it was. The tension level immediately ratcheted up.
“When things happen in cold weather, they can easily get out of hand quickly if one is not careful,” Johann stated matter-of-factly.
“Well, there it is. We might as well get it out in the open,” POTUS sighed. “Yuri, what the hell were your planes doing so damned close our coast?”
“Truly, Edwin,” he replied. “I have no idea. There is no official, or unofficial orders from my office to intrude on American airspace.”
“I can only hope not,” Johann remarked. “The world has become unstable. Many things are happening; unrest in the Middle East, Ukraine, and now Alaska.”
“I only hope so, Yuri. If the situation escalates, either in Ukraine or at the top of the world, I will not be able to sit quietly on my hands.”
“Is that a threat, Mr.
President?”
“I do not threaten, Mr. President,” POTUS replied. “Nor does the government of the United States.” POTUS began to rise from his chair, his hands flat on the table.
“Gentlemen,” Johann, interjected. “We have had such a nice evening up to this point. Let us not ruin this by a volley of words we wish we had never said.” Johann slid his hand over, resting it on POTUS’s arm.
“Agreed.” POTUS eased himself back into his seat and raised his glass one last time. “Gentlemen, in the spirit of détente, let us leave this conversation for another night.” His gesture was returned by the others, the smiles no more than a cardboard facade. The damage was done.
“I told you never to call me on this phone. Yes, yes, but I cannot speak here. There are others about.”
“Andrey? Is something wrong?” Martin pushed the door open slightly and stepped into the small room. Andrey snapped his phone shut and slid it into his pocket. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, no. I just needed to take a call.”
“Well, I hope everything is alright.” Martin could see the beads of sweat suddenly glistening on Andrey’s forehead.
“Fine, fine.”
“You don’t have the look of someone who is ‘fine’.” Martin walked toward Andrey with his hands slightly extended to his side. “I can help you, Andrey.”
Martin could feel the apprehension radiating from his counterpart. Andrey’s hands began to shake, his breathing rapid. The man of military bearing tried to stand tall, calling on his training to get him through. But it was failing him. He was now, just an old man.
“I have nothing to hide.”
“You forget where you are, Andrey. This is a secure building.” Martin kept his distance, a few feet away from the Russian. “I can have the NSA work to unravel a transcript of your phone conversation.”
“My phone is encrypted.”
“Do you really think that will be a problem? We have some of the best people in the world.” Martin took a single step forward, keeping his hands visible. “You can tell me, Andrey, or I can find out shortly.”
“I have diplomatic immunity. You can do nothing to me.”
“Why would you claim such a thing? You do not face arrest.” Martin took another step forward, pausing when Andrey stepped back. “You are in trouble, Andrey. Let me help you.”
“I am a General of Russia. I do not need anyone’s help,” he shouted.
“A former general Andrey. No need to shout. You are upset.”
“I am not.”
“I know, Andrey. I know what’s happened.”
“How could you know? You know nothing.”
“I know what happened. I don’t know why. There is always a why, Andrey.” Martin took another step forward. “You can tell me, or I can find out another way.”
“You will find out nothing.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Martin took another step forward. “Andrey, if you’re in trouble, maybe I can help.”
The Russian general slumped, stepping backward and collapsing on a couch, shaking as his head landed in the palms of his hands.
The President of the United States was quickly ushered into the room as the formal state dinner concluded. He had made the obligatory ‘good nights’ to the most high ranking of the guests, including members of Congress, the Prime Minister of Denmark, and the Russian president. The First Lady had worked diligently to smooth things over as the evening wore on, and by the time she shook hands with President Novichkov’s wife, it seemed she had been successful. POTUS looked at those gathered in the anteroom and the expression on his face, changed dramatically.
“What’s going on?” POTUS took a direct bead on his chief of staff. “Martin?”
“Something has come up in regards to the Alaskan situation.”
“Alaska?”
“More than just Alaska, sir.” Martin turned away from the window and faced his boss. “There are things in play that we may not be able to control from the outside.”
“Outside?” POTUS had a sudden scowl on his face. “You mean like from outside of Russia?”
“Mr. President, we need some serious thought on this one.”
“How so, Stephen?” POTUS looked at the Director of the CIA with a raised brow. “Something seriously must be up if they dragged you over here so close to a state function, Stephan.” The president turned back to his chief of staff. “Martin, this must be something big.”
“I think you need to sit down for this, Mr. President.”
“Just give it to me straight, Martin. What are we talking about here?”
“Sir, what would you say if we chose to intervene inside of a foreign power?” The director stepped toward the president, his hands folded behind his back.
“Stephen, this government routinely over the years intervenes in the affairs of other nations. Most, I know nothing about. Why is this different?”
“Mr. President, most do not involve a world superpower.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Afraid not sir,” Martin replied. “Sir, I think in most cases, plausible deniability would be the most sure course of action with something like this.”
“Why is this different, Martin?” POTUS sat down into an overstuffed white chair, crossed his legs and rested his hands on his lap. “Tell me.”
Martin and the Director of the CIA exchanged glances, the president’s chief of staff nodding.
“Sir, we’ve come up with a plan to deal with the Russian situation,” Martin said.
“Sir, the CIA does not have the assets within the Russian Federation to contribute, nor men trained to do so.”
“Hold on, gentlemen.” POTUS straightened in his chair, his look now serious. “What are we talking about here?”
“Mr. President, we need to get the DOD. involved in this.”
“I can’t condone that, Stephen. I won’t send troops into Russia. If it involves a military strike, I’m not interested.”
“Then we risk sending Russia spiraling into chaos and possible war,” Martin said.
“How? Why? Where did this information come from?”
“From the highest possible source, sir.”
“Damn it, I was just having dinner with the highest possible source in the whole damned country!”
“But not with his chief of staff.” Martin took the seat opposite the president, leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “What happened in Alaska was not an official act of the government. It was an act orchestrated by one man outside of those bounds.”
“And why should we be so concerned about this one act?”
“Because it is more than just one act.”
“Stephen?”
“Sir, within the last few hours, we have word from inside the DOD. that they have picked up on several Russian incursions that seem to be showing a pattern.”
“Do they have anything to do with the situation in the Ukraine?”
“We believe they are unrelated,” Stephen replied, “at least at this time. Further inspection may shed new light on matters, however.”
POTUS sat back in his chair, sinking into the soft cushions, a look of serious contemplation across his face.
“There’s more, sir.”
“Oh God, Martin. How could it be any worse? And how is Mr. Volkov involved in this? Or do I want to know?”
“It’s best you do sir,” Stephen Thorn replied. “He is the source of the incursions.”
“What?” POTUS was stunned. “How is that possible? I know he has President Novichkov’s ear, but then, you have mine, Martin.”
“Sir, he had been orchestrating the movements. Under pressure.”
“Pressure? What kind of pressure?”
“From the Russian mafia.”
“Oh my lord,” POTUS replied.
“Mr. Volkov has been under serious pressure to, ramp up, shall we say, military actions around the world.”
“To what end, Stephen?”
“Sir, apparently this faction of the mafia has some serious financial interests in companies that build military hardware. Specifically, Air Force hardware.”
“And they’ve been strong-arming him, how?”
“Sir, his family has been targeted.”
“Targeted? Is he not himself a former general?” POTUS leaned forward, letting his forehead fall into his hand. Then he looked up. “How does one with that level of connection get compromised?”
“His ties are with the Russian Air Force, hence …”
“Hence the know-how and ability to implement tactical situations involving their aircraft,” POTUS said finishing Martin’s sentence.
“And he is routinely shown photos of his family as they are followed, or had tapes of their phone conversations sent to him. He felt he had no choice but to ‘help’ as it were.”
“And he thought it would be just a few, informal strings to pull?”
“Yes, Mr. President. And then things escalated.”
“What’s the end game?”
“ At first, it was just to see if the command infrastructure of the Russian military would allow him to get away with manipulating missions. As he succeeded, each successive move was then progressively more provocative.”
“Up until the crash over Alaska,” POTUS replied.
“Yes sir. The game is to bring the U.S. into a confrontation with them, thus making sure the Russians ramp up production of aircraft.”
“Lining their pockets with Rubles,” POTUS replied. “But doesn’t that risk devaluing the currency their economy rests on? The Ruble needs propped up. Their economy isn’t what they tout it to be to the outside world.”
“In the long run, maybe. But they may not think of things along those lines,” Stephen replied. “My experience in dealing with crime bosses is that they don’t look that far ahead. They don’t play chess, sir. They play checkers.”
