by Bob Thomas
“General?”
As he heard the knock on the outer door to his room, he slipped the pistol into the open suitcase and closed the lid. He took single deep breath to steady himself, and he was at the door seconds later.
“Just a moment,” he said as he choked back his tears. He slipped the lock on the door and let it open under its own weight as he stepped back. “Yes?”
“Dinner is being served. Would you care to join us?”
“No, thank you, Pavel. I have some work that still needs attention.” He nodded and took a step back toward the door. “Have a car brought around.”
His aide nodded, reached down and closed the door from the outside. Andrey could hear his footsteps as they retreated down the hall. He made his way back to the bedroom, closed his suitcase and placed it back where is belonged. A wipe of his face and a pull on his jacket made it feel like everything was back in place. But it wasn’t a good place to be. As he turned, he felt the vibration of his phone in his breast pocket. He pulled it out to see an unfamiliar number with a text: ‘meet at Freer Gallery, one hour.’ It could be one of two scenarios, and only one of them was good. At least he had a real destination for his driver to go now. His car pulled away ten minutes later, the headlights plunging into the dark Washington night.
He wrapped his wool coat tightly around himself. Still, he could feel the cold metal of the park bench pressing against his legs. His driver protested at being ordered to stay behind, but he could do nothing about it. Retired General Andrey Volkov disappeared into the night as he walked away from the headlights of his town car. Now he sat, and waited. The flurries swirled as a light breeze blew down the mall. He flipped his collar up to keep it off his neck. And waited.
“General?”
“Yes?”
“We are in a hurry.” Andrey turned toward the voice as the man sat down beside him. ”General, we’ve come up with a way to help you out of this predicament.”
“How did you get my phone number?”
“You used your phone inside the White House. It wasn’t really that difficult.” The Director leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and locking his gloved hands together.
“What do you propose, Mr. Thorn?”
“There is a ballet troupe that has been touring here for a month. They were to return to your country this morning, but five members, how shall we say, missed the flight.”
“And you want me to do what?”
“Give them a ride back to Russia. That is all.” Thorn leaned back against the back of the bench and rested his hands on his lap. The light breeze had ceased and their breath hung in the air like the mists above a waterfall.
“And what will these ‘ballet dancers’ do when they get back home?” Andrey asked.
“If you can get them on your plane leaving tomorrow morning, they will take care of your problem, General.”
“So, five American soldiers are just going to board my plane with me? No questions asked?”
“I hope you give us a little more credit than that, General.” Thorn hesitated before continuing. “Sir, we have a vested interest in your situation. It’s been a long time since serious tensions between our two countries boiled over into the world at large. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Is it not uncommon for the director to personally get involved in such a situation?”
“To be honest, this is not a normal situation, and you are not just an ordinary dignitary.”
“And if this was Venezuela?”
“As I said, General. You are not an ordinary dignitary. It things go awry, the buck stops here.”
“And not above you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Thorn replied.
The White House
“You want me to what?” The President of the United States abruptly stood from behind his desk in his secondary office. Not all meetings were held in the famous Oval Office. In fact, few actually were. “I can’t sanction kidnapping on top of whatever else you’re planning. This is getting out of hand.”
“Mr. President, we aren’t going to kidnap anyone, but I can tell you, this isn’t going to be easy.” Martin looked over to Stephen Thorn before looking back. “We’re just going to briefly detain a few people.”
“I understand that, Martin. But sneaking a hit team into Russia is, well hell, I don’t know what the hell that is. How are you planning to do that anyway?”
“Sir, I think those details are just more than you really want to know.”
“So you want me to just approve the operation without actually knowing what’s going on?”
“Something like that, sir.”
“That’s a hard pill for me to swallow, Stephen.” POTUS sat back down into his chair and bowed his head. The room was silent for a few moments before he looked up. “We’re trying to prevent a war here. There is nothing I want less than an armed confrontation with the Russians. And that’s what we’re potentially setting ourselves up for.”
“If this succeeds sir,” Martin replied, “we’ll be avoiding a larger conflict, one that could involve not only us but NATO as well.”
“NATO?”
“Yes, Mr. President. If Russia begins to arm, that stirs the pot. Then, so does NATO.”
“And the cycle of East versus West begins again,” POTUS sighed.
“But there are new pieces in play. This isn’t the 1970’s any longer. There are new insurgents on the RISK board.”
“The Chinese?”
“I think he’s referring to the Middle East, Martin,” POTUS said. “That could give any terrorist group or their parent states unfettered opportunities to take liberties against us or our allies.”
“And not Russia?”
“Possibly. But there has been little interest in insurgency in that part of the globe for many years,” Stephen answered. “Not since we had an agent deep inside the Soviet Union.”
“Deep?” POTUS asked. “How deep?”
“About as deep as can be, Mr. President.”
“Chief of staff deep?”
“Uh, something like that, sir.”
“It would be nice to have that again, wouldn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“Stephen, just how sure are we of this story we’ve been fed? I mean, what is the risk if this is all just a big hoax? What happens if this is just a whopping, monster of a lie?”
The Director laid his arms across his chest and dipped his head. It was something he had not considered. Things were happening so fast. Too fast. Even in the intelligence game, things needed to be verified. Nothing went unchecked. Nothing. The intelligence services could not afford to cowboy their way through missions. That was television. That happened in the movies. Not in real life. He lifted his head as POTUS’s voice caught his ear.
“How do we verify this?”
“I don’t know that we can, sir.”
“It’s a hell of a pickle we’re about to put ourselves in.”
“About?” POTUS looked to his chief of staff. “Martin, this isn’t your decision.”
“I believe him sir.”
“Is that enough? Do we gamble war on the solitary word of our one-time opponent?”
“There is no rationale otherwise. If this were truly a movement by the Russian government, he would be standing behind it. He would be flying the colors in support. It is protection of sovereignty, the rise of nationalism throughout his country. Even President Novichkov would be pumping his chest over Russia flexing its muscles in the world again. None of that is happening.”
“That’s a thin line to go on, Martin.”
“Yes sir.”
President Kiger leaned back and stared at his subordinates. These were two of the most powerful men in the world and they worked for him. They were learned, not only from years of study, but from life. Life in the real world where events cast massive shadows over everything they touched. These were the men who worked through them, and worked through them with integri
ty. He needed to trust them when he didn’t have all the facts himself. It’s what presidents did since the beginning of the republic. The president’s chief of staff and the Director of the CIA were out the door seconds later.
Russian Embassy - Washington
“It is a highly unusual request, Andrey.”
“I understand, Mr. President, but they are in need of our help. They do not wish to stay in America.”
“Are there no other arrangements they can make?”
“They were delayed and could not make their flight. Their company does not have the money to pay for their return.”
President Novichkov remained seated in a large armchair before a roaring fire. He had begun to realize that cold was cold, no matter if it was in Russia, or elsewhere. Washington DC was as cold as anywhere. The warmth of the fire felt good against his bones. He waved his chief of staff down into the leather chair beside him.
“There are only five of them. We can make sure they stay toward the back of the cabin.”
“How did they come to ask this of you? It is quite the request.”
“They contacted the consulate and the request was passed on to me.” Andrey crossed his legs as he stared into the fire. “Who knows how long they would have to wait otherwise?”
“Very well. Tell them they may join us.” President Novichkov rose, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You are getting soft in your old age, Andrey,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”
“Even an old general must at some point, face the orders of father time. Thank you, I shall pass along the approval.” Andrey stood, facing the fire. He let the warmth penetrate to his bones. “It will be good for some votes when the next election comes up.”
Day Eleven
Washington-Dulles International Airport
The sendoff to the Russian delegation was low-key. The tension was still palpable with the incident in the upper half of the world. As they stood in the shadow of the presidential Ilyushin II-96, the American Secretary of State was the senior delegate to see them off in the secluded area of Dulles International Airport. The American chief of staff stood beside his counterpart as the elected officials said their official goodbyes. President Novichkov was cool to the sendoff. He felt slighted, but he understood the underlying meaning.
“I wish you well, Andrey.”
“Thank you Martin. I hope things work out for the best.”
“I hear you have a few extra passengers. Are they safely on board?”
“Da.” Andrey shook his head slightly. “Yes, I mean. It is a hard habit to break. Sometimes my native tongue sounds too informal.” He looked to the back of the plane and gestured. “They boarded before the official party. This is a large plane, and they will be no problem.”
“It is a long flight. I wish you well.” Martin extended his hand and Andrey nodded as he accepted the note passed to him. He withdrew his hand and slipped it into his wool overcoat.
“It is colder here than I thought.” Andrey looked to the darkening sky as flurries swirled overhead. “I have traveled many places in the world, but I always thought Moscow was the coldest place I ever spent a winter.”
President Novichkov was the first to ascend the stairs, his chief of staff the last. The general took a last look around before ducking inside. The last person seen was the steward who closed the door, making the seal tight. The American delegation scattered quickly as the Il-96 ramped up her engines and was rolling down the runway minutes later, and was joined by two F-16C escorts out of Andrews who would be with them until they cleared American airspace.
After their plane arrived at altitude, Andrey slipped off his coat, giving it to the steward and took his place across from the president’s desk. His time in the Air Force seemed so long ago. Though a pilot through much of his service, he didn’t seem to have the legs for it any longer. He slipped into the white leather chair, wrapping his thick hands over the arm’s stitching.
“It will be good to get home,” Yuri sighed. “We’ve been away too long. I don’t like travel much at my age.”
“I would agree. I long for the comfort of home, and my own bed.”
“At least you have someone to share it with, my friend.”
“You are not so much of a lone wolf as you would have some of us believe,” Andrey smiled.
“Me?” Yuri raised his eyebrows and playfully gasped. “But I am just an old fool.”
“Da,” Andrey replied. “A very important, and a very rich old fool.”
“What did you think of the Americans?”
“Their chief of staff was nothing more than a lackey for his president. All he could speak of was Russian military involvement around the globe. It was very tiring. I reminded him that we have just as much right to extend our reach as any other country, including them.”
“Perhaps it is time we do a little more extending.” The president leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his stomach. “I shall give it some thought. Perhaps our commanders might have some insight. We will see. Thank you Andrey. Go get some sleep. We’ve a long flight ahead of us.”
Andrey nodded before taking his leave. He made his way down the side of the aircraft to a small lounging area. It was the perfect on-board getaway, one cabin in front of his new guests. He slid into a reclining seat and pulled the slip of paper from his pocket. It contained a phone number and the words, four days; nothing else. He put the paper back into his pocket and pulled down the shade. Sleep was the only savior of international flight, unfortunately, he was wide awake. He heard the muffled voices of the ballet troupe waft up the last corridor. How deep had he gotten himself? Surely he could not turn back. He risked his own life and the lives of his family if the situation did not change. And a world in conflict.
He fought the urge to go back and see the Americans. He was curious. Who were these brave men that would go on such a mission? They didn’t do it for him. They didn’t know him. Were they patriots? Surely they were as dedicated as any Russian soldier. His military side needed to see his soldiers, needed to pass his own judgment on them. His practical side just wanted to thank them for, for saving his family. He could fight the urge no longer. Andrey pushed himself off his seat and turned, facing the passage to the rear cabin. In his best military fashion, he adjusted his suit coat, a sharp snap from the bottom, and strode ahead. As he entered the cabin, the conversation came to a halt.
“Good afternoon.” Andrey was puzzled when they just looked at him in silence.
“Hallo,” came a hesitant reply from the closest woman.
Andrey’s eyes went wide. He had spoken in English and they pretended not to fully understand. He surveyed the group quickly; two women and three men. He reverted to his native language.
“I’m sorry. I have been in America too long,” he smiled. The group smiled back and the conversation exploded.
“Good afternoon,” said the woman he first addressed. She rose and extended her hand. “My name is Polina.”
“It is my pleasure,” Andrey replied. He was stunned. Her Russian was nearly flawless. “And you?” He extended his hand to the man seated behind her.
“My name is Ivan.” Lt. Anthony rose and extended his arm. His imposing form loomed above Polina. “It is a pleasure to meet you sir.”
“My my. Are you a basketball player?” Andrey shook his hand. It was enormous. He’d never had someone engulf is entire hand before.
“No sir. I do some of the technical work for the troupe,” he answered with a smile. “I am far too clumsy to dance on my toes.”
“Are any of you dancers? You, young lady?”
“I am, of sort,” Captain Ruth Garrison answered. “I am more of an understudy.” She rose and greeted him with a smile. “My name is Anya.”
They chatted for several minutes before Andrey excused himself, leaving his guests alone for the long flight ‘home’. He returned to his seat, breathing a sigh of relief. They were good, these Americans. The women surprised him at fir
st, but their cover as a ballet troupe made perfect sense. The ballet was deeply rooted in Russian heritage. It would be difficult for anyone to refuse them.
Their use of the Russian language was almost perfect for daily use. He knew those who studied foreign languages learned the proper uses, the proper grammar and diction. But each one of these could walk the streets of a large Russian city and blend in seamlessly. Each had a slightly different accent, but one that could be accounted for. He still had his ear. Throughout his career he played a game with himself; try to determine from where in Russia his subordinate officers came from. Before he was a senior officer, he played the same game with his commanding officers. It never led to anything, but it was a fun study.
Andrey leaned back, extending the seat as far as it would go. He reached up and pulled the shade, letting himself slip into darkness. He was asleep within minutes.
Moscow
The Ilyushin Il-96 touched down half a world away with darkness long since taking hold of Moscow’s winter night. The lights of the dark cabins were brought up slowly as they neared, the plane fully lit as the final approach commenced. The troupe slid up the shades, taking in the lights of the capitol. As with all the others, they had tried to sleep most of the way, but with their situation, sleep was difficult at best. As they rolled along the tarmac, the president’s chief of staff made his way down the final corridor to the last cabin, stopping at the opening.
