Battlefield Russia

by James Rosone

  Pushkino, Russia

  The cool October air blew in through the window in the kitchen. It was a welcomed sign after an unusually long and hot summer. Looking at the morning paper, Alexei Kasyanov could not fully determine if the news reports were truly accurate about the most recent Russian offensive, or if this was just more spin by a government that was slowly crumbling from within.

  Finally, he decided, “The Petrov regime is in its death throes. It just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Putting the newspaper aside, Alexei poured himself another cup of tea, adding just one sugar cube. He then pulled out his notebook and began to read over his notes from his recent meeting with a Russian FSB major. Alexei had spent the better part of two months trying to arrange a meeting where he and the major could speak and not worry about being detected, which was hard to do in Moscow these days. While it was incredibly risky meeting someone from within the FSB, Alexei had felt it was time to start making new friends in high places that would be pivotal to him removing Petrov from office, preferably without bloodshed.

  His CIA and German BND minders had obviously cautioned him against meeting with anyone from the FSB, lest they betray him to the authorities. To his credit, Alexei had managed to convince the men in charge of the Moscow garrison, two Russian colonels and a major general, that when the time came, they should side with him. Of course, he had promised them high positions of authority in the new government once the coup had been completed.

  Unfortunately, the information the FSB man had provided the night before was most troubling. It required an emergency meeting with his American and German handlers. A soft rap on the door frame let Alexei know his first handler had arrived. Seeing the familiar face, he waved his friend in. Alexei wouldn’t say that he and Mitch Lowe had become friends, but dodging death squads and spies across Moscow and the surrounding area had a way of strengthening the bond between people, much like what soldiers experienced in combat. The two of them had developed a deep and smooth-working relationship. Mitch was his contact with the outside world, and the intelligence shared with each other was bringing the removal of Petrov closer with each day.

  Smiling as he walked in, Mitch helped himself to a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove and then took a seat opposite Alexei. “You said you had something important to talk about?” he inquired.

  “Remember that FSB major I told you I was going to meet with last night?” asked Alexei.

  “Yeah, I remember him,” Mitch answered. His face suddenly looked concerned. “The Germans were providing security for your meeting,” he stated. “Did everything go according to plan?”

  Waving his hand as if warding off Mitch’s concern, Alexei replied, “No, there was no problem. The Germans are exceptional security guards. I know you don’t fully trust them, but they are very competent. Anyway, at the meeting, the FSB agent told me he had critical information about the British prime minister, but he would only share it if he could be guaranteed certain things.”

  Mitch leaned forward. His interest had obviously been piqued. “What does he want? And what does he have to offer?” he asked.

  Alexei smiled. “A secret recording between the British PM and the head of the FSB in Britain,” he responded.

  A short pause ensued as Mitch tried to wrap his head around what Alexei had just told him. “Interesting,” he finally replied. “You know that would have to be vetted to make sure it was true. What does the recording supposedly say, and what does he want in exchange for it?” he pressed.

  “He wants $5 million USD and asylum in America,” Alexei answered. He was nervous to state these terms. In all reality, he wasn’t sure if this was sincere or just a ruse by the FSB to draw him out, and maybe expose those who were helping him stay on the lam.

  Mitch let out a soft whistle as he leaned back in his chair. He stared at Alexei for a few minutes, assessing him. “Alexei, what does your gut say about this guy? Is he legit? Do you believe him?” he asked.

  Now it was Alexei who sat back in his chair. He looked at his teacup and reached down to take a sip, more to stall his response than anything else. He played through every moment of the previous night’s conversation and analyzed every facial tell he had observed. “I think the major was scared,” Alexei finally answered. “I believe he’s looking for a way out but doesn’t have a clue about how he can get out without getting killed or giving away his intentions.”

  Mitch nodded. “Fair enough. I need to hear the recording before I can possibly agree to his terms, though. I need to at least know he’s not BS-ing us. Is it possible for us to hear the recording?” he asked.

  Alexei dug around in the pocket of his trousers for a second before he produced a micro SD card. “The major said he put a sixty-second segment of the recording on this. He told me the rest of the forty-five-minute discussion will be made available once we agree to smuggle him out of Russia and he has his five million dollars.” He pushed the SD card toward Mitch.

  Mitch examined the card closely. Alexei knew he was probably wondering if it was even safe to place the card in one of his devices. He eventually pulled out a small pocket audio recorder, which was probably deemed to be of low enough value, and then he opened a small dust cover on the side of the device. Once the card was in, Mitch turned the recorder on and hit the playback button.

  It was the first time Alexei was hearing the recording, too. He had been too afraid to risk one of his own electronic devices. Sure enough, the voice on the recording did sound like Prime Minister Chattem. The other voice was unknown. As they continued to listen, Mitch’s eyes grew wide as saucers. The questions that were being asked and the agreements that Chattem had made put him in a very untenable position.

  “If this ever came to light, it would topple Chattem’s position as prime minister,” thought Alexei.

  Once they had turned the recorder off, Mitch looked at Alexei with a fire in his eyes. “Tell your FSB major that I need to run this by my headquarters, but he should plan on packing a bag and being ready to move when I say.”

  “So, you think this is real?” Alexei asked.

  “I think it needs to be further analyzed before that assessment can be completely made. I don’t have the equipment or personnel to do that here. I’ll get this electronically sent to Langley, and I’m sure we’ll know something shortly,” Mitch replied.

  With that, their meeting ended. Mitch left to head to his own safe house and get the content of this SD card encrypted and sent back to the States for analysis.

  Twenty-four hours after sending the file back to Langley, Mitch received a short message: “We will pay the five million for the rest of the recording, and we will work to smuggle the Russian agent out of the country.”

  Based on the quick turnaround of the intelligence analysis and decisions that required a certain level in the chain of command, Mitch understood that not only was this deal a go, but they wanted it done as quickly as possible.

  British Awakening

  Washington D.C.

  White House, Oval Office

  Prince Andrew felt the Gulfstream G650 lurch forward as it came to a halt inside a large hangar on Andrews Air Force Base. When the engines turned off, the flight crew opened the door, allowing the prince and the other British passengers to exit in relative secrecy. Once all ten passengers had exited the aircraft, they were guided to a helicopter nearby.

  “She’ll take you the rest of the way to the White House,” said one of the men as he ushered them forward.

  Prince Andrew scanned the scene, then nudged his brother. “Philip, check out the level of security. Not only do we have our own small contingent of bodyguards, but check out all of those dozens upon dozens of soldiers wearing full body armor who are guarding the facility. They are armed to the teeth.”

  Prince Philip nodded but didn’t say anything. Prince Andrew figured his brother must not want to draw attention.

  A moment later, they stepped onto the large Sikorsky VH-3D Sea King helicopter that w
as waiting for them. Prince Andrew and his brother exchanged glances of approval. This helicopter was plush and comfortable. As soon as everyone was aboard, the pilots spun up the engine.

  “You hear that?” asked Prince Philip.

  “What do you mean?” asked Prince Andrew.

  “Exactly my point,” Philip explained. “You can barely tell the engine is running with all the soundproofing in here.”

  Prince Andrew smiled. Both he and his brother were helicopter pilots themselves, so they knew a thing or two about flying.

  Prince Philip turned to one of the American Secret Service agents. “Is this the same helicopter the President flies on?” he asked out of curiosity.

  The agent turned to look at them and nodded. “The President sent his personal helicopter to come get you. Sorry for having you land at Andrews instead of Reagan International, but this airport is more secure and private.”

  Prince Andrew suddenly realized that this meeting must be an even bigger deal than he’d originally thought if the President had sent his own helicopter. Besides, they were also accompanied by the former director of MI5 and a Tory MP.

  “If Chattem found out about this meeting, he’d be piping mad,” Andrew thought. A smirk spread across his face.

  When the helicopter flew over the White House, Andrew caught a glimpse of the outside. While a lot of tourists were snapping pictures of the iconic building, his eyes were immediately drawn to the one-meter-tall sandbag wall that had been built around the perimeter of the building. He also spotted several menacing-looking armored personnel carriers as well.

  As Marine One circled the building and came in for a landing on the South Lawn, a sudden gust of wind hit them, bringing with it a torrent of rain. Once they had settled on the ground, Andrew noticed that the rotor blades wound down much faster than on a normal civilian model.

  A couple of guards came walking over to the helicopters with umbrellas, ready to shepherd them to the portico and side entrance to the White House.

  Once the British party made it into the building, they were led to a meeting room near the President's office.

  One of the staffers at the White House brought them a tray filled with tea and light finger foods. “All right, gentlemen, wait here for a moment and we will let the President know that you have arrived.”

  *******

  As the President waited for his British guests, he observed the shower pounding on the windows outside the Oval Office. A dark set of storm clouds had moved into the Washington area, providing some much-needed rain. The sudden tempest seemed a bit too symbolic of his mood at the moment.

  “How do I tell these gentlemen that their PM cut a deal with the Russians?” he wondered. It still seemed almost bizarre to him that Chattem had made an agreement to withdraw armed forces from the war in exchange for his position of power.

  Knock, knock.

  The President looked up and saw the National Security Advisor, Tom McMillan, stick his head into the room. “Sir, our guests have arrived. Do you want me to bring them in?” he asked.

  President Foss nodded, not saying a word. He was still trying to figure out what to say. Then he suddenly remembered that JP, his CIA Director, would also be there. JP had been so quiet as he’d sat on the couch, drinking his second cup of coffee and reading over documents to prepare, that Foss had actually forgotten he was in the room.

  When the British contingent walked in, the usual greetings were exchanged. After all hands had been shaken, the President signaled that they should all take a seat. A few additional chairs were brought in to make sure there was enough room, but then the four British bodyguards found their way to the door to wait outside the room with the Secret Service agents. They had enough sense to know this needed to be a private meeting, even without being told.

  George Younger, the former head of MI5, opened the discussion. He turned to his former counterpart, JP, and asked, “So, what is so hush-hush that you had the lot of us secretly whisked away from London to meet you here in Washington under such cloak-and-dagger means?”

  The two young princes placed their cups of tea gently on the table in front of them and then leaned forward, obviously eager to hear the response.

  JP opened his folder and produced some documents he’d planned to give as handouts. As he began to pass them out, he explained, “We brought you here under these circumstances because what we are about to brief you on is incredibly sensitive in nature, and frankly, we’re not sure how to proceed. We are seeking your guidance.”

  The Brits looked at each other with perplexed expressions.

  JP continued. “We have a deep cover agent in Russia who acquired some rather interesting information about the Prime Minister.” He held up a hand to stop any questions. “The document you now have in front of you is a dossier on Max Weldon, a Managing Director for the Rothschild Group. If you will continue to peruse the information, you’ll find that he is also known as Maksim Sokolov and belongs to the Russian Federal Security Service. Take a few moments to briefly scan the pages before you—I’m sure you will all come to the same conclusion that we have, that this Max fellow is a grave threat.”

  Pages rustled as everyone rifled through the dossiers.

  After a moment, Younger looked up. “Prior to being forced out of MI5, I knew of this character. We’d known about him for some time. Our continued hope was that he would lead us to some big fish, and we could find someone to turn and then get them to start feeding him false information. Why are you Yanks so interested in him now?” he asked.

  JP then pulled up some images on his Microsoft Surface Pro, turning the tablet around so everyone could see the series of images that showed Chattem moving across London, wearing a variety of different disguises and ultimately ending his escapade at the Oxford Cambridge Club. He then played a video that showed the two men arriving at the same hotel room.

  “They arrived separately, of course,” conceded JP, “but they were clearly meeting to discuss something.”

  “Do you have audio of the meeting?” inquired MP Rosie Hoyle, the opposition leader in the House of Commons.

  “We do, but not from the video. The FSB would have detected such a device if we’d used one that could record and store both audio and video. The recording we have was taken by Maksim Sokolov himself, probably to use as blackmail at a later date and time. Between the video and the audio recording, you can piece together what is happening pretty well. Our analysts have run their voices through our recognition software, and we came back with 100% matches.”

  JP then proceeded to pull a small digital recorder from the breast pocket of his jacket. As he placed the device on the center table between them, he hit the play button.

  The group sat there listening intently to the two of them talk. At first, it seemed to proceed innocently enough as Max asked Chattem what his position on the war would be if he became the PM. However, when the conversation turned to what would need to happen in order for him to obtain the position of prime minister and Chattem specifically mentioned the assassination of several Tory MPs and a cruise missile attack against their country, their jaws hit the floor.

  When the recording was done, the President looked at his guests, who were obviously in a state of shock. “Now that we have acquired this information and shared it with you, what are we supposed to do with it?” he asked.

  “That traitorous bastard,” Prince Philip said under his breath.

  “We have to remove him,” Prince Andrew replied.

  Tom McMillan leaned in. “That’s why we brought the four of you here. This is a British problem, one we can’t solve. We want to know what we can do to help you.”

  MP Rosie Hoyle cleared her throat. “First, I would probably move to have the PM brought up on charges of treason. We’ll obviously need a copy of this recording, so we can verify it. Once that has been done, the Ministry of Justice will want to hear it and then determine if they want to prosecute. I am confident they will. It’s clear that Chattem su
ggested several MPs be assassinated, and that happened—so there’s a clear link to the events that transpired. Then we have the cruise missile attack, and him agreeing to the separate peace deal, and subsequent withdrawal from the war. It’s cut and dried that he is guilty of high crimes.”

  She pulled a stray hair away from her face. “The challenge I see is how will the public might react to this. People were already angry about the losses we had sustained in the war, and then they became angry when we pulled out from it. Once they learn of this recording, they will go absolutely barmy,” Hoyle asserted.

  George Younger interjected, “We need to get this recording verified and then distributed to MI5 and MI6. We have to arrest Max Weldon before he knows we are on to him. He’s probably a veritable wealth of information that we desperately need to mine. I can guarantee, there are going to be a lot of other people involved in this soft coup that the Russians have essentially been able to pull off.”

  Younger then turned to face the two royals. “Sirs, Ms. Hoyle is right. When this news breaks, it’s going to devastate the country. We’re going to need help from both of you in calming the people and helping to unify the country behind a new government. It may be difficult to explain why Britain will most likely return to the Alliance and become involved in the war again.”

  The princes nodded.

  “We’ll do our best to manage the mood of the people,” Prince Andrew stated.

  The Brits and Americans continued to talk for a few more hours before the meeting ended. Once the British delegation left the Oval Office, Tom turned to the President. “That went about as well as I thought it would,” he said.

  President Foss snorted. “We blindsided them. They have to act, especially now that they know we know what transpired. The bigger question is, how will the average person respond to the knowledge that their prime minister colluded with the Russians to become PM and withdraw the UK from the war?”

  Before the two men could talk further, the President’s Chief of Staff, Josh Morgan, stepped into the room. “The delegation just left for Andrews,” he confirmed, “and the generals are also down in the war room and are ready for you.”