The President is Missing: A Matt Blake Novel (Matt Blake Series Book 3)

by Russell Moran

  “Granted, Jack. Just hand me the piece of paper. You’re lucky I know you, otherwise I wouldn’t short circuit the process.”

  “Ludmila speaks excellent English, Mr. Director, so I’ll let her talk for herself. If you have any opening questions, just ask her. Please call her Ludmila.”

  “Why do you come to the CIA to discuss these matters, Ludmila?” Carlini said. “When somebody seeks immunity, and presumably asylum, the questions are usually directed to the Department of State.”

  “Because Vasili says he prefers to speak to spies. As a long time KGB man, Vasili thinks that spies are the most trustworthy people to talk to. They know when to keep their mouths shut.”

  Both Carlini and Buster stifled a laugh.

  “Well, I’m glad you and your husband think that way, Ludmila,” Carlini said. “We’ll try not to disappoint you. You do realize that when you speak to me you’re speaking to the United States Government, including the White House? Now please tell us what you know about the USS Louisiana and the whereabouts of President Blake.”

  “My husband, Vasili, was the man in charge of the Russian part of the operation to steal—I think you call it hijack—the American submarine as well as kidnap your president. He can tell you everything about it.”

  “Why would your husband come to the United States Government?” Carlini asked. “Is there a problem between him and his government?”

  “Vasili can explain all of this better than I can, but I can tell you that he, as well as many other Russian officials, are not happy with Boris Chernekov, our new president. They don’t trust him. Vasili is a life-long Navy man, as well as a KGB guy. He is used to following orders, but he thinks that the hijacking of your submarine and kidnapping President Blake are both insane actions. Many other people agree with him. He calls President Chernekov a ‘crazy scoombag.’ ”

  “When can your husband be here?” Buster asked.

  “He can be here tomorrow,” Ludmila said. “The naval conference starts the next day.”

  “Buster, I don’t have to tell you how to do it,” Carlini said, “but get Admiral Yuschenko to my office under cover of absolute secrecy.”

  “Dee, it’s Bill Carlini. Tomorrow I’m meeting with a man who I think you should talk to.”

  I was escorted into Carlini’s office the next morning. Carlini likes to spring surprises, and I was about to have one sprung on me.

  A short stocky man wearing a gray business suit walked into Carlini’s office, along with a guy who was introduced as his lawyer, Jack Townsend.

  “Good morning, Admiral Yuschenko,” Carlini said. “Your wife Ludmila and your attorney have given us a general outline of what we’re going to talk about. You’ve met me, Director of the CIA. This gentlemen is my chief deputy, Agent Akhbar, but we all call him Buster. And this young lady is Mrs. Diana Blake, the wife of the kidnapped president and the current Chief of Staff to President Benton. Ludmila says that you have a lot to tell us. Please do so.”

  As Yuschenko shook each of our hands, he held mine a bit longer, bent over and kissed it.

  “Your photographs show you to be a beautiful woman, Mrs. Blake,” Yuschenko said, “but I must admit that in person I find you stunning. Please pardon the ravings of an old romantic.”

  If nothing else, I found the guy charming in an old school sort of way.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Admiral, but I’m not here for flattery as pleasant as it may be. I’m representing the President of the United States. Please tell us why you’re here.”

  “Correction, Mrs. Blake,” Admiral Yuschenko said, “You’re representing the acting president. We will now discuss the real president, your husband. Let me begin by saying that Russia has gone through a major change recently with the coup that overthrew President Vladimir Putin. Our new president, Boris Chernekov is a different sort of man. I shall be blunt. He is a power-hungry maniac. My country suddenly finds itself in an untenable position. We have hijacked one of your nuclear ballistic missile submarines and have kidnaped President Blake.”

  “Were you not in charge of the operation, Admiral?” I asked.

  “Yes, I was. With the benefit of hindsight, I realize that I made a terrible mistake, even if I acted under orders. But if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else. If I refused I would have been killed. Yes, I organized the hijacking, including the fake explosion and release of debris to make it appear the Louisiana had sunk. In my heart of hearts I hoped that the operation would soon come to an end, and that it would be nothing more than a way to embarrass the United States. But it is much more than that. My country, which denies any involvement, finds itself on the horns of a dilemma. What can we do with one of your submarines? Of course we can find valuable intelligence and discover secrets of your nuclear program that we didn’t know existed. That is exactly what is going on now. A team of engineers is working full time to learn the secrets of the Louisiana.”

  “Where is the Louisiana, Admiral?” asked Buster.

  “She is at the old underground submarine base at Balaklava on the Crimean Peninsula. President Chernekov has decided to resurrect the old facility and bring it back to life as an active base. I’m going to guess that your satellites didn’t notice.”

  “Why wouldn’t we notice?” said Buster, the spook who never shows his hand.

  “Did you see a submarine enter the facility last week?” said Yuschenko.

  “Why do you ask?” said Carlini. “Was it the Louisiana?”

  “Yes, it was the Louisiana,” Yuschenko said. “I admire that the trained spy in you didn’t admit it, but I know for a fact that you did not see a submarine. The wonderful thing about the Balaklava facility is that a submarine can enter and exit without surfacing. The Louisiana did enter Balaklava and is still there now.”

  “Where is the President?” I asked, my voice bordering on a shout.

  “He is safely in a residence facility on the base, along with Tony Riordan, his Chief of Staff. His quarters are probably comfortable, but I can’t be sure. I have been replaced by General Zhukov of the Russian Army. General Zhukov does not hold your president with the respect that I did, but I know for a fact that your husband is still at Balaklava. As of right now, I am ‘off-the-case’ as you Americans say.”

  “Admiral Yuschenko,” said Bill Carlini, “the major question concerns your plans for both the Louisiana and the President. We can see no intelligent strategy to back up the plan. Russia doesn’t need one of our nuclear subs—you have your own. And what could you possibly do with the president? The American people, thanks to our free press, believe that President Blake is alive. What could you possibly do with him, other than return him to us immediately?”

  “On that point, Mr. Director,” Yuschenko said, “I am as much in the dark as you. It doesn’t make sense to detain President Blake.”

  If it doesn’t make sense to detain him, I thought to myself, then why the fuck don’t you convince Chernekov to release him, you sorry dick? I’m thinking nasty thoughts while trying to appear polite and diplomatic.

  “How was the operation pulled off?” Buster asked. “It seems that you couldn’t have done it without inside mutineers.”

  “Captain Joseph Campbell was the chief mutineer,” Yuschenko said, “but there were plenty of others. All told, only five people were shot, including two of President Blake’s Secret Service people. A lot of Americans helped us to make this happen.”

  “Is Russia alone in this operation?” I asked.

  “That, madam, is the crucial question,” Yuschenko said. “The answer is no, Russia is not alone. Many of the American mutineers had been groomed for months. I know very little about them, other than their complicity in the operation.”

  “Admiral,” said Carlini, “let me see if I can summarize all of this. You told us the secrets of how the sub was hijacked and President Blake was kidnapped. But we don’t know Russia’s intentions for either the sub or the President. And we’re still blind as to what will happen. A
ny suggestions?”

  “Mr. Director, I came to your office as a Russian patriot. That’s the truth. I want to save my country from any further damage that may be caused by this insane adventure.”

  “And how can you do that, admiral?” I asked.

  “I will be your inside man,” Yuschenko said. “I will be your mole, your spookie.”

  “It’s pronounced ‘spook,’ Admiral,” Buster said. “Welcome aboard. I look forward to working with you.”

  Chapter 22

  “Agent Akhbar is here to see you, Mrs. Blake.”

  “Send him in, Barbara.”

  I’m kind of fanatical about people making appointments. With a crazy position like Chief of Staff to the President, it’s the only way to keep order. But I always made an exception for Buster. CIA Director Carlini calls Buster an action figure dressed up like a human being. He’s right. When Buster’s on the move, work with him, I’ve learned, otherwise you’ll get run over. An unannounced meeting with Buster is never a waste of time. I was surprised to see that he brought Carlini with him.

  “I’m guessing that you spookies have something amazing to tell me,” I said.

  “Yes, it is amazing,” Buster said. “We’ve already met our unexpected ally, our fellow spookie as he calls himself, Admiral Yuschenko. But here’s the amazing idea I want to share with you. I have two words I’d like to throw on the table. You may find it shocking, but it’s something we’ve got to think about.”

  “So what are the two words?” I asked. Buster loves to set the stage for important announcements.

  “Bartholomew Martin,” Buster said.

  I looked at Carlini, who just sat there with his studied poker face.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Buster,” I said. “Pardon my language, but I thought our former president just disappeared. Last I heard he was in his viper’s nest in Kurdistan. What could Martin have to do with any of this?”

  “Please keep in mind Dee, that I’m just speculating,” Buster said. “But speculation is all we have until we uncover some solid evidence. We all know that Bartholomew Martin is a strange character, maybe the strangest character in American history. Your husband’s election put that on display. Martin made an unforgettable scene by never offering his congratulations, and the son of a bitch didn’t even show up at the inauguration. We know from his four years in office that he’s a power hungry despot. He came close to turning our country into a dictatorship. People like that never go away. Hey, Dee, you’re a professor of political science. You know this better than I do. Dictators don’t just crawl away and count their money. Once they have power, the only thing in life for them is getting it back. I have absolutely no evidence to support this, but my gut screams at me that Bartholomew Martin may be involved. Remember, he had a large part of the military on his side, and I don’t think he enjoys being ex-president.”

  “Okay, Buster, I got it,” I said. “Your logic is on target, even though we have no evidence. So where do we go from here? Do you have plans for getting your people inside?”

  “Dee, I’m sure you understand, but there are certain matters that I’m not free to discuss.”

  “Bullshit,” I said, with no attempt to keep my voice low. “You’re speaking to the White House. When you talk to me you’re talking to President Benton. Tell me about your plans.”

  “I’m sorry, Dee,” Buster said. “You’re absolutely correct. Sometimes I forget just who you are. So in answer to your question, yes, we already have people inside, as I’m sure you’d expect, and we have plans to put more insiders in place. Besides our new friend, Spookie Yuschenko, we have spies in Russia, of course, as well as Iran, Syria, Yemen, Saudi Arabia and what’s left of Libya. You’ll be happy to know that we have three of our people at Martin’s compound in Kurdistan. They’ve been there before he even took office.”

  “But there’s something we haven’t spoken about, Buster, and I know that Mrs. Blake wants to know,” Director Carlini said. “What’s our major suspicion about where the Louisiana will show up, not to mention the President?”

  “I’m putting my money on Iran,” Buster said. “Their new ayatollah, Abad Tavana, is just the kind of messianic nut who would love to have a nuclear ballistic missile sub at his disposal.”

  “But why would Russia want to facilitate the Iranian nut?” I said. “Why the hell would they go through this elaborate caper in order to turn the sub over to Tehran?”

  “Let’s not be so sure it’s Russia that’s facilitating this,” Buster said. “My theory is that Bartholomew Martin intends to use Iran as a surrogate to attack the United States.”

  “Right now, gentlemen,” I said, “all we have is questions. Our next job is to find answers.”

  If Buster’s right, where the hell does that leave Matt?

  Chapter 23

  Bartholomew Martin, the former President of the United States, sat in his office in Kurdistan with his chief lieutenant, Walter Bingham. His office was in his house, which he designed himself. Adjoining a large den is a patio overlooking a half-acre yard surrounded by fig trees. Off to the right, in an opening between the trees, is a man-made three-acre lake. Judging from the view, you wouldn’t know if you were in Kurdistan or Minnesota. Martin is one of the wealthiest men in the world, and among his many possessions are houses around the world.

  Martin lost to Matthew Blake in a landslide in the last presidential election. His colleagues in the Freedom from Terror party all agreed that Martin overplayed his hand during his first and only administration. By a blizzard of executive orders, Martin had come close to overturning the United States Constitution and replacing it with a simpler code of law—the law of Bartholomew Martin. Orders from his desk became a daily part of American life for four years. He commanded the freezing of assets, property confiscation, warrantless searches, and an array of orders all aimed toward one goal—to consolidate his power. Martin, for a brief period of time, had become America’s first dictator.

  On election night, as the mounting evidence of a landslide came through, Bartholomew Martin refused to concede, or even to place a congratulatory call to his opponent, Matt Blake. Breaking with a long tradition, Martin even refused to attend the inauguration of Matt Blake as president. Ever since the transfer of power, Martin had become an obscure figure. He sold his Manhattan penthouse and moved to his other main location, Kurdistan, the seat of power of his group of thugs, who now call themselves The Reformers.

  “Walter, bring me up to date on the amazing disappearance of the USS Louisiana and our esteemed president,” Martin said.

  “As you know sir, the event would have never happened without our technical help.”

  “Walter, make certain that this subject is never discussed outside these walls except between you and me,” Martin said, his voice uncharacteristically raised. Martin made it a point of pride never to yell.

  “Yes, sir,” said Bingham. “The information that we’ve given the Russians on launch procedures and targeting codes have saved them over a year’s worth of reengineering. They now have a strategic weapon that can be used. As you know, sir, some of our inside people are submariners themselves.”

  “But, Walter, you and I know that they don’t need another strategic weapon. They have plenty of their own.”

  “Yes, sir, but as we’ve discussed,” Bingham said, “the Russians now possess the two most powerful trading assets they could ever imagine—the Louisiana and President Blake. The sub will eventually find its way into the hands of another country. The only question now is which one.”

  “Yes, which one is the question, and I am the one who will provide the answer. Now tell me about the suddenly powerless President Blake.”

  “Our sources tell me that he’s being held as a prisoner. He apparently thinks that the United States government believes that the sub was destroyed, along with him.”

  “How many of our people aboard the sub?”

  “20 of our people are crewmembers, including the
captain, as well as three engineers.”

  “And what about the American government, Walter? What do they believe?”

  “It’s become common thinking, Bartholomew, that the destruction of the Louisiana was a deception. The Americans believe that the sub still exists, along with Matthew Blake. The only ones who believe it really was a hijacking are President Blake and his Chief of Staff.”

  “Perfect. Such a belief provides for all sorts of strategic possibilities. Can you tell me anything about the thinking of Boris Chernekov, Russia’s new president? We were in constant communication with him prior to the sub hijacking, but I would like to know what’s going on with him now.”

  “As you well know, Bartholomew, Chernekov is a headstrong man. Some think that he’s insane. But as unpredictable as he is, he knows he has a gigantic bargaining chip.”

  “Yes, he does, Walter, and the good fellow needs guidance on how to use it.”

  A month later Bartholomew Martin again met with Walter Bingham at his home in Kurdistan.

  “So tell me. Walter, how did your meeting with President Chernekov go?”

  “I couldn’t get anywhere near Chernekov, Bartholomew, even though he said the he would personally meet me when I made the appointment. I was shuffled off to one of his aides. From the man’s mannerisms and demeanor, I could see that he was a low-level assistant. He had no authority to speak, and he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. My trip was a waste of time, I’m afraid.”

  “No, Walter, it was not a waste of time. Consider it part of your education. You now know more about Boris Chernekov than you did before.”

  “How do you suggest that I proceed, Bartholomew? Try to make another appointment and hope for the best?”

  “No, that would be senseless, Walter. Chernekov has a well-earned reputation as someone who likes to keep people running in circles. I want you to find me the name of a senior official who speaks with authority and I will meet with him myself. Because I’m no longer a head of state, Chernekov would never meet with me. I’m surprised that he even agreed to meet you, even though he had no intention of keeping the appointment.”