Covert Action (Command and Control Book 5), page 25
“Yes, sir, time is always a concern.” Federov’s agreement spoke volumes. He had won elections for Uncle Vitaly. Both men knew there were actions that could be taken if Nikolay gave the word, actions that would increase his chances of success.
Nikolay looked out the window. He would not do those things. He was a different man from his uncle.
Their sedan joined the motorcade. Two cars in front of the President’s vehicle, two behind, and a pair of motorcycles in the lead. The convoy made a right turn onto a wide boulevard and their vehicle accelerated. Through the bulletproof glass, Nikolay made out the thin whine of a siren.
Federov’s phone rang. He answered it, listened, then rang off with a curt “Da.”
“There’s a water main break ahead, slight detour.”
Nikolay nodded, then rested his head back. He sighed to himself. A water main break. On top of everything else, Zaitsev would probably find a way to blame him for that, too.
Still moving at speed, the motorcade turned right. The streets here were narrower and had cars parked on both sides. The last light of the day brightened the tops of the four-story residential buildings, leaving the sidewalks in shadow.
The sedan suddenly braked. Through the windshield, he could see a garbage truck had rolled across the intersection in front of them. The security team in the front seat shouted back to Federov.
“Get us out of here, now!” Federov roared. “Put on your seatbelt, sir,” he ordered Nikolay.
He saw armed security agents pile out of the car in front of them and race for tactical positions along the street. They ran with their faces turned up, looking for threats.
The oversized sedan was too large to make a U-turn in the narrow street, but the experienced driver had other ideas. He slammed the car into reverse. Nikolay lurched forward against his seatbelt, then was thrown back abruptly as their heavy vehicle crashed into parked cars behind them. The driver cranked the wheel and aimed for a space that would allow him to drive the armored limo onto the sidewalk.
There was a brilliant flash of light, then WHUMPF. The explosion registered on Nikolay’s body not as a sound, but as a physical trauma.
His ears popped, his chest compressed, and his head flopped like he had lost all muscle control. He felt his body go weightless, restrained only by the three-point safety belt. The entire cabin turned, hanging in midair for what seemed like an eternity. Federov, who was not restrained, floated through Nikolay’s field of vision.
The armored vehicle crashed into the facade of a building, then rolled, coming to rest on its roof.
The quick action of the driver had shifted the blast zone of the explosion from broadside to nose-on. The driver was in a coma and the security man in the front seat had been decapitated. Eight other members of the presidential security detail, the ones who had been in the open, were dead.
Nikolay had a minor concussion and a persistent ringing in his ears that the doctor assured him would go away in twenty-four hours. Federov had his left arm in a sling. He stood at rigid attention while Nikolay pulled on his shirt. His fingers fumbled with the buttons.
“Mr. President—”
“Don’t,” Nikolay said.
“Sir, I—”
Nikolay wheeled on him. The intense pain in his head made his eyes water. Bitter anger washed over him like a wave.
What was the use? His enemies would stop at nothing. There was no price they would not pay to see him defeated.
He drew in a deep breath. God, it even hurt to breathe. Every muscle in his body seemed to spasm into knots at the slightest movement.
Nikolay looked at Federov, who was clearly not only in physical pain, but in emotional anguish. The Russian president forced his anger to subside. Whatever admonishment he might deliver paled in comparison to what this man was putting himself through. Vladimir Federov had risked everything for Nikolay to lead his country—and he had asked for nothing in return.
Nikolay placed his hand on Federov’s uninjured shoulder. “What do we do now, Vladimir?”
“We go to see your uncle.”
Nikolay sighed.
35
Sochi, Russia
The air in the study was stifling hot and dense with humidity. The tall windows stood open to a breeze, but the sheer white curtains hung limp. From Nikolay’s armchair, the Black Sea looked like a silver plate in the afternoon sun. His sweaty back stuck to the leather of the chair.
Under different circumstances, Nikolay might have welcomed a break from the cold, rainy weather of Moscow, but at this moment the unseasonable warmth felt more like slow suffocation.
Uncle Vitaly looked well, deeply tanned and a few kilos lighter than on Nikolay’s last visit. He moved with the grace and vitality of a younger man.
In contrast, Nikolay felt old and fat. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what seemed like forever, and his brain functions lacked sharpness. He felt like his body was betraying him.
Along with everything else in his life.
Luchnik strolled to the window, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed as if deep in thought over the state of affairs as Nikolay had just laid them out. Boxed in politically by Zaitsev and the Ultras, hemorrhaging influence in Kazakhstan, and powerless to deal with this new wave of cultural unity weakening the political borders in Central Asia, Nikolay was under pressure from all sides. The assassination attempt was the final straw. They had not managed to kill him, but the bold attempt had been enough to make him look weak, vulnerable.
Luchnik squinted out at the Black Sea. The sheen of sweat across his forehead glowed in reflected light. “You’re a fool, nephew.”
A flicker of anger sparked inside Nikolay. He wanted to get to his feet and storm out, but that would solve nothing. He had nowhere else to turn.
“Because I didn't do what you told me to do, Uncle?” He soaked his reply in bitter sarcasm.
Luchnik spun on his heel, his head cocked as if Nikolay had spoken in a foreign language. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I told you how to deal with your situation and you ignored—”
That did it. Nikolay shot to his feet, interrupting his uncle. “You told me how you would deal with the situation.” He leveled a finger at the older man. “I am my own man, Uncle. I need advice I can use.” He turned for the door.
Fuck the old man. I never should have let Federov talk me into coming here.
Behind him, he heard clapping. Nikolay whirled around.
“What?” he shouted at his uncle. He felt like he was eleven years old again, getting a lecture about his grades at school.
“We all make our own mistakes, nephew,” Luchnik replied. He dropped into his armchair, crossed his legs. The former President of the Russian Federation was wearing Bermuda shorts, a white polo shirt, and the air of a man with not a care in the world.
“Sit,” Luchnik said. “Please,” he added.
Nikolay’s emotions warred in his head. He did not have time for this bullshit. Federov was wrong. This old man had nothing to teach him.
I am everything he is not, Nikolay thought. There is nothing here for me.
“Please,” Luchnik said again, and his voice was gentle. “Sit. Give me ten minutes. For your mother’s sake.”
Nikolay poured himself a measure of his uncle’s best vodka. “Five minutes.”
Luchnik steepled his fingers, narrowed his eyes at his nephew. “You’re surrounded. Outmaneuvered.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Luchnik continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Zaitsev is a paper tiger. He is able to blame everything on you. Why? Because you allow him to do it. You have taken away all the levers of power that I put in place. If you still controlled the media outlets, you could ignore Zaitsev.” Luchnik waved his hand. "It’s too late for that now. You have to fight the war you're in. Zaitsev has to go.”
Nikolay stared at him. “That’s your counsel? Eliminate my opponent? You don't get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“The new Russia has a free press, Uncle. The new Russia has real elections, and those real elections have real consequences for the politicians. It is the only way to create the future that we want.”
Luchnik stared at him, a bemused smile on his lips. “Never mind. You’ll deal with Zaitsev when the time comes.”
“What does that mean?”
Luchnik pressed ahead. “Your real problem is the near-abroad. For all Zaitsev’s bullshit, he’s right about Kazakhstan. China has outmaneuvered you and that leaves you weak. Add in this Timur movement in the poor-as-fuck-istans and you have a big problem in the south. How do you plan to deal with that?”
Nikolay looked at his hands. “I don't know.”
“You need to take action, nephew.”
Nikolay said nothing.
“I told you what you had to do, Nikolay.”
“You told me to start a war.”
Luchnik leaned forward. “Exactly. There is opportunity in chaos. When the world is off balance, that is the time to strike.”
“You're insane,” Nikolay responded.
“I led this country successfully for thirty years, nephew. You're about to lose it after three. Who’s the insane one?”
Nikolay found himself on his feet. For the first time in his life, he wanted to strike his uncle. Not just hit him, but beat him until his smiling lips were a mass of bloody red pulp.
Luchnik’s grin widened. “You're angry with me.” He flopped back in his chair. “Good.”
“Good?” Nikolay’s hands were fists, his knuckles white. He wanted to scream and throw up at the same time. “Good? How is this good?”
Uncle Vitaly’s eyes bored into him. “Because it shows you haven’t given up. That you still have some fight in you. That you have the will to win.”
Nikolay heard a buzzing in his ears. He felt hollow inside as he dropped back into his chair. His mind finished his uncle’s sentence: the will to win…at any cost.
“You can fix this, Nikolay.”
“How?” His voice came out as a croak.
“Start in the Central Asian states. Protect the near-abroad. To do that, you need Orazov on your side.”
Nikolay shook his head. “I told you the last time I was here. Orazov led the opposition against me at the CSTO meeting. He wants nothing to do with Mother Russia.”
Luchnik laughed. “He wants nothing to do with your version of Russia, nephew. Akhmet Orazov is a man of honor, but he is also a man from another time. My time.”
“You want me to make peace with Orazov? The President of the Russian Federation goes hat in hand to a disgraced Turkmen rebel and humbly begs for his help?” Nikolay could feel the heat rising up his neck.
“And what are you doing now?” Luchnik asked in a cold voice. “I am the deposed leader of a broken country, and yet you show up in my house and ask for my help. How is that any different?”
Nikolay stared at his uncle. How was it different?
The anger and frustration that had so consumed him only moments before disappeared, replaced with icy resolve.
This is my country. My responsibility.
He saw his uncle with fresh eyes. Vitaly Luchnik had never really given up power. True, he did not sit at the head of government, but his legacy was at work behind the scenes even now.
Nikolay was fighting thirty years of history. Zaitsev and the Ultras, Orazov and the former Soviet allies—they were the old Russia. Uncle Vitaly’s Russia.
“Forget the Americans, Nikolay, you need Orazov,” Luchnik urged.
Nikolay smiled—for real, this time. “Thank you for your counsel, Uncle. It has been enlightening.”
Back in the hallway, Federov got to his feet and followed Nikolay. The two men strode through the front doors and down the steps. Pea gravel crunched under Nikolay’s shoes. The humid air made it seem like he was swimming toward the limo.
Inside the car, the air conditioner was running. The chill air made his sweaty skin prickle. The opposite door opened and Federov settled in beside him.
“Drive,” Nikolay said. He looked back at the house, but his uncle did not emerge to see them off.
Federov remained silent as they rounded the circular drive and sped through the open gate. A few seconds later, the limo entered the deep shade of the pine forest.
“Was it a fruitful visit?” Federov asked.
Nikolay did not answer right away. He stared at the greenery flashing by the window.
He knew what he had to do now. The answer was so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself before.
“Your contact in the CIA. Riley. That’s his name, right?”
“What about him?” Federov asked.
“Bring him to Moscow.”
“Can I ask why?”
The forest looks so peaceful, Nikolay thought longingly. When was the last time he’d spent even an hour in a forest alone? He did not turn from the window.
“We’re going to change the rules of the game, Vladimir.”
36
PLA Forward Operating Base
50 kilometers west of Dushanbe, Tajikistan
Lieutenant General Gao scowled at his laptop, where the screen displayed his weekly update to the Committee. Fingers poised above the keys, he tried to think of a creative way to report no progress in stopping the attacks by the SIF.
Hoping for inspiration, he spun his chair to gaze out the window at the picturesque Pamir Mountains. He’d been doing a lot of that recently. One way or another, with the Jade Spike ceremony only two weeks away, his time in this job was winding down.
And then what? he wondered. He hadn’t spoken to Mei Lin in weeks. And since the helicopter attack, Gao found his thoughts straying to Xiaomei more and more.
Captain Fang, he corrected himself.
There were two sharp raps at the door and the object of his inappropriate thoughts entered the room. Behind her was a boyish-looking second lieutenant who Gao did not recognize. The young man wore the insignia of the signal corps on his shoulder patch and his uniform looked new.
Gao sat up in his chair. Fang’s normally stoic features showed the trace of an excited smile. “General Gao, pardon the interruption, sir, but I have news.”
Without waiting for Gao’s acknowledgment, she turned to the lieutenant. “Tell him,” she ordered.
The young officer, whose name was Wei according to his nametag, perspired freely. “I may have discovered an SIF defector.” The kid’s voice was breathy with nervousness and he looked as if he might hyperventilate.
Gao cut a glance at Fang, then came around the desk, took the young man's elbow, and guided him to a chair. In the weeks since the attack on Gao’s helicopter, the SIF’s offensive tempo had increased. They’d destroyed military aircraft in Kyrgyzstan, blown up an army barracks in Uzbekistan, and taken out four different radar installations. Any way he looked at it, Gao was losing the war with the SIF.
He sat down across from the young officer and put on his best encouraging smile. “Start at the beginning, Lieutenant. And leave nothing out.”
Even with the combined gentle urgings from Gao and Fang, it took an excruciating ten minutes to get the outline of the story.
Second Lieutenant Wei had only arrived at the base a few weeks ago. He had a difficult time making friends, but was an avid gamer and spent all of his free time online. His gamer clan ran a closed chat group.
Gao wasn’t sure where this was going, but Fang urged Wei to continue. “Tell him what happened last night, Lieutenant.”
The previous evening, Wei found himself on the chat with only one other player. When the other player mentioned that he could see a mountain peak IRL with a peculiar spherical cloud formation around it, Wei got excited.
Gao raised an eyebrow at Fang.
“In real life,” she explained.
Wei responded that he could also see a mountain with an odd cloud formation. He snapped a photo and dropped it into the chat.
The two players were looking at the same mountain. Wei was excited. Maybe this was another soldier on base and a potential friend. He paused his story then.
“Well?” Gao asked.
Wei cut a look at Fang who nodded. “It’s okay.”
“The other player is a local, a Tajik, sir,” Wei said. “When he found out I was a PLA soldier, he told me he wants to defect.”
Gao was confused now. “Defect from what?”
“The Seljuk Islamic Front,” Fang said.
Gao swallowed. For months, the MSS and PLA military intelligence had been trying to infiltrate the SIF with no success. Was it possible this kid had done what the professionals had not been able to achieve? Through online gaming?
Fang’s hand landed on Gao’s shoulder and the general felt a shiver of intimate delight. “That’s not all. Tell him the rest,” she ordered Wei.
“He says he has information about the ceremony in Samarkand, sir.”
Gao’s mouth went dry. “What kind of information?”
“He wouldn’t say anything specific, sir,” Wei replied. “At least not online. He says he has valuable information about the ceremony to trade.”
Gao studied the young man. “Who have you told about this?”
Wei looked up at Fang with something like adoration in his gaze. “Only the captain, sir. She told me to keep it quiet. For security.”
“Good.” Gao got to his feet. “Lieutenant, please wait outside. I need to speak with Captain Fang for a moment.”
Gao waited until the door shut behind the young man, then he turned to Fang. “Do you believe him, Xiaomei?”
To his surprise, Fang blushed. “The lieutenant doesn't have many friends, sir. I met him as part of the intake process and I was kind to him. I think he has a crush on me.”
Gao nodded. Captain Fang was a very desirable woman in a male-dominated environment. He guessed half the men on the base had a crush on her.
Fang hesitated. “I fear I may have overstepped, General. When the lieutenant told me about the contact last night, I encouraged him to arrange a meeting.”
