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Tarasov proclaimed a national holiday to celebrate the victory of Russian forces in Syria. The pages of Izvestia were filled with stories about the bravery and determination of Russian soldiers. The loss of the bomber and its crew was mourned as part of the cost to secure peace in the region. The paper said it had been shot down during a reconnaissance flight by an American missile. Anya knew the real story.
Those poor men. What a horrible way to die.
She hadn’t known the bomb was going to be dropped, or she would have tried to get word to Michael. She wished there was a way to sit down and talk with him. She wanted to...
Sudden movement on the floor outside her office interrupted her thoughts. Anya looked out through her window at the workspace. People were leaving their cubicles, gathering in small groups, talking.
Something's happened. What now?
She was about to get up and find out what it was, when she saw Major Kirov hurrying across the floor. She waited for his knock on the door.
"Come in, Major."
Kirov saluted.
"Colonel."
"Spit it out, Pavel. What's happened?"
"I tried calling, but something seems to be wrong with your phone."
Anya realized the phone had not rung for a while. She'd been too busy to notice.
Kirov continued. "The Americans have established a naval blockade in the Mediterranean, across the Dardanelles."
"What? That's impossible. Why would they do that?"
"I don't know why, Colonel. But I can assure you, they have done it. They are preventing our ships from going through the passage, in either direction."
"They are stopping our ships? Our Navy?"
“Only civilian vessels are permitted to pass, and only those coming from or headed to Turkish ports."
Anya knew the men in charge of Russia's military might. She knew how they thought. They would never let the United States dictate to them. The American president was making a serious mistake. It would mean war.
As if reading her mind, Major Kirov said, "The Americans are making a mistake."
"Yes, they are, " Anya said. "Major, give everyone a few more minutes, then get them back to work. Tell Senior Sergeant Popov to have someone fix the phone."
"Colonel."
Kirov saluted and left the room. She watched him move across the floor, talking with people as he went. Soon everyone was back at work.
A blockade. The Kremlin would respond. What would they do? What could they do, without starting a war? War would mean the end of everything. What was the matter with these people?
Unless the Americans withdrew their ships, things would escalate. Then it wouldn't be long until the missiles began to fly.
Stepanov would know what was being planned. She was having dinner with him tonight at Turandot, the most expensive restaurant in Moscow. He wanted to show her off, and Turandot was the place to do it. She’d never eaten there and was looking forward to it, even if it was with Stepanov.
Later, they would go to his apartment. If she could get him to tell her what Tarasov was going to do about the blockade, she could pass it along to Michael. She was supposed to meet him in the park on Sunday. She wanted to find out something useful before then. Something to tell him.
She thought about his eyes. He had beautiful eyes. How he'd looked at her when they were standing in front of the painting in the Cathedral. No one had ever looked at her like that. She'd felt it like a gentle touch, a tangible sensation that rippled through her. He'd felt something too, she knew it. She'd seen him react.
Ever since Helsinki, he'd intruded on her thoughts. She'd be sitting at her desk, doing some mundane task, when she'd realize she'd been thinking about him. Daydreaming. Imagining being with him. Imagining what it would be like to go somewhere with him, someplace where they could be alone.
Imagining what it would be like to make love with him.
But he was American, the enemy, even if he was a temporary ally. It was impossible, she couldn't allow herself to love him. This couldn't be happening to her.
Michael knew about Stepanov. Would he want her, knowing that? Was he the kind of man who would think of her as spoiled goods? Part of her mind told her she was a fool for thinking he could love her.
She wished that part of her mind would shut up.
Anya looked out her office window and forced herself to focus. What was she going to tell Michael when she met him? She wished she knew more about Tarasov. Maybe she could get Stepanov to talk about him.
*****
At that moment, Tarasov was in the secure room under the National Control Defense Center. The ranking officers of the armed services were arrayed around the long table, all of the men who controlled the military forces of the Federation. General Kerensky sat to Tarasov's right, Defense Minister Fedorov and General Stepanov to his left.
Tarasov rapped sharply on the table to get their attention.
"Let's begin," he said. "We must consider our response to the American provocation."
Admiral Maksim Mikhailov, commander of the Northern Fleet, put up his hand.
"Mister President, it is much more than a provocation. This blockade is an act of war. So was shooting down our aircraft."
There were murmurs of agreement around the table. Mikhailov continued.
"One of our frigates attempted to pass through their blockade. They told her captain that if he tried to force his way through, he would be fired upon. He requested instructions and was ordered to proceed and test their resolve. They fired a warning shot that narrowly missed his vessel. He was ordered to withdraw and wait for further instructions. Mister President, this is completely unacceptable."
"I'm sure we all agree with you, Admiral," Tarasov said. "The question before us today is what are we going to do about it?"
"What are they trying to achieve by this madness, Mister President?" Stepanov said. "Have you talked with their president?"
"I have. This is about our operation in Syria. They want us to retreat back across the Euphrates and abandon our gains. They also want a public apology for the deaths of their soldiers."
The room erupted with shouts.
"Never!"
"Fuck the Americans!"
"They are the ones who must apologize!"
Tarasov let it continue for a moment, then held up his hand. The room went silent.
"We must discuss options. General Fedorov, what is your opinion?"
"It seems to me our options are limited," Fedorov said. "Number one, we can comply with their demands, but that is not a viable choice."
Nods of agreement.
"Number two, we can negotiate with them."
"There is nothing to negotiate."
The voice belonged to General Pyotr Andropov, commander of the Russian Aerospace Forces. Andropov was in charge of Russia's nuclear missiles and airborne forces.
"Negotiation is a sign of weakness," he said. "If we negotiate, we admit we were wrong. I will not support it."
Andropov was one of President Tarasov's most influential backers. His opinion carried a lot of weight.
"How many think we should negotiate?" Tarasov asked.
Not a single hand was raised.
"Comrades, we are united. We will not negotiate."
Admiral Mikhailov raised his hand again.
"Admiral."
"This is an issue of respect," he said. "The Americans have never given us the respect we deserve, not even for our sacrifices during the Great Patriotic War. I do not believe their only purpose in setting up this blockade is to pressure us about Syria. They wish to humiliate us before the world, weaken us, interfere in our economy. They are keeping critical goods from reaching us. They are preventing our rightful use of an international waterway. I say again, this blockade is an act of war. We must treat it as such."
The men sitting at the table stomped their feet on the floor in approval.
Tarasov waited until the noise had died down.
"I agree with your sentiments, Admiral. However, war is our last resort. We must try to avoid it if we can. At the same time, it would be prudent to prepare for the possibility. General Fedorov, raise our defense posture to the next level of readiness. That will let the Americans know they can expect consequences if they continue to dictate to us."
"Yes, Mister President."
"I will enlist the support of our allies. We'll take this to the Security Council at the UN. I will have our ambassador call an emergency session. The world must see that we cannot be bullied. We have many friends at the UN, they will support us if we make a diplomatic effort. Admiral Ivanov has stated the situation perfectly. Let us hope the Americans come to their senses before things get out of control. In the meantime, make preparations in case they do not. I want to see options by this time tomorrow."
He looked around the table.
"Are there any other comments before we adjourn?"
There were none.