Moscow

On the plane ride from Beijing to Moscow, Orlov thought about his upcoming meeting with Kuznov and how to handle what would be a very difficult encounter. Kuznov would be angry that Orlov wasn’t delivering a meeting with Zhou. Even worse, Zhou’s insistence on the PGS theft before he would schedule a meeting played into Kuznov’s suspicions that Zhou, with no intention of having a meeting, was merely getting Orlov to do his dirty work.

Kuznov had a furious temper and he hated being taken advantage of. All of that pointed toward a Kuznov blow-up. No way to avoid that. The question was how to diffuse it.

Their meeting took place outside of the Russian President’s country house. Orlov and Kuznov were walking along a dirt trail that climbed into the hills in a wooded area adjacent to the house. Two beefy security agents were following behind far enough back so they couldn’t hear the conversation.

Orlov began by recapping how he had arranged the Dalton assassination, leaving out his killing of the trucking company clerk in Pittsburgh and the fact that the Pakistani shooter’s wife had seen Orlov when he went to the man’s house. Those were loose ends that could lead back to Orlov. Kuznov didn’t have to know about them.

Instead, in an effort to put Kuznov on the defensive, Orlov dwelled on Valerie and the fact that she refused to honor her commitment to Kuznov.

“Well it was a long time ago,” Kuznov said, sounding as if he was willing to forgive her. Did the brutal spy master have a soft spot for this young American he’d slept with, Orlov wondered. Was Kuznov human after all? Kuznov continued. “But I figured you’d find a way around her unwillingness to help. Breaking into her computer was a good move.”

“What have you heard from our intelligence people in Washington?”

“The Americans have bought the story that the assassination was the work of Jihadists, perhaps Al Qaeda. Using the Pakistani and leaving the Koran in the cabin were good moves. Also, they’ve no doubt traced the grenade launcher to one of their shipments to Pakistan. As of now, you are in the clear.”

Orlov noticed Kuznov’s choice of the word you, not we, and his emphasis on it. Distancing himself personally from the assassination.

“True,” Orlov said. “And I believe we are better off with Treadwell in the White House than Dalton. So the operation achieved something beneficial from our point of view.”

“Agreed. Have you spoken to Zhou since the assassination?”

Oh, oh, Orlov thought. Now comes the tough part. “I was just in Beijing. I flew to Moscow from there yesterday.”

“What’s the date for my meeting with Zhou? When’s he coming to Moscow?”

Might as well put it on the table, Orlov thought grimly. Try to put on a positive spin. “He wants me to do just one more thing. Then he’ll come to Moscow.”

As Orlov expected, Kuznov exploded. “That fucking liar,” he shouted. “Zhou promised you that if you assassinated Dalton, we’d have the meeting and the alliance. He has no intention of meeting with me or forming an alliance. He’s just yanking me around. Mao always pulled the same crap with Stalin and Kruschev.” Kuznov reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Tell Zhou I said to go fuck himself. You can even use my cell phone.”

Orlov felt like a tennis ball being slammed back and forth between Kuznov and Zhou. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he forced his way in to see the Russian president at Kuznov’s house along the lake. Although it was a small comfort, he recalled what his brutal taskmaster had said in KGB training. “In real life, things rarely go as planned.” In an effort to mollify Kuznov and get the project back on track, Orlov decided to focus on PGS. “Let me explain what Zhou wants.”

“Okay. Go ahead,” Kuznov snarled.

“Have you heard of the new long-range missile system the Americans are developing? Prompt Global Strike, or PGS, they call it.”

Kuznov looked interested. He put away his cell phone. “On my last visit to Washington, when Dalton took me to Camp David, he told me about it. He did it in a threatening way, telling me that just because he was pulling troops out of distant locations didn’t mean the United States was dropping its guard. He explained that with the Prompt Global Strike system, the U.S. had the capability of hitting any spot on the globe, even a specific room in my country house, with a powerful bomb; and they would do that from California. ‘A game changer,’ is what he called the PGS weapons system.”

Kuznov’s words were music to Orlov’s ears. “What did you tell him?”

“I said, ‘Don’t threaten me. If you move forward and construct this system, you’ll be starting a new arms race. We’ll expand and enhance our nuclear arsenal. And if you dare to unleash PGS, we’ll respond with nuclear weapons against American cities.’”

“Our planes would have to get through their air defense systems.”

“True.”

“But if we had the PGS technology, we’d be at parity with the United States.”

“Correct. As soon as I returned from Washington, I appointed Vladimir Drozny, one of our top aerospace engineers, to begin work on our version of PGS.”

“How close is he?”

“Still years away. Why?”

“Zhou wants me to steal PGS from the Americans. He offered to help me by providing detailed bios for the five American engineers working on their development project in the Epsilon Unit of Rogers Laughton. Once I have those, I’ll zero in on one of the five and make him disclose it. For Russia to have PGS would be an incredible boost to our military capability.”

Kuznov slowed his pace. “I’m well aware of the value of PGS. What troubles me is whether Zhou will share it with us, or whether he’ll keep it all for himself.”

“I can understand your suspicions,” Orlov replied. “But if I steal PGS, I’ll be in control of the technology. I won’t turn it over to Zhou until he comes to Moscow to meet with you. He’ll be begging you to share it with him. You’ll be in the driver’s seat.”

“You make it sound so easy. It won’t go that way. Not with Zhou.”

Orlov, now on a roll, was feeling more self-confident. “Sure there are risks. But with PGS as the prize, the stakes are now huge—the payoff great.”

Kuznov stopped walking and turned toward Orlov. The security agents halted as well.

“For you, the stakes truly are huge,” the Russian president said.
“If you don’t succeed, if I don’t get the PGS technology and my meeting with Zhou, I’ll have you arrested and thrown into a jail cell. And then…”

At a distance of twenty yards, a deer with large antlers came into a clearing and nibbled some greens on the ground.

Kuznov removed a pistol from the holster at his waist, aimed at the deer, and fired. Wounded, the deer staggered back into the forest. Kuznov fired another shot and brought it down.

“I’ll come into your cell,” Kuznov told Orlov. “I’ll fire the gun myself. And one shot will be all it will take.”

Orlov’s blood ran cold. He knew that Kuznov meant it.