50

A new message was waiting for Oleg Kraskin.

“Look,” he told the others. “General Yoon just wrote me again.”

Marcus and Jenny moved quickly to the desk where Oleg was hunched over the laptop, which Jenny had wired to their remaining satphone in order to stay off the hotel’s obviously insecure Wi-Fi. It was the fourth communication from the general in the last several hours, and it presented a grave setback to their strategy.

Back at the dacha, Oleg had cautiously made contact with the general, assuring him he was alive but giving no further details. But it seemed the North Korean had finally confirmed Oleg’s involvement in Luganov’s death. In his next message, Yoon had expressed his admiration for Oleg’s stand on principle. He said he didn’t approve of the methods but felt he knew Oleg well enough to know the man was “doing what was necessary to save the lives of millions.” He went on to say that Oleg’s courageous actions, however dangerous, had both shamed and inspired him.

The prospect of facilitating the defection of such a highly placed and well-informed North Korean military official was intoxicating —and fraught with danger.

With input from Marcus and Jenny, Oleg had written back. It was possible Yoon was being used by North Korean intelligence —working hand in glove with the FSB —to lay a trap. Moscow desperately wanted to find out precisely where Oleg was and take him out. If they were using Yoon’s messages to track Oleg’s computer IP address, finding him would not be difficult. But they’d decided they had to take the risk. Marcus and Oleg needed the information Yoon could provide, not just for the security of the U.S. and her allies, but to seal their deal with Washington and secure their own freedom.

Oleg had replied.

Nineteen minutes later, Yoon had responded.

It was on the basis of this —plus all that Oleg had learned in his personal meetings with the North Korean and Iranian leadership —that Marcus had formulated their offer to Washington. So far as Oleg knew, the deal was being discussed by the NSC, and they’d have a positive answer within the next few hours. So far as General Yoon knew from Oleg’s next message, however, the Americans were going to need a lot more.

But in the third exchange, the general had called their bluff.

Amid a flurry of ideas from his colleagues, Oleg furiously typed a list of questions they needed answers to before proceeding.

Now, hours later, here in the Tsar Palace on the outskirts of St. Petersburg, they had their reply, simple and to the point.

General Yoon was done giving freebies. He was playing hardball and figured he had all the leverage.

“What do we do now?” Oleg asked, ready to type.

Marcus wasn’t sure. Jenny was.

“Nothing,” she said.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“He made us wait. Now we make him wait.”

“What if he goes dark?”

“Then we’re no worse off than we are now.”

“Are you kidding?” Oleg asked. “We’ll be far worse off. If we have no specifics to give the White House, why should the president agree to make the deal with us?”

“Because Yoon isn’t going to go dark. His greatest fear right now is that we might go dark.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. What happens if we stop responding to him?”

“We lose our chance at freedom.”

“But Yoon doesn’t know that. Remember, he’s not doing this to help us. He’s doing it to save himself and his family. If we don’t make a deal with him —assuming this whole thing is legit —then from his perspective you have your freedom, and he’s trapped behind enemy lines, never knowing when the day might come that you decide to show a copy of his messages to his superiors. Then he’s finished.”

Oleg was aghast. “But I’d never do that. The general is my friend.”

“Maybe so. But look at it from his perspective.”

“What do you mean?”

“Luganov was your boss, your wife’s father, the grandfather of your only son . . .”

“And?”

“And you shot and killed him in his very own home.”

section divider

Bill McDermott was waiting on the steps of the North Portico.

As the president headed inside to prepare for his meeting with the Latin American leaders, the deputy national security advisor pulled Stephens inside the vestibule and off to a corner.

“Don’t you ever try an end run around Barry and me again,” McDermott whispered, referring to his boss, National Security Advisor Barry Evans.

“It wasn’t an end run,” Stephens protested.

“It was, and it better not happen again.”

“We’re talking about Russian nukes in the hands of two rogue powers.”

“It’s a bluff by two admitted traitors.”

“One of whom is your friend.”

“No friend of mine would betray his country.”

“What if he’s not trying to betray us but protect us?” Stephens shot back, keeping his voice down so as not to be overheard by staffers and reporters walking by.

“Come on, Richard —you really think the Russians gave Pyongyang 750-kiloton nukes and then gave their permission to sell them to the crazies in Tehran?”

“Look, I don’t know, and neither do you. But if this intel is good, we’re talking about the worst threat to U.S. national security in my lifetime or yours. And in case you’d forgotten, Bill, it’s my job to steal secrets. It’s what I swore an oath to do —to make sure the president has the best intelligence we can obtain from whatever source we can find at nearly any price. Do you really want it to come out on the nightly news or before a Senate investigatory panel that we had access to actionable intelligence regarding nuclear weapons in the hands of two of our worst enemies and we did nothing?”

Stephens had taken his best shot, but McDermott was unmovable.

“You’re getting conned by two con men,” he sniffed as he turned and walked away. “You need the president’s authorization to move forward, and you’re never going to get it.”