Putin had made a great effort to make his schedule appear as normal as possible. But he needed to speak with Andre Maysak about the Estonian operation, and everyone involved had agreed that no discussions about it would take place over a telephone.
One of Putin’s aides had found a reason for him to visit the administrative offices of the Federal Council in its main building on Bolshaya Dmitrovka Street. The six-story main office building had no architectural significance. It was an ugly, efficient building constructed in the eighties.
Putin’s security team had already met with security at the building, which escorted them quickly from a side entrance to the long, sterile hallways. The executive elevator only operated for the highest-level members of the council. Putin and his group took it to the fifth floor, where Andre Maysak’s maze of aides and clerical people worked in cubicles that surrounded Andre’s office.
Putin walked alone down the Persian rug that led to the two wide oak doors. He pushed open the door to see his old friend come out from his wide desk to greet him.
As soon as they were seated facing each other in matching Karelian birch chairs that were as uncomfortable as they were unsightly, Andre fired questions at Putin like a Western reporter.
Putin held up his hand and said, “Andre, you sound like a nervous old woman. Let me give you a summary. Then you can ask your silly questions.” He smiled to put his friend at ease and let him know they were equals in this endeavor.
He jumped right in with the most important information. “Andre, all is well, I assure you. The operation continues without interruption. Most importantly, no one has detected our troops on the Estonian border. We have held different military exercises in the area over the past year and pulled together sixty thousand troops who believe they are part of a new exercise. We picked just the right spot. The troops and three hundred tanks are dispersed over a fairly wide area and not attracting any attention. There’s been no movement at all from NATO. Not even the Estonian defense force has noticed our buildup. It’s all coming together now, from our choice of a target to our idea of using such a small force.”
Andre chuckled and said, “There are few countries that would consider more than sixty thousand troops and three hundred tanks a small force.”
“We’re lucky to be able to do so. Besides, what’s the use of having such a massive military if we never use it?”
“And how will the world look at us for using that massive military on such a tiny, undefended neighbor?”
“Not much differently than they looked at us when we took Crimea. This is a chance to claim a quick, bloodless, decisive victory and show the world that Russia is no longer dormant and cowering from Western military strength.”
“And how many civilians will be killed during this ‘bloodless’ victory?”
Putin did not care for his associate’s tone, but he answered anyway. “We hope to avoid casualties. That’s the goal. But once the operation begins there is no telling.”
Andre shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “What about the civilians already killed by the terror attacks in Western Europe and the United States?”
“Those casualties are unfortunate and relatively few, considering the size of the countries involved. They are also necessary. If Russia is to be resurgent, we must be bold. We must act boldly. Besides, the terrorists would have eventually acted on their own to hit the U.S. All we did was convince them to do it at the same time as our operation in Estonia.”
“Vladimir, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself. How bad will the terror attacks get?”
Putin considered his answer and everything he had been told by Yuri Simplov. Then he said, “The first wave of attacks is almost over. There will be more, but nothing like we’ve seen. There are only so many radical jihadists available in the Western countries, and their intelligence services and police services are really quite good at detecting these attacks. But we can’t lose sight of our main objective, the military aspect of our operation and the quick takeover of Estonia.”
Andre still appeared unconvinced. Putin was frustrated and not used to explaining himself, but he had few enough people to talk to about this operation, and he would need Andre’s support later on.
“Do we continue to suffer the EU sanctions and live in fear of toothless resolutions from the United Nations?” Putin asked. “Do we stand idly by while NATO expands and offers invitations to our former republics? This Estonian action will show the world how ineffective NATO really is. It is a chance to assert ourselves and discredit NATO at the same time.” Even Putin was surprised at his passion while explaining it to Andre. Maybe more passion than he had realized. He sounded and felt like a patriot.
He grabbed his friend’s full attention and leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. “When this starts, when the army rolls, you, Andre, will need to ensure our support in both the Duma and the Federation Council. The people will back any successful action. Marx had it wrong. Religion is not the opiate of the people; pride is. National pride is the drug of choice. And our people are crying out for pride.
Even Andre understood this concept.
* * *
Derek Walsh walked quickly along the sidewalk, practically dragging Alena by the hand. He’d taken a moment outside her apartment building to say, “Don’t ask any questions yet. Let’s get a safe distance away.” He pulled her east and intended to turn south toward Times Square. His first order of business was to make sure she was safe in a cheap hotel, and the empty tourist district would be the perfect location. Once he knew she was safe, then he could do whatever he had to, which looked more and more like it might be something desperate.
He also needed a few minutes away from her to call his friend Mike Rosenberg back. He would have to tell Rosenberg how he had saved Walsh’s life by distracting a man with a gun when the phone rang at just the right moment. That made Walsh consider what had happened. It wasn’t just a man with a gun. It was a Russian man with a gun. And another Russian tried to strangle Alena.
A few blocks away from her building, Walsh stopped and examined Alena’s neck to make sure she wasn’t hurt. There was almost no visible trauma, and she didn’t seem to have any trouble breathing. But she was still clearly upset and started to ask him questions now that they had paused in their trek.
“Derek, what’s going on? Who are those men?” Before he could even answer she added, “We need to call the police.” She stopped and stared at him, then said, “What happened to your hair?”
He shook his head and said, “Have you been watching the news at all and seeing what’s going on?”
She nodded.
“Everyone is blaming me.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
He felt a wave of relief that she had not seen his name or photograph on the news. He gave her a quick overview of what had happened and how he got away from the FBI. It didn’t seem to satisfy her in any way.
She just stared at him and said, “I don’t understand. Why did you allow someone to make a trade like that on your computer?”
“I didn’t allow anyone. Someone must have stolen my security plug and used it to make the trade. If that’s what happened, I have a security feature on the plug enabled, and it would have taken a photograph of anyone at the computer at the time of the trade. All I have to do is get back to Thomas Brothers Financial and access their computer network. That will allow the plug to bring up the photographs stored on it.”
“Have you told the police about the photos?” Alena asked.
“They didn’t really listen. I intend to be better prepared the next time we talk. That’s why I gotta get back to my office.”
“Right now?”
“First we’re going to get you to a hotel safely.”
She nodded her head and said, “There’s a W in Times Square.”
“We’ll be staying at someplace a little more modest. Maybe the Edison.” He ignored the little face she made. This was not one of the times that he was working overtime just to make her happy. He had to preserve his stash of money just in case this thing went on longer than he expected.
After walking for a while and then jumping on a bus, Walsh and Alena found themselves in a nearly deserted Times Square. This would make for easier negotiations with a hotel clerk. It was now dark outside, and the brilliant lights of Times Square seemed eerie shining on an empty street.
They stopped at a McDonald’s to grab a quick hamburger. They weren’t going anywhere fancy tonight. As they sat in the booth, he decided that Alena had calmed down enough for him to ask, “How did those men find your apartment?”
She didn’t stop chewing on the cheeseburger as she shrugged her shoulders. “When I heard the knock on the door, I just assumed it was you. They only got there about ten minutes before you.”
That made Walsh consider what linked him to her apartment. The FBI might have interviewed coworkers and learned about Alena, although he hadn’t told them much about her and she had never come to an office party. She preferred privacy. Then Walsh remembered another person he had told: Charlie. Had the vet been playing a game or given up information for money? Was that how he was able to get the drop on the younger Russian outside Walsh’s apartment? It was unsettling to consider. He turned his attention back to Alena.
Walsh said, “What did they say? Did they tell you anything I might be able to use?”
“They just asked where you were, if I had talked to you, and if I expected you at the apartment.” She put down the remnant of her cheeseburger and said, “I think we should go to the police right now.”
He shook his head and said, “Please trust me on this. I’ve got to figure a few more things out. We’ll get a room and a good night’s sleep, but first I have to make an important phone call.”
* * *
Joseph Katazin sat up from the floor and immediately grabbed his side. That son of a bitch Walsh was so strong he cracked Katazin’s rib when he slammed into him. Katazin had just enough strength left to stop Serge from chasing the couple fleeing from the apartment. Serge already had his CZ model 75 in his hand and murder in his eyes. Although Katazin had questions he needed answered, Serge just wanted to kill. It was a Russian mob point of honor to get revenge for attacks like that. Too bad Serge had no idea that this wasn’t mob business and the same rules didn’t apply. He’d have to get used to that. Katazin was sure Serge wouldn’t say anything to any of his friends, simply out of embarrassment. But with a loud snap of Katazin’s voice Serge had frozen in place.
Then the younger man looked back at his employer and said in Russian, “I can catch up to them before they’re on the street.”
“It’s better this way. He might inadvertently lead us somewhere we hadn’t thought of. I know you want your revenge, but this won’t be the last time we see Mr. Walsh. I can guarantee you that.”
Katazin had to be careful to keep in mind that this was only one small part of the overall plan. He needed to spend more time on the other elements. Already the protests and violence had started to subside here in New York. He knew his government needed at least four days of distraction to maximize the benefit to their military. That was the goal.
He wasn’t sure what his temporary partners the Muslims had left, but he knew there were still a few surprises. They could disrupt travel easily in the United States, but he suspected there were other attacks he had never even considered.
He stood up and slowly decided he needed to head back to his house to keep his wife happy and quiet and get some much-needed rest. He turned to his young associate and said, “Serge, tomorrow you will have another chance at Mr. Walsh. Unless it is an emergency, I will let you deal with him any way you’d like. Is that fair?”
The Russian with the puffy eye and sore jaw nodded vigorously.
* * *
Mike Rosenberg couldn’t sit still and fiddled around his small rented house near Interstate 495 just outside Bethesda, Maryland. He was surprised he’d gotten such a good deal on the two-bedroom house north of Washington, D.C., only a short drive from his office in Langley, Virginia. The CIA liked to help their own, and a case officer who was deployed in South America had given him a sweetheart deal for a year. In fact, it was almost as if he were house-sitting. He took the responsibility seriously and kept the place looking like a showroom floor at IKEA.
His long hours at the CIA prevented him from having a dog, but he would often borrow the next-door neighbor’s golden retriever and go for long jogs. He also found the dog made it easier to meet women at the local park. Usually he told them he worked for the Department of the Treasury as a quality inspection specialist. No one really wanted to ask questions about a job title like that.
Right now, he had his personal cell phone in his pocket, hoping Derek Walsh would call him back. The 60-inch Sony TV was on CNN as he listened to the news coming in from around the world. He always got the bulk of his news from U.S. stations, then watched the BBC for a different view. He had found the foreign stations were not necessarily more accurate, but it certainly gave him a better idea of how the rest of the world looked at the United States.
Some of the initial protests had petered out in New York, but there were still the ongoing lone wolf terror attacks, not only in New York but across the entire country. Rosenberg had a hypothesis that these attacks had been scheduled to happen around the same time and he believed the first wave of these attacks were spent. The pace and targets indicated that.He was certain more attacks were on the way.
So far the attack that had captured the most attention today was a man who wore an explosive vest and detonated it in the ticket line for Disneyland in Anaheim, California. That struck at the heart of American fears. Dozens of children were injured, but a quirk of engineering, a pillar the man was standing next to, had absorbed and directed much of the blast. It saved dozens of lives; even so, nine people were confirmed dead, and several major theme parks had closed their doors for security reasons. It was that sort of activity that had emboldened terrorists. Everyone liked to use the phrase “If we restrict people’s rights, the terrorists win.” More accurately it was “If Americans cave in to terrorist demands, the terrorists win.” It was a subtle but important distinction.
There was the usual nonstop debate about the president’s address, but in this case very few people felt it was a positive message that sent any sort of reassurance out to the American people. Police forces across the United States were trying to figure out what they could do to keep people safe. The plans made so feverishly after the September 2001 attacks had slowly become obsolete. Technology and population shifts and a lack of money to update the plans had left most cities unprepared for attacks like these. Experience was one of the best teachers, and luckily there were still cops and administrators who remembered the lessons from 9/11.
Rosenberg’s phone rang, and he grabbed it immediately. He felt a wave of relief mixed with apprehension when he heard his friend’s voice. All he could blurt out was, “Jesus Christ, Tubby, what the hell happened?”
“I gotta tell you the truth, Mike, I have almost no more information than when I talked to you earlier. One thing that troubles me is that Russians are involved.”
“What do you mean, Russians?”
Rosenberg listened while Walsh laid out everything that had happened to him over the last few hours. It sounded like a spy movie, but he knew his friend wasn’t given to exaggeration.
Finally Rosenberg said, “We’ve got to bring you in where it’s safe.”
“Bring me in? I’m not a spy. Right now all I am is a goddamned fugitive. I trust you, but I don’t trust what the FBI would do. They want to wrap this up, and I’m the only suspect. I can’t even give them anyone else as a bargaining chip. Someone thought this out really well.”
“If you stay out there too long, you can do something that’s a real crime. You can get yourself in more trouble. You’ve got to find a way to turn yourself in safely. You could come down here and I’ll walk you into our headquarters. This is enough of an international issue that we could claim some sort of jurisdiction. You’d get a fair shake.”
“I have a plan, Mike. It’s gonna take me a day or two to work it out, and if I blow it, then maybe I’ll come down to you. I’d ask you to put me and Alena up, but I don’t want to screw up your whole career for helping a known fugitive. Besides, what I need to do is here in New York.”
“Right now I’m young enough to start a new career. What I am worried about is keeping you alive. Is there anyone you can trust in New York?”
There was a long pause on the phone.
Rosenberg said, “That’s what I thought. The two guys you can trust are in Virginia and Germany right now. And my bet is Bill Shepherd has his hands full.”
Walsh said, “You believe me when I tell you I didn’t do it, right, Mike?”
Rosenberg didn’t hesitate. “You don’t even have to tell me you didn’t do it. I know you. I know you didn’t do it.” He sensed that Walsh had to pause as relief washed over him.
“Thanks, I needed to hear that. But I also need to figure out who did it.”
“I’m working on a few angles from my office. Maybe I’ll be able to find something. Call me tomorrow night about this time.”
Rosenberg had to sit down after the call. Even when he was deployed in Afghanistan he didn’t worry about his friends this much. He started considering different ways to attack the problem. Just like any good marine would.