MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,
AUGUST 17, 10:30 A.M. EDT
Olivia was seated in the captain’s chair of the communications room in Dan Dwyer’s subbasement.
She had tried to reach Brandt several times, anxious to know what action the president would take. Brandt hadn’t picked up, which Olivia took as a sign that he was still in the Oval Office.
Between calls she ruminated over the satellite images. The mind, she knew, often resists making the logical progressions toward unpleasant conclusions, however obvious they may be. Although they denied official involvement, the Russians were on their best behavior after the EMP affair. It was implausible that they would be engaged in any form of questionable activity so soon after that affair. But Brandt had continually emphasized to her to always expect the unexpected from the Russians, and to anticipate the worst.
So she analyzed the images in her mind over and over. She considered the speed of the Russian movements. More importantly, she considered their trajectory. The Baltic movements were relatively unremarkable. They’d seen such movements in the past.
But the southward thrusts were different. Nothing about them suggested mere training maneuvers. They followed no previously observed pattern. They fit none of the myriad war-game models with which she was familiar. In short, they served none of the standard strategic imperatives Western powers had ascribed to either the Soviets or the Russians.
But the vectors were plain. The southward thrusts were headed toward Iran. Russian naval presence had increased markedly in the Persian Gulf. This, clearly, was about Iran. Iran, whose nuclear program had been obliterated by weeks of devastating Allied bombing runs. The logical progression led to the unpleasant conclusion that the Russians were coming to Iran’s assistance.
But why so late? There was little left of the nuclear program to salvage. The various enrichment facilities, missile sites, and nuclear plants had been all but destroyed. Iran’s nuclear capacity had been reduced to rubble.
Or had it?
Olivia heard the electronic locks on the communications room door slide open, and Dwyer entered the room.
“You need to be fed.”
“Not that hungry, Dan. But thanks.”
“Nonsense, young lady. You’re eating. I read somewhere that the brain uses up something like a gazillion watts of energy. That means short of hooking you up to a power plant, that big brain of yours needs about six thousand pounds of beef. We’ll force-feed you if necessary.”
“I’m anxious to talk to Jim.”
“I’m anxious to talk to Angelina Jolie. Both of us may be in for a wait.”
“What do you think the Russians are up to, Dan?”
“Same thing as you. Nothing good. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.”
“What’s the worst?”
“From a country with seven thousand nukes?”
“Realistically.”
“Taras Bor is involved, Olivia. You tell me.”
“Have you heard from Michael?”
“Not in a while.”
“Bor won’t stop trying to kill him, will he?”
“Is your concern personal or professional?”
“My concern is immediate. Things seem to be moving faster than we can keep up with. I’m concerned, Dan, that the endgame is approaching, that it will arrive before we have an inkling of what’s really going on.”
“I admit having the same concern,” Dwyer agreed. “But the good news, Olivia, is that your hero and mine, Mike Garin, Defender of the Free World and Guardian of the Realm, is chewing gum, kicking butt, and taking names out there.”
Olivia rolled her eyes.
“But seriously,” Dwyer said, turning sober, “he always wins. Every single time. Without fail. I’ve seen it. Even you’ve seen some of it. And that means right now, as we speak, this very moment, the bad guys are losing, and losing really, really bad.”