Tom Clancy: Command Authority

Conway saw two passengers on his side. One was the prisoner. He called to the Delta team leader. “Black Wolf Two Six. Ready to depart with five pax, including prisoner. Confirm that is correct.”

“You are correct, Two Six. Get off the fucking roof.”

“Roger that.”

The helicopter rose into the night. Men on the fuselage opened fire on more attackers coming over the side from the balcony. Conway knew to fly in the opposite direction of the origin of fire, so he flew out over the western wall, then dropped down toward the street like a rock in the hopes any armed men on the balcony would not be able to get a shot off.

Dom Caruso held on to the strap attaching him to the helo and shut his eyes. He was certain they were going to auger into the street, but as every time before, the Kiowa leveled off and his spine paid the price. He didn’t open his eyes for nearly half a minute, and when he did, he was happy to see they were out over the water again.

The flight back to Boryspil was as eventful and uncomfortable as the flight in. Multiple times Dom thought they were being chased by other helicopters, because the Kiowa took all sorts of crazy evasive-action maneuvers.

Nesterov himself vomited right next to Dom. The puke seeped out from under the man’s hood, and Caruso stuck his gloved hand under the cover to clean off the man’s face and nose so he didn’t suffocate.

This made Dom want to vomit again, but he had nothing left to offer the forest below him.

John Clark stood alone on the flight line when the helicopters arrived. He watched as the critically wounded Delta operators were taken off first and piled into ambulances, then two dead Americans were carried off on litters.

Men who were only lightly wounded were helped over to a place on the flight line where Air Force pararescue men could tend to their wounds.

Finally the bruised and battered and tired left the helos, most walking along with their prize possession, the Russian in the vomit-covered hood.

As this was all going on, Midas found Clark standing by himself. He shook his hand. “Your boys sure as hell came through on this one. Not sure how I can thank you.”

Clark did not miss a beat. “I know just the way. We want to talk to Nesterov. Give us five minutes.”

Midas cocked his head. “As far as I’m concerned, you can take him out back and beat him with rubber hoses. Why do you want to talk to him?”

Clark explained, briefly, that he and his team had information about Nesterov that could be used to compromise other members of the Russian government. He didn’t go into any details, but he finished his semi-explanation by saying, “We see this as a potential way to get Russia to quit Ukraine. It might be a long shot, but it’s worth pursuing.”

“I’m all for that,” Midas said. “What the hell? I’ve been playing fast and loose with the regs on this op enough as it is. Might as well go all out and pass my prisoner over to a couple of civilians for a chitchat. Five minutes max, though, I’ve got to get him ready to fly out of here in an hour.”

Nesterov was brought into a small office in the back of a warehouse in the JOC property and he was chained to a chair. His filthy hood was kept on except when a pararescue man checked his vital signs and gave him a drink of whiskey.

Two Rangers stood guard outside, and Nesterov thought he was being left alone in an empty room, so he jumped at the sound of a light switch clicking on. Clark and Ryan entered, pulled up chairs in front of the hooded man, and sat down.

It was quiet for a few seconds more. Nesterov looked around left and right, but he couldn’t see past his hood.

Clark spoke in Russian: “Dmitri Nesterov. At last we meet.”

Nesterov did not react.

Clark said, “I know who you are. I know you are Gleb the Scar, vory v zakonye and member of the Seven Strong Men, as well as Dmitri Nesterov, president of Shoal Bank, Antigua and Barbuda, and chairman of the board of IFC Holdings.”

Nesterov spoke in a weak and unsure voice: “Untrue, but please continue.”

“Pavel Lechkov is in U.S. custody.”

“Who is that?”

“He is the man who delivered the polonium to the United States last month. He is the man who conspired to attack the son of the President of the United States, and he is the man who was photographed here in Kiev, meeting with you. He tried to assassinate British businessman Hugh Castor in Switzerland. He failed, and now he and Hugh Castor have given us everything on you.”

Clark was hoping these lies based on truths would carry weight with the Russian.

Nesterov said, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Clark said, “You are here working for the FSB, but the tide is going to turn before Russia makes it to Kiev, so that won’t help you. We’ll have you shipped off to a black site, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what happens here.” Clark leaned right into the man’s shrouded face. “You belong to us now, Dmitri. You are fucked.”

Nesterov did not reply.

Clark leaned back up and changed his tone. It was less grave, more matter-of-fact. “I want to know how it is you can work for Roman Talanov.”

“Talanov? I don’t understand. A minute ago you said I was in organized crime, and now you say I work for the intelligence services? Can you get your story straight and try this again?”

Clark didn’t miss a beat. “Talanov is the leader of the Seven Strong Men. That has been confirmed.”

“Confirmed?” Nesterov laughed. “Did you read it on Facebook?”

Clark laughed with him, patted him on the back roughly. Then his voice darkened. “Something else is confirmed, Dmitri. Roman Talanov was in the gulag system—in the late eighties and early nineties. This is where he became Seven Strong Men. He was a charter member.”

Nesterov’s hood was perfectly still.

“But Roman Talanov was not born in the gulag, Dmitri. He arrived after working for the KGB.”

Nesterov laughed again. “Whoever you are, you are operating with so many incorrect assumptions that it is obvious you are just flailing around, trying to find out some information from me.”

“Tell me, how I am wrong, Dmitri?”

“The accusation you just made is impossible.”

“ How is it impossible?”

Nesterov just chuckled under the bag.

Clark said, “You think it is impossible because you know that Talanov is vory v zakonye , and he was vory v zakonye before he went into the FSB. This was allowed by the leadership, because of the times, because of the access this gave Seven Strong Men to the real power in Russia. The Kremlin.”

Nesterov said nothing.

Clark said, “But he used you, just like he uses everyone.”

After a moment of quiet, Nesterov said, “He didn’t use us. He is one of us.”

Clark said, “How can he be vory if he was a captain in the GRU and then a KGB assassin in the eighties? Did you guys change your entrance requirements?” Very coldly, he added, “He is using you right now. Your organization was just a stepping-stone to power. Becoming vory was a KGB operation to them. A very successful one, at that.”

Nesterov said, “That is all a lie. And even if it were true, that was a long time ago.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know how organizations like yours work. You won’t forgive him just because a few years have gone by. Each one of those years when he was honored as vory was a further insult to the sanctity of your code. He made a mockery of you all.”

Clark leaned closer. “And you can’t let that stand, can you?”