Tom Clancy - Command Authority

“Energy commodities are roughly seventy percent of all Russia’s exports. But there is a downside to this. Huge natural resources have a negative effect on a nation’s manufacturing sector. They call the phenomenon the Russian disease.”

Ryan nodded. He understood the phenomenon. “The money is in the dirt, it just has to be dug up or pumped up. The money isn’t in innovation or intellectual property or in manufacturing. After a while, a nation loses its ability to innovate and to think and to build things.”

“That’s correct, Mr. President. Russia had great potential when the Soviet Union dissolved, but in the nineties it all went bad for them when the economy collapsed. It was the largest transfer of wealth in the history of the world without a war being fought.”

Ryan said, “As much of a disaster as it was, you’ve got to give the Russian people some credit for just surviving it.”

“They did survive it, yes. But they have not flourished. Volodin is taking credit for things because no one has come out to show Russians what wealth they should be enjoying. Russia’s economy is big, but it’s not modern or dynamic. Industry is focused on the extraction of raw materials. The only manufactured goods people want on the world market are Kalashnikovs, caviar, and vodka.”

“You are describing a banana republic with a quarter of a billion people and hundreds of ICBMs,” Jack said.

“I try not to exaggerate, Mr. President. But… insofar as their economy is limited by what they can dig up and sell… yes. And that is not their only problem. Russia’s main export is fossil fuels. But coming in at a close second is corruption.”

“That’s harsh.”

Helen Glass did not waver. “But true. There has been a heinous redistribution of property to those in power and the expansion of a police state to protect them. The bureaucracy is a protection racket.

“Russia is governed not by formal institutions, it is run by the will of the siloviki . The Duma is nothing more than the Ministry of Implementation. It does what it is told to do by the siloviki .”

Ryan said, “The cronies who run business and the country.”

“Yes, and nowhere is the connection between business and government more direct than in the case of Gazprom,” she said. “Gazprom is officially privatized, but the Kremlin retains forty percent of the shares, and effectively one hundred percent of the decision-making ability. Woe be to the Gazprom private shareholder who goes against the wishes of Volodin. He says his tougher version of capitalism is what has allowed Russia to prosper, but what he is doing is not capitalism, and Russia has not prospered.”

Ryan asked, “Is there any economist in the world who correlates Russia’s increased authoritarianism with their increased economic growth?”

Helen Glass thought for a moment. “Sure, you can find some who will say just that, but remember, there were economists predicting the fall of capitalism and the rise of world communism, even in the eighties.”

Jack laughed. “Good point. You can always find an expert to confirm your belief, no matter how ridiculous.”

“Since 2008, over half a trillion dollars has fled Russia. Most of it is pure capital flight. This is billionaire money, squirreled away in offshore financial centers. The top-five foreign investment locations in and out of Russia are tax havens.”

Ryan said, “Meaning it’s not investment at all.”

Glass responded, “Correct. It is money-laundering and tax-avoidance schemes.”

“Right,” said Ryan. “As long as energy prices are high enough, the Kremlin can gloss over the fact that a third of its economy is sucked up by corruption.”

“Correct again, Mr. President. Foreign investors are fleeing. The Russian stock exchange has lost nearly a trillion in value in the past year. Capital investment has fallen fifty percent.

“Russia has everything it could possibly need to be one of the great economies of the world. Well-educated people, natural resources, access to markets and transportation infrastructure, land. If not for the pervasive corruption, they would be at the top of the list of world nations.

“Russians are worse off today than they were a decade ago. Public safety, health, law, property-rights security. Alcohol consumption has grown, health spending has shrunk, life expectancy has dropped in the past years.

“They have enacted laws barring dual citizens from appearing on state television. They are removing foreign words from the Russian language.”

Ryan said, “It feels like they’ve regressed thirty years over there, doesn’t it?”

“It is very much like that, indeed, Mr. President.”

Jack Ryan turned away from the economic adviser and toward Mary Pat Foley and Jay Canfield. “And with all this we have the knowledge that Russia wants to invade its sovereign neighbor, and now our intelligence capability in the nation has been crippled.”

“It’s a mess, Mr. President,” Canfield admitted.

John Clark walked through the Obolon underground station on the Kiev metro’s blue line. It was four-thirty p.m., not quite rush hour, but the tunnels, escalators, and trains were quickly filling up with commuters.

The American made his way through the crowd, keeping his head down and walking purposefully to fit in with everyone around him. He headed toward the trains, but he wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, as his instructions were only to go to the Obolon station to meet with Keith Bixby.

Bixby had called Clark two hours earlier, asking for an urgent meeting and giving the time and location, which immediately sent Clark out the door of the rented flat to begin a series of twists and turns, a random sequence of cabs, buses, metros, and hikes through malls, department stores, and even a gypsy market, where he bought a knockoff Nike winter coat after tossing his own three-hundred-dollar one to a homeless man on the street so Clark could change his appearance on the fly.

Now he was here at the designated meeting place, hoping like hell that whatever burning issue Bixby wanted to talk to him about didn’t involve a team of State Department security guys and a coach ticket back to the USA.

As he neared the end of the station hall, he heard a soft voice close behind him. “Get on the train, direction Ipodrom, last car.”

The words were English, but it was not Bixby’s voice, Clark was certain. Without acknowledging the instructions, he merged across the crowd moving toward him and walked to the opposite side of the station hall, and then he climbed aboard the Ipodrom train that had just stopped at the platform.

The car was almost empty when he boarded, because Obolon was only the third metro station on the line, but Bixby was there, sitting in the last seat in the back. Clark stepped into the car, turning toward Bixby, while all around him the car filled with commuters. Clark moved back into the corner and sat down next to the Kiev station chief.

Bixby did not look at Clark, but he said, “Nice jacket.”

There were people standing and sitting ten feet away, but the racket of the train shooting through the tunnel would make it impossible for anyone to hear the conversation.

Clark put his elbows on his knees and leaned over, pretended to look at a paperback he’d pulled from his pocket. His head was less than a foot away from COS Bixby. “What’s up?”

“When we talked the other day I thought having you here on my turf was going to be a pain in the ass. Now, I’ve got to say, I’m seriously reconsidering your value.”

“Go on.”

He blew out a long sigh. “This morning we discovered that the number-two man in the Ukrainian intelligence service has been spying for the FSB.”