Peter Kirsanow - Second Strike

“But I understood you to say—”

Mikhailov waved him off and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Send in Volkov.”

The office door opened almost instantly and Major Valeri Volkov entered tentatively, unsure of the protocols related to meeting and addressing the president. Just a few hours ago he couldn’t have imagined a private meeting with Aleksandr Stetchkin. Now here he was in the office of President Yuri Mikhailov, and Stetchkin was seated in front of him, a surprised look on his face. Volkov’s distress was evident from his face, which was covered with a sheen of moisture. He saluted and remained in the doorway, eyes fixed forward.

Mikhailov pointed to an empty chair next to Stetchkin. Volkov entered on legs of rubber and sat ramrod straight on the edge of the chair.

Stetchkin spoke rapidly. “Mr. President, Major Volkov was the one who assured me the event can proceed in Egorshin’s absence—”

“I am aware of what the major told you,” Mikhailov said, his voice neutral. His displeasure with Stetchkin wasn’t something he wished to reveal to the young officer. “I simply have a few questions for him.” Mikhailov turned to Volkov. “You were Egorshin’s second?”

“Yes, Mr. President.” Volkov tried to project a military bearing, but his voice was tremulous.

“Egorshin is dead,” Mikhailov informed him. Volkov looked stunned. “Can the event proceed without him?”

After a moment, Volkov replied, “Yes, Mr. President.”

“You are one hundred percent certain?”

“I am, Mr. President.”

“You informed Mr. Stetchkin of this earlier?”

Volkov froze. He suddenly felt like a defendant on trial. He had the sensation of Stetchkin staring at him.

“I did, Mr. President.”

“Did Mr. Stetchkin offer any inducements to you to come to that conclusion?”

Volkov’s head felt as if it were in a vise. He wasn’t on trial, Stetchkin was, and the latter’s welfare might depend on Volkov’s response. He couldn’t lie to the president, but then, the president would have no way of knowing it was a lie. On the other hand, if Volkov’s response angered Stetchkin and he still retained authority over him, the tyrant would certainly retaliate, possibly with death.

“I did not provide the conclusions in response to an inducement.”

It wasn’t lost on Mikhailov that Volkov had elided, but he let it go. He glanced at Stetchkin, who couldn’t mask his apprehension.

“Did Mr. Stetchkin make any threats to you to provide that conclusion?”

“He did not.” Technically true, thought Volkov, although at the time he’d had absolutely no doubt what conclusion Stetchkin wanted from him.

Mikhailov stared at Volkov for several seconds, then glared at Stetchkin for several more. Both were anxious. Although Volkov’s anxiety was more pronounced, Stetchkin’s was far more striking given his reputation and position. Mikhailov pressed the intercom button again. “Send in Majors Tokarsky and Starpov.”

Seconds later the door opened to reveal Tokarsky and Starpov. They looked more composed than Volkov but appeared similarly unfamiliar with appropriate protocol. They stood motionless for a second, then saluted in unison. Mikhailov motioned for them to enter and they walked to the left of Volkov’s chair, where they stood at attention.

“Majors Tokarsky and Starpov, I am told each of you is independently capable of overseeing the unit and executing the event if necessary. Is this correct?”

They spoke in tandem. “Yes, Mr. President.”

Mikhailov nodded approvingly. “I am also informed that it is one hundred percent certain the event will be successful even without Egorshin’s involvement. Major Tokarsky, do you agree with that assessment?”

Major Tokarsky glanced quickly at Major Starpov and said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

“And you, Major Starpov?”

“I agree as well, Mr. President.”

A look of relief came over the faces of Stetchkin and Volkov.

“Very good. Very good,” Mikhailov said. “We are barely sixteen hours away. You understand how important it is to have effective redundancies for something of this magnitude. Thank you. You are dismissed.”

Majors Tokarsky and Starpov saluted smartly, pivoted, and walked to the door.

Then Mikhailov called after them. “I have a final question, Majors, a hypothetical.”

The two officers stopped and turned.

“Based on your previous responses, I gather it would be accurate to say that the event would proceed with one hundred percent success even if some tragedy were to befall Mr. Stetchkin and Mr. Volkov and they could not participate?”

The anxious looks instantly returned to the faces of Stetchkin and Volkov.

The two majors said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

MOSCOW,

AUGUST 18, 8:33 A.M. MSK

Morosov passed through the scanner and retrieved his Makarov PMM, phone, and watch from one of the dour-faced, heavily armed security guards at the other end. Before placing the pistol in his holster, he released the magazine as if to inspect it and then reseated it. Just beyond the guards, the twin blast-proof doors slid open, revealing a seemingly endless brightly lit tunnel with mirrored walls. He stepped into a small electric cart that sat upon two rails and it automatically conveyed him approximately half a kilometer to a bank of glass elevators, scores of unseen cameras monitoring him the entire way.

The cart slowed to a stop. Its soft whine was replaced by a barely perceptible hum from massive arrays of supercomputers somewhere below. Morosov stepped off, held a proximity card next to a pad at the center of the elevator bank, and waited.

Only eight hours ago, Tatiana had informed him of his nephew’s death. Immediately upon disconnecting he’d picked up his pistol and released the magazine. Then, as Piotr had instructed, he’d placed the device in the empty magazine and seated it, enabling him to clear the facility’s multiple security scans.

The doors of the elevator to Morosov’s left opened. He entered and was automatically conveyed to the twelfth floor, where the doors opened to an enormous workspace that seemed incongruously quiet despite the presence of scores of personnel. He was met seconds later by Leonid Gramov, a short, severe-looking man in his mid-thirties who was one of Egorshin’s closest aides. He looked stunned. News of Egorshin’s death had traveled rapidly throughout the unit.

“Leonid Gramov, Mr. Morosov. We met some time ago at a party thrown by Tatiana. We heard the news just a short time ago. I do not know what to say. Piotr was the heart of this unit. He was our leader. He had abilities none of us can match. Every member of the unit respected him and was fond of him. This is his unit and we were proud to serve under him. I am so very sorry.”

“Thank you, Leonid. My nephew spoke highly of you. He was equally fond of the members of this unit. I understand he handpicked many of you.”

“It was an honor to have been chosen by someone so gifted,” Gramov said, his voice cracking. “We are at a loss. How could this have happened? Are you here to investigate?”

Morosov shook his head. “I’m here as a family member only, Leonid. Someone else will investigate. I came to gather any personal belongings. I assume his workstation has been inspected?”

Gramov nodded. “The rest of us found out when security impounded everything at his desk. They came in a swarm. They did not speak to us but, of course, we were alarmed. We are not permitted outside communication from this area, but you cannot keep such things quiet. It appears someone left to make a call, and soon, everyone knew.”