Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

“But Marshall did not confirm that he learned it from Garin,” Vasiliev countered.

“That is confirmation itself,” Mikhailov said. “Contact Bor immediately. Tell him to find out from Mr. Day how Garin knows about the EMP, and what else he may know. If I know Bor, he is already in the process of doing so.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes,” the Russian president said as he headed toward his living quarters. “Tell Bor that our association with Mr. Day is yielding diminishing returns and to exercise his best judgment accordingly.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

JULY 17 4:53 P.M. EDT

Iris Cho and Josh Plotkin left the Situation Room immediately after Marshall’s call to Mikhailov ended. Marshall asked Brandt to remain behind. The president, Brandt sensed, was endeavoring to project resolve and control.

“So, where are we, Jim?”

“It’s clear that the Russians are not going to hit us with an EMP, especially now that we’ve put them on notice,” Brandt assured him. “Understand, I don’t trust Mikhailov. The Russians are involved somehow. Unfortunately, that call provided no further clues as to the extent of their involvement.”

“I don’t trust him either. What did you make of his reference to Garin?”

“That’s just it. The Russian president should not be able to identify one of our operators by name. It’s pretty clear he knows something about an EMP, even if they’re not going to launch it.”

“What about that crack about Garin being Russian, still having relatives there?”

“You mean, do I think it was a subtle threat that he might somehow hold Garin’s relatives hostage?” Brandt asked, eyebrows raised. “No, I don’t think so. Too Soviet. Besides, what could he hope to gain from it?”

Marshall shook his head. “No, I mean, do you think he was sending some signal that Garin is actually one of theirs?”

“Sir, I don’t know Mike Garin, never met him, never even spoken to him. I suppose anything’s possible in this world. But”—Brandt paused, considering how to relate his knowledge about Garin to the president—“one of my assistants has spoken to him. Ms. Perry. She’s provided me with a debrief. Do you know the story about his grandfather’s escape from the NKVD?”

Marshall didn’t admit it, but he was fascinated by Garin and over the last few days had had DNI Antonetti provide regular updates during his morning briefings, one of which included information about Garin’s personal background.

Long under suspicion by Red Army political officers for having the temerity to engage in irreverent speculation about the party’s alleged infallibility, Lieutenant Nikolai Garin had been remanded to an NKVD detention facility in the Soviet occupation zone of Germany at the conclusion of World War II. He was held there pending transfer — if he was lucky — to a labor camp in the motherland. Stuffed for months in a dank, suffocating cell of stone and mortar with scores of similarly suspect soldiers, barely enough room to take more than two steps, he waited his turn with the dreaded sledovatels. The cell reeked of urine, gangrene, and fear, the prisoners’ ears assaulted day and night with the cries of those being tortured in the “Yama,” an unseen chamber somewhere down the passageway nearby. Listening to the screams and imagining the cause of a specific inflection or tone was sometimes worse than the physical agony each would eventually endure.

Nikolai was among the more fortunate, for many of his cellmates returned from the Yaama missing appendages or disfigured by hideous burns and lacerations. When it was his turn to be escorted down the corridor, Nikolai succeeded in disabling the guard with a single, powerful blow to the bridge of his nose and escaped out a lavatory window. After crawling under barbed wire and evading sentries, dogs, and searchlights, he navigated through the frigid countryside in a general westerly direction. For nearly a week he had not a scrap of food other than pieces of frozen bread found in a garbage dump outside of a small Bavarian village. Nikolai’s feet, several toes frostbitten and the others split and bleeding, had carried him — running, walking, staggering — more than a hundred miles to the American sector. To safety, and, more important, to freedom.

Brandt said, “Then you know that it would be next to impossible to turn a man like Garin. Yuri was right to call him ‘implacable.’ Seething might be more accurate. Men like Garin are Yuri’s worst nightmare.”

“I know. Refugees from the former Eastern Bloc countries, Cuba, Vietnamese émigrés, are some of my strongest supporters…” Marshall’s words trailed off for a moment. “Frankly, Jim, I have to say I’ve had a hard time believing for an instant that Garin’s running around killing members of his own team.” Marshall sported a trace of a smile for the first time all day. “Now, if you told me he went rogue and started massacring FSB or SVR agents, I might believe you.”

Brandt seized the opening to press Garin’s case. “Sir, Garin tells my assistant that he’s been set up.” A quizzical expression came over Brandt’s face. “I can’t believe I said that, ‘set up.’ I sound like a character in a bad mob movie. But even if he hadn’t said so himself, it’s pretty obvious. Men identified as Iranian Quds Force showing up dead in New York, Virginia — that just doesn’t happen every day.”

Marshall nodded tentatively.

“Garin’s still alive because he’s lucky and he’s good,” Brandt continued. “In addition to Quds Force, he’s been targeted by a Delta sniper.”

Marshall stopped nodding. “He told your assistant that?”

“He did.”

“Then he’s mistaken or delusional. Jim, you know that’s not possible.”

“Maybe so, but he insists it’s the case. And what about the FBI? Why are they still pursuing him? Aren’t they supposed to be the best in the world at investigating cases? Masters of deduction? By this time they must’ve concluded that if Garin killed anyone, it was the Iranians, and in self-defense. Isn’t it more logical that Garin killed Iranians as opposed to his own men?”

“The CIA came to that conclusion pretty quickly. But the FBI’s getting a lot of pressure from Senator McCoy’s staff. I’m told one of his staffers keeps asking for updates to the point of being obnoxious. But I think they’re also drawing the same conclusion.”

“A word from you, obviously, would help Garin, sir. Not interference with the investigation, just relating to them what you’ve heard.”

“I’ll have Iris make a call.”

“And Fort Bragg, too?”

“Jim, there’s no chance of Delta involvement. I’d know about it. Heck, I would’ve had to green-light it.” Marshall mulled it over a second. “They’re going to think we’re smoking something. But I’ll have Iris call General O’Brien.” Marshall looked sideways at Brandt. “We finished with Garin?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Then, my friend, what am I supposed to make of all this? The Russians aren’t going to strike us, so is this a big wild-goose chase?”

Brandt’s friendship with Marshall was strong enough that he felt less discomfort than other aides might at admitting he was somewhat baffled. Even if the Russians weren’t the actors, there was too much going on to dismiss the EMP threat.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Lawrence seems to think so,” Brandt replied.

“Lawrence was all over the map in the Situation Room. He’s a human weather vane. But I’m sure he truly believes the Russians would never strike the US with an EMP.” Marshall leaned back in his chair. “Beyond the possibility of retaliation, the consequences to the world economy, including their own, would be catastrophic.”