Moscow, Russia
THE BALD MAN FROM THE STATE, a ranking member of the FSB, held court in a windowless room in the Lubyanka, the huge monolithic headquarters building of the Russian Federal Security Service.
In the room with him were several members of the Politburo and a representative from the Russian Navy and a general in the Red Army.
He’d just finished listening to a radio call from Katarina Luskaya, claiming she was aboard a ship with a man named Andras who wanted to sell them a superweapon, one that would put them years ahead of the Americans and the Chinese.
After listening to the explanation, one of the politicians could not contain his scorn. “Strange that we have not heard anything of this weapon,” he said, “and now we are to believe your most junior operative has uncovered it.”
“She was captured by Andras,” the Bald Man said. “It is fortunate that he has kept her with him. It is he who brings the offer to us. We have a history with him.”
“It is not a good one,” the general noted.
“No, it is not,” the Bald Man admitted.
“And he demands an outrageous amount,” the Politburo member said.
The Bald Man waved him off. “Of course we would not pay what he asks. A fraction, perhaps ten percent. Even then, only if it was decided that we should.”
“Your agent sounded as if she was under duress,” the general said.
“Yes,” the Bald Man replied. She had used a code word designed to alert only them to the fact that she was being held against her will. But, to her credit, she had chosen the less harsh of the two codes, which meant she thought the situation might be manageable. He was rather impressed with the young former Olympian.
The lone naval representative in the group spoke up. “It would be nice to get a look at that ship,” he said. “If it turns out to be of interest, we can start negotiations. If it turns out to be a lie, we simply write Ms. Luskaya off.”
The Bald Man cut his eyes to the naval representative. This younger generation understood little. It concerned him. “All of you are missing the bigger point. According to Andras, they will demonstrate the weapon against the American capitol in less than thirty minutes. That makes the question of the ship irrelevant. What we must decide — now that we have been informed — is whether to tell the Americans.”
The room went silent. No one wanted to speak.
“It is a very delicate situation,” the Bald Man said. “If the threat turns out to be real and it should come out that we knew about it in advance…”
There was no need to elaborate.
The Politburo member spoke. “What do you recommend?”
The Bald Man wrung his hands. Every instinct in his body told him it was an American problem. To some extent, he wouldn’t have minded seeing a disaster sprung on his old adversary. But the repercussions could be enormous. The law of unintended consequences could not be discounted.
“Inform the Americans of the threat,” he said finally. “Do not speak of the ship, and make sure you forget that we had this conversation.”
He looked around the room. All present were men of power, but they feared him, as they should.
“What happens after that is up to them,” he added.
“And the ship?”
“If the opportunity should arise,” the Bald Man replied, “we take it when it’s offered. Perhaps we pay, perhaps we barter. Those are mere details to be considered later.”
FIVE THOUSAND MILES AWAY, in the middle of the Atlantic, Andras stood over Katarina, who remained at the radio console. Finally, a call came through. It was the Bald Man.
“Tell Andras we are not interested in damaged goods this time,” he said.
She looked up. Whatever the message meant, Andras understood. He nodded.
“He understands,” she said, keying the microphone.
“Da,” the Bald Man said. “Well done, Ms. Luskaya. We await your return.”
She didn’t feel as if she’d done well. All she’d done was cower before a thug who’d kidnapped her, threatened her, and killed others, including Major Komarov and Kurt, who had tried to save her from this very fate. And now she was part of an incident that would take countless lives in his country.