Had Malenkov succeeded in shutting it down?
It had been Malenkov’s idea from the outset. Over a year ago, during a rare meeting with his then-head of the SSD, Yermilov had confessed that Russia’s economy was approaching collapse. It was no more of a surprise to Malenkov than it was to any Russian, yet to hear it in such stark terms, from no less than the president himself, had spurred him to consider solutions. Yermilov implored him to think big. As the two-man meeting progressed, and no small amount of vodka flowed, Malenkov did precisely that. What could be bigger and bolder, he contended, more of a game changer for Russia, than to shut down the Suez Canal?
Yermilov had been intrigued by the idea. The Suez was the most vital supply route for carbon-based fuels flowing from the Middle East to Europe. A long-term closure would send energy prices through the roof. Markets tended to adjust, and there were alternate routes, but he couldn’t imagine a scenario that didn’tput hundreds of billions of dollars in Russia’s nearly empty coffers. Likely far more.
The next morning, with a clearer but aching head, Yermilov had given Malenkov approval to pursue the idea. Yet the plot was so daring, so risk-laden, the two men agreed that Malenkov would have to completely sever his ties to the Russian government. He was fired from the SSD. The next week he moved to Portugal. Breadcrumbs were left for the American intelligence agencies to establish both these facts.
The two men had met twice in the intervening year, on both occasions at the palace in Sochi. Secrecy was always easier outside Moscow, and the one absolute for Yermilov was to never be seen with Malenkov. If he could keep that divide, that “plausible deniability” as the Americans were so fond of terming it, Russia would be in the clear.Hewould be in the clear. Details fell into place. Logistics were arranged. When Malenkov floated the idea of making investments in the oil markets to capitalize on the strike, Yermilov saw only positives. Regardless of the outcome, it would demonstrate a motive for the attack that was purely personal for Malenkov. Better to deflect the blame. And if the man made money in the course of it? Then Yermilov wouldn’t have to pay him.
Now, finally, the day of reckoning had arrived, Russia’s economic future in the balance. Yet the outcome remained unclear. An operation that had been going smoothly for months could tip either way. As it turned out, they had made one critical mistake. They had let Gunther Klaus slip through their fingers.
The Americans had him now. Because of it, they had learned the specifics of the attack at the last minute. But had they been able to stop it?
The phone on the desk rang, startling Yermilov.
It could only be Malenkov with the results of the strike.
Yermilov was reaching for the phone, nearly touching it, when a flashing image from the television snagged his gaze. His hand hovered over the handset as a poor quality video ran on the screen: in dim light, a fighter jet at low altitude was shooting down a straight-wing drone. The drone exploded in a blizzard of debris. Then a headline appeared at the bottom of the screen:U.S. Fighters Down Drones over Eastern Mediterranean. The footage had been captured, according to a secondary caption, by an Egyptian fisherman.
A dozen thoughts clashed in Yermilov’s head, but one rose to the forefront: If the Americans stopped these drones…might they also have visited Al-Jaghbub?
His face went ashen. His hand recoiled from the phone like a snake charmer who’d hit the wrong note.
The phone kept ringing.
Anger welled in Yermilov’s gut. He reached out, seized the device, and slammed it onto the hardwood desk. It shattered violently, shards of glass and plastic flying in every direction.
The ringing stopped.
The White House
“What just happened?” Jack Ryan asked.
He was seated at the far end of the Situation Room conference table. The monitor used in his call with Yermilov last night had been removed, and in its place was a simple speaker and microphone—an audio feed prepped for the call that had just failed.
A CIA technician was sitting next to Director Ben Stephens.The young woman, who had her fingers on a keypad and a phone shouldered to her ear, said, “I’m not sure, Mr. President. Stand by.”
Glances were exchanged throughout the Situation Room. They had known for nearly an hour that the Hornets had gotten the job done: the drone attack had been stopped in its tracks, the entire swarm shot down over the sea. Despite the late hour, however, no one in the whizzer had gone home.
The fallout—in every sense, including the nuclear variety—still had to be dealt with. The first order of business was to play the card John Clark had given them. The CIA’s DS&T crew had worked their magic, cloning Malenkov’s phone. One particular contact in its logs was identified as being a probable connection to none other than President Nikita Yermilov. If they acted quickly, hijacking the number and initiating a call before Malenkov’s fate became known, an advantage could be gained.
As the phone had begun ringing, the tension in the whizzer was palpable. If Yermilov picked up, he would do so expecting Andrei Malenkov to be on the other end. Instead, he would hear the voice of the American President. If they could engineer that simple mistake, Ryan would have his proof. It was nothing that would hold up in a court of law, but that was never where this situation was headed. Ryan simply wanted one hard link tying Yermilov to the attack on the Suez.
But the president of Russia had never answered. Instead, the call ended abruptly.
The CIA tech put her own phone down. The look on her face told the story, but she gave the details all the same. “We were able to triangulate the call from four different towers in Moscow. The receiving phone was definitely located in the Kremlin, very likely in the president’s wing. The call was never answered, and after twenty-three seconds its signal disappeared.”
“You mean someone declined the call?” Mary Pat asked.
“No,” said the tech. “The phone didn’t shut down normally, nor was the battery removed. There are certain electronic handshakes and background pings that would have indicated either event. I’d say there’s a good chance the handset was…destroyed very suddenly.”
Ryan rubbed both his hands over his face, a reflection of the weariness all around the room. “Well, it was worth a try,” he said.
“What now?” Arnie van Damm asked.
“The immediate crisis is over,” said Mary Pat. “But there’s going to be some serious cleanup required. Tomorrow will be a long day, and I’d suggest we all get some rest.”
“I agree,” Ryan said. “Barring any unexpected developments, we’ll reconvene at oh-nine-hundred.”
