ROGUESTATE, page 27
Ironically, Bridger was watching for Conner Fadden. He had no idea a far deadlier man was on his trail. Once they left Arlington’s hallowed ground, they would all be on uncertain ground.
PART 4
Uncertain Ground
“Rescue me, O LORD, from evil men;
protect me from men of violence,
who devise evil plans in their hearts
and stir up war every day.
They make their tongues as sharp as a serpent’s;
the poison of vipers is on their lips.”
Psalms 140:1-3
CHAPTER THIRTY
Moscow,International Herald Tribune,November 8, 2000 –The Kremlin made no secret of its desire for Vice President Gore to prevail in the American presidential elections. Sources indicate that President Putin is privately distressed by the inconclusive results and the possibility of a Bush Presidency.
In the days leading up to the election, the Kremlin expressed admiration for American democracy. Overnight the tone has reverted to the Cold War rhetoric denouncing the American elections as little more than a race for money.
Moscow, Russian Federation
Thursday, November 9, 2000,
1:00 A.M. (GMT +3:00)
Winter’s cold claw made its first foray into Moscow during the week of the American presidential election. Vladimir Putin walked beside foreign minister Igor Ivanov. The Russian leadership was unsettled over the controversy regarding the American election.
“Tell me, who is the American President-elect?” asked Putin as they walked towards a larger meeting room. The two men were bracketed by a uniformed and armed contingent of PSB troops. It was not an incongruous sight for the Kremlin’s inner halls.
“Twenty-four hours ago I would have said George Bush, but now I’m not so sure. There appears to be a coup taking place,” replied Ivanov. It was not an unremarkable conclusion for a government steeped in a tradition of conspiracy and subterfuge. After all, these same analysts had concluded Monica Lewinski was a honey trap placed in Bill Clinton’s path by the Republicans. No one could conceive that an American President would log over seventy hours of phone sex on unsecured communications.
Putin’s dark eyes glistened like fine black pearls. “Has the American military taken sides?” Americans were supposed to be a predictable people who ploddingly followed a set of rules written down in their Constitution. Putin felt no such compulsion to adhere to the newly penned Russian constitution.
Ivanov understood the concern. It was one of the first things he had checked on before arriving at the Kremlin. “Nothing beyond their normal operations. Signal traffic is normal.”
“So far…” murmured Putin.
“Yes, so far. President Clinton has been quite silent on the subject.”
Putin felt a cold sliver of fear run up his spine. Clinton had been analyzed for possible reactions to a Gore or Bush victory, but no one knew how to read the man in the event of an inconclusive result.
“There has been a higher than normal level of encrypted signal traffic emanating from inside the White House,” added Ivanov.
“Going where?”
Ivanov shrugged. “We don’t know. It certainly isn’t the Vice President, but it is the same secured channels they have used for their internal political operations.”
They paused before the polished doors adorned with gold and silver scrollwork, “Keep me informed of any military moves. This might cause us to reevaluate our scheduled meeting with the new administration at the end of January.”
The doors were pulled open by another set of armed PSB troopers. It served to remind Putin they were all under a death warrant from a credible Chechen threat. It caused the Russian leader to grind his teeth. He would kill them all. Grozny would remain a pile of rubble.
The Russian Security Council stood as a group. Putin surveyed the ministers, their aides, and the military officers seated along the polished teak table. He nodded curtly and walked to the head of the table. There were problems in Chechnya—the Red Army had been slaughtering people for ten months and the rebels continued to fight back. It felt like Afghanistan, but Putin refused to believe the comparison.
Foreign Minister Ivanov took his seat between Interior Minister Vladimir Rushaylo and Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev. Rushaylo and Sergeyev noticeably bristled each other as they maneuvered to assign blame for the tepid progress in Chechnya.
General Anatoly Kvashnin—Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces—puffed up his chest with an array of medals indicating service stretching back to the Soviet Empire. He had no time for civilians, and unlike his American counterparts, he did not necessarily believe in the doctrine of civilian leadership and control of the armed forces. After all, it was the Polit Bureau—the predecessor to the current Security Council—that had foolishly committed the Red Army to Afghanistan’s meat grinder, when they would have been better served in threatening and cajoling the West with deployments in Eastern Europe.
GlasnostandPerestroika had emasculated the vaunted Red Army and brought forth an invasion of Japanese investment bankers and Texas oilmen. The carefully run collective farms hoarded their produce and unpaid troops turned to banditry. Prostitution skyrocketed and a disenfranchised populace was looking to things like God and religion to supplant the state. General Kvashnin eyed the civilians about his table with a growing distrust and unease.
He particularly despised Foreign Minister Ivanov. The Russian Federation’s foreign policy appeared to be drifting away from embracing the Americans—there was nothing wrong with that. The Americans proved their imperial designs when they invaded Kosovo and threatened Serbia. Kvashnin believed in a pan-Slavic brotherhood. He had argued passionately that the Red Army be allowed to interdict itself between the Americans and the Serbs. The only card in the Russian arsenal was of the tactical nuke variety, and Boris Yeltsin did not have the stomach for such a confrontation.
It opened the door for Ivanov to commence a policy of rapprochement with China and Iran. During the seventies and early eighties, the former Soviet Union had built a defensive works along the Sino-Soviet border. The army that could control the Siberian treasure chest did not owe its allegiance to Moscow, but to Beijing. Kvashnin fervently believed the greatest threat lay to the east and not the west. While the Americans might have designs on the former Warsaw Pact, the Chinese greedily slobbered over the natural resources to the north. The eastern European states could be lost. They had always been a buffer, but an assault on Mother Russia brought forth a visceral response.
Iran posed a different kind of problem. The Persian Gulf and its oil riches once could have been threatened by an armored thrust through the Caucasus Mountains. Iraq’s attack on Kuwait gave license to the Americans to permanently place two carrier battle groups inside the Persian Gulf, and pre-position weapons and materiel along the Iraqi border. Kvashnin’s precious tanks and flagging air force were no match for the Americans. George Bush demonstrated the importance of the Persian Gulf when he crushed Saddam Hussein in 1991.
Incredibly, Ivanov was busily arranging to finalize an agreement to complete a forty-megawatt reactor capable of producing weapons-grade plutonium. It was one thing to counter the Americans; it was an entirely different matter to hand over the nuclear genie and the technical know-how to a nation like Iran. He recognized these were fundamentally Putin’s machinations; perhaps it was foolish to have placed a former spy at the head of the table. Kvashnin intended to protect his precious army.
Putin gathered his papers and checked the talking points on the sheet before him. He looked down the table cluttered with water glasses and crystal pitchers. A ragged line of papers, pens, and cell phones stood like a barrier before his ministers and generals. The former KGB agent pursed his lips asking, “Vladimir, perhaps, you can explain to the rest of us why Captain Gurov is traipsing about America.”
Interior Minister Vladimir Rushaylo’s liquid eyes considered the spy-turned-politician. “Ah,” he answered quietly, “Captain Gurov is pursuing the man who sunk theKursk and set the Ostankino Tower ablaze.”
Vice Admiral Viktor Patrushev narrowed his eyes as blood called for blood. His son’s body had never been recovered from theKursk . Admiral Patrushev presumed he had been in one of the forward compartments or the control room. He knew the effects of an underwater explosion and the subsequent pressure change that had ripped the crew apart.
“In America?” asked Putin. The dull black eyes were dead again.
“Are you saying one man is responsible for theKursk ?” snapped Patrushev.
The interior minister momentarily found his attention drawn to the Chief of Naval Operations. “Those are the conclusions of Captain Gurov, and he is in America pursuing the man responsible.”
Putin rubbed the side of is chin and said quietly, “Does this man have a name?”
“Parvez Hyder,” replied the Interior Minister.
Putin nodded slowly and continued in the same tone of voice—a deathly calm tone. “It does tend to stretch the credible to believe an uneducated bandit from a worthless little republic could sink one of our submarines, destroy the main television and radio tower for most of Russia west of the Urals, and simply leave the country for America.”
Rushaylo shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Doggedly he maintained eye contact and answered, “We have no evidence of a broader conspiracy.”
Putin flipped open a folder and read a few lines. “I understand Parvez Hyder is one of Shamil Basayev’s best lieutenants. It seems odd they could spare so valuable a fighter at a time when ourSpetsnaz troops are hunting down the Chechen leadership like rabid dogs.”
Rushaylo maintained his composure as he examined the initial paragraphs in his report. It essentially had the same facts listed for Hyder that Putin had just recited. He faced the uncomfortable truth that Putin had his own sources inside the FSB.
Putin left Rushaylo gaping and turned to General Kvashnin. “General, how is it we have deployed one hundred fifty thousand troops, and our tanks and airplanes against an enemy army that might number three thousand in the field. We’ve been at these people for eleven months and it appears you are no closer to victory than when we started last year.”
General Anatoly Kvashnin was not accustomed to being addressed in a sarcastic manner. He appraised the Russian president, wondering what folly might come next. Indeed, the General Staff wanted revenge for the drubbing they endured during the first Chechen war, but Putin made the decision to leave Grozny in ruins. It served to make the rebels fight harder and it generated recruits. The Security Council rubberstamped the idea and the results were proving to be disastrous.
“Comrade President,Spetsnaz units continue to exterminate the leadership. We control the roads, and the cities. It is only a matter of time before winter and starvation break the resistance.”
Putin smirked. “A war of attrition?”
“Call it what you will,” replied the Chief of the Army. “They will be exterminated this time.”
Putin nodded towards Foreign Minister Ivanov. Like any trained dog, Ivanov barked. “General we face diplomatic and international pressures regarding the Chechen problem. The United States, Western Europe, and Japan have all expressed concern over the fighting.”
Kvashnin scowled. These were cowardly words, and he was a proud man. “Since when has Russia ever cared for the ramblings of the West?”
Ivanov might have stopped there, but he had Putin’s support. “Our economy is beholden to these countries and they are threatening to withhold money.”
Kvashnin slammed his fist hard on the table. “We are Russia! Do we cower before yellow bankers and soft Westerners? We have nuclear teeth. It is time the world came to respect us again!”
Putin recognized a lion he might need in the future. “And they will, General,” he promised. “However, we do not have the resources to field such a large army indefinitely.” A smile played along his lips. “We need to end the Chechen matter quickly. General, you have thirty days to win this war.”
Kvashnin breathed deeply. Standing up to Ivanov was one thing, but Putin was quite a different animal. He relied on Putin to feed and pay his army. Neither of which happened on a regular basis. The Red Army was a ghostly shell and no amount of posturing could hide the ugly truth.
“After that we will turn the problem over to Rushaylo’s security troops.” Putin leaned forward conspiratorially and continued softly, “The old ways may be best. The FSB can do things quietly. I don’t care if you kill every Chechen alive today, but one way or the other we need to finish it.”
Rushaylo started to respond, then thought differently. He ran through the possibilities. He already had fifty thousand security troops rushing about Chechnya. They imposed a blanket of terror, curfews, and summary execution against a resentful population. No one knew where the next truck bomb would explode or when a supplicant on his way to Allah would visit a sentry checkpoint with twenty pounds of explosive strapped to his chest.
Putin observed his people. “Nonetheless, Vladimir, someone is helping this Hyder fellow. Someone with a great deal of resource and ingenuity.” He did not add: someone who appeared to be more devious than himself—a troubling revelation.
“And what will we do when we find these people?” snarled Admiral Patrushev.
Putin glanced at the vengeful father. “Kill them, of course, my dear Admiral.” He smiled tepidly. “However we have a greater problem right now. There appears to a be a coup underway in America.” As difficult as it might be for Americans to remember the founding fathers had built an Electoral College into the political system to ensure representation for all the states, the Russians saw nothing but confusion and conspiracy.
He turned his attention to Lieutenant General Sergei Lebedev—head of theSluzhba Vneshney Razvedki (Foreign Intelligence Service). Putin never agreed with the dismantlement of the KGB into its two halves. He felt it weakened the agency and forced bureaucratic barriers into the intelligence process.
“General, we need to know who is the new power behind this sham taking place in America,” declared Putin.
Ivanov fiddled with a pencil. “Comrade President, we do have Chernomyrdin’s notes on Vice President Gore.”
General Kvashnin chafed at the mention of Boris Yeltsin’s Prime Minister. In June of 1995, Chernomyrdin negotiated with Shamil Basayev. Basayev had led one hundred Chechen bandits and overran Budennovsk—a town seventy kilometers north of the Chechen border. The Chechens killed scores of people before retreating to a hospital where they took several hundred more hostages.
Chernomyrdin had ordered a commando raid to attempt to free the hostages—it was a pathetic failure. In the end, he provided a bus convoy to take Basayev, his bandits, and their hostages back into Chechnya. In other times, Budennovsk would have been pounded flat. It was worth the civilian casualties to rid the world of vermin like Basayev. However, political realities ended up sacrificing Colonel General Vasily Vorobev for the political failure at Budennovsk. Yeltsin had made the decision to use a lightly armed commando team against a fortified hospital.
Putin had no love for Chernomyrdin. “What of it, Igor?”
Ivanov lost interest in his pencil. “Chernomyrdin probably understands Gore better than anyone else. There were a number of initiatives, including the IMF loans and the joint committee of economic and energy policy.”
“He played the Americans for fools, Igor,” Putin reminded his Foreign Minister. “We already have a profile on the Vice President. I have reports from last Friday indicating Gore would win handily. We understand how to deal with Gore; George Bush is a different matter.”
“He’s the son of a failed President, what can be so difficult about that?” observed Rushaylo.
The shark eyes flared with passion for the first time. “Your intelligence analysis and Igor’s political analysis came up with a very disturbing synthesis. They suggest George Bush could be another Reagan.” He might have driven a cold stake through their collective heart. No one wanted to hear the name of the former American President who claimed victory over the old Soviet Union at the conclusion of the Cold War. Alzheimer’s disease might have crippled the fortieth president, but his legacy grew daily. The Soviet Union had crashed to the ash heap of history.
“I do not need to remind you that another president similar to Reagan could be disastrous. We reached an accommodation with Clinton. Gore would continue those policies of cooperation. Bush is something much different.” He glared at his Security Council and demanded, “How is it that Gore has five hundred thousand more votes than Bush and everyone is worried about two thousand votes in Florida?”
* * * *
Crystal City, Virginia
Louis Edwards rubbed his eyes and set the report down on the table before him. He found Brian Stillwell, Mark Schaeffer, and Jonas Benjamin waiting for a flash of brilliance. He had nothing to give them. The monstrous nature of the plot uncovered by Jonas stretched to the very roots of America’s representative democracy, and there was very little they could do about it. There were other considerations as well.
One of the reasons no one dared to force Louis Edwards out of the Agency was because no one knew what secrets he kept locked between his ears. Adrian Bridger and Damon Layne brought to mind facts Louis had long ago banished to a dark and secret place. Nothing good could come from the revelations these men brought to him.
“These intercepts,” he began, “who knows about then?”
Jonas shrugged. “I would guess General Carnady, a few NSA technicians, ourselves.” He consciously excluded Harper from the discussion. He owed Jim that much.
Louis pursed his lips. “George knows?”
The three nodded as a group.
Louis glanced at the synopsis and shuddered. Adrian Bridger had been very busy since the Vice President’salmost concession speech. He reread the intercept between Bridger and someone named Frenchy. It had taken place in the early hours of Wednesday morning after Election Day, and when the votes in Florida seesawed crazily.
