Oath of Office

Ryan’s telephone call had been arranged through the Washington — Moscow Direct Communications Link set up in 1963 to avoid possible disasters of delayed communication like those that nearly occurred during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Known in popular culture as “the red phone” or “Hotline,” the link was never a phone at all. It had first been established over a Teletype machine. Newer technologies eventually led to a computer system over which secure e-mails could be exchanged between the Pentagon and the Kremlin to arrange for voice communication between the two world leaders. There were other methods, but this was the most immediate.

Ryan’s tone dripped with diplomacy when Yermilov answered. Ryan spoke passable Russian and Yermilov passable English, but as was always the case in these kinds of delicate conversations, the men spoke through interpreters who had the required security clearances. Ryan described the situation with the missiles and Sahar Tabrizi, leaving out the fact that the United States was fully aware that Russia was behind the sale to Iran.

“Nikita,” Ryan continued. “I’m sure you see how dangerous this is. At first we believed the targets to be American installations, but the destruction of a satellite that led to cascading fields of debris in low earth orbit would be catastrophic for both our countries. The International Space Station would very likely be obliterated before either of us could launch an evacuation mission. Honestly, it would be catastrophic for the world. My experts tell me all the resulting junk could make it nearly impossible to send anything into space in the foreseeable future.”

Yermilov blustered. “I can assure you, Jack, we believed the missiles were lost during a plane crash on their way for testing in Sary-Shagan in Kazakhstan. I had no idea they somehow made it to Iran.”

“I’m not suggesting you did,” Ryan said.

“I thought you were calling in reference to another matter.”

“Elizaveta Bobkova?”

“No…”

“She and her men have diplomatic cover,” Ryan said. “But I understand she might be asking to stay.”

“Is that so?” Yermilov said, almost a gasp.

“Did you think I was calling about Ukraine?” Ryan said dismissively, as if Yermilov’s troop movements were little more than a fly on his nose. “Honestly, my people advised me that Russia might try and invade Ukraine because the Kremlin believes I have my hands full here with domestic matters. I told them you knew me better than that. There was no possible way you would invade, at least any further than you already have. I told them your troop movements simply had to be a bluff. That you and I had discussed this and that you knew I would take drastic action at any further advance, no matter the rationale. And that we both agreed any such action would be tying that untieable knot of war that your predecessor Khrushchev spoke of so eloquently. In any case, we can talk about Ukraine at a later time. This matter with the missiles is larger than that. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Yermilov said, stunned, on the ropes. “What shall we… Do you suggest we contact Tehran?”

“As you are aware, the United States has no diplomatic relations with Iran,” Ryan said. “But even if we did, I’m not certain how deeply Tehran is involved. This is likely the work of a dissident group, but it is too soon to say. Beyond that, I fear time is of the essence. I’d hoped you have some method of destroying the Gorgons remotely.”

“I must ask, Mr. President,” Yermilov said. “How did you come upon this information?”

Ryan chuckled despite the circumstances. “That’s classified, but I’m sure you have ways of checking the truth of the matter without tipping our hand with Tehran. Now I must ask you, Nikita, are you able to transmit a self-destruct code to your missiles?”

There was silence on the line while Yermilov muted the call. If Ryan’s plan was working, the Russian president was hearing of the plot to destroy a satellite from members of his own intelligence community right about now.

Yermilov came back on the line a full ninety seconds later. “I am afraid the remote destruction of the missiles is not an option, Mr. President.”

Ryan sighed. “Not an option or not possible?”

“As you put it,” Yermilov said, “that is classified.”

“Understood,” Ryan said. “Thank you for taking my call.”

“What will you do from this point?” Yermilov asked.

“That remains to be seen,” Ryan said. “We’ll speak again very soon.” He gave one last chuckle. “Hopefully not about Ukraine.”

“Yes,” Yermilov said. “Hopefully.”

Ryan ended the call and looked up at General Paul and Mary Pat. “I don’t like it, but MUDFLAP is a go.”

The chairman tapped a key on the phone on the table in front of him and spoke into the tiny boom mic on his headset. “MUDFLAP is a go.”

At the same time, DNI Foley made a call to her asset in Iran, using a more cryptic phrase. “Is this Peperouk Pizza? I’d like to make an order if you can deliver in thirty minutes.”

“Wrong number,” the voice said in English. “This is Navid Auto Repair.”