Oath of Office

“An interesting choice of objectives,” Gorev said, idly bouncing his head softly against the frame of the bathroom door.

Pugin peered at her over the top of his paper, putting a finer point on the matter. “The plan is workable, but the objective is insanity. May I ask where this work order came from?”

Bobkova used her feet to swivel the hotel desk chair while she considered how much to tell them.

“This comes from the highest level,” she said.

Pugin gave a soft chuckle. “The highest level always has deniability.”

She wanted to take a comb to the man’s wild eyebrows, but his directness was refreshing. Gone were the days of the Soviet assassin, ready to blindly march out and do wet work for the Rodina with no questions asked, dutifully waiting for some other Soviet assassin to come along and do the same to him if he messed up — or even if he did not. Had killing someone become more difficult? No, that was not it. But getting caught was certainly easier these days.

“It comes from high enough,” she said.

31

“Not very subtle.” President Ryan tossed a pile of eight-by-ten photographs on the desk and rubbed exhausted eyes. He wore a pair of faded jeans and the gray T-shirt he’d been sleeping in, under a dark blue jacket with the presidential seal on the chest.

Bob Burgess, Mary Pat, Scott Adler, and Arnie van Damm were also present in the Oval. The rest of the National Security Council principals were already scheduled to arrive at the middle-of-the-night meeting, but Burgess had gotten Ryan up early to brief him on developments in Russia.

“They don’t have to be,” the SecDef said. “It’s no great secret that Eastern Ukraine is de facto Russian territory. Crimea gave Moscow fifty percent more claimed coastline on the Sea of Azov, and more of an excuse to patrol it. Yermilov loyalists run a couple of false-flag operations against Russian citizens and he can send in his troops to protect them.”

“That makes sense,” Scott Adler said. “The Ministry of Defense issued a statement this morning describing this as a combination military exercise and peacekeeping force. I spoke to Foreign Minister Zubov this morning. He assures me there is nothing to worry about.”

Burgess scoffed. “I’m sure he did.”

Ryan flipped through the satellite photos in front of him again. Russian troops had been on the border with Ukraine for years, but thousands more had arrived in the past ten hours, along with attendant armored personnel carriers and mechanized artillery units. Numerous destroyers and frigates had convoyed off the coast in the Sea of Azov while more appeared to be en route. One photo alone showed the missile cruiser Moskva, the destroyer Priazovye, and the reconnaissance ship Panteleyev of the Mediterranean Fleet moving through the Turkish Straits into the Black Sea.

“How about HUMINT?” Ryan asked, dropping the photos and looking directly at Foley.

“Boots on the ground suggest the same scenario that Bob does. Mercenaries loyal to Russia—”

“Spetsnaz troops out of uniform, dressed as little green men,” Burgess said.

“Yep,” Foley said, giving the SecDef a side eye for the interruption. “Anyway, these mercenary little green men will likely start moving west and north, taking over radio and police stations until these installations can be ‘liberated’ by Russian troops. Yermilov’s peacekeepers can come in and protect the populace — and, if they are so inclined, see to rigged elections that would certainly show the lion’s share of the population wishes they could run back into the loving arms of Mother Russia. Odesa Station hasn’t seen any movement yet, but they’re hearing plenty of chatter.”

“Mr. President,” Burgess said. “Yermilov believes we are too distracted to intervene. It is not out of the realm of possibility that Russian troops will roll through Kiev by week’s end. These videos, Internet bots, it all points to Yermilov.”

“I’m not a big believer in coincidences,” Ryan said. “I can’t shake the thought that the meeting between Elizaveta Bobkova and the Iranian protest leader has something to do with this.” He looked at Foley again. “Mary Pat?”

“Nothing new yet, Mr. President,” she said. “But feelers are out and hooks are baited.”

“I recommend a show of force,” Burgess said. “Before Yermilov is entrenched.”

Ryan nodded. “It may come to that,” he said. “Where do we stand in Cameroon?”

Burgess looked at his watch. “Eighty personnel from Task Force Darby traveled down by truck last night from the north. The Cameroonian rapid response troops are naturally worried about their own necks. They stayed behind at Garoua so they won’t have to make a decision about who to support in the event of hostilities.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “I imagine Njaya will see that in and of itself as a decision.”

“I’m sure of it,” Foley said. “Considering his record.”

Ryan looked at the notepad on his desk. It was important to give people involved in this kind of incident a name. “And how about Mrs. Porter?”