Well hidden in the thick forest of spruce, fir and beech trees, Rabinovich watched the snow explode as O’Connor’s Apache aircraft laid down a thick suppressive carpet of cannon and rockets before one of the Black Hawks touched down. O’Connor and his SEALs were out in an instant and just as quickly they gained the cover of the forest. As expected, O’Connor propped, and a clearing patrol swept the area, coming close to Rabinovich’s position. But not close enough, she thought triumphantly. She watched as a SEAL took up a position as an early warning sentry. He’s good, she thought, as the sentry camouflaged his position. Had they not observed him, he would now be almost impossible to spot.
‘Take him from behind, Annikov,’ she ordered, ‘but I want him alive, as a hostage.’
Rabinovich watched and waited while her superbly trained Spetsnaz operative worked his way silently and stealthily through the forest to come up behind the SEAL who was concentrating on the snow-covered forest to his front. Further down the steep ravine, O’Connor was conferring with Chief Kennedy in the tree line, a short distance from where Bartók was being guarded.
‘I don’t like it, Chief. Why would they leave Bartók with just one Spetsnaz behind that craggy outcrop?’
‘I agree. I counted four Spetsnaz plus Rabinovich, Dragunov and Bartók. So where are the others? Unless they’re leaving Bartók to distract us while they get away – because I’m betting he no longer has the thumb drive.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ O’Connor muttered, and he fired a burst from his carbine. The bullets thwacked and whined as they ricocheted off the granite above the Russian position.
‘Well, I’ll be . . .’ muttered Chief Kennedy.
From his position behind the rocks, the Spetsnaz operative was waving a white flag.
‘A trap,’ suggested Estrada.
‘Possibly,’ agreed O’Connor, ‘but we’re running out of options if Rabinovich has the thumb drive. We’ll work our way forward one group at a time. Cover us.’ O’Connor, accompanied by Estrada, made a dash for the next spruce tree and then he signalled Chief Kennedy and the remainder to leapfrog into another firing position. Slowly but surely they reached within 50 metres of the Russian position.
‘Come out with your hands up, both of you!’ O’Connor ordered in fluent Russian.
The Russian appeared first, followed by a white-faced Bartók. They approached slowly through the snow toward O’Connor’s position.
‘That’s far enough!’ O’Connor ordered. ‘Estrada, search them. We’ll cover you.’
A short while later Estrada gave the thumbs up. ‘They’re clean,’ he declared.
O’Connor shoved the muzzle of his carbine into the Russian’s chest. ‘Where are the others?’ he demanded.
The Russian shook his head.
O’Connor fired a burst beside the Russian’s feet. ‘Where are they?’
‘We’re here.’ Rabinovich’s voice had a surreal touch to it as her response carried across the snow from her position above the rocky outcrop. She appeared from behind a large spruce tree, holding a pistol to the head of O’Connor’s sentry.
‘Drop your weapons. All of you,’ she commanded, ‘or you will have one less member on your team.’ Rabinovich was banking on O’Connor putting his men first, and her instincts were accurate.
‘Do as she says,’ he ordered.
‘Now move away from your weapons, all of you, up against the rocks!’
‘I think it is what our esteemed world champions Boris Spassky and Garry Kasparov would term “checkmate”,’ said Rabinovich, allowing herself a triumphant smile.
‘No, it isn’t.’ In a single movement, General Dragunov took one step from behind Rabinovich and put his pistol to her head. ‘Drop your weapons all of you – now!’ he ordered the four astonished Spetsnaz soldiers. ‘Drop them!’ he ordered again, more harshly now as Rabinovich hesitated. ‘You are no doubt aware, Agent O’Connor, of my request for asylum in the United States.’
O’Connor nodded. ‘Yes, we are, General, but only if we get the thumb drive,’ O’Connor replied, recovering his carbine. Chief Petty Officer Kennedy, Estrada and the rest of O’Connor’s SEALs were quick to do the same.
‘Hand it over, General Rabinovich,’ Dragunov snarled.
Rabinovich, a shocked look on her face again, hesitated.
‘You have a choice. You can either hand it over, or I will kill you and we will have it anyway.’
Rabinovich, her look of shock replaced by a murderous scowl reached into her pocket and handed O’Connor the priceless data.
‘You have been a very worthy opponent, ma’am,’ said O’Connor, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. ‘Indeed, one of the best, which is more than I can say for your commander.’ O’Connor pivoted and rammed his knee into Dragunov’s groin. The general doubled over and O’Connor cracked him on the back of the neck and Dragunov fell unconscious into the snow.
‘You see,’ O’Connor said, turning back to Rabinovich, whose countenance had changed again to one of stunned surprise, ‘your general was very fond of little boys, and he’s not the type we want in our country, and I doubt President Petrov will want him back in yours.’
Minutes later, both Black Hawks landed and the two gleaming yellow warheads were loaded.
‘We may meet again, General Rabinovich,’ said O’Connor as he and Chief Kennedy prepared to board their aircraft. ‘Once we’re clear of here, we’ll let your people know where you are through the back channels in our embassy. All prisoners have to be treated well,’ he said, winking at her. ‘It’s in the Geneva Convention.’
Rabinovich shook her head. There had always been something very different about this CIA agent.
‘Good to see you’re still in one piece, sir. This is becoming a habit.’ O’Connor’s pilot was grinning broadly as they powered below the soaring mountains on either side of the steep valleys.
‘Not one I want to keep,’ was O’Connor’s wry response.
‘You’ll be interested to know that the Senate voted 69 to 31 to confirm Travers’s mental impairment. The Speaker and the President pro tempore actually went down to the White House to deliver Travers the news. DEFCON One’s been cancelled and we’ll shortly have a new president.’
O’Connor gave the pilots a thumbs up. ‘Excellent!’
‘And Tom McNamara said to say hi and that he might even grant some leave.’
O’Connor rolled his eyes.
McNamara, O’Connor and Murray all stood as the acting president and president-elect, Ellison McCarthy, came down to the Situation Room for a special presentation, prior to McCarthy’s official swearing in. That was to take place later in the day in the Blue Room on the first floor of the White House residence.
McCarthy strode up to O’Connor, hand outstretched. ‘Agent O’Connor, your country owes you a great deal. Congratulations. An outstanding effort.’ The acting president turned and shook hands with McNamara and Murray. ‘And we owe you both a debt as well,’ said McCarthy. ‘Tom, thank you for your oversight. As usual, a very professional job. I’m very grateful, and to you, Barbara,’ he added, turning to Murray, ‘you must have spent many long hours driving those computers down in Utah, even if they’re quick – not sure of the petaflops or whatever you call them?’
‘A hundred thousand trillion calculations a second, Mr Acting President,’ Murray said with a smile. This president was going to be so different, she thought. Like Admiral Chandler, he cared and that made all the effort seem worth it.
‘Well, however quick they might be, there’s still a lot of hours in deciphering it all, and we’re in your debt as well. Now, I’m told you have something for me, Agent O’Connor?’
‘It’s quite small, Mr Acting President, but extremely powerful,’ said O’Connor and he handed McCarthy the thumb drive.
‘Again, we’re very grateful. Arguably the most closely held research in the world today, and as usual the nuclear field has both a light and a dark side. But as long as I’m president, we’ll be concentr
ating on the light side. When all this is done and dusted, I’ll be sitting down with President Petrov to see if we can halt this arms race that threatens to once again get out of control. Once the clean-up in New York is settled, I’m scheduled to visit Los Alamos where I’ll be briefed on Bartók’s findings, but in the meantime, I’d like the potted version – I’m told you can speak this language, O’Connor?’
‘I have a doctorate in viruses and biological weapons, Mr Acting President, but I do speak the language, so I’ll give it my best shot,’ said O’Connor, firing up one of the screens on the Situation Room whisper walls.
‘As you’re aware, Mr Acting President, fission involves splitting the atom with neutrons, which releases vast amounts of energy, first demonstrated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Fusion, rather than splitting atoms, involves the fusing together of different types or isotopes of hydrogen – deuterium and tritium – to produce helium and far greater amounts of energy than fission, and this is what powers the sun.’ McCarthy listened intently as O’Connor outlined the nuclear physics behind the search for a solution to the world’s insatiable demand for energy.
‘For years,’ O’Connor continued, ‘scientists have been trying to harness the vast power of fusion for peaceful purposes in the production of energy. Because of the temperatures involved, so far it’s been without success, but Bartók, using the power of lasers, has made a staggering breakthrough.’ O’Connor threw up another slide of the laser bays at Los Alamos which held the 200 laser beams, each more energetic than any other known laser. ‘As these beams travel back and forth along the beam tubes, they gain in power. Bartók has then aimed them at the isotopes of hydrogen, known as DT or deuterium tritium fuel, with astonishing results. He has been able to generate twice as much energy as he’s used to trigger the reaction. And that’s what makes this such an extraordinary development, Mr Acting President. Nuclear reactors are currently powered by nuclear fission reactions, which, as we’ve seen at Chernobyl and Fukushima, if subjected to unforeseen events, can produce disastrous results.
‘One of the outstanding features of Bartók’s breakthrough – and there are many, Mr Acting President – is that fusion reactors are much, much safer. Firstly, compared to fission reactors, the quantity of fuel required is minuscule. There is no heat from fusion product decay, so accidents like the core meltdowns at Chernobyl, Fukushima and our own Three Mile Island can’t happen. But perhaps best of all, Mr Acting President, it produces a tiny fraction of the radioactive waste involved with fission reactors, so there are no storage problems and even more importantly, nothing that can be used for nuclear weapons.’
The acting president let out a low whistle. ‘No wonder this thumb drive has been so hotly contested,’ he said, holding it up. ‘Am I right in assuming Bartók’s success will lead to fossil fuels for power generation becoming obsolete?’
‘Coal and gas-fired power stations will shortly be a thing of the past, Mr Acting President, and ultimately, we’re talking petawatts of power – a cousin of the petaflop,’ O’Connor added with a grin. ‘One billion million watts of power.’
‘I’d best not lose this then!’ the president-elect said, putting the thumb drive in his pocket. ‘I would like you all to be my special guests at this afternoon’s swearing in ceremony in the Blue Room, and after that,’ McCarthy said, giving McNamara a knowing look, ‘I’d like to see you all in the Oval Office.’
The Blue Room on the first floor of the White House residence was oval in shape. The preference for oval rooms in the White House went back to the time of George Washington and the oval rooms at his home in Philadelphia, designed so he could stand in the centre of the room. To George Washington’s way of thinking, when he was standing in the centre of an oval room, no one could be in a corner. Everyone was more or less at an equal distance from the president. It was, for Washington, a symbol of democracy.
In a first for each of them, McNamara, O’Connor and Murray assembled with selected members of the old administration and their wives. Barbara Murray glanced around the elegant French Empire furnishings – gilded beech chairs which dated back to the time of President James Monroe, a blue velvet carpet, the drapes a sapphire blue, complemented by gold wallpaper. Through the French windows, Murray could see past the portico and down onto the south lawn. The hubbub of conversation in the room died as first the Chief Justice entered the room, followed by Ellison McCarthy and his family.
McCarthy placed his left hand on the old family bible held by his wife, Melissa. The distinguished, avuncular vice-president, who had navigated his country safely through the shoals of the Travers presidency, stood beside the Stars and Stripes, beneath his favoured portrait of George Washington. The Chief Justice, robed in black, had McCarthy repeat the oath.
‘Please raise your right hand and repeat after me, I, Ellison James McCarthy, do solemnly swear . . . that I will faithfully execute . . . the Office of President of the United States . . . and will to the best of my ability . . . preserve, protect and defend . . . the Constitution of the United States . . . so help me God.’
The Chief Justice shook the new president by the hand. ‘Congratulations, Mr President.’
‘Thank you, Mr Chief Justice, thank you very much.’
Melissa gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. ‘Congratulations, sweetheart. We’re with you all the way,’ she whispered, wiping away a tear. McCarthy gave his daughter and his son a hug. He had always drawn great support from both his Christian faith, and from his family, and it showed. The small gathering in the room applauded until President McCarthy, smiling, held up his hand.
‘Thank you, thank you all so much. Your support means a great deal to me.’ The president paused until the emotion of the moment passed. ‘This has not been an easy time,’ he continued. The swearing in was being beamed live, and McCarthy was very conscious he had to pull a divided nation together. ‘And let me say at the outset, although it did not end the way he would have wished, we wish the former President Travers a speedy recovery. But in the wake of the events of the past year or so, we now have to get back to work, shoulder to shoulder with the people who, by their very nature, have made this country one of the best places to live in, to work in, and to play.’
O’Connor listened with interest to McCarthy’s speech, as he reached out to Americans from all walks of life: white Americans and black Americans, Native, Asian and Hawaiian Americans, Latinos and Hispanics, Christians, Muslims and those of no religion, married and single, gays and heterosexuals, workers from the rust belt states of Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin and artists from San Francisco – the new president addressed them all. He did not, O’Connor noticed, give them any false hope, nor did he put other countries offside by claiming that America was the greatest country on earth – it was simply one of the best. This new president, O’Connor thought, offered a new start for the nation and the world.
McNamara, O’Connor and Murray had been told that the president would shortly join them in the Oval Office.
‘I’ve just heard from our chief of station in Moscow,’ said McNamara, as they waited in the small adjacent secretary’s office. ‘Dragunov has been sent to Krasnoyarsk where he’s likely to spend the rest of his life.’
‘If the Siberian inmates don’t get him first,’ muttered O’Connor.
‘Precisely. Rabinovich, on the other hand, has been forgiven and is even closer to the president. The Kremlin’s PR machine has rewritten the story at Moscow University and she’s firmly ensconced in the Kremlin inner circle . . . when she’s not at his dacha on the Black Sea,’ the US spy chief added knowingly.
‘And Bartók?’ asked Murray, more than a little intrigued about the fate of a man she had spent so many hours tracking.
‘The American equivalent to Siberia,’ said McNamara. ‘He’s lucky not to get the death penalty for treason, but I gather our new president is not in favour of it, so Bartók’s due to join Timothy McVeigh and 500 others down in Florence, Colorado for a very long spell
.’
‘The Alcatraz of the Rockies,’ observed O’Connor.
‘I understand we don’t make a big deal of these things, hence this very exclusive gathering,’ President McCarthy said after McNamara, Murray and the new Chief of Staff had assembled in the Oval Office. McCarthy paused, and he looked around the famous room. The only other people present were the president’s family, his trusted long-serving secretary and equally trusted Marine Corps aide-de-camp, who was standing to one side holding level a blue velvet cushion. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘in this new era, we are going to abide by tradition.’
McNamara, to his great delight, had kept O’Connor totally in the dark. For his part, O’Connor also looked around, not sure as to what was going to happen next.
‘Agent O’Connor, step forward please,’ the president said, as he motioned to his aide. ‘I am almost of a mind to begin this wonderful moment with “not you again, Agent O’Connor”.’ The president’s avuncular smile was broader than ever. ‘The Distinguished Intelligence Cross is the highest award to be bestowed by the Central Intelligence Agency and the equivalent of the Military’s Medal of Honor, but I’m advised that no agent in the history of the agency has ever earned this award three times.’ The president nodded to his aide who stepped forward.
President McCarthy lifted the cross and hung the medal and the blue ribbon over O’Connor’s head.
‘Congratulations, Agent O’Connor,’ the president said, shaking him by the hand. ‘The nation is truly grateful, even if we can’t make this as public as I would like.’ The president turned to McNamara. ‘But you can let the new director know, when I get around to appointing him or her, that I would very much like to address the CIA staff – as many as you can fit into that famous foyer of yours.’ The foyer of the main entrance at Langley with the CIA seal embedded in the black-and-white marble had featured in any number of movies, but behind the Hollywood, the seal encompassed a serious message to the world. The bald eagle, the national bird of the United States, sat on top of the shield, signifying strength and alertness. The compass on the shield had 16 points, representing the CIA’s relentless search for intelligence throughout the world, and the shield itself was the symbol for defense. ‘There are so many in the CIA who have given their lives, 87, I think, that it’s about time I stood in front of that wall of honour with 87 stars and recognised their selfless devotion to duty.’
The Russian Affair Page 37