Black Ghosts

CHAPTER 19

“Okay, Richy, let’s hear it,” President Bradshawe said to his old friend.

“Well, Jim, I must say I feel much better about the situation in Russia than I did before.”

“And what, may I ask, brought about this new perspective?”

“These,” said Townes, placing a folder on the president’s desk. The two men were alone in the Oval Office, a tray of coffee and Danish on the table between them.

“What’s in there?”

“Satellite photos of Western Russia. And a series of shots of Moscow. I wanted to bring them over myself the moment they came in.”

“What’s in them that we didn’t know before?”

“I wasn’t sure whether Konyigin could get the army to do what he wants. He said he was going to take special precautions before the summit and… well, we both know the man’s a pathological liar — he’d say anything to get his way. But this time I believe he came through.” Townes leaned over the desk and opened the file. “Look,” he said, pointing to red markings on the glossy satellite photos. “I had the analysts mark them. You can see. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the army was taking over. But the boys over at Langley said they have read communiqués coming out of the Kremlin, positioning every single unit to where it’s deployed.”

“I guess the terrorist activity really lit a fire under Konyigin. The bastard obviously knows how to get things done when he wants to.” The president was satisfied. “So I take it you’re no longer opposed to this trip?”

“I’d still prefer if he was coming here, Jim. But under the circumstances, I guess we’re going to Moscow.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, Richy. There was no way this trip was going to be canceled, but having you onside means a lot to me.”

After a brief internal battle with himself, the president took another pastry from the tray. He bit into it, depositing a small amount of strawberry jelly in the corner of his mouth.

“Who else is coming along?” Townes asked, returning the photos to the file.

“Everybody, I guess. You know how that is, Richy. If you’re in Washington during a summit, it means you’re out of the loop.”

“Are we bringing any civilians along?”

“Sure, we’ll have some business people, make it look like whatever we’ll be giving the Russians is from private pockets. Besides, we need to let the metal-eaters have first pick at the Russian market — after all, they’re the ones who lost the most out of this peace. If they have to shoulder the so-called peace dividend, we should at least let them plunder the other side’s natural resources.”

“So I take it Hubert Austin and his associates will be along.”

“Don’t forget I owe him.”

“How come?”

“He’s my biggest contributor. If it wasn’t for him and some of his friends, I don’t think I would have made it to New Hampshire, never mind the White House.”

“I don’t like him. He gives me the willies.”

“Well, Richy, as long as he keeps giving me the dough, you will learn to like him.”

“Are we going to stop in London?”

“I guess we have to,” said the president. “A courtesy visit, if nothing else. Not that the Brits have been very courteous to us lately.”

“Why bother, then?”

“Habit, I guess.” The president shrugged philosophically. “If they want to kid themselves they are an important part of the new world order, we have nothing to lose by humoring them.”

He reached into his pocket for the tube of Rolaids. “By the way,” he said, washing down the tablets with the last of his coffee, “any more developments on our special project?”

Townes’ face darkened. “I was getting to that. Jim, things have turned out rather badly, I’m afraid. The person we had on the job screwed up. I don’t know how, exactly, but we’ve lost contact with him. It could be that he himself is one of the Patriots.”

President Bradshawe’s face wore an angry frown. “Richy, I told you we needed your best people on this. I was counting on you. What the hell went wrong?”

Townes shifted in his seat, embarrassed. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out, don’t you worry. As soon as we’ve finished dealing with the Russians, I can promise you that the Patriot problem will be solved once and for all.”

“The London stop is no problem,” James Fenton, the head of the president’s Secret Service detail, said to Terry Kay, the president’s personal secretary. “It’ll be the usual routine. Hourglass lands at Heathrow, from there to No. 10, then Chequers for the night. Then Heathrow first thing. That should put us out of there by 8 a.m.”

“So we land in Moscow when?”

Fenton leafed through his papers. “Around eleven. That gives us about an hour to get to the Kremlin for the official reception at twelve noon.”

“What’s that in New York time?”

“Ah, 4 a.m., I believe.”

“So no live news coverage. Too bad.” Kay’s mouth turned downward.

Fenton was still less happy about the situation. All intelligence reports stated that terrorist activity in Russia had been quelled, and that Moscow itself was heavily fortified with Russian troops and mechanized divisions. Still, he had worked for too long in the shadow of the Cold War to feel comfortable about large concentrations of Russian troops, even if they were allies now and there to defend his president.

Fenton had requested that a company of U.S. Marines be allowed to take positions around Sheremetyevo Airport. But the Russians had balked at that. They said they were perfectly capable of assuring the security of the president and his entourage, and that the presence of American soldiers on Russian soil would not only be completely unnecessary, but also a veiled insult to Russia, implying that Russian soldiers were too weak to do the job properly themselves.

Fenton had to admit they had a point. He couldn’t imagine a company of Russian soldiers, except perhaps a ceremonial guard of honor or military band, being allowed to goose-step their way across the tarmac of Dulles International Airport. So why should the Russians allow GIs into Sheremetyevo? Still, he would have felt much better if those Marines could be there, instead of Russian troops.

Leaving these difficulties aside, things could have been worse. The Moscow detail of the Secret Service, working out of the U.S. Embassy, reported that they were getting full cooperation from the Russian military and special security forces, which was something, at least. And Fenton had ensured that the itinerary and schedule were cast iron and watertight.

“We’ll have four identical limos backed up to where the president comes out of the plane,” he explained to Kay. “There’ll be a minimal reception at the airport — the Russian foreign minister, a couple of other dignitaries, that’s all. A very quick handshake, no fanfare, and then into the limo. I personally will decide which limo he gets into as we land. We go straight to the Kremlin. The Russian security people have explained that they will have the Kremlin guarded by a crack airborne elite corps, which will be put in place shortly before we land. I tell you, I’m not going to feel safe until we have the president safely inside the Kremlin, with President Konyigin.”

“So our media people are where?” said Kay. In a normal operation of this kind, the president and his immediate entourage would travel in Air Force One, followed or preceded by a second identical plane, in which media people and other logistical and support crews would travel. On occasions there would be a Galaxy transport plane that would bring the president’s limousine along. However, Kay was beginning to understand that this was not a normal operation.

“They’ll be sent in ahead of time,” said Fenton. “To the Kremlin. That’s where the big photo-op will be. There’ll be a few people at the airport, mostly just taping the arrival. I don’t want a lot of media jerks hanging around there.”