Command Authority

18

The entourage surrounding the President of the United States arrived in the intensive-care unit of George Washington University Hospital shortly before ten p.m. The press had staked out the main entrances, but there was a loading dock on 22nd Street that had been cordoned off, and the President had arrived in a green Chevy Suburban in the middle of several clandestine Secret Service vehicles and pulled right up to the door, ensuring the press completely missed the low-key arrival.

The White House radiation story had been all over the news. There was talk around the White House of keeping a lid on the polonium angle, just releasing the news that Golovko had been poisoned, coincidentally while he was visiting the White House, and not mentioning that the poison had been, in fact, a radioactive isotope. But ultimately, reason prevailed. Any frenzy prevented by keeping this news from the public would last only until the truth came out, and the truth would come out at a time of its own choosing. They decided to reveal the full story about the event immediately, keeping only some details about Golovko’s condition under wraps for the sake of his own privacy.

Sergey had no close living relatives; in the ICU waiting room Ryan was introduced to members of Golovko’s traveling entourage: a publicist, a travel coordinator, and a British security officer.

Jack looked around for others, but that was it. After Sergey’s long life serving the Soviet Union and Russia, most of his home nation seemed to have turned its back on him or forgotten about him.

After conferring with the doctors about the dos and don’ts of visiting a man in Golovko’s condition, Ryan and his Secret Service detail continued up the hall toward Sergey’s room. Jack’s principal protection agent was by his side, and she had reservations about tonight, but she did not air them. Andrea Price-O’Day knew when to speak up to SWORDSMAN, and she knew when to let it go. Although she would very much prefer to be in the room with Ryan and Golovko, she knew Ryan would not allow it. Instead, she went into the hospital room with two other agents, swept the small space quickly and silently while Golovko lay still like a cadaver on the bed, and then stepped back into the hallway. She would keep a line of sight on POTUS through a window, but he would otherwise be alone in the room with the stricken patient.

Jack entered the room alone, and he was immediately taken by both how small the room was and how completely full it was of medical equipment. In the center of all the machines, Sergey seemed small and pale. The Russian was tubed and wired, and his skin was pierced with IVs. A large pillow held his head up; Ryan had been told by the doctors that the man’s neck muscles were too weak for him to lift his head.

His eyes were sunken and rimmed with gray, and his hair was noticeably thinner than it had been just the day before. Ryan saw loose hair on the pillow around his head. An EKG machine behind the bed beeped slowly in time with the Russian’s resting heart rate.

Jack thought the man was asleep, but his eyes flickered slowly, and then they opened. After a moment to focus, they locked on Ryan. Jack detected a weak smile, but only for a second, and then Golovko’s face went blank, almost as if the muscles tired from the effort.

“How are you feeling, Sergey Nikolayevich?”

“Better now, Ivan Emmetovich.” His voice was scratchy, but stronger than Ryan had anticipated, considering his terrible condition. He smiled weakly and switched to Russian. “Na miru i smert’ krasna.”

Jack had not practiced his Russian for a long time. He said it softly to himself. Then, “With company, even death loses its sting.” Jack did not know how to respond to this.

“This must be an awkward situation for you. Izvinitie.” Sergey’s brow furrowed; slowly he realized he had lapsed into Russian. He translated for himself: “I am sorry.”

Jack pulled the one chair in the room up close to the bed, and he sat down. “I’m just sorry this happened to you. Nothing else makes a damn bit of difference right now.”

Golovko looked off into space. He said, “Several years back, the Chinese government tried to kill me.”

“I remember, of course.”

“They failed, only by my good fortune, but they failed nonetheless. It breaks this old Russian’s hard heart to know my own government, my own country, has succeeded.”

Jack wanted to tell him he wouldn’t die, that the doctors here would get him through this. But that would be a lie, and he owed Sergey more than that.

Instead, he said, “We will find out how this happened.”

Sergey coughed. “I shook a lot of hands in the past week. I drank a lot of tea, bottles of water. I ate a hot dog in Chicago.” He smiled a little, reminiscing. “Somewhere along my journey here in the United States—” He began coughing again. The fit lasted thirty seconds, and by then it seemed he had lost his train of thought.

Jack waited to make sure Sergey was finished, and then he said, “I know you are weak and tired. But there have been two other events. I almost don’t want to tell you about them, but you may be able to help me with some advice.”

Golovko’s eyes seemed to sharpen a little. Jack could tell he was glad for the chance to help in any way.

Ryan said, “Stanislav Biryukov was killed by a bomb in Moscow last night.”

Jack was surprised by Golovko’s reaction, or the lack of one. He said, “That was just a matter of time. He was a good man. Not a great man. A good man. He wasn’t one of Volodin’s inner circle. He needed to be replaced.”

“But why kill him? Couldn’t Volodin simply replace him with the stroke of a pen?”

“His death will benefit the Kremlin more. They will blame Ukraine or U.S. or NATO or one of their enemies.”

“They are blaming us. It has already begun.”

“And you will be blamed for this.” His papery white hand rose a few inches from the bed and made to wave around the room. It dropped back into the sheets almost instantly, but Jack understood. After a pause Sergey said, “You said there were two events.”

“Volodin went on New Russia TV and announced that FSB and SVR will form into one organization.”

Golovko’s eyes closed for a moment. Softly, he said, “Talanov?”

“Roman Talanov is now in charge of everything, yes.”

Sergey said, “Roman Talanov appeared from nowhere in the FSB. I have been with the state security services for all my adult life, yet I had never heard of the man until six years ago, when he was a police commissioner in Novosibirsk. I was director of the SVR, and I received word from my staff that this man, this police commissioner, was replacing the FSB director in the city. His promotion did not come through FSB channels. It was an order that came directly from the Kremlin.”

“Why?”

“That was my question at the time. I was told he had been GRU, military intelligence, and he was a favorite of the leaders in the Kremlin at the time. I could not understand how this was, seeing how he was just some ex — military intelligence officer no one knew who was chief of police in a town in Siberia.

“I found out later that Valeri Volodin, who was prime minister at the time, forced the FSB director in Novosibirsk out, and put Talanov in his place.”

Jack asked, “What did Talanov do at GRU?”

“I tried to find out myself. Just out of professional curiosity. I heard he was in Chechnya during the first war before he became police commissioner in Novosibirsk. But as to the question of what he did in Chechnya, and what he did before that, I received no answers.”

Ryan wasn’t sure what his own intelligence service had on Roman Talanov, but he was damn sure he would find out as soon as he left Golovko’s bedside.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?”

“It was an internal matter. For all my problems with the administration, there is some laundry that I did not want to air to the West. Nepotism is cancerous in our government. It always has been. We have a term for a benefactor who gives protection to someone as they make their way up the ranks. We call it a krisha, a ‘roof.’ Revealing the fact Talanov was handed a job in FSB he likely did not deserve was not so surprising. He has a krisha high in government. Maybe Volodin himself. Still, his lack of a background with GRU is very troubling.”

Jack just nodded. Considering all of Ryan’s other problems at the moment, the ancient history of the new leader of Russia’s combined intelligence service didn’t seem like that big a deal, but it clearly was important to Sergey Golovko.

The Russian said, “Find out who he is. What he was.”

“I will,” Jack promised.

Golovko looked impossibly tired now. Jack had planned on asking him if he wouldn’t mind talking to the FBI waiting outside, but at that moment he decided this man did not need the added intrusion. Jack was mad at himself for staying as long as he did.

He stood slowly, and Sergey’s eyes opened up quickly, like he’d forgotten Ryan was there.

Jack said, “Believe what I am about to say. This thing that has happened to you will make a positive difference. I’ll see to it. I can’t tell you how right now, but whatever comes out of what they did to you will make our nations stronger. I will use this against Volodin. It might not happen in days or weeks or even months, but you will win.”

“Ivan Emmetovich. You and I have been through much over the years.”

“Yes. Yes, we have.”

“We will not see each other again. I want to say you have done much good for the world. For our two countries.”

“As have you, Sergey.”

Golovko closed his eyes. “Could you ask the nurse to bring me another blanket? I don’t know how I can be both radioactive and cold, but it is so.”

“Of course.”

Jack stood, leaned over to shake the prostrate man’s hand, and realized he was sound asleep. He took Golovko’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. He’d been told by the doctors he would need to be decontaminated if he touched Golovko. Jack assumed it was their idea of a polite warning, cajoling him to keep his distance. He didn’t give a damn. They could scrub him down, but they weren’t going to prevent him from giving his old friend one last gesture of compassion.