The Russian Deception

CHAPTER 31

Alexei Vysotsky brooded in his office on the fourth floor of SVR headquarters. Outside his windows, a postcard view of snow covered trees stretched toward the golden onion domes of the Kremlin in the distance. His newfound prestige as Director of Russia's vast foreign intelligence network gave him considerable satisfaction but something was nagging at him, an irritating needle that probed at his awareness. Something was wrong.

Things were moving too quickly. Orlov had lost no time in utilizing existing plans for military maneuvers as the basis for the real thing. Invasion was a huge gamble, with the potential to deteriorate into war with the Americans.

It wasn't that Alexei didn't want a resurgence of Russian power in Eastern Europe. On the contrary, he was convinced it was Russia's destiny to rule that part of the world. Eastern Europe had always been in the Russian sphere of influence and control.

Just the same, this rapid push to begin a new adventure bothered him. The military was only part way through a five year program of modernization. The new planes, the tanks and vehicles, the guns, all seemed good in tests and on paper. The fact remained that they were untested in battle. Besides, there were not yet enough of them to confront an enemy like America. That meant only one thing. In the event of an all out confrontation, Russia would have to rely on the Strategic Rocket Forces.

The war would go nuclear.

Vysotsky was a student of history. Russia's history had often demonstrated displays of ambition that overruled resource and reason, as Hitler and Napoleon had both discovered. Alexei was afraid that this time a Russian leader was stepping over the cliff.

Alexei closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair and took a few deep breaths. Sometimes, if he managed to let his busy mind get out of the way, insights and solutions to problems would work their way into his conscious awareness.

He felt himself drifting into a no man's land between sleep and wakefulness. Images began to flicker across his inner eye. Faces, fragments of scenes. The dacha on the Black Sea where he'd spent one happy summer as a child, before his father died. The face of an old lover.

Vysotsky smiled, thinking of her.

Kiril Golovkin, talking with Orlov. Golovkin's face filled his mind.

The image startled him back into abrupt wakefulness. Vysotsky's heart was pounding.

What did Golovkin have to do with this feeling that something was wrong?

Alexei opened the lower left-hand drawer of his desk and took out the bottle of vodka always kept there. He filled a water glass and put the bottle back in the drawer. He drank half the glass and relaxed as the glow of the alcohol filled his chest with warmth.

Alexei had known Golovkin for years and thought him a dangerous and devious man. He'd watched Golovkin's rise to power within the rival agency of the GRU. The Main Intelligence Directorate was much larger than Vysotsky's SVR but cursed with an unwieldy military bureaucracy that made it far less efficient. That was a legacy of the days when it had been the Second Intelligence Directorate under Leon Trotsky. In modern times it combined many of the functions performed by America's NSA, CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency. The result was bloated and cumbersome but the GRU was a force to be reckoned with.

Alexei sipped at his vodka. He was under no illusions about the rarefied atmosphere of power in which he now found himself. In the grouping of Orlov, Golovkin, Krupin, Kuznetsov and himself he was low man on the totem pole.

He considered the inner circle. Krupin was preoccupied with the responsibilities of his new promotion. Kuznetsov had the fires of war gleaming in his eyes and could see nothing but the possibility of military glory and a place in history. Orlov's motivation was easy to read, the exercise of power. He would invade because he could.

Alexei felt that nagging sensation again. Because he could. How had it all become possible so quickly?

He thought about Orlov's meteoric career. Vladimir Orlov had been an obscure deputy in the Duma, a member of a right-wing nationalist party that welcomed him after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. His KGB credentials had served him well with the party leaders. Over the next few years he'd gained control of the party and expanded its base. He was hand in glove with the oligarchs and they were glad to fund his rise. In return, he smoothed the path to government contracts and helped them fill their coffers.

Orlov had somehow arranged a massive infusion of foreign funds that had been used to accelerate the modernization of the military begun by Gorovsky. That was not generally known. Vysotsky had watched the process carefully in his previous position as a deputy director, looking for signs of corruption that went beyond the acceptable boundaries. Along with the nationalist block of votes that Orlov could bring with him, his ability to raise foreign capital had clinched the former president's selection of Orlov as his prime minister.

Voting in Russia for genuine candidates was something new, an uncomfortable experience for a populace used to elections that always produced approval for rigged slates of party hacks. Vysotsky was certain the election that had put Gorovsky in power would be the last with any semblance of legitimacy. Orlov would make certain of that.

Democratic elections were of little concern to Alexei. Russia had always needed strong leaders. Democracy was something foreign to the Russian way of life. But when a leader threatened the existence of the state through misguided policy, that was a different matter.

From a deputy in the Duma to Prime Minister of the Federation to his current role as president. All in a short time. And always, more than enough money to buy influence and votes. Foreign money.

How did Golovkin fit in? Vysotsky thought back on Orlov's rise to power. Golovkin had been there in the background from the beginning, when Orlov was just another reactionary voice lost in a chorus singing the praises of Glasnost.

Above all else, Alexei was a patriot. His love of the Motherland was no convenient posture but a fundamental truth of his existence. It took precedence over things like position or personal reward. Patriotism had helped him justify actions some would call criminal or evil. Whatever people might think was of no importance. What mattered was the survival of the nation. Alexei was not as complacent in his thinking about war as the others. He couldn't help thinking that Orlov was leading the Federation into a confrontation with the West that it might not win.

Golovkin had urged Orlov along the path to war, a war that could turn into a disaster. Perhaps he should take a closer look at him.

For a moment Alexei felt a twinge of unease. Why rock the boat? Why risk his newfound power and position? If Golovkin turned Orlov against him, the president could remove him as easily as swatting a fly.

The thought gave him no comfort.

Something was rotten, somewhere. Alexei was determined to find out what it was.

He looked at his empty glass and reached for the bottle.