"Shit! Where did that come from? Release countermeasures!"

  Yevgeny flipped a switch on the console. Clouds of metal chaff and powered decoys dropped out behind them.

  "They've got a lock!" Yevgeny said.

  The roar of the straining engines almost drowned out the screaming alarm as Alexei put the plane into a steep bank.

  "Still locked on," Yevgeny said. "Alexei..."

  The missile struck behind the left wing. The wing folded up and ripped away. The bomber plummeted toward the earth in a death spiral that ended in a burst of orange flame and roiling black smoke. The explosion when it hit was a small thing, compared to the devastation it had left behind.

  The world was one step closer to war.

  Chapter 51

  President Campbell leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. When he’d entered politics he'd been filled with youthful energy and well-intentioned illusions about creating meaningful change. Forty years later, the illusions were gone. In their place was the uncomfortable knowledge that his decisions had consequences he could not predict, with far-reaching effects on the lives of millions of people. It was not a part of the job he enjoyed.

  Sometimes he wished he’d chosen a different occupation. Today was one of those times.

  Sitting in the Oval Office were the people he relied on for advice, by choice or necessity. Seated on one of the couches flanking a rug with the presidential seal in the center of the room were General Kroger and DCI Kramer. National Security Advisor Covington and Harold Kaplan sat on the other.

  "General, what the hell happened? What was that weapon? Was it a nuke?"

  "No, sir. It was a thermobaric bomb. It's conventional. It produces an effect similar to a small nuclear weapon, but without the radiation. It decimated the Kurdish command structure and destroyed significant stockpiles of their weapons. An unknown number of Kurdish fighters are dead or missing. Resistance in the region is finished. The Russians have started mopping up."

  "Were any of our people there?"

  "Twenty-four of our advisors were killed."

  "I'm being crucified in the press," Campbell said. "The media is having a field day. Half of them want me to resign. The other half wants me to teach Moscow a lesson, whatever that means. This morning I received a call from President Tarasov. He was upset with me for giving the Kurds the missiles they used to shoot down his bomber."

  "That's too damn bad," Kroger said. "He doesn't have a leg to stand on. The use of that bomb is a war crime."

  "I'd be careful about pointing fingers, General," Kaplan said. "We used a thermobaric bomb in Afghanistan some years ago."

  "Don't give me that sanctimonious bullshit, Kaplan. It's not the same thing at all. The Taliban were cutting off the heads of our soldiers with a dull knife."

  "I'm not interested in revisiting the past, Harold," Campbell said. "I want ideas on how to respond to this atrocity. Who wants to start?"

  "We have to make it clear to Tarasov that he's crossed the line in a big way," Covington said. "He cannot be allowed to get away with this."

  "I agree," Kramer said. "You tried diplomacy, sir. It didn't work. It's time for something stronger. The only thing a thug like Tarasov understands is determination to stand up to him."

  "Determination backed up by sufficient force," Kroger said.

  "We've had this conversation before," Kaplan said. "If we provoke Tarasov it could lead to a larger conflict."

  "Why don't you grow a set of balls, Kaplan?" Kroger said. "Every time Tarasov says boo, you start looking over your shoulder for a place to hide. I've got news for you. You can't hide from someone like him. Stop thinking about the polls and start thinking about your country."

  "I resent that," Kaplan said. "How dare you accuse me of not caring about my country? It's people like you that always get us in trouble."

  "People like me? You mean military people? You don't like us much, do you Kaplan?"

  "Frankly, General, no I don't."

  "If it weren't for people like me and the men and women who serve in our military, you would not have the freedom to say something like that."

  "Enough," Campbell said. "Personal animosities will not resolve this problem."

  He looked at his National Security Advisor.

  "What do you think, Walt? Do you think a show of force will help Tarasov see reason?"

  "It's going to take more than a show, Mister President. Whatever we do, it has to have teeth in it. Otherwise Moscow will ignore us."

  "DCI Kramer?"

  "I agree with Walter and General Kroger. A show of force is needed. As Walter said, something with teeth."

  "Harold?"

  "I've already said what I think. I want to go on record that I believe a military response would be a mistake. However, I will support whatever you decide, Mister President."

  You'd better, Kramer thought.

  "General Kroger," Campbell said. "Tarasov needs to understand we are not going to let this go. He can't use weapons of mass destruction with impunity. I will not be intimidated. I've considered your suggestion regarding blockading the Dardanelles. You've discussed this at length with the other chiefs? Admiral Stone?"

  "Yes, sir. At length."

  "Their opinion?"

  "In our judgment, a blockade is the most effective way to send a message to the Russians without putting our troops in harm's way."

  "What do you think they'll do if we institute a blockade, General?"

  "They'll bluster, sir. They will probably go to the UN and accuse us of warmongering. But they're not going to do anything stupid. They might try to run the blockade with one of their warships. We've already discussed that possibility, sir."

  Campbell sighed. He had to do something. There weren't any risk-free options. He hated war and desired peace, but history had proved that bad things happened when leaders failed to backup the desire for peace with a sword.

  The man who sat in the Oval Office was the public face of the United States. If he allowed Tarasov to get away with dropping that damn bomb, it would convince him he could do whatever he wanted without fear of American retaliation.

  The Oval Office brought with it enormous responsibility, with many competing priorities. The biggest priority of all was the security of the United States. Tarasov had made it clear he was a threat to that security. Syria was a long way from America's borders, but what was happening there showed that the Russian bear was waking after a long slumber. Today it was Syria. Tomorrow, it would be somewhere else. Tarasov had to be stopped.

  Campbell made his decision.

  "Very well. Issue the orders to institute the blockade. I will talk with General Sevim. Those are Turkish waters. We'll need his cooperation."

  "It shouldn't be too difficult to get it, sir. He needs us."

  "How long will it take to move the fleet into position?"

  "Not long, sir. They are currently holding exercises west of Gibraltar."

  "I want tight security on this, General. Once word gets out, Congress will be making the usual noises about who has the authority to do what. The longer I can put that off, the better. I'll deal with the fallout when it becomes necessary."

  Kroger looked at the president with new respect.

  I wasn't certain he had it in him. About time we stood up to Moscow.

  "The fleet is a common sight in the Mediterranean. Their movements won't cause undue concern until it becomes evident we're setting up a blockade." He paused. "Mister President?"

  "Yes, General?"

  "I want to say, sir, that I'm glad it's you sitting in that chair."

  Campbell felt a flush of pleasure at Kroger's words.

  I'll be damned, I never expected that from him.

  "Thank you, General. Let's hope you can still say that a few months from now."

  Chapter 52

  Tarasov proclaimed a national holiday to celebrate the victory of Russian forces in Syria. The pages of Izvestia were filled with stories about the bravery and determination of Russian soldiers. The loss of the bomber and its crew was mourned as part of the cost to secure peace in the region. The paper said it had been shot down during a reconnaissance flight by an American missile. Anya knew the real story.

  Those poor men. What a horrible way to die.

  She hadn’t known the bomb was going to be dropped, or she would have tried to get word to Michael. She wished there was a way to sit down and talk with him. She wanted to...

  Sudden movement on the floor outside her office interrupted her thoughts. Anya looked out through her window at the workspace. People were leaving their cubicles, gathering in small groups, talking.

  Something's happened. What now?

  She was about to get up and find out what it was, when she saw Major Kirov hurrying across the floor. She waited for his knock on the door.

  "Come in, Major."

  Kirov saluted.

  "Colonel."

  "Spit it out, Pavel. What's happened?"

  "I tried calling, but something seems to be wrong with your phone."

  Anya realized the phone had not rung for a while. She'd been too busy to notice.

  Kirov continued. "The Americans have established a naval blockade in the Mediterranean, across the Dardanelles."

  "What? That's impossible. Why would they do that?"

  "I don't know why, Colonel. But I can assure you, they have done it. They are preventing our ships from going through the passage, in either direction."

  "They are stopping our ships? Our Navy?"

  “Only civilian vessels are permitted to pass, and only those coming from or headed to Turkish ports."

  Anya knew the men in charge of Russia's military might. She knew how they thought. They would never let the United States dictate to them. The American president was making a serious mistake. It would mean war.

  As if reading her mind, Major Kirov said, "The Americans are making a mistake."

  "Yes, they are, " Anya said. "Major, give everyone a few more minutes, then get them back to work. Tell Senior Sergeant Popov to have someone fix the phone."

  "Colonel."

  Kirov saluted and left the room. She watched him move across the floor, talking with people as he went. Soon everyone was back at work.

  A blockade. The Kremlin would respond. What would they do? What could they do, without starting a war? War would mean the end of everything. What was the matter with these people?

  Unless the Americans withdrew their ships, things would escalate. Then it wouldn't be long until the missiles began to fly.

  Stepanov would know what was being planned. She was having dinner with him tonight at Turandot, the most expensive restaurant in Moscow. He wanted to show her off, and Turandot was the place to do it. She’d never eaten there and was looking forward to it, even if it was with Stepanov.

  Later, they would go to his apartment. If she could get him to tell her what Tarasov was going to do about the blockade, she could pass it along to Michael. She was supposed to meet him in the park on Sunday. She wanted to find out something useful before then. Something to tell him.

  She thought about his eyes. He had beautiful eyes. How he'd looked at her when they were standing in front of the painting in the Cathedral. No one had ever looked at her like that. She'd felt it like a gentle touch, a tangible sensation that rippled through her. He'd felt something too, she knew it. She'd seen him react.

  Ever since Helsinki, he'd intruded on her thoughts. She'd be sitting at her desk, doing some mundane task, when she'd realize she'd been thinking about him. Daydreaming. Imagining being with him. Imagining what it would be like to go somewhere with him, someplace where they could be alone.

  Imagining what it would be like to make love with him.

  But he was American, the enemy, even if he was a temporary ally. It was impossible, she couldn't allow herself to love him. This couldn't be happening to her.

  Michael knew about Stepanov. Would he want her, knowing that? Was he the kind of man who would think of her as spoiled goods? Part of her mind told her she was a fool for thinking he could love her.

  She wished that part of her mind would shut up.

  Anya looked out her office window and forced herself to focus. What was she going to tell Michael when she met him? She wished she knew more about Tarasov. Maybe she could get Stepanov to talk about him.

  *****

  At that moment, Tarasov was in the secure room under the National Control Defense Center. The ranking officers of the armed services were arrayed around the long table, all of the men who controlled the military forces of the Federation. General Kerensky sat to Tarasov's right, Defense Minister Fedorov and General Stepanov to his left.

  Tarasov rapped sharply on the table to get their attention.

  "Let's begin," he said. "We must consider our response to the American provocation."

  Admiral Maksim Mikhailov, commander of the Northern Fleet, put up his hand.

  "Mister President, it is much more than a provocation. This blockade is an act of war. So was shooting down our aircraft."

  There were murmurs of agreement around the table. Mikhailov continued.

  "One of our frigates attempted to pass through their blockade. They told her captain that if he tried to force his way through, he would be fired upon. He requested instructions and was ordered to proceed and test their resolve. They fired a warning shot that narrowly missed his vessel. He was ordered to withdraw and wait for further instructions. Mister President, this is completely unacceptable."

  "I'm sure we all agree with you, Admiral," Tarasov said. "The question before us today is what are we going to do about it?"

  "What are they trying to achieve by this madness, Mister President?" Stepanov said. "Have you talked with their president?"

  "I have. This is about our operation in Syria. They want us to retreat back across the Euphrates and abandon our gains. They also want a public apology for the deaths of their soldiers."

  The room erupted with shouts.

  "Never!"

  "Fuck the Americans!"

  "They are the ones who must apologize!"

  Tarasov let it continue for a moment, then held up his hand. The room went silent.

  "We must discuss options. General Fedorov, what is your opinion?"

  "It seems to me our options are limited," Fedorov said. "Number one, we can comply with their demands, but that is not a viable choice."

  Nods of agreement.

  "Number two, we can negotiate with them."

  "There is nothing to negotiate."

  The voice belonged to General Pyotr Andropov, commander of the Russian Aerospace Forces. Andropov was in charge of Russia's nuclear missiles and airborne forces.

  "Negotiation is a sign of weakness," he said. "If we negotiate, we admit we were wrong. I will not support it."

  Andropov was one of President Tarasov's most influential backers. His opinion carried a lot of weight.

  "How many think we should negotiate?" Tarasov asked.

  Not a single hand was raised.

  "Comrades, we are united. We will not negotiate."

  Admiral Mikhailov raised his hand again.

  "Admiral."

  "This is an issue of respect," he said. "The Americans have never given us the respect we deserve, not even for our sacrifices during the Great Patriotic War. I do not believe their only purpose in setting up this blockade is to pressure us about Syria. They wish to humiliate us before the world, weaken us, interfere in our economy. They are keeping critical goods from reaching us. They are preventing our rightful use of an international waterway. I say again, this blockade is an act of war. We must treat it as such."

  The men sitting at the table stomped their feet on the floor in approval.

  Tarasov waited until the noise had died down.

  "I agree with your sentiments, Admiral. However, war is our last resort. We must try to avoid it if we can. At the same time, it would be prudent to prepare for the possibility. General Fedorov, raise our defense posture to the next level of readiness. That will let the Americans know they can expect consequences if they continue to dictate to us."

  "Yes, Mister President."

  "I will enlist the support of our allies. We'll take this to the Security Council at the UN. I will have our ambassador call an emergency session. The world must see that we cannot be bullied. We have many friends at the UN, they will support us if we make a diplomatic effort. Admiral Ivanov has stated the situation perfectly. Let us hope the Americans come to their senses before things get out of control. In the meantime, make preparations in case they do not. I want to see options by this time tomorrow."

  He looked around the table.

  "Are there any other comments before we adjourn?"

  There were none.

  Chapter 53

  Anya was tired after a stressful day at work. When she opened the door to the apartment, she smelled something burning. Yulia was asleep in one of the chairs in the living room, her mouth open, snoring. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the kitchen. Anya hurried into the room and saw a pot smoking on the stove. She turned off the burner and grabbed a towel, picked up the pot and put it under water. A cloud of steam hissed into the air. The bottom of the pot was charred black.

  Yulia called from the next room.

  "Anya, is that you?"

  Anya went back into the living room.

  "Mother, you left the burner on under some soup. The pot is ruined."

  "I did? I don't remember doing that."

  "You have to be more careful. It could have started a fire."

  "I'm hungry," Yulia said.

  "I'll fix you something, then I have to go out."

  "Where are you going?"

  "General Stepanov has invited me to dinner."

  "Anya, that's wonderful. He can do so much for your career. I don't remember, is he married?"

  "Yes, mother, he is. His wife is an invalid. He's only interested in me as a dinner companion."

  "That's too bad," Yulia said. "It would be nice if he were single."

  "I know what you're thinking, mother. He's not going to ask me to marry him, so get the idea out of your head."