"Oh, come on. You really expect me to believe that?"

  Before she could respond, the door flew open. General Stepanov strode into the room, his presence filling the space. Behind him were two soldiers with assault rifles.

  "What's going on here?" Stepanov said.

  Ivanov slammed the laptop closed, jumped to his feet, and saluted.

  "Sir, I am conducting an interrogation."

  "I can see that. Why is Colonel Volkova here?"

  "She is suspected of treason."

  She had to do something.

  "Sir," Anya said.

  "Yes, Colonel?"

  "This man has placed cameras in your apartment. Tell him to show you what he has on his computer."

  Stepanov's voice was dangerously calm.

  "Is that true, Ivanov?"

  "I can explain, sir."

  "I'm sure you can, Colonel. However, nothing you can say justifies placing surveillance in my private quarters."

  "Sir, she was looking through the drawers in your desk."

  "That's true, sir," Anya said. "I broke a nail. I was looking for something to fix it."

  "What else does he have on his computer?"

  She spoke to fuel Stepanov's anger.

  "He has everything, Yuri. The bedroom, the bath. He put cameras everywhere."

  "I see. Colonel Ivanov, give me your computer."

  "Sir, I must protest..."

  Stepanov always wore his pistol. Now he took it from the holster and pointed it at Ivanov.

  "Give me the computer."

  White-faced, Ivanov handed the laptop over.

  "Listen to me very carefully, Colonel," Stepanov said. "You will have every recording and video made in my apartment on my desk within one hour. You will remove all surveillance equipment immediately. Today. Now. If you try to fuck with me on this, you will wish you had never been born. Do you understand?"

  "Sir, I..."

  Stepanov leaned close and placed the barrel of the pistol against Ivanov's forehead. His voice was very quiet.

  "Do you understand? Yes or no?"

  "Yes, General."

  "On my desk. All of it. In one hour."

  "Yes, General."

  "Then we're done here."

  He holstered the pistol.

  "Colonel Volkova. You may ride with me back to the Ministry."

  "Yes, sir."

  Stepanov was silent as they left the building. The soldiers climbed into their vehicle and drove off. Stepanov's driver held the rear door open while Anya and Stepanov got into the car. Once they were moving, Stepanov raised the window between the rear compartment and the driver. He poured himself a vodka. He did not offer one to Anya.

  "What were you really looking for?" he said.

  "I told the truth, Yuri. I wanted to fix my nail. I thought I might find something in your desk."

  "I want to believe that."

  "What else would I be looking for? This is Major Petrov's fault. He desires me, but I loathe him. He knows it. I think he convinced Ivanov to follow me and put cameras in your apartment. I ran into an old professor of mine in the chess park. I hadn't seen him for years. Ivanov says he's a dissident, but I didn't know that. They have built that up into treason."

  Stepanov looked at her.

  "Mmm. Well, these things happen. Forgive me, my dear, I should've offered you a drink. That was most stressful for you."

  Stepanov poured a vodka and handed it to her. She threw it back in one gulp.

  "Yuri, he was going to arrest me."

  "I have enemies, Anya. They would like to create a scandal around me. It's possible that is what is behind this. I am only sorry you have been caught up in it."

  "I don't think Ivanov will let it go," Anya said.

  "Don't worry about Colonel Ivanov," Stepanov said.

  His voice sent a chill down her back. She took his hand.

  "Thank you, Yuri."

  He watched her lean back against the leather seat.

  What were you doing, Anya?

  As First Deputy Minister of Defense, Stepanov received daily briefings from the intelligence services. Two days before, the briefing had contained an assessment that someone was passing sensitive military intelligence to the CIA. The assessment was deemed reliable, based on information obtained from a highly placed American source.

  He found it difficult to believe Colonel Volkova could be the traitor. What possible reason could she have to betray the Motherland? She had become a national figure. People were naming babies after her. She came from a family with a long and distinguished record of loyal service.

  Very few achieved her level of success, and the future promised more. Stepanov was planning to move her into a position of more responsibility, where she would wear a general's star. He had guaranteed her career. Why would she do anything to jeopardize that?

  She was a pleasant companion. He didn't think she was pretending to enjoy his company. She seemed natural in his presence. No, he couldn't believe she was a traitor. Looking in his desk must be nothing more than an innocent mistake.

  All the same, he decided to keep an eye on her. If it did turn out to be her, he would shoot her himself. With regret.

  Back at the Ministry, Anya ignored the covert looks as she walked across the work area to her office. Once inside, she closed the door and drew down the blind. She sat at her desk and began shaking. She took slow, deep breaths, until her body stilled and she regained her calm.

  She remembered the odd way Stepanov had looked at her in the car. Had he believed her story? She supposed he must have or she'd be sitting in a cell, waiting to be interrogated. Damn Ivanov, anyway. Damn him and his toady, Petrov. She imagined the two of them watching while Stepanov grunted over her, and felt a quick flush of anger.

  At least they weren't likely to be a problem from now on. Yuri would see to that. There were advantages to being associated with such a powerful man. As long as he was convinced of her loyalty, she was safe.

  At least for now.

  Chapter 59

  Thorne was on his secure phone with Jenna.

  "An escape plan?" she said.

  "Carlson wants us to figure something out."

  "We can't do that without knowing the specifics of her situation. There are too many factors involved. Where is she starting from? What's the urgency? Is she in immediate danger? You know what I mean."

  "We can make some assumptions," Thorne said. "We can assume she'll be starting from Moscow and that we wouldn't need to pull her out unless the situation was urgent. It's not too early to start thinking about this."

  "A lot would depend on whether or not the FSB is after her."

  "Assume the worst. She's blown, on the run, and they're looking for her."

  "That would close down all the easy routes," Jenna said. "She'd have to travel overland. The Russians don't mess around. They'd shut down everything, all at once. No planes or trains. No convenient flights to Helsinki or Vienna or Rome. No crossing the border in a car or bus. They'd set up checkpoints on the major highways."

  "There's something else," Thorne said. "I mentioned getting her out if things got bad. She said she wouldn't leave without her mother."

  "That's a nonstarter. It's already hard enough to get her out. How old is her mother?"

  "Pushing seventy. OPERA is worried about her, so her health is probably bad."

  "This keeps getting better and better. You'd have to convince her to leave her mother behind."

  "You haven't met OPERA. Take my word for it, she won't do it."

  "Then she's not getting out."

  "Let's pretend I can change her mind. Where would she go?"

  "The Ukraine? From there she could get to Poland."

  "The border is militarized. She'd need an ironclad reason for them to let her through. It's not a good choice. Besides, how would you have her get to Poland? Ukraine is bigger than France. It would take time to get to the Polish border and they'd be looking for her. Finland is better. She could cross from St. Petersburg."

  "Finland is the obvious choice," Jenna said. "They'd expect that. Saint Petersburg would be tied up like a circus escape artist."

  "How about Estonia? She could take the ferry from Tallinn. The only other option would be a private boat across the Gulf of Finland."

  "Estonia is still under Russian influence, even if they're not ruled by Moscow anymore. Just because they joined NATO doesn't mean everyone there is our friend. FSB has agents there. Finland, too, even though they're neutral."

  "You're a real optimist, Jenna."

  "I'm being realistic."

  "This conversation tells me what I already know. I'd have to go get her, see her through."

  "I don't think Carlson will sign off on that."

  "I don't care what Carlson thinks. I'll do whatever it takes to get her out."

  She heard something in his voice.

  Shit. He's attracted to her. That's all I need, a damn Russian for competition.

  The first time she'd ended up in bed with Mike, it had been an impulse born of too many martinis and frustration caused by the stringent security demanded by her job. Getting involved with him wasn't something you could do halfway. It scared her. When she felt herself falling for him, she'd broken it off. Now it was a year later and she'd allowed herself to let him get close again. She was in deeper than she'd ever been.

  It had been great these last few weeks. She'd begun to think there might be a future to the relationship. And now he was mixed up with this Russian woman.

  Jenna had seen her picture. Anya Volkova had a kind of exotic beauty that stood out from the crowd. He was getting involved with her. She could feel it.

  Damn him.

  "I'm beginning to worry about you, Mike. It sounds like you're getting emotionally involved."

  "Of course I'm emotionally involved. We owe it to our assets to protect them. It's a moral contract."

  Sure it is.

  "I don't think Carlson sees it that way. Or Kramer either, for that matter. They're not going to sign off on you taking risks for OPERA."

  "She's put her life on the line because she wants to do the right thing. She trusts me. I have an obligation to her. Good intelligence still boils down to people. We have to back them up. If we don't, we might as well hand everything over to the computers."

  "I've never heard you say anything like that before," Jenna said.

  "It hasn't been necessary to say it before."

  "Mike, wait a second. Something's going on."

  He heard someone talking in the background. Jenna came back on the line.

  "I have to go. The Russians shot down one of our planes."

  "Shit."

  "We'll talk later."

  She hung up. Thorne set his phone down on the desk. What was Tarasov thinking? Didn't he realize his actions were pushing the world toward war? Maybe he didn't care. Maybe he'd already decided war was inevitable.

  If there was a war, what would happen to Anya?

  He couldn't do anything about Tarasov but if it became necessary, he'd do whatever it took to keep Anya safe. He didn't ask himself why he felt that way. He only knew he did.

  Chapter 60

  Admiral Stone sat on one of the couches in the Oval Office, making a conscious effort to sit still. When he was stressed and angry, he had a tendency to make erratic movements with his feet. He was stressed today. The Russians had shot down one of his boys. Lieutenant JG Terrel Williams had taken off from the USS Ronald Reagan on a routine surveillance mission off the Syrian coast. Yes, he'd strayed a couple of miles into Syrian airspace. Damn it, that was no reason to blow him out of the sky.

  Kaplan sat in his usual place on one of the couches, looking preoccupied. Secretary of Defense Arnold Dixon sat next to Kramer, across from Admiral Stone. Secretary of State Demarest sat next to him, polishing his glasses.

  Rebecca Kramer cast an occasional glance at Kaplan, waiting to see if he'd gotten the message to cooperate. When she'd learned an American plane had been shot down, she'd known Kaplan would try to convince the president that the best response was diplomacy and patience. Rebecca Kramer was done with diplomacy and patience. She was sick of appeasement. The Russians needed to know the time for games was past.

  The mandate of the CIA didn't include setting national policy, but that had never kept Langley's directors from doing whatever was necessary to make things go in the right direction. It was an article of faith at Langley that politicians couldn't be trusted to make the kinds of hard decisions needed to ensure America's safety. She regarded President Campbell as naïve when it came to Russia. He didn't understand Tarasov's hatred of America, but Kramer did. She'd studied the Russian president and his history.

  She didn't have the power to decide what the response would be to Russia's actions, but she was damned if she was going to let someone like Kaplan steer the president away from what had to be done. She'd had a plan ready for a moment like this.

  That morning, Kaplan had found a sealed manila envelope on his desk, addressed to him and marked eyes only. There was no postage on the envelope, or return address.

  When Kaplan looked at the contents, adrenaline shot through his body and froze him to his chair. An 8 X 10 photograph showed him naked in circumstances that would bring instant disgrace if it became public. A single sentence was typed under the picture.

  Don't advocate compromise or everyone sees this.

  If that picture got out, he was ruined. A minute later an aide had knocked on the door of his office.

  "What is it?"

  "Sir, the president wants you. There's been an incident in Syria."

  "On my way," Kaplan had said.

  He'd put the picture and envelope through the shredder before he left. Now he sat with the others in the Oval Office, wondering if he would still have his job tomorrow.

  Kaplan loved his job. He loved the trappings of power. As a senior advisor to the president, he had a lot of status in Washington. He got the best tables, the best invitations, the inside tips that had already made him a millionaire. He wasn't about to give all that up, not for anything.

  It was probably Kramer who had sent the picture, but he couldn't be certain. It didn't matter who'd sent it. He had no doubt the sender would follow through on the threat if he didn't do as he was told.

  General Kroger and Walter Covington came into the room.

  "I'm sorry we're late, Mister President. There was an accident. Traffic was backed up."

  "You're here now, that's what matters," Campbell said. "Let's get started."

  Kroger and Covington sat down on either side of Admiral Stone. As usual, Covington was perfectly dressed, the creases in his pants and brilliant shine on his shoes a civilian match to the military uniforms.

  "As you are all aware, this morning the Russians shot down one of our planes while it was conducting routine reconnaissance off the Syrian coast," Campbell said. "I need to decide on a response."

  "Mister President, Tarasov has gone too far," General Kroger said.

  "I agree, Mister President," Admiral Stone said. "Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder about Tarasov's mental state. His actions seem irrational to me. He's escalated the potential for conflict without any obvious advantage. I don't see what he hopes to gain by this. He's challenging us, and the world is watching. We must take firm action, and quickly."

  "The Russians deny responsibility," Campbell said. "They claim the Syrians shot the plane down after it violated Syrian airspace."

  "Excuse me, Mister President, but that's like saying the dog ate my homework," Kroger said. "It was an SS400 that took out our plane. The Russians maintain rigid control of those missiles. Everyone knows the Syrians aren't in charge."

  "Admiral, you said you don't see what Tarasov hopes to gain," Kramer said. "It may be a distraction."

  "What do you mean, Director?"

  "We have reliable intelligence indicating Tarasov and his generals are planning something big. We don't know the details, but our analysis is that they're planning a major response to the blockade. This incident with the plane could be an attempt to draw our attention away from something else they're doing. While we're watching their right hand, the left is doing something else."

  "You may be giving Tarasov too much credit," Demarest said.

  "It would be unwise to underestimate him," the Defense Secretary said.

  Arnold Dixon was almost the exact opposite of Demarest in looks and political philosophy. He was a big man who had played football at Auburn until an injury knocked him off the team during his junior year. It wasn't serious enough to cause permanent damage or to keep him out of the Army after graduation. He'd volunteered for the Rangers and served with distinction. The Russian bomb in Syria had killed American soldiers. Dixon took it personally.

  "The generals backed him in winning the presidency, but he's not a puppet. He's where he is because he agrees with the philosophy of the ultra-nationalists who currently make up the Russian general staff."

  He paused and sneezed into his elbow.

  "Sorry," he sniffed. "My allergies are acting up. Tarasov has spent the last few years modernizing the Russian military. His generals want to play with their new toys. We're seeing that in Syria. I'm worried about them, and I'm worried about this latest incident. General Kerensky sees us as the fascist enemy. So do Minister Fedorov and the rest. All of them have made public comments favoring confrontation with the West."

  "What are you saying, Arnie?" Demarest said.

  "It's possible they're getting ready to go to war. Our blockade may have pushed them to the brink."

  "That would be consistent with our intelligence," Kramer said. "Our Russian source told us exactly that."

  "You think they're planning a first strike?" Kroger said.

  "I certainly hope not, but it's possible. That would also be consistent with what our sources are telling us."

  "I wouldn't put anything past that madman," Stone said.

  "Harold," President Campbell said. "You've been unusually quiet. What do you think?"

  "I agree with General Kroger, Mister President. Tarasov has gone too far. We have to send a strong message to the Russians."