“I’m here,” said CIA Director Bob McGee from his secure conference room at Langley.
“I’m here as well, Mr. President,” said Harvath over his encrypted connection back at the compound guesthouse in Brussels.
“Okay, let’s cut right to the chase,” stated Porter. “I reached out to the Italian Prime Minister. He’s willing to accept the family in question, but on two conditions. The first is that the Italians do not have to subsidize them. They will grant conditional citizenship for twenty-four months. Basically, as long as they keep their noses clean, they can stay.
“The second condition is that whatever intel the head of household provides, it absolutely has to have a link to outing the perpetrators of the Rome attack. How are we on both of those conditions?”
“Mr. President,” replied McGee, “as per financial support for the family in question, there is absolutely money in the budget for that. In fact, it would be our desire to make the funding contingent upon his continued cooperation. We would expect him to provide everything—every operation he has ever worked on, every contact he has ever had, every asset, every means of communication, names in the GRU, any military intelligence he may have, etcetera.”
“Understood,” said Porter. “What about the second condition?”
“Scot, do you want to take this one?” asked Ryan.
“Sure,” he replied. “Mr. President. From what the subject has told me, there is an absolutely straight-line connection to what happened in Rome. If we can get to the next rung on the ladder, we’ve got the Holy Grail. He has all of the names, dates, places—all of it. We’ll not only be able to tell the Italians we got one of the ultimate players, but we should also be in a position to furnish the identities of their own nationals who were involved.”
“And if we can deliver this intelligence to the Italians, then the same person in question should be able to tell us who was responsible in-country for all the other attacks, so that we can provide our other allies with that information as well.”
“That is correct. Yes, sir. But with one caveat.”
“What’s that?” asked Porter.
“Any response needs to be coordinated,” stated Ryan. “For instance, we can’t have the Italians launching their own campaign while the Norwegians carry out their own, separate reprisal. An attack on one member is an attack on all. The response from the alliance should demonstrate absolute unity.”
“This is also,” added McGee, “an opportunity to repair some of the rifts in the alliance. The bombings in Istanbul have killed nearly three hundred people so far. The Turks should be granted a lead role in planning and executing any response.”
“Agreed,” said the President. “I have been watching the footage. It is beyond horrific. They’re calling it Turkey’s 9/11. I’ve already called the President to express America’s condolences.”
“Absolutely the right thing to do,” stated Ryan, “but sir, if I may?
“Go ahead.”
“As someone who has operated in Turkey, and continues to pay attention to their politics, we need to make sure that even though the PRF has claimed credit, the Turkish President doesn’t somehow use this as an excuse for more political purges.”
“I completely concur,” Porter replied. “Right now, the Turks are the ones I’m most worried about. Things have gotten to the point, I’m afraid, where no matter what we say, if the Russians contradict it, they’ll take Moscow’s side. We are going to need absolutely watertight, overwhelming evidence to convince them of who was responsible.”
“And we will get it,” replied Harvath, “All we need to do is isolate that next rung on the ladder. That’s where it will be.”
“Understood. So what’s left? What do you need from me?”
“For the moment, sir,” said Ryan, “nothing. Director McGee will work on an extraction plan for the subject’s family, while we work on identifying the next rung, as Scot put it, and how to go after it.”
“And what’s our exposure on Sweden? Am I going to be getting an angry call at some point here from the Prime Minister?”
“I’ve already reached out to their intelligence director and have taken the hit,” McGee responded. “Gunnar wasn’t happy, in fact he was very upset that we didn’t give him a heads-up. Lars Lund is not going to be easy for them to replace. The police inspector in Visby hospital, though, will recover. On balance, I think the relationship will be okay—especially now that we can confirm who was behind the Gotland cell and what their mission was.”
“Keep monitoring it,” instructed Porter. “They’re an important partner.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything else?”
“No, sir,” McGee replied.
“All right, then,” the President declared. “Let me end by stating something I know we all agree on, but that I want to make crystal clear. I don’t want to see another scene like Rome or Istanbul. Full stop. Is that understood?”
There was a chorus of “Yes, Mr. President” before the videoconference was closed. And while Ryan and McGee, by virtue of being back in the States, might have to bear the burden of dealing with Porter face to face, the real weight of his words, and his expectations, fell upon Harvath’s shoulders.
With that knowledge fully in mind, he exited the guesthouse and headed back over to the basement of the main building.
He had lived up to his end of the bargain. It was time for Ivan Kuznetsov to do the same.
And if he didn’t, Harvath intended to make clear that even God himself wouldn’t be able to protect the Russian, or any of the members of his nine-person family.
CHAPTER 59
* * *
MINSK, BELARUS
Tomasz Wójcik was sitting in the Crowne Plaza’s trendy Empire Restaurant, enjoying the view over the city, when Pavel Kushner arrived. He was carrying a large, black leather briefcase, similar to what pilots carried.
“You should have started without me,” said Kushner as he sat down.
“I did,” Wójcik replied. “You’re late. I finished eating a half hour ago.”
The Belarusian smiled. His friend had gotten curmudgeonly in his old age. He probably wasn’t having enough sex. He should have taken him up on his offer to arrange a girl for him. A young lady of lower social responsibility would have helped reinvigorate his manhood.
“Did you have the buffet?” asked Kushner. “Or did you order off the menu?”
“I had a hard-boiled egg, toast, and coffee,” the Pole replied matter-of-factly.
“You know what?” his friend replied, eyeing the nearby buffet. “I really think retirement agrees with you. You were much more uptight in the old days.”
Wójcik wasn’t in the mood. Both of the nights that he had been in the hotel, he had slept like crap. The first night that was because his room had been right next to the elevators, which had chimed all night long. And the second night, after they had moved him, there’d been a bunch of drunks stumbling up and down his floor. He couldn’t wait to get out of Minsk and back to Poland.