“So the Russians would want some tools of persuasion at their disposal.”
“Just so,” says Andrei. “If the United States acquiesces to this aggression, who will challenge Russia?”
“Nobody,” I say.
“Certainly nobody of importance,” he says. “If the Russians can compromise the president of the United States, they could succeed in their plan.”
So the Russians discover that President Francis is having an extramarital affair. They somehow document this. And they have a private chat with the president. They make him a deal. Keep quiet while we invade Georgia, and we keep quiet about these photographs. Or resist us, and you’ll be embroiled in a scandal that could cost you a second term in office.
Wow. It’s audacious. But so are the Russians.
I take a moment with this. “You think Russia would do all this just so they could take over a tiny neighbor?”
Andrei stares at me, again with a blank face, before a chuckle bursts from his mouth. “Certainly not,” he says. “History, Benjamin, history.”
I throw up my hands. “Help me out here, Andrei. It’s been a long week.”
“You are excused, my friend.” Andrei pats my knee. “Certainly Georgia would simply be a testing ground for the world’s reaction. And a precedent-setting reaction by the United States. This would almost certainly be the beginning, not the end.”
My head falls back on my shoulders. The sky is darkening, promising rain. “Tell me you aren’t saying what I think you’re saying, Andrei.”
“Most regrettably, I am,” he says. “Oh, Benjamin, I have little doubt that the Russians plan to rebuild the old Soviet bloc, country by country.”
Chapter 75
I race my bike off American University’s campus with adrenaline surging through me. I have to find a cash machine, but I’m not even looking, I’m just riding as my thoughts are running rampant in so many directions, so many questions, so many twists and turns—
But at least I have the main picture. I’m finally there. The Russians dusted off the playbook from the Stalin era, even giving their operation the same name, sentimental softies that they are. Operation Delano is the Russians’ plan to blackmail President Blake Francis so he will stand down when Russia starts invading her neighbors. And they’ve already begun the initial stages of moving toward an invasion of the Republic of Georgia. So—are they blackmailing the president right now? Did their plan work? Or are they still in the process of executing it? Clearly, our government knows about it. So what’s going on right now? Is the president going to let all this happen?
And where does Diana fit in? I had her pegged for a CIA spy. So—what? She was trying to stop them, and—but why would someone fake her death, and—
Oh. Oh, shit—
I skid my bike to a halt, almost toppling forward in the process.
No. No, it can’t be.
All those evenings Diana spent at the White House, as an aide to the president’s close ally Craig Carney. A blackmail scheme. And now the US government desperately wants everyone to believe that Diana’s dead. Which means she must be a liability.
Could it be true?
Is Diana the president’s mistress?
Chapter 76
Lots to think about, but necessities first. I need money.
After getting a considerable distance away from the university campus, I spot an ATM at the intersection of Columbia Road and Euclid Street. But now I have to go through my routine. I head into a Burger King bathroom and change into normal clothes—a button-down shirt and jeans—and then walk over to the ATM. I leave the Rockhopper a good distance from the walk-up ATM, so the camera won’t pick it up. The Russians, or the CIA, are looking for me in civilian clothes, riding a kick-ass motorcycle. No reason to let them know I’m in biking gear on a Rockhopper.
If Diana is the president’s mistress, then what happened on her balcony that night? Did the US government fake her death in an attempt to thwart the blackmail? Does that mean that our government killed Nina Jacobs? There are so many possible permutations. But at least I’m getting closer. Watch out, Mr. Carney, here I come.
At the ATM, I avoid eye contact with the little camera watching me and quickly swipe my card and run through the transaction. Password, withdrawal, checking account, one thousand dollars. I look over both shoulders and don’t see anything that raises the hair on my neck.
But when I look back at the ATM screen, the hair rises all the same.
Insufficient funds, the screen tells me.
“Bullshit,” I say. I transferred more than ten thousand dollars into checking earlier this week so I could remain liquid.