most solid of plans could go sideways. “What’s our contingency?”
“I’m working on it,” said Haney. “We should have another satellite on station shortly. Once we get a look at the latest imagery, we’ll be able to make some more decisions. In the meantime, why don’t you grab a piece of floor with everyone else and try to get some shut-eye.”
Staelin knew he’d be no good to Harvath, or anyone else on the team, if he wasn’t at his best, and so he gave in.
But it was more than just being at his best for the team. He didn’t know why, but he had felt apprehensive ever since they entered Russia.
Something told him that he was going to need everything he had to get through this assignment.
CHAPTER 62
* * *
* * *
WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Nicholas and SPEHA Rogers had made the short drive from the Fusion Cell at FBI Headquarters to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue together. This was the first time the little man had been on the White House grounds, much less inside one of its buildings. It was difficult for him not to feel a sense of awe.
President Paul Porter met them in the dining room, just beyond the Oval Office and his personal study, as he was wrapping up his dinner. “Can I get either of you anything?” he asked, knowing how hard they had been working.
“No, thank you,” the pair replied.
“How about some coffee?” he then asked. Before the men had answered, he rang for the steward and placed the request.
They made small talk until the steward arrived. Once he had cleared the President’s dinner dishes and had left the room, they got down to business.
“So how soon until we pick him up?” Porter asked.
“If all goes well,” Nicholas replied, “a few hours. But that’s only half the battle. Then, the team will need to get him back over the border and into Finland.”
“Do we have a plan for that?”
“Yes, sir. Several actually. Per our agreement, the ultimate call will be made in conjunction with the team leader on the ground.”
“Understood. What’s the weather looking like?”
“Not good,” said Nicholas. “It’s going to get rough again. The question is whether we can beat it.”
“When will you know?”
“Unfortunately, not until we’re right up against it. A few minutes on either side might end up making all the difference. We’re going to need to move fast.”
“And you want to run the operation out of the Situation Room downstairs, correct?” asked Porter.
“Yes, sir. As I said, this is going to come down to fast decision-making with only minutes or seconds to spare. We believe it’s critical that it be done here and that you be in attendance.”
“Without question. We’ll set it up.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The President then turned to Rogers. “Now, tell me about this grand fallback plan in case everything goes wrong.”
Rogers cleared his throat and spent the next five minutes laying out his proposal. Porter listened intently, interrupting only a handful of times when he thought his SPEHA was being too vague, or too optimistic. Each time he did, though, he was impressed by the thoroughness of the man’s reply.
When Rogers had finished laying everything out, the President picked up his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. It was a lot to ponder—especially as it was packed end-to-end with risks, not the least of which was an all-out war between the United States and Russia.
It was also an offer the Russian President might not be able to refuse. When they had gone after Harvath, they realized how valuable he was. What they hadn’t realized was what it would ultimately cost.
Could they crack the diplomatic door enough for the Russian President to save face? If tossed a quiet lifeline, would he take it?
There was no telling. Time and time again, Peshkov took stances and pursued courses that, by all accounts, were completely against Russia’s, as well as his own, self-interest.
And time and again the United States had struck back in response to his aggression. Yet, in one form or another, the aggression had continued. It was as if the Russian President had a screw loose. But even that was too simple a metaphor.
For years, the brightest minds in U.S. intelligence had been trying to figure him out, and for years they had been continually frustrated. The man simply defied any profile they came up with. He was the enigma of all enigmas.
This time, though, they were trying something different. It was simple, and perhaps, that’s what had been missing in all