enemies of the state (22 page)

“What do you want from me?”

“Ah. It’s what you want from me.” Puchkov leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We have Talib. We caught him smuggling a dirty bomb across the border from Iran to Iraq.”

“What!” Jack bolted upright, nearly upending his coffee.

Again, Puchkov dismissed Jack’s concern. “Meh, you know the Caliphate has been wanting a nuclear bomb. Why are you so surprised?”

World War III seemed more and more imminent. Jack tried to control his breathing, tried to get a grip. Ethan’s voice played in his mind.
You can do this. I believe in you.
Swallowing, Jack tried to bury his sudden shame.
Ethan, you think too much of me.

“As Iran’s ally, should I assume that you knew of their nuclear capabilities?”

“We knew of certain factions within Iran. We know of their capabilities,” Puchkov corrected. “And they, being friendly allies, tipped us off on the Caliphate’s acquisition.”

Apparently, talking to Puchkov was how he talked to the Iranians nowadays.

“You know the Iranians hate the Caliphate. Shi’ite, Sunni…” Puchkov shrugged, downplaying centuries of religious conflict with a roll of his shoulders. “We took Talib before he made contact with Al-Karim.”

“Why not wait and get Karim at the same time?”

“You Americans! We have Talib, one of the most wanted men on the planet, and you complain we did not gift wrap him for you!” Puchkov’s hands slammed onto the table. He leaned in close, no longer joking, suddenly serious. “We did not wait, Mr. President, because like you, we do not want to see a nuclear weapon destroy the Middle East. There was a chance he would detonate before meeting Al-Karim. We did not see that as an acceptable risk.”

Exhaling, Jack studied the Russian president. Was any of this true?

Could he take the chance that it was not?

“I would have made the same call,” he finally said. “You have my thanks.”

“Bah.” Puchkov pushed away from the table and crossed his arms. He was always moving, never still. “I do not want your thanks. I want to trade.”

And here it is
. Jack crossed his legs and leaned back. “Trade what?”

“Talib.”

“For?”

“You will close your military bases in Kazakhstan. And Uzbekistan.”

Jack shook his head. “Out of the question. We fly reconnaissance flights over Iran from those bases. We cannot close them.”

“I know you fly reconnaissance flight from there,” Puchkov groaned. “And the Iranians know you fly reconnaissance flights from Kazakhstan. Everyone knows you fly those missions, Mr. President. Your bases are not as effective as you believe. Did you know about Talib, for example?”

Jack stayed silent.

“Here’s what I propose. You close your bases in Kazakhstan. We, in the spirit of international cooperation and community, and all of that,” Puchkov rolled his wrist, playing lip service to the fundamentals of international law and good will, “will welcome you into our northern Iraq bases. You may launch your missions from there. We will share our Iraqi intelligence with you, and allow you to fly through northern Iraqi airspace from your bases in Turkey.”

“Does Baghdad know you’re already in their country?”

“Baghdad doesn’t know anything that happens outside of Baghdad. The entire country is the wild, wild west.” Puchkov rapped on the tabletop. “I will make this better for you. We will cease our operations in Syria on our own. We’ll bring a motion to the United Nations, requesting a peacekeeping force. We will take the lead, naturally, but it will all be on the up and up.” Puchkov spoke American idioms easily, though his Russian accent was thick and heavy, cutting on the words.

“That’s good,” Jack mused. He leaned forward as well, watching Puchkov. “But it’s not enough. You didn’t just invade Iraq, and you didn’t just launch military operations in Syria without any kind of international oversight or cooperation. You also invaded sovereign nations in Europe. You seized countries, democratic countries. This we cannot sit by and ignore.”

“You ignored it for ten years, yes?”

“
I
did not ignore it. And
I
am the president now.”

Puchkov leaned back, smirking. “I do like you, Mr. President. You have
muda
.” He grabbed his crotch. “Balls.”

Jack raised one eyebrow.

“I will agree to this, and to this only: I will hold elections before the end of the year. In these elections, I will ask the people to vote on a referendum. Do they remain a part of great Russia, or do they cut all ties and go back to being weak and alone.”

It was almost too easy. Jack peered at Puchkov. The Russian president was jiggling his foot and tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“What do you say, Mr. President? Do we have a deal?”

“Draw down your forces in Abkhazeti, too.”

“They were just for show.” Puchkov grinned. “We will coordinate with you, of course, on deployments to northern Iraq. You will want to put your Special Forces in-country, yes?”

Jack didn’t answer. “Why do you want the bases out of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan? Why is this so important to you?”

Puchkov’s smile disappeared from his face. His easygoing façade, his gamesmanship, disappeared. “Because it is.” His lips twisted as he bounced his foot, up and down, over and over. He sighed. “Mr. President, we have a chance, right now, to change the world. We can try to work together for once, yes? America and Russia? We have something you want. I want something from you. We can help each other. Maybe even help the world, yes?” Puchkov frowned, as if he didn’t like the taste of his own words. “Now, do we have a deal, Mr. President? Shall we deliver Mr. Talib to your embassy in Moscow?”

“What is your timetable?”

“We cease operations in Syria immediately. We propose a UN resolution before the end of the month. We announce the referendums…mmm, next month. They will be held in December.” Puchkov’s eyes bored into Jack. “Your bases will close within twelve months.”

“Eighteen.”

“Twelve months, Mr. President. Or no deal.”

Twelve months. The military could break the bases down by then. There weren’t regular long-haul flights in and out of Afghanistan anymore, not since the full withdrawal years ago. What would they lose?

What would the Russians gain?

Was this the right course? How many lives would be saved? Russia would rejoin the world community in helping to find a solution for Syria and the Caliphate, instead of adding to the problem. Europe would see a lifting of the Iron Veil that had started to fall. They would get Talib and any intelligence that Talib might have. Maybe even Al-Karim.

How many lives had the Russians already saved by stopping Talib?

Puchkov was right; it was an opportunity to change their course. America and Russia, working together. It had been almost a hundred years since that had last happened, and they’d changed the world then.

Could they do so again?

I believe in you. I know you can do this.

Exhaling, Jack held the image of Ethan in his mind as he closed his eyes.
I hope this works, Ethan. I’m trusting your trust in me.

“Twelve months. But you provide food aid to the refugee resettlement zones in Europe.”

Puchkov rolled his eyes, but he nodded, waving his hands in the air. “Yes,” he drawled, “we will feed the precious refugees.”

Standing, Jack held out his hand. Puchkov rose as well, grasping his palm and pumping his arm, once.

“My people will deliver Talib to your embassy at six PM today, in Moscow.” He nodded. “We will be in touch, Mr. President.”

Without another word, Puchkov strode away, disappearing out of the room through the back entrance leading out to the castle’s gardens. His security detail waited, swooping down around Puchkov the moment he was outside.

Jack collapsed back into his chair. Had he just made a mistake? Or saved the world?

What had he done?

Behind Jack, the door clicked open. Ethan slipped into the room, checking everything, his head on a swivel.

“Mr. President? Puchkov just left.” Ethan’s footsteps faded into the plush Oriental carpet. “Are you all right?”

Looking up, Jack saw Ethan’s black eye for the first time. “Ethan! What happened?” He reached for Ethan’s face.

Ethan intercepted his hand, gently, and guided his arm back down. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please.”

Jack nodded, even though his chest was collapsing, and his throat was clenched tight. Ever since that kiss, nothing had been the same. How could he right this? How could he fix this?

“I need to get with my team,” Jack croaked. “Stay near. I want to hear your thoughts.” Jack stood but paused. “If that’s all right?”

Ethan looked away. “You know I’m with you all the way.”

Why did it feel like the end was right around the corner?

Chapter Ten

Russia Leaves NATO Summit Before it Begins, Announces Drawdown in Syria and Proposed UN Resolution

Russian President Sergey Puchkov left the emergency NATO Summit in Prague this morning before the summit began. This abrupt departure came on the heels of a one-on-one meeting between Puchkov and President Spiers in the early morning at Prague Castle. Details of the meeting remain vague; however, President Puchkov did make two groundbreaking announcements just before departing Prague. First, Russian troops will immediately suspend military operations in Syria until sustainable international partnerships can be created. Recently, Russian troops in Syria have operated with no cooperation or contact with any other forces in the region. “Russia has always believed in the full cooperation of nations,” Puchkov said. “Russia wants all nations to know that they have the backing of the international community, led by Russia. To that end, we will introduce a resolution in the United Nations to build a coalition of nations that will address Syria and the Middle East’s ongoing security concerns, including the Islamic Caliphate.”

* * * * *

The rest of the summit passed in a blur.

Ethan stayed with Jack as he debriefed with Gottschalk and Secretary Wall, dissecting his exchange with Puchkov. Gottschalk and Wall were on the phones after that, calling Washington, DC, and Moscow, and everyone in between.

There was space, in the middle of all of that, for Ethan to lean in and whisper in Jack’s ear, “You did the right thing.”

When Jack swayed back, leaning into him, Ethan didn’t know what to do. He pressed his hand to the small of Jack’s back, steadying him, and then stepped away. Jack shivered beneath his touch, and Ethan pulled his hand back, as if burned.

Russia’s announcement changed the tone and tenor of the meetings. Suddenly, leaders were arguing over troop deployments and what they could contribute to a peacekeeping force and what they needed to keep at home, securing their homelands. In the afternoon, they finally got to discussing shared intelligence across Europe and increased alert systems for the prevention of future attacks.

Instead of dinner, there was a cocktail reception, and a host of NGOs were invited. Dignitaries and leaders from aid organizations, reconstruction contractors, and humanitarian missions joined the politicians at the hors d’oeuvres stands.

Penelope de Mendoza turned more than one head when she walked into the hall. She wasn’t wearing anything special; as the president of Borderless Doctors, she had publicly committed to not reveling in appearance and circumstance. She wore a simple sheath dress and a shawl woven in Nepal, and her long brunette hair hung loose in cascading waves.

The French president was on her in a heartbeat, hooking his arm through hers and guiding her around the room.

Ethan shadowed Jack during the reception, standing just behind his shoulder. When the French president finally wound his way toward Jack, with Penelope on his arm, Ethan’s stomach fell to the floor.

“Mr. President.” Penelope curtsied as Jack took her hand in his. It was a delicate gesture, almost royal.

Jack smiled wide. Ethan looked away.

“Ms. Mendoza. I’ve heard so much about you. Your organization’s aid work around the world is unparalleled.” Jack held out his arm. “Might I steal you for a moment?”

Penelope had gladly traded the aging French president for Jack, slipping onto his arm. Though she was gorgeous and moved like a princess, she had a sharp mind, and within minutes, she and Jack had their heads together, speaking about the Syrian situation and the needs on the ground.

Ethan wanted to vomit, standing behind the two of them.

He’d gotten the message, thank you, and he didn’t need this reminder. Yes, Jack was straight. No, Jack didn’t want him. But did he need to be there when Jack found someone he did want?

His mood soured throughout the night, even after Penelope bade a gracious farewell to Jack and moved on, talking to the British prime minister for another hour while the two women drank wine by the Renaissance windows. He was quiet during the drive back to the airport, and he parked himself in the below-deck bunk area when everyone boarded Air Force One.

No one bothered him. No one tried to talk to him. Not even Daniels. Especially not Collard.

When his phone buzzed, just before take-off, Ethan didn’t want to answer. He was lying on his back in the bunk, trying to forget about his life, and trying to figure out how to word his transfer request for Director Stahl. He’d be lucky if he could still transfer after this trip. He might as well just resign.

His phone buzzed again, rattling against his chest.

He swiped the screen on.

Jack.

Can we talk?

Ethan. Please. I’m begging you. I don’t want to leave things like this. Please. Come to my office on AF1? We have ten hours on this flight. Let’s use them.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to face Jack, or have to face himself and what he’d done. He’d broken the rules, violated the regulations, and obliterated any and all boundaries between him and Jack. He had no one to blame for his heartache but himself.

[I’m on my way.]

Time to get this over with. He’d listen to Jack fumble through an explanation of how he was flattered, but straight, and Ethan had to get over this and move on. He’d nod and agree and then escape, and when they landed, he wouldn’t ever need to see Jack again.