A trace of worry appeared on the GRU director’s face. “Yes, but doing so would significantly increase the risk of American intelligence detecting their presence.”

“I don’t give a shit about the risks,” Zhdanov said coldly. “We’ve gone far beyond the point where individual lives matter.” He lit another cigarette and then stabbed it at Ivashin. “Your team is to take immediate, preemptive action against those American helicopters. I don’t care how they do it, but they are to stop this CIA operation before it gets off the ground. Is that clear?”

Ivashin’s mouth opened in surprise.

“I will not listen to any objections,” Zhdanov warned him. He glared around the table at his senior advisers and military commanders. “We have one overriding objective right now: the Americans must not be allowed to get their hands on our stealth bomber and its weapons payload. While I still want to avoid open war if at all possible, no one here can deny that this situation has already escalated dangerously, thanks to the Americans’ own warlike actions against our reconnaissance aircraft!”

Slowly, they nodded.

Now Zhdanov’s mouth compressed into a tight, thin line—as though he were being forced to swallow something extraordinarily unpleasant. “One thing more. We’re going to have to agree to meet the traitor Petrov’s demands, while still assembling air units and commando forces to retake or destroy the stolen bomber if the opportunity arises.” He saw their astonishment and scowled. “Don’t act so surprised! What other choice do we have? Now that we know the aircraft is already on American soil, it’s essential that we get it safely back to Russia . . . even if it means temporarily yielding to blackmail.”

The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

That Same Time

In a deserted subterranean corridor outside the ECR, Jonas Murphy signaled Miranda Reynolds over. “I just heard from the president directly,” he said quietly, without any preamble.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“The aggressive actions of those Russian aircraft searching for their stealth bomber have convinced him, and his whole White House team, that this Colonel Petrov’s offer is not a scam or one of Moscow’s disinformation operations,” Murphy told her.

Reynolds nodded. It seemed a little late to draw that fairly obvious conclusion, she thought wryly, though she supposed almost every politician had an ingrained instinct to play it safe—especially with so many influential voices in the Pentagon urging caution.

Murphy sighed. “And all of the State Department’s efforts to persuade the Russians to step back from the brink of open hostilities have been rebuffed so far. So have the president’s own personal attempts to reach out to Zhdanov.”

“Is this heading where I think it is?” Reynolds asked, keeping her voice even lower.

The DNI nodded again. “The president’s decided to meet the financial demands made by this would-be defector and his backers.” He shrugged. “In the circumstances, he’s willing to take the chance that we might be dealing with some very unsavory characters.”

“If it means avoiding war, funneling money to criminals might not seem so bad,” Reynolds agreed.