Medikov opened an ornately carved cigar humidor and offered it to Durov before he took a smoke out for himself. “You should try one, Admiral. They are the finest that our old ally in Havana produces. Try one. You will find them to be sweeter than the kiss of a virgin.”

Medikov puckered his lips and held the humidor toward the admiral, but Durov shook his head.

“No, no, Boris. Such a luxury is much too rich for an old sailor’s taste. We need to discuss our progress.”

“Very well, then,” Medikov said with little more than a nod. Then he was occupied with his elaborate cigar-lighting ritual. He snipped the end with a gold clipper, then rolled the cigar through a lighted taper while he sucked gently on it. Satisfied, he leaned back, his head wreathed in pungent, sweet cigar smoke.

Durov squinted at him through the haze and harrumphed. “If you are quite through, perhaps we could find the time to plan the salvation of Russia.”

Medikov’s jaws flexed and there was a brief flash of anger in his dark eyes. He held his temper, though, as he leaned forward and gave the admiral his attention. He held the cigar in his hand like a pointer. “Of course, Admiral. You are right. We need to coordinate our efforts now.” He drew on the cigar and exhaled a perfect ring, watching it drift slowly toward the room’s high, ornate ceiling. “I will take care of my end. I am pleased to report that my operatives in New York tell me we are ready with the OptiMarx project. It will go live by the end of the week. That will give us one full week of pure profit before we crush the American financial system. Our actions should bring the proud American capitalist system to its knees in a few days.”

Durov watched the smoke rising toward the ceiling, a wistful look in his eyes. “Then the time is very near. The first of my submarines goes to sea tonight. In a week, they will all be in place, ready to launch their missiles. We must be in a position to move within a few days of then. Longer and we run the risk of them being discovered and raising suspicions.”

Medikov nodded and waved the cigar, ignoring the thick ashes that fell onto the clean white carpet. “I will leave the grand strategy to you and your people, Admiral. One thing does bother me, though. As you know, I am quite fond of the comforts I find here in Moscow. You will not be firing nuclear missiles, by any chance, will you?”