Durov half smiled, baring his teeth. The look gave his face an evil cast, like an animal glaring at its prey. His eyes were dead cold. “Oh, but is it not a dreadful question? How would you know if I lied to you? I could say no, and be lying. I could say yes, and still be lying.”

Medikov sucked on the cigar and sent another cloud of blue smoke upward before he replied, “Well, that is hardly an answer. With the truth, I would be able to properly plan which way to move.”

Durov’s voice was flat, devoid of any intonation. “Now you see the problem that our great leader, President Smitrov, will soon face. You can be assured that I will not tell him any more than I am telling you. Maybe yes, maybe no. Take a chance. How lucky do you feel?”

“Admiral, there is a difference. We are partners, you and I, in the revolution.”

“Even the right hand must have some control over the left, my friend,” Durov said, then stood and went back to the huge window.

Medikov rolled his eyes.

The smoke from the Cuban cigar had gathered ominously in the far corner of the room’s ceiling. It looked ever so much like a dark, brooding thundercloud.

Admiral Tom Donnegan was not having a good day. General Ward Tambor, the national security adviser, had been on the phone a dozen times since noon the day before and had not been in a good mood at all. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon again and the admiral still had not come up with an answer that would satisfy the politico.

President Brown was being painted into a very tight, uncomfortable corner and Ward Tambor had the job of getting him out. Unfortunately for them all, Donnegan couldn’t give them a good out without endangering the SEAL team he had dispatched into the Kola. Or risk giving too much information about the submarine he had sent up there to extract them once their mission was complete. They all knew that Donnegan was not likely to give even a hint to anyone, including the president, his commander in chief, if it might endanger any of his people in the slightest. The risk of any of the media getting wind of what was going on was too great.

No, Brown and Tambor would have to ride out the storm. That sort of shit came with the job!

The desk phone jangled again. Its ring even sounded angry, impatient. Tambor again! The answer would be the same: “I’ll tell you all I can when I can.”

Donnegan almost let it ring itself out, but there were too many other calls this could be. He snatched it up. It was his aide, handling the phones in the outer office.

“Admiral, Commodore Ward is on the secure IMMARSAT line,” the young lieutenant said. “He wants to talk to you.”