Tom Donnegan shook his head in shocked disbelief and muted the television sound before the reporter could begin his ill-informed analysis. So the old fool had gone beyond the point of no return. Up until this point there was always the possibility that Durov would stop short of outright rebellion. Or at the worst, he would rattle his saber some to demand concessions from the Russian government. The press conference left no room for doubt. Durov meant to establish a new, militarized Russia. One with him in charge. A shiver of dread passed through Donnegan.

“Do you believe that?” Schwartz asked. “You don’t think they got Toledo, do you? What was all that blather about the Kronstadt?”

Donnegan scratched his chin.

“We won’t know about Toledo for a day or so,” he answered. He sat back in the overstuffed office chair and sipped from a cup of coffee. “This is one of the real trials of senior command. We can’t do anything but sit here and pray until Joe Glass calls home or we get some verification that Toledo is lost.” Donnegan set his coffee cup on the desk. “You need to brush up on your Russian history, Tim. The Kronstadt sailors bombarded the Czar’s Winter Palace in St. Petersburg during the Bolshevik Revolution. It was a turning point that allowed Lenin to consolidate his power. It looks like we have much more serious problems to attend to. I think we now know what Admiral Durov’s submarines are up to.”

The scenario running through Donnegan’s mind was chilling. If Toledo had truly been sunk, Durov would use the president’s disappearance as another example of American aggression and there would be little to do to rebut him. He would blame everything that happened on the U.S. along with the American-friendly government in his country. The inevitable turmoil would make it all the easier for him to pull off his coup. Meanwhile, the rest of the world would be distracted by all the charges. He had a bunch of nuke subs out there to hold everyone hostage. This was one royal mess.

The phone rang, interrupting his worrying. Schwartz grabbed it before it rang a second time.

“Admiral Donnegan’s office. May I help you?” He listened for a few moments while he scribbled notes on a scrap of paper, then replaced the receiver. He stood there, considering what he had written down.

“You going to tell me who that was or you going to keep it a personal secret?” Donnegan asked impatiently.