“Mr. President, we have reason to believe that the Russian mob has penetrated the United States financial markets and has made a concerted effort to disrupt the stock markets.”

The intake of breath around the table was audible. The president stared at McLain in disbelief. “What? Are you sure? Where’s the proof?”

McLain retreated a step. There was a defensive tone in his voice when he answered. He was not accustomed to receiving a frontal assault from the most powerful man on the planet. “One of my best people, under my direction, uncovered the plot. The Russians buried code in the new OptiMarx computer software system, the one that was designed to handle all trading on the Exchange. We now have one of the Russians who worked for OptiMarx in custody and he has proven to be quite cooperative, in exchange for us guaranteeing him safety from his countrymen. By the way, there appears to have also been a second unrelated criminal compromise of the system as well. The OptiMarx chief technology officer is singing like a bird as well on that score. The system is now off-line and we seem to have everything under control once again, operating under the old trading system, until the bad code can be expunged and the system verified by my agents.”

“The Russian Mafia?” Brown asked wearily. He now seemed to be having difficulty fathoming it all.

“Yes, Mr. President. It appears that, while the Mafia was behind this, it was done with the complete knowledge and approval of our old friend Admiral Durov.”

Brown turned and looked at Dr. Kinnowitz. A deep furrow creased his brow.

“Sam, what do you make of this?” he asked.

The national security adviser took a drink of water, buying time to formulate his thoughts before he spoke. “Although the mob obviously wanted to make money, I’d say from Durov’s perspective it was primarily a diversionary attack. They knew that by having this happen, at the same time the whole world was accusing us of blowing up Russian submarines, it would be much easier for Durov to seize control and solidify it before anyone noticed. Worldwide financial panic seems to have a way of—”

Before Samuel Kinnowitz could continue, a White House communications officer, a Navy lieutenant, burst through the door and into the situation room. His eyes were wide, his face flushed.

“Mr. President! Pardon the interruption, sir. We are receiving an OPREP-Three Pinnacle Nucflash! One of our boats in the Baltic is reporting that a Russian submarine has launched a cruise missile. Launched it toward Russia!”

“Shit! It’s started!” Tom Donnegan was startled to hear his own excited voice in the stunned-quiet room. “Anything more, Lieutenant?”

“Only that the message is from some guy named Ward on the Anzio.”

“Mr. President, we’d better warn the Russians,” Kinnowitz said. “Make sure they know it isn’t one of ours.”