“That’s absurd,” Mishin snapped.
“Actually,” Ahab insisted, “it’s a bargain. The Americans have spent tens of billions developing this weapon. They’re a decade in front of you and it would take twice as much money on your part to catch up. When you look at it that way…”
Mishin was not moved. “How do we know the man contacting you is really one of the hijackers?”
“He has information you can cross-check. Data about the plane that I can share with you.”
Mishin remained aggressive. “And how can we be sure he didn’t just eject and parachute to safety while the plane crashed into the sea and obliterated itself?”
Ahab had expected all these questions, he was ready with the answers. “Because that would leave a trail of wreckage, something neither you, the Chinese, or the Americans have been able to find.”
Again, Borisov jumped in to smooth out the edges of the conversation. “If the hijacker truly has access to the plane, he would be able to produce…” He searched for the right word. “Components. Items specific to that plane.”
“There’s nothing wrong with demanding a bit of proof before you begin throwing money around,” Ahab said.
At this Borisov raised an eyebrow and Mishin nodded subtly. “It would have to be something he couldn’t carry around in his pocket. Something that could come only from the American plane and no other.”
Ahab nodded. Of course he agreed.
“Have this hijacker secure a part that matches Mishin’s request,” Borisov said. “We will choose a time and place for its delivery. Assuming we can verify what he brings us, we’ll talk.”
Ahab silently agreed. While the Russians waited for the proof, they would search frantically for the aircraft themselves, hoping to take it by force and avoid paying. They would find nothing, and their frustration would only increase their need to win the game.
Ahab appeared stoic, but he knew the truth. He had them in the palm of his hand.
Chapter 17
The American President was a habitual early riser. After showering and dressing, he would head to the Oval Office, arriving so early that the only people present were the overnight staff and security personnel. He would often take a mug of coffee and spend some time chatting with these men and women. Political topics and international events were strictly avoided. Instead, they spoke about weddings, graduations, and new babies on the way. If it was a Monday in the fall, they would discuss football. If it was summer, baseball was never far from his mind. He was keenly interested in how their children and grandchildren were doing at school and in life. If he ever wrote a memoir, he would call this the hour of normalcy, the brief blip of regular life he had during an endless procession of international news, economic conferences, and high-pressure meetings that would go on throughout the day. He treasured this hour, and for that reason reacted sourly to the arrival of his chief of staff long before the beginning of the normal workday.
“To what do I owe this displeasure?”
“New information,” the chief said.
The grim look on the chief’s face suggested bad news. The hourof normalcy was cut short, and the two men walked to the Oval Office in silence, shutting the door behind them.
The chief laid a dossier on the President’s desk. “The Russians are moving.”
The President took the folder, broke the seal, and opened it. He read the first paragraph of the briefing and then skipped directly to the satellite photos. Half the Russian fleet was sailing from Murmansk. Destroyers, patrol boats, coast guard ships. Anything with a sonar array. Another photo showed helicopters streaming from an air base. The next page was a map covered with yellow highlights showing the paths of a dozen reconnaissance flights that had been tracked by a NATO radar.
“Word is obviously out,” the President said. “I’d hoped we could hide it a little longer. How far away is the salvage fleet?”
“They left Norfolk in the middle of the night,” the chief said. “But it’s six days of sailing to Norway.”
“Six days of the Russians scouring the sea for our plane with everything they have,” the President said grimly. “Any word from NUMA?”
“Some,” the chief admitted. “Most of it bad. They’ve covered seventy percent of the signal line and found nothing. They also took a side trip and got in a tangle with the Chinese.”
The President almost laughed. Of course they did. “What did they find?”
“Turns out the Chinese were waiting for the arrival of the plane. They’d carved a runway in the ice. The only good news is, they don’t have it, either.”
The President found photos of the Chinese icebreaker and runway in the back half of the dossier. He studied the underwater images of the cables, but wasn’t entirely sure what they represented. He put them away. It didn’t really matter, they were empty.
The chief waited for him to look up and then spoke again. “It’s possible the NUMA excursion caused the Chinese to alert the Russians. They may be working together now. This is why I didn’t want NUMA up there. They’re always doing the unexpected.”
“Considering it’s them against the Chinese and the whole Russian navy, they’d damned well better do the unexpected,” the President snapped. “They can’t win—meaning we can’t win—if they follow the standard playbook.”
The chief took this reprimand with surprising humility. “I understand, Mr. President. We might as well get whatever help Norway and Finland can provide into the search area.”
