General Pasternak, a no-nonsense military man, waded into the turbulent waters. “Perhaps a compromise to move this meeting forward?” He looked to Petrov, who dropped Kulikova’s hand, though not his gaze. She held it as long as she dared, not wanting to upset Sokalov, but also not wanting to offend Petrov. “Perhaps Ms. Kulikova can take notes, but her notes will be kept in the chairman’s possession.” Pasternak referred to Petrov.
“Ah, I understand your concern,” Sokalov said, not willing to concede so easily. “A very good suggestion, but I don’t believe the chairman wishes to be burdened with the obligation. I would propose, as an alternative, that Ms. Kulikova’s notes be placed in my safe, and kept here in my office for safekeeping . . . were something to happen.”
“Nothing will happen.” Pasternak bristled.
Sokalov smiled, but he was not playing to the standin at this theatrical performance; he was playing to Chairman Petrov. “One can ride a train a hundred times without a problem, but the hundred-and-first ride and that train derails, without fault of the conductor, of course. All I am suggesting, a hypothesis if you will, is that were something to go wrong—and I cast no aspersions toward you or your unit, I can assure you—I am close to the president. He will listen to me when I tell him this meeting was held in the utmost secrecy.”
Petrov sat on the opposite end of the couch from Lebedev. “I for one find Ms. Kulikova to be an aesthetically pleasing diversion from the horse faces I must otherwise endure at these meetings, my own included.”
They all dutifully chuckled.
“Ms. Kulikova will note the proceedings. Dmitry will keep her notes in his safe here in his office. Now, let us move forward.”
End of discussion, thought Kulikova, keeping her expression blank. As the other men found their seats, she moved to a chair Sokalov had placed to the side of his desk. Sokalov sat in one of two leather chairs; to sit behind his desk would be considered rude to his superiors in the room. Kulikova picked up her spiral notebook and flipped open the cover, noting the date and meeting participants.
She crossed her legs, which garnered the attention of everyone but Lebedev. At the same time, she reached a hand to her right breast and adjusted her bra strap, a move that also did not go unnoticed.
Petrov cleared his throat. “Ibragimov.”
Petrov spoke of Fyodor Ibragimov, once a Kremlin insider on the periphery of the president’s inner circle and a CIA spy. Ibragimov had been exfiltrated to America by the CIA after the US president revealed classified information that could have exposed Ibragimov. He had been America’s highest known Russian asset and had provided classified information on Kremlin operations, including the Russian president’s interference in America’s presidential election.
Putin had been incensed not only at Ibragimov’s betrayal, but that Ibragimov, his wife, and their two children had escaped to the United States. Heads had rolled inside the Kremlin, an extermination that officials privately likened to the purgings by Ivan the Terrible.
“The president believes sufficient time has now passed to take action. To not do so sends the wrong message to those who would betray Russia,” Petrov said.
Kulikova kept her head down but ears perked. The president had a long-standing policy to rough up Americans in Moscow suspected of spying, and to seek retribution against Russian citizens who betrayed their country. He wanted traitors to know that his patience was as long as his reach.
“Ibragimov is in the United States,” Sokalov said.
“Yes, a beautiful white house in Virginia with a picket fence and a garden,” Petrov said with a spiteful tone. “It’s all very lovely and not far from Langley. Ibragimov has refused CIA offers to go into hiding or to provide security. He believes he is more valuable as a symbol against Russian tyranny, an example that a traitor can find safety in the United States.”
General Pasternak leaned forward. “He is thumbing his nose at all of us, daring us to do something.”
“With all due respect, Chairman Petrov,” Sokalov said, “it is certainly unfortunate that we missed an opportunity here, but—”
“No buts,” Petrov said calmly but firmly. “I agree with the general. The longer Ibragimov goes unpunished, the more he becomes a symbol that betrayal and treason can be richly rewarded. There may already be others. His brazenness will only encourage them.”
“What is it then that the president is proposing?” Sokalov asked.
“The president?” Petrov scoffed. His dark eyes pierced each of them. “The president proposes nothing, Dmitry. He knows nothing of this.”
“Of course. My apologies,” Sokalov said.
“He wishes only that we understand the depth of his concern, so that we can take whatever action we deem appropriate to discourage future acts of treason.”
Kulikova’s heart pounded in anticipation of what Petrov was about to propose.
“Does Ibragimov travel?” General Pasternak asked.
“Under the circumstances that would seem unlikely,” Petrov said. “Wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“He has relatives here in Russia. We have—” Lebedev began.
Petrov cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Those relatives have been vetted and have conclusively demonstrated they knew nothing of Ibragimov’s treason,” Petrov said.
Meaning the relatives had been tortured and threatened until their interrogators were certain of their innocence. The thought made Kulikova sick. She felt the air being sucked from the room by what was being proposed but left unsaid.
“This would be unprecedented,” Lebedev said, speaking with a tone of doubt.
“Everything is unprecedented until it is accomplished,” Petrov said.
“Yes, but United States intelligence has heightened its security since Skripal and Navalny,” Lebedev said. “Sanctions have been increased.”
“The sanctions have been nominal and will remain such, a placebo to appease the American population.”
“Yes. But an assassination on American soil would force the American president’s hand,” Sokalov said. “Would it not? Given the recent history of poisonings, plausible deniability would be impossible.”
“That is the point, isn’t it?” Petrov said, and in so doing he confirmed the president approved the poisonings but did not want evidence that tied those poisonings to him. “Our actions will need to be well targeted to limit any collateral damage. Americans may express outrage, but that outrage will be tempered if the victim is only another Russian. A spy no less. Americans will consider it unfortunate but reason Ibragimov knew this to be a possibility when he betrayed his country.”
“How do we limit collateral damage?” Sokalov asked. “With a radioactive agent we have little ability to limit who might come in contact with either the agent or the container in which it is delivered. Killing a Russian spy is one thing. Killing innocent Americans on American soil is quite another.”
“Maybe not,” Pasternak said.
The others looked at him as if he had misspoken. The general had the annoying habit of pausing between thoughts. Was it for dramatic effect? Kulikova had wondered. Or did the general speak too quickly, then need the time to contemplate what he had said?
The general shook his head. “Ibragimov’s belief that he and his family are beyond punishment in America is also his biggest weakness.”