Page 47 of Enemy of My Enemy
Moroshkin stilled. His eyes glanced once to his office door, closed and locked.
How did Madigan know? How had he figured out that Moroshkin had aspirations for more? Had cultivated a culture within his ranks, within his men, that yearned for the days of yesterday when Putin had stretched them around the globe and everyone knew Russia was a force to be reckoned with. What had happened to their country, after Putin?
Slowly, he tapped his finger on his wood desk. “There is much that I would change.”
“As would I.” He could almost hear Madigan’s smile, the slow slide of consonants and vowels rolling around in victory. “And together, we can bring about that change. You and I. It’s time for a new world, is it not, General?”
Did he take this next step? Start down a path he’d dreamed of, had bellowed for, beaten into the heads and hearts of so many thousands of his own men. He’d said the words, but actually making a move—actually working toward a revolution—was something else entirely.
His eyes wandered to the computer monitor, and the American intelligence cables. Madigan, a man on the run, hunted by the United States, and yet he’d managed to penetrate their deepest secrets. With power like that, what could they not do together?
“Itistime for a new world, General,” he answered, his bushy mustache twitching. “You and I do see eye to eye.”
* * *
White House
“Mr. President,twenty-one of our assets were named in the cables.” Irwin called out across the conference table as Jack slammed the phone down on the Pakistani president. “Thirteen have made it to our embassies.”
“And the other eight?” Ethan asked, watching Jack. Jack’s rage simmered just beneath his skin. Ethan’s worried eyes were heavy on him. Beneath the Situation Room’s conference table, Ethan’s hand landed on Jack’s knee, squeezing.
They’d been calling who they could, desperately pleading for help in rounding up their assets. Some refused to take their call. Others told Jack he was a criminal himself, and his people deserved the punishment that was coming.
“You’ve been caught, Mr. President,” the president of Pakistan had crowed. “You can’t break every law of the planet, of international law, and of God’s will, and expect not to reap your consequences. Your sins were bound to catch up to you. This is the price you have to pay for your sexual indiscretions—”
Jack had slammed down the phone. Fuck international diplomacy.
The Situation Room had filled up, most of his national security staff and joint chiefs in the room. Everyone had their cell phones out, and at least two conversations going on text, email, and cell each.
Director Rees rubbed his forehead. “We don’t have any status on the missing eight.” He swallowed, his throat rising and falling as Jack stared him down.
Jack had inherited the United States’ intelligence apparatus, just like every American president, but when it went off the rails or came crashing down, he was the one holding the cards when the game ended. These lives were on him.
On how he hadn’t caught Madigan yet.
His rage, his raw fury, roared, the image of eight Americans dying because of Madigan’s games. His plots and his machinations.
He’d always been a peaceful man, but the thought of Madigan dead brought him true pleasure. The thought of him obliterated, wiped off the planet, made his heart beat faster and gave him a thrill of satisfaction so strong he could practically taste it.
Elizabeth, still secretary of state until her confirmation hearing went through, hung up her phone. “Britain has condemned the release of the cables, but they’re also being careful to distance themselves from us. They are quietly working on trying to track down where the release came from.”
Jack shook his head and braced his forearms against the table. It would be useless. Madigan would have covered his tracks better than that. He’d been two steps ahead of them so far, exploding out of the shadows in a matter of days and sowing death and destruction across half the world.
The phone before Jack buzzed. “Mr. President, call from President Puchkov.”
Sergey. Maybe his friend could give him a little smile. Jack grabbed the phone and nodded to Ethan to pick up his receiver as well. Most of the time he spoke to world leaders privately and he didn’t have the rest of his Situation Room listening in. But now, he needed Ethan there by his side. He needed his presence. Ethan was a balm to his soul, a soothing refuge in a sea of insanity.
“Sergey.”
“Jack.” Sergey sounded drained on the other end of the line, like how Jack expected he sounded to Sergey. “Bad day over there for you.”
“It’s only just begun.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. They’d been at it for hours, combing through the cables, trying to keep a lid on the worst of the damage. The priority was getting their people to safety. Everything else could wait.
“I got my people on this as soon as we heard about the release of your cables. I am sorry, but we were only able to pick up five of your operatives.”
Jack’s head whipped around, staring at Ethan as his jaw dropped. Ethan froze, wide-eyed. “Sergey, you what?” Sitting forward, Jack motioned for Director Rees and Irwin to pick up receivers down the table. They scrambled for the phones, muting their handhelds before answering.
“Ilya Ivchenko is the head of the FSB, and my close friend. We started in the FSB together. He called his people in Iran, Pakistan, and Libya. We managed to get five of your operatives before the authorities picked them up.”
