CHAPTER 1
The Kremlin
THE LAST TIME Grigori Barsukov met the most powerful man in the world, they’d been living very different lives, and Vladimir had broken his nose. Although that was thirty years ago, the memory remained fresh, and Grigori’s nose still skewed to the right. Back then they’d both been wearing KGB lieutenant stars. Now they both wore the finest Italian suits, but his old roommate also sported the confidence of one who wielded unrivaled power, and the temper of a man ruthless enough to obtain it.
The world had spun around a different axis when they’d worked together, an east-west axis, running from Moscow to Washington. Now everything revolved around the West. America was the sole superpower.
Grigori could change that.
He could lever Russia back into a pole position.
But only if his old rival would risk joining him — way out on a limb.
As Grigori’s footfalls fell into cadence with the boots of his escorts, he coughed twice, attempting to relax the lump in his throat. It didn’t work. When the hardwood turned to red carpet, he willed his palms to stop sweating. They didn’t listen. Then the big double doors rose before him and it was too late to do anything but take a deep breath, and hope for the best.
The presidential guards each took a single step to the side, then opened their doors with crisp efficiency and a click of their heels. Ten meters before him, a gilded double-headed eagle peered down from atop the dark wood paneling, but the lone living occupant of the Kremlin’s inner sanctum did not look up.
President Vladimir Korovin was studying photographs.
Grigori stopped three steps in as the doors were closed behind him, unsure of the proper next move. He wondered if everyone felt this way the first time. Should he stand at attention until acknowledged? Take a seat by the wall?
He strolled to the nearest window, leaned his left shoulder up against the frame, and looked out at the Moscow River. Thirty seconds ticked by with nothing but the sound of shifting photos behind him. Was it possible that Korovin still held a grudge?
Desperate to break the ice without looking like a complete fool, he said, “This is much nicer than the view from our academy dorm room.”
Korovin said nothing.
Grigori felt his forehead tickle. Large drops of sweat were poised and ready to roll. As the first broke free, he heard the stack of photos being squared, and then at long last, the familiar voice. It posed a very unfamiliar question: “Ever see a crocodile catch a rabbit?”
