Collateral (Tier One #6)

Mariyinski Palace

Kiev, Ukraine

September 24

1549 Local Time

It’s imperative that the Ukrainians and the world see the Donbas treaty as a victory for the West, Thom. We must control the narrative here. Your job is to sell it to the world.

Those words—President Warner’s parting instructions before departing Joint Base Andrews—echoed in Vice President Thomas Tenet’s mind as he smiled and nodded at the room full of strangers. He took a sip of his wine, forcing himself not to gulp it down too quickly, as he tried to avoid eye contact with Russian Prime Minister Vavilov, who was seated kitty-corner across the table from him. Tenet imagined Vavilov’s marching orders from Petrov were nearly identical to his own: Russia must control the narrative. Your job is to convince the world that the Donbas treaty is a victory for Russia and Russian-speaking people everywhere.

Games and games . . .

Thank God Petrov had done as Warner had and sent his second instead of coming in person, because the blue-eyed bastard gave Tenet the creeps. The Russian Prime Minister, on the other hand, seemed to be a decent-enough fellow; he’d even made an effort to speak exclusively in English during this morning’s meetings and this very late-running lunch. Maybe the world would get lucky and Petrov would decide to retire and not run in the next election. Just the thought buoyed Tenet’s already hopeful plans for the future.

“Mr. Vice President,” Ukrainian President Matias Zinovenko said, his voice loud and confident so that all the room was certain to hear. “Will you please tell President Warner how grateful I am for his support since I’ve taken office. This treaty, and the wave of anticorruption, pro-Western legislation we’ve passed over the past six months, would not have been possible without America’s expression of confidence in my leadership and policies.”

Zinovenko raised his glass toward Tenet, as did all the Ukrainians at the table. The Russian contingent, however, looked at Vavilov to check his reaction to this not-so-subtle slight.

But the Russian PM didn’t miss a beat; he smiled without malice and raised his own glass.

“Thank you, President Zinovenko. I’ll be certain to tell him,” Tenet said, returning the toast. “And rest assured, this White House’s policies and practices are ones I intend to continue when I’m President.”

The comment earned him a polite round of laughter and applause, along with some sycophantic fawning from those seated nearby. He accepted it all with a genuine smile, a practice he’d honed to perfection during a lifetime in politics. He’d been Warner’s toady for seven years, and now, finally, that chapter in his life was paying off. As incumbent VP, he was the party’s presumptive choice for the ticket, and Warner had already publicly given his endorsement. As long as he made it scandal free to the convention in San Antonio, the nomination was his, virtually guaranteeing he would be the next President of the United States.

After lunch—and a painful series of pictures shaking hands with the newly elected heads of the provisional separatist governments in Donetsk and Luhansk; the Russian contingent; and Zinovenko—Tenet’s stint in Mariyinski Palace came to an end. Opulent, ornate, and oozing with baroque one-upmanship, Mariyinski was the type of building that existed only in Old Europe. The White House was impressive, but nothing like this. Like its sister palaces—the Louvre, the Hermitage, and Buckingham Palace—Mariyinski was a product of unchecked monarchial hubris. People didn’t build shit like this anymore, Tenet lamented to himself as Secret Service led him out. It was just too damn expensive.

A shame, really . . . I could get used to this.

Tenet grunted as he ducked into the Ukrainian President’s up-armored stretch Cadillac limousine. This had been a sticking point for his Secret Service detail, but President Zinovenko had refused to budge on them riding together and the vehicle being one from his fleet. Tenet understood. The optics were just too delicious for Zinovenko to pass up, and so, after much negotiation, they had settled the matter—with two of Tenet’s heavily armed Secret Service agents riding along, flanking a much smaller and clearly unhappy security man from the Ukrainian detail. Another American agent was up front with the driver, and their limo was in convoy with an American-flag-streaming Secret Service SUV in front and behind—a symbol of unity the Ukrainian President had been delighted to agree to. Best of all, the Russian Prime Minister was relegated to traveling behind in his own motorcade.

How’s that for optics, Tenet thought with a smile.

“You must be happy,” he said, now that he and Zinovenko were finally alone together. “After six years of war in Donbas, a peace has finally been brokered with Russia and the separatists.”

“Yes, I am happy, but many have died. Fourteen thousand Ukrainians,” Zinovenko said, pausing with somber reverence. “Now we take steps to move forward and put this terrible chapter behind us.”

A silence lingered between them for a long moment, as an invisible third hand coaxed them both to dispense with the small talk and say what was truly on their minds—for this was how real politics was conducted. No reporters. No lawyers. No intermediaries. Just two men, talking face-to-face behind closed doors—with their security agents sworn to secrecy beside them, of course.

Tenet broke the silence first, deciding it was the presidential thing to do. It was important that he got used to taking the initiative, because as Commander in Chief it was what would be expected of him. Filling President Warner’s shoes was a tall order—Tenet had no illusions about that—but he was up to the task. People had underestimated him his entire life, and always to their public chagrin or political peril. He deserved to be President, because damn it, he’d put in the work, soldiered through the years, and kissed all the requisite asses. In fourteen short months, the American people would go to the ballot boxes and elect him leader of the free world, and he could hardly wait. It was his turn, damn it.

“Let’s talk about messaging,” he said, keen on executing his tasking and keeping Warner happy. “We want to control the narrative on this armistice with the separatists, not Moscow. Undoubtedly, Petrov considers this a victory for Russia, with the Donetsk People’s Republic and Luhansk People’s Republic earning recognition as independent states. In his mind, he’s orchestrated the secession of two Ukrainian oblasts. It’s only a matter of time before DPR and LPR go the way of Crimea and get absorbed into Russia. Petrov is not going to say that publicly, of course, which is why he sent Prime Minister Vavilov to the signing. Vavilov will talk about how the Russian-speaking citizens of Donetsk and Luhansk finally have their freedom and autonomy, and how Russia plans to support their fledgling governments to ensure their success and survival.”

“I agree we want to control the narrative, but make no mistake, this was not the endgame Petrov was hoping for,” Zinovenko said, crossing ankle over knee.

“What are you talking about?” Tenet said, genuinely surprised. “We all know what happened in Crimea: a secession vote administered at gunpoint by Russian soldiers and the results tabulated by Moscow. Donetsk and Luhansk are just one illegitimate vote away from joining Russia. Petrov is literally carving away pieces of your country and laughing about it behind closed doors.”

“Respectfully, I disagree. Did you see Petrov smiling at the press conference last week? No. He was unable to hide his displeasure at the outcome. He did not expect my government to concede to the separatists’ demands. If annexation were the goal, it will be much harder to achieve now that DPR and LPR have autonomy. The people will not want to join Russia now that they are independent. It’s the main reason why I signed the treaty, to avoid another Crimea.”

Tenet shook his head, unconvinced.

“Besides, I’m not so sure Petrov’s goal for the Donbas was annexation. Maybe in the beginning, yes, but not after he saw the destructive power of a never-ending civil war in Ukraine. The past five years have driven a wedge between Kiev and the EU. Everyone is afraid to do business here, which undermines economic stability in my country. And you see, without Mariupol, the secession states do not have the same geographic, economic, and military value as Crimea. The cost of annexing and supporting their new governments might even exceed the economic benefit they bring.” He shook his head. “The civil war in Donbas was a cancer of Petrov’s design, and my goal in signing this treaty was to cut it out. Yes, we lost some land, but in the process, I excised a dangerous, painful tumor and prevented the disease from spreading to the rest of Ukraine.”

Tenet nodded and realized he may have vastly underestimated this man. He was about to respond, but the Ukrainian President wasn’t finished.

“You see, Mr. Vice President, breaking a country is no different than breaking a man: all you have to do is take away hope. Petrov prefers Ukraine in shambles, because he doesn’t want his own countrymen looking across the border with jealous eyes. If Europe embraces Ukraine and my presidency is a success, the Russian people will begin to question Petrov’s authoritarian regime. Russians weather austerity better than any other people. It’s in their DNA. But if Ukraine can flourish outside of Petrov’s control, if democracy and the rule of law can elevate the standard of living and the pride of the Ukrainian people, then Russians might see the light. Petrov cannot permit this to happen.”

Tenet nodded. “I see what you’re saying, but I also think Petrov has not given up his dream of Novorossiya. He talks about it all the time—restoring the Russian Empire to its former might. He wants to turn the clock back to 1915 and reclaim those House of Romanov territories he believes were lost. I would not be surprised if he has plans to annex all of southern Ukraine, dividing your country in half and cutting off the remainder from the Black Sea completely.”

“No, no, that would be insanity. Ukraine would not stand for that. The world would not stand for that. Such brazen aggression would cause World War Three. Petrov is greedy and arrogant, but he’s not an idiot. To understand Petrov’s desired endgame, one must understand the mind of the Russian oligarch. They rise from the chaos they create in others. They ascend on the backs of those they tear down, rather than lifting themselves up. It is a Western misconception to see them as you do, but then that is why we must partner so closely, isn’t it?”

Tenet felt his stomach tighten. In the limo, at least, he was most certainly not controlling this narrative.

“Rest assured, we understand Petrov much better than you think,” he said. “Our relationship with Ukraine is honest and true. Together we will weather any storm, whether it comes from your far-right nationalists or from Russia.”

Instead of the awe and reverence he expected his words to inspire in the Ukrainian President, Zinovenko looked almost bemused.

“We will see, I suppose,” the man said with a smile. “Let us hope we can get a lasting peace in place before you take office so that we can build on what we accomplished today.”

Unsure what to say, Tenet nodded and looked out the window as the limo pulled into Independence Square. He had underestimated Zinovenko’s geopolitical savvy. Was he a victim of his own American elitism? He would need to purge this weakness moving forward. As President of the United States, underestimating his contemporaries would be disastrous.

The motorcade came to a stop, and Tenet sat a moment in familiar silence as his Secret Service team, in tandem with Zinovenko’s security detail, cleared the area outside the vehicle. Then he exited his own side of the limo, knowing better than to emerge behind the Ukrainian President.

My God, how would that look?

He and Zinovenko walked together up the wide steps behind the stage set up for them to address the crowd. Russian Prime Minister Vavilov and his retinue joined them on the platform. Diplomats, aides, and bodyguards all shuffled for position, and eventually everyone who was supposed to be there had found a place to sit or stand. From behind the clear ballistic acrylic barrier, he scanned the smiling faces of the thousands of Ukrainians gathered in Kiev’s most famous square, and as he did, Zinovenko’s words echoed in his mind.

Breaking a country is no different from breaking a man: all you have to do is take away hope . . .

There was so much hope everywhere he looked, and yet like an earworm, the words played over and over and over again. It wasn’t so much the phrase itself, but rather the way the Ukrainian President had said it—with such earnest resignation and certitude. Zinovenko was a native-born Ukrainian, which certainly qualified him to speak with authority about purloined hope . . .

And nation breaking.

As the crowd cheered, Tenet was unable to shake the feeling that something important had happened that he’d failed to register. He saw Zinovenko turn and smile at him from the podium, but he hadn’t been paying attention to the speech, nor to the whispered blow-by-blow from the American ambassador who was tediously translating what was being said in his ear.

He was still processing the conversation he’d had with Zinovenko during the ride over. As he waited for his turn at the podium to address the crowd, he remembered his mission. Yes, he was speaking to the Ukrainian people in Independence Square, but he was also addressing a global audience. His job was to remind the world that America, not Russia, was Ukraine’s true and reliable partner. America, not Russia, was the world’s one and only superpower.

He felt a tap on the back of his right hand, pulling him back to the present. He turned to look at the American Ambassador to Ukraine.

“President Zinovenko is finishing up his remarks, Mr. Vice President,” she said with a tight smile.

“I’m speaking before the Russian Prime Minister?” he said, suddenly questioning whether the optics were better if he followed Zinovenko or spoke last.

“It appears so. Are you ready?”

“I was born ready,” he heard himself say, and cringed inside at the cliché. Warner would never say something so lame, and going forward, neither would he.

The Ambassador chuckled politely, but her attention was fixed on Zinovenko. “Okay . . . he’s introducing you, sir. You can head to the podium,” she said.

Tenet stood, and his trademark vice presidential smile spread across his face. Hey there, people of Ukraine, I know I’m not the guy you wanted to hear from, but I’m the guy you get.

Zinovenko turned to face him, his own smile broad, eager, and genuine. His speech had clearly gone well, because the roar of the crowd was deafening. The war of secession was over. The war with Russia was over. Now, Ukraine could finally move on to the business of being and becoming the Ukraine of tomorrow. They were happy and hopeful . . . at least, most of them were.

A commotion in the crowd to his right caught his eye. A group of angry protestors were pushing and shoving their way through the throng toward the dais. They held signs and shook their fists. Some of the signs were written in English: zinovenko is a traitor; petrov’s puppet; and don’t give up donbas.

Tenet turned and smiled at the Ukrainian President, while using his eyes to pose the burning question on his mind: What the hell is this all about?

“Ultra-right-wing nationalists,” Zinovenko said through a smile as he shook Tenet’s hand for all the world to see. “They’re upset about the treaty. They see this as capitulation. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

Tenet nodded and saw a squad of Ukrainian police dressed in riot gear moving to intercept the protestors. He glanced over his shoulder at the lead agent in his Secret Service security detail, a man he’d known for seven years and trusted implicitly. The square-jawed agent had two fingers pressed to his ear, holding his earpiece in tight. He nodded at Tenet and mouthed, “We’re good.”

Sufficiently reassured, Tenet took the podium behind a transparent bulletproof screen. The crowd noise ebbed in anticipation of his opening remarks. He scanned the eager faces and refreshed his smile.

“Thank you, President Zinovenko, for your wonderful introduction. And thank you, people of Kiev—” He stopped midsentence. “What the hell is that?” he murmured, squinting at the thing streaking toward him just above the heads in the crowd.

“Incoming!” an American voice yelled.

He tried to move. Tried to run, but his legs were lead.

He felt someone tackle him.

Then there was only heat and pain and the agonizing sensation of his body being ripped apart. And in a bizarre moment of final clarity, as the world was consumed by fire, he thought: Damn, I guess I don’t get to be President after all . . .