The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(9)

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.”

They all nodded.

“As the chairman states, he has refused protection because he does not want his children to live as prisoners. I also agree with the deputy director that the use of a poisonous agent—a trademark now linked to Russia—will make plausible deniability impossible and could result in collateral damage.”

“What is it then that you would have us do?” Petrov asked.

“What if we were to take a different tack, one that would ensure no collateral damage?”

“You have something in mind?” Petrov asked.

“One well-placed bullet.”

At first no one spoke, all awaiting Petrov’s comment. When he remained silent, Sokalov waded in first. “This is a dangerous game to play—sending Russian assassins to shoot someone on American soil would be . . .” Sokalov shook his head. “The Americans would immediately put their border guards on alert. If they located the assassins and identified them to be Russian, the end result would be the same. No plausible deniability. American public outrage would demand severe economic sanctions, and the Americans would influence their allies to do the same.”

Pasternak shrugged. “Not if Ibragimov was the victim of an accident, or perhaps the criminal element so prevalent in the United States. A robbery perhaps.”

“The danger remains—if the assassin were caught,” Petrov said. “Unlike a toxin, which can take hours before symptoms occur, the bullet leaves little time for those responsible to slip away. Our intelligence advises that Ibragimov’s movements are limited throughout the day. His wife rarely leaves the house except to take the children to and from school fifteen minutes from their home.”

“What if the assassins had more time to slip away?” Pasternak said.