In a small White House meeting room, President Palmer sat on the sofa kneading his temples. The recent cascade of crises had given him a pounding headache.
CTU was in trouble, Omega had grown disaffected, and Jack Bauer was no longer someone he could fully trust. And now, of all times, the Russian airport massacre—this was a crisis on par with the White House attack. One misstep, and not only his presidency would be in jeopardy; the entire United States could be dragged under.
To make matters worse, the next year was an election year. He'd once been confident about reelection; now Palmer wasn't so sure.
Knock, knock, knock—
There was a rap at the door. Palmer called for them to enter. His foreign policy adviser, Daniel Barnes, stepped in.
"Did we send the materials to Russia?"
"Yes."
"What's their response?"
"None so far."
"Go public in thirty minutes. Regardless of how Moscow chooses to interpret it, we need to tell the world this wasn't us—and win as many people to our side as we can…"
"Understood. I'll arrange it now."
After Barnes left, President Palmer went back to massaging his temples. Eyes closed, he ran through what else could still be done.
Omega's operations were all recorded on combat video. Helmet cams captured the entire fight in first-person. In the footage, when Steve and the team breached, the walls were covered with plans and data on Sheremetyevo—layouts, emergency exits, police numbers and deployments. That alone could prove the attack had been meticulously planned by Makarov.
After Omega returned, the White House shared the video with Russia. Palmer even decided to release it publicly. With that footage out, both the Russian government and its public should have less appetite for anti-American outrage.
…
In the room next to the interrogation suite, Steve watched through the one-way mirror.
Once he cooled off he knew he shouldn't be in there, so he moved to the observation room next door. Ghost was running the interrogation now.
Yuri was extremely cooperative—so cooperative it bordered on suspicious. He answered every question without Ghost having to use any techniques. That alone made people doubt his intel. A dead-drop agent wasn't uncommon in this world. To hedge, Ghost brought in a polygraph to accompany the questioning.
"Why does Makarov want you dead? As far as I know, you used to be his closest comrade."
"Makarov has changed. What he's doing betrays our original purpose. I opposed the plan to hit Sheremetyevo from the start. Later he feared I'd ruin it, so he put me under house arrest—then decided to kill me."
Ghost didn't show his hand. He glanced at Heartbeat. Heartbeat nodded. "Polygraph says he's telling the truth."
"Why did you oppose it?"
Ghost pressed on.
"The Core Group's creed is to save Russia—to make it strong again, restore the Soviet-era glory. But what he's doing doesn't save Russia. He's pushing her toward death…"
On that point, no polygraph was needed. CTU's files cataloged most terror groups and their methods and manifestos. The Core Group did fit that description. Yuri and Makarov had once been in its hardline faction; in later internal fights they lost to the moderates and were expelled.
"Back to the point. Where is Makarov?"
"I don't know."
Steve looked at Heartbeat again; Heartbeat nodded.
Either Yuri was skilled enough at counter-interrogation to fool a polygraph, or he truly didn't know.
Seeing that, Ghost shifted angles. "What other plans does Makarov have? Where else is he targeting?"
"Of course."
Yuri smiled and went on: "Sheremetyevo was only step one. You don't pit two superpowers against each other that easily. Makarov has a second act. He's acquired a batch of VX nerve-gas missiles and plans to strike the U.S. homeland under a Russian flag."
It was a bombshell. Ghost immediately looked to Heartbeat, who gave a grave nod. It seemed Yuri was telling the truth.
"Where are the missiles?"
Yuri shook his head. "I don't know the exact location—only that they're somewhere in the Pacific. Makarov doesn't tell me everything. I only know he seems to have set them up on an offshore oil rig, converted into a missile launch site…"
Shit.
The key detail was missing, but this still had to go straight to the White House and Pentagon.
"Ask him where Bullseye might be held."
Steve's low voice came over the comm. Ghost glanced at the one-way mirror. Everyone had seen Becky's last satellite frame while Steve was still out. Truth be told, the odds of Swagger's survival were vanishingly small.
But until they saw a body, there was a sliver of hope. Ghost asked, "We lost a teammate during exfil, but we don't know if he's alive or dead. Where would Makarov keep him?"
"No. Makarov never takes prisoners. If your man was captured, I'm sorry—his end is likely worse than dying on the spot."
Yuri's words made everyone in the observation room flinch. They'd already believed Swagger's chances were slim, but hearing it from Yuri's own mouth pushed hope toward zero.
Steve walked out of the observation room in silence. He didn't want to hear any more. Back in his office, he put his feet up on the desk, sat quietly in the chair, and stared at the ceiling. He forced himself not to think about Swagger. No corpse, no death—that was the rule he clung to.
Half an hour later, Ghost wrapped the interrogation and came to Steve's office.
"Becky's already notified the White House about the nerve-gas missiles. And Yuri gave us one location: Makarov has an estate in the British countryside—it's one of his safe sites. He might be there, but Yuri isn't certain.
"After the airport attack, Makarov should've returned to Ukraine—but he didn't. Instead he turned it into a trap. Clearly, he trusts no one.
"Yuri also stressed this: recently, Makarov contacted someone named Erik Vasili Olof. Reportedly a key KGB figure in the Soviet era, in charge of the KA Program. Makarov talked to him for a long time. They seem to be planning something…"
"The KA Program? What is it?"
Steve frowned. He'd never heard of it. Becky chimed in from the side: "I looked it up. The KA Program is a Cold War legend: Soviet sleeper agents, highly trained, infiltrated American society to sabotage and assassinate. They'd wait years—even decades—before acting."
"Soviet era? Then they'd all be old men now. What does Makarov expect them to do?"
"No, the KA trainees weren't adult operatives. They selected children with exceptional physical and cognitive traits, trained them, then gave them new identities and sent them back to the U.S. Those kids would be in their prime now…"
"Mm. I need to tell Jack."
This was getting more complicated. Anything involving spies should go to the FBI and CIA as well. Steve went to call Jack—but the phone rang and rang with no answer.
He checked the number. He hadn't misdialed. He hung up, and immediately another call came in. He glanced at the screen. The caller ID read—Alicia Florrick.
…
Only one chapter this morning—don't wait around. The other update will be in the afternoon.
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