Ice Islands by Humphrey Hawksley

Author:Humphrey Hawksley [Humphrey Hawksley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-NINE

Rake was in the Oval Office with President John Freeman when his phone screen lit with an alert of an activation of the phone he had left with Sara Kato. Lucas, barely six feet away, got the same message. His gaze met Rake’s as Freeman stopped spinning a pen on his desk, looked up from it and asked, ‘Major Ozenna. You were there. What is your assessment?’

Rake and Lucas were either side of the marble mantelpiece, at the back of the room, standing under portraits of past presidents. More than a dozen officials stood between them and the President. Nick Petrovsky had insisted they come to the meeting, but to stay quiet, to give their reading afterwards. Everyone was on their feet apart from Freeman, who had asked a lot of questions but not yet come to a decision on when to call the Russian President and what to say.

Under discussion was the impact of Yuri Mishkin’s murder on US–Russia relations. This was the type of meeting no one wanted, but everyone needed on their résumé because it could be a defining moment of history. Lucas had briefed the room about Stephanie being with President Sergey Grizlov, who had agreed to keep the murder of his son quiet for only a few hours. After that Russia would know and all hell could break loose. Principals from State to Treasury, through Defense and Homeland Security, had offered advice, all of it circling around the future of America and Russia. Some were hawks, some doves, many veterans of the Ukraine crisis. Some referenced the China threat, none Japan, a given that it was a locked ally and irrelevant to this meeting. On Lucas’s advice, Sara Kato’s name was not on documents.

Sara’s phone had been set with a one-time activation, which meant that once used another number would be automatically allocated. Sara, or whoever had the phone now, would be the only person with this number. Lucas moved toward Rake, edging past the FBI director and an assistant Treasury secretary. His phone was lit up, lying flat in his hand, and said, ‘We have to take this, now.’

‘Harry Lucas,’ interjected Freeman. ‘My question is to Major Ozenna. You need to let him answer in his own way.’

‘Apologies, sir.’ Lucas held up the phone. ‘With your permission. This is relevant to our meeting.’

Rake had never seen Freeman close up in person. A few months shy of fifty, he looked older. Gray flecks streaked through his dark hair and a double chin hung from his jaw. Less than a hundred days in, the campaign smile – the beaming projection of purpose that had scraped him enough votes to win the Oval Office – had gone. The President was sharp and irritable and, more than that, Rake knew by an instinct that had saved his life many times that this was a man he could not trust. But that didn’t mean he would not work with him.

Those in the room followed Freeman’s gaze, turning around to face Rake.

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