Читать книгу Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer - Страница 7

The letter from the Secretary of State was the first item of morning business on Ivanov’s pile of material. It demanded his attention before the latest violence in Chechnya, before the testy relationship with the scarred prime minister of the Ukraine, before the latest NATO threat to take in another former Soviet bloc country.

Ivanov had yet to meet the formidable Secretary of State. Even so he knew, as he should, a great deal about his American counterpart. When she was nominated by the U.S. president to be secretary, Ivanov ordered his staff to prepare the book on this amazing, sharp-minded, cool-tongued black woman whom he would have to deal with, face across some table, somewhere and soon.

The Secretary was indeed formidable. She was an academic specialist on Russia, a full giver/taker in debate, invariably having the best answer to the toughest questions from the roughest Congressional panellists.

This was the first missive from the new face representing the goals, ambitions, and objectives of the American people as seen by their President. Because of her long, close association with him as his national security advisor and as the most loyal of his loyals, her power would be enormous, Ivanov knew, much greater than that of her predecessor, the much admired American icon Colin Powell.

Her letter was accompanied by a second fax. It was from Under Secretary Crisp, whom Ivanov knew well from many meetings over the years since the young Putin had appointed him foreign minister. Crisp, well organized, knew the business, coming up as he did as an assistant under secretary before succeeding Powell’s under secretary, who left office when Powell did.

The Crisp fax outlined in detail the Stavanger meeting proposal. If the timing and place were acceptable Crisp would liaise with Ivanov’s designated staff member to sort out the myriad arrangements that would have to be made with the Norwegians. The security and secrecy requirements would be demanding but not quite so stringent as those that would be necessary for a meeting between the presidents of Russia and America.

Ivanov digested the fascinating letter from the Secretary wondering what it was that she and her President were really up to. A strange request. What’s the game plan? What’s the real objective? Nuclear waste, yes. But what was the urgency, the need for a secret meeting? There was something more to this than met Ivanov’s jaded eyes. His experience told him there had to be.

He reached for the telephone that gave him a secure, direct line to the desk of his President. Ivanov knew Putin was at his desk that morning.

The Deputy Prime Minister quickly gave Putin a synopsis of the proposal, reading off the main sections of the letter from the Secretary.

“What do you think I should do, Vladimir?”

The answer was immediate. “The Americans are paranoid about our nuclear waste, our surplus plutonium, our derelict nuclear submarines in the Kola. They are petrified that Osama bin Laden, his al Qaeda, or some other terrorist organization will steal enough weapons-grade plutonium to make a bomb — yes, just one nuclear bomb. That is why they have been pouring money at us for years believing that we can do the job of security and clean up our own nuclear mess.”

“Yes, Vladimir. I know all that. My question to my President is what shall I do with the Secretary’s request?”

Putin’s voice had a touch of impatience. “Do exactly as she suggests. Co-operate fully. Do the meeting. Size her up. Listen to her. Hear the proposition. But do not agree, do not negotiate until you’ve talked with me.”

“Yes. At the right moment I can request a break and call you.”

“Yes. She would expect you to do that.”

“And she can check in with her President — depending on where he would be at the moment.”

There was a pause. In his mind’s eye Ivanov could see his President’s broad, high forehead furrowed, slanted eyes squinting as the intense Putin brain sorted out the next words.

“Sergei, I really don’t think she’s required to check in with him, not unless you and she get into a shouting match. If that happens she’ll need a mediator, advice on how to handle the angry Russian bear. And her President is the only one she can turn to.”

Ivanov suggested, “What about Powell? Would she seek advice from him?”

Putin did not hesitate. “Not a chance. Colin Powell is history. The man, the person ... there’s only one.”

“The President.”

“Just as it is with you and me, Sergei. Keep me informed as you settle your Norway arrangements. I can speak directly to the groom, Prime Minister Johann Koss, if you think it is necessary.”

“Yes, Koss, the hero of Norway. His second marriage. The Olympic multi–gold medal speed-skating champion of 1994. I’ve met him several times. I think I can handle him without getting you involved, my President. But...”

Putin chuckled. “Sergei, my life is full of ‘buts’.”