Commander-In-Chief (42 page)

T
atiana Molchanova had interviewed world leaders before, but she’d never met any foreign leader with nearly the power of her own president. Today all that would change, and this would be thrilling enough to her, but the added element to this evening’s meeting with the American President had her positively electrified.

Molchanova spoke excellent English; she was the daughter of parents who’d immigrated to the UK in the early nineties, when anyone who had the means and the desire to get out did just that. She’d spent nine years in Sheffield, and she’d only returned to the land of her birth for college. She’d remained in Russia ever since, so she spoke her English with something of a British accent but she retained the lilt of Russian in her vowels.

It had added to her cachet in Russia that she had returned to the nation of her birth, eschewing the lures of the West because of the pride she felt in her heart in being a Russian woman.

This was a good selling point for Molchanova, but it had nothing to do with the reason she had really returned home. She wanted to be a broadcaster, and she knew her accent, while limited, would preclude her from making any name for herself in English because she was not a native speaker.

The interview was conducted in the living room of a suite at the Radisson Blu Royal Hotel in Copenhagen. It wasn’t the President’s actual suite, but rather one reserved for media broadcasts. A simple set had been assembled by moving furniture around, and behind the set was a window with a view overlooking the Tivoli Gardens.

President Ryan appeared right on time in the center of his large entourage of Secret Service agents and aides.

Molchanova was instantly struck by Ryan’s physical size as compared to Volodin’s—he was half a head taller—as well as his calm, relaxed mannerisms, again as compared to her own leader’s. Ryan smiled easily and shook her hand gently and with deference.

She had an icebreaker prepared. “Mr. President, I know the people of Russia appreciate you taking time to give your view on matters important to both of our nations.”

Ryan just nodded and said, “Happy to be with you, Miss Molchanova.”

She said, “With your permission, we will conduct our interview in English and interpreters will dub in the translations before this goes to air tomorrow evening.”

Ryan then surprised the Channel Seven anchor by switching into slow but understandable Russian. “Unfortunately, I am forgetting more and more Russian every year. One needs to practice, and I have no time.”

Molchanova had no idea Ryan knew a word in her language, and she was taken aback, but she retained the presence of mind to use
the moment. In Russian she said, “Very impressive, Mr. President. I assume you learned when you were in the CIA?”

Ryan switched back to English and shook his head. “No, ma’am. In college.” He smiled. “But since your English is flawless, let’s stick with your plan to use the interpreters.”

As Ryan was miked and Tatiana readied herself in the chair next to him, she realized she hadn’t really known what to expect from the American President. She’d thought he would immediately try to get her to confirm that Channel Seven would play his comments unedited, or at least his aides would push her and her staff to commit. But the White House staff had been accommodating to the needs of the producers and technical people, much more accommodating than what she encountered when she interviewed mid-level Russian politicians in their offices.

And the President had said nothing on the matter himself. She wondered if she had expected him to be some sort of thug, or if, perhaps, she was accustomed to interviewing thugs.

The cameras began to roll, and Tatiana Molchanova read her introduction. After this, with a large white grin and a sparkle in her eyes, she turned to President Ryan.

“Mr. President, thank you for your time this evening, on what is obviously a day that is very important to you.”

“It’s my pleasure to speak to Russians in their homes. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Of course.” Her smile evaporated and she read her first question. “You are here, in Copenhagen, to ask NATO to move combat forces to the Russian border with Lithuania. How do you think this action will be received in Russia?”

Ryan said, “
Defensive
combat forces, Miss Molchanova. There is a difference.”

“Will they be armed? Could not their weapons be used for both offensive and defensive actions?”

“Any weapon is just a tool. But NATO is a strictly defensive alliance. If it were an offensive alliance, I imagine NATO would have probably gone on the offensive at least once in Europe in the sixty-seven years since the charter was signed. It has not. I hope your audience understands that. For all the talk the West is at your door and about to knock it down, the NATO nations that border Russia have the absolute least military presence in them.”

“But you wish to change that by sending troops to Lithuania.”

“I am requesting NATO move its Very High Readiness Joint Task Force into Lithuania, yes. Russia has twenty-five thousand troops on the eastern border there, and twenty-five thousand troops on the western border. The VHRJTF is five thousand, seven hundred men and women.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, Miss Molchanova. If your leader really wants to invade and conquer Lithuania, like he did in Georgia, like he did in the Crimea and Donetsk, like he tried to do in Estonia . . . I am sure he can pull it off. You will just have to come on television for him and explain to your viewers why they are suddenly at war with the West, why sanctions have been raised to the point where your only trading partners will be Cuba, Iran, and North Korea, and why no Russian will be allowed free travel outside their national borders.”

Ryan could see it in her eyes: she thought she had a perfect riposte to his statement. “Such a long array of threats against the Russian people, Mr. President? Is that wise?”

“The threats will only turn into action when the Russian Sixth Army crosses into an independent state. If Russia remains in Russia, or even in its client state Belarus, no one in the West will act militarily against you. And that’s a promise.”

Ryan knew what she was thinking from the look on her face when the camera was on him. She hadn’t penetrated Ryan’s argument or his calm demeanor, and she was regrouping for another line of attack. He told himself to keep his cool.

“You say Russia is safe from the West if there is no war in Lithuania, but—”

“Well, you also have fifty thousand troops on the border of Poland, so we’d much prefer you didn’t invade Poland, either.”

She ignored him. “But all across Europe and even in your country you are calling for reprisals for the aircraft accident earlier in the week over the Baltic Sea. I don’t see anyone threatening Sweden, the other country involved in the accident. Only Russia. Why is that, Mr. President?”

“Because the Russian military aircraft was flying without its transponder signal, meaning it was invisible to the other plane and air traffic control.”

“International flying standards are very clear, Mr. President. Military aircraft do not need to fly with their transponder signals active. Often American planes fly in the dark just like the Russian aircraft. Surely you know this, so why the double standard?”

“Because no American plane has collided with a commercial aircraft. It is the pilot’s responsibility to keep watch for planes in the sky who are playing by the rules. Russia has been conducting dangerous flights like this at an unprecedented rate. This was inevitable, and avoidable, and ultimately, President Volodin should be held responsible.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think President Volodin asked his pilot to ram a Swedish commercial plane?”

“Of course not. But I believe, I
know
, he ordered his air force to increase incursions, his Baltic Fleet to harass commercial shipping in international waters near Kaliningrad. And he has turned the
state of Kaliningrad into nothing less than a military base, with missile batteries ringing the entire nation.”

“I’ve been to Kaliningrad, Mr. President. It is not a military base. It is a beautiful place full of wonderful people. Have you seen it for yourself?”

“No, Miss Molchanova, I confess you have had many experiences I have not had.”

She raised her chin slightly in triumph.

“For example, I have never lived under a totalitarian regime. It’s for this reason that myself and others like me, all over the world, see President Volodin’s unilateral actions as dangerous to the world order.”

To the Russian woman’s credit, she did not get angry at the put-down. She simply said, “President Valeri Volodin is not running a totalitarian regime. His supporters would say he simply wants prosperity for every Russian. Some in the West seem to have great difficulty with that.”

Ryan said, “One hundred eleven Russians are billionaires, while ninety percent of the nation lives below the Western standard of living. Apparently, in contrast to some of the reporting I’ve seen out of Russia, Valeri Volodin wanting something doesn’t necessarily make it so. Another example would be Estonia. He wanted it, and he didn’t get it. Now we know he wants Lithuania. This is why I’m in Copenhagen at the emergency meeting.”

She said, “What the president said on my broadcast, and he was clear about this, was that since the Lithuanians have not been successful protecting Russian movement to our Kaliningrad Oblast, it was his duty to ensure his citizens were protected.”

Ryan replied, “The event at the train station in Vilnius is under investigation, Miss Molchanova. I would avoid jumping to conclusions about who was behind that attack.”

“I think the conclusions can be easily drawn. The culprits were Polish rebels working in collusion with the Lithuanian government to attack a Russian military transport.”

Ryan said, “There have been a lot of attacks of late that are not what they seem.”

“I don’t know where you are getting your facts,” Molchanova said, and she prepared to move on to the next topic.

But Ryan said, “I
do
know where you are getting yours. Straight from the Kremlin. Disinformation is a key part of Volodin’s campaign of hybrid warfare.”

Molchanova said, “You think what I am doing is warfare?”

With a smile he said, “That’s exactly what it is. Information warfare.”

She smiled herself and looked at the camera. “I have to say this is the first time I have been accused of looking like a soldier.” She turned back to the President. “You recently declared today’s Russia is more dangerous to the world than the Soviet Union in the 1980s. Would you like to explain that to the Russian people?”

Ryan said, “The Soviet Union had the potential to be more dangerous, but by the 1980s the Soviets were essentially satisfied with the world order. They had their part, we had ours. There would be struggles by proxy on the margins, but no major upsetting of the apple cart. Russia today is more brash, more dissatisfied with its standing, and therefore more unpredictable. Volodin is the manifestation of this unease, just as surely as Hitler was the manifestation of Germany’s discontent after the First World War.”

“So now we are more dangerous than the Nazis.”

“No, I said—”

“Unfortunately, our time is up, Mr. President. Thank you so much for the interview.”

Ryan nodded and smiled, unrattled to the end. The truth was,
he knew she would end this with some sort of “gotcha” line, and she hadn’t let him down.

The bright lights turned off, signaling the end of the interview. Tatiana Molchanova waited for her microphone to be removed, then stood and shook Ryan’s hand.

Jack gave a perfunctory “Thank you” and started to turn away, but the Russian reporter surprised him.

“Mr. President, thank you very much for your time, but I would like to ask you for something else.”

He was more than a little suspicious of this obviously brainwashed tool of the Russian state. “What’s that?”

“I was wondering if we could go somewhere private to talk.”

Ryan almost laughed. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

She leaned a little closer to him, and he knew Joe O’Hearn was about two steps away, just to the left of the set, ready to take the beautiful woman down to the floor like a safety dropping a wide receiver in an open field. But Joe contained himself and Molchanova whispered, “I bring a personal and private message to you from President Volodin.”

Ryan just stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then said, “You know, there are avenues for that kind of thing. Statecraft isn’t normally conducted through on-air personalities.”

Molchanova smiled, her perfect white teeth shining bright. “I know, and I agree this is a unique situation. But the message is very real. I have been told you can contact the Russian ambassador to vouch for me. He only knows I have been tasked with conveying a message. He does not know what the message is.”

Ryan sighed. He didn’t particularly want a message from Volodin. It would have been welcome if there was any chance in hell it offered an off road to the impending catastrophe in the Baltic, but Ryan presumed whatever it was the woman had to tell him would
only be another one of the Kremlin’s patented stalling tactics, obfuscations, or misdirections.