Commander-In-Chief Page 29
There was a pause. “Jack, I’m old. I understand the financial markets, more or less, but I haven’t been keeping up in this computer-currency stuff. Sounds like a bunch of nonsense.”
“I can explain it to you in a couple of minutes.”
There was a slight pause. Then, “Clock is ticking, kid.”
Jack said, “The first way to buy things was trade, right? I have a cow, I want your wheat, so I give you milk for the wheat.”
Clark chuckled. “For the record, I’m not old enough to remember that part firsthand, but yeah, I’m with you.”
“Somebody had to come up with a way strangers could trust each other to give them something else of value. Otherwise everybody would be lugging their yak or whatever to the market.”
“Right.”
“Money came along. Coins at first, but there was no known, specific intrinsic value in the metal. Intermediaries had to insure it. Middlemen—banks, who were like referees. They said, ‘This guy you’ve never met is going to hand you a little chunk of metal for something of value, but you can use that chunk later to buy something of value. It’s okay, it’s legit, we’ll cover it.’ Of course, the banks took their cut for this service, and of course the banks had to have a little information about you if they held on to your chunks of metal for you or loaned you other chunks of metal so you could exchange them for goods or services that you wanted to pay back over time. Borrowers and savers.”
“I’m still with you,” Clark said.
“And it’s been like this for a thousand years. Works pretty well, unless you don’t feel like paying someone in the middle, and unless you don’t want anyone to know who you are.”
“And I guess there are a lot of people who fall into that category.”
“Damn right there are,” Jack said. “World economic output is ninety trillion a year. Think about how much of that goes to middlemen. Banks are necessary and extremely powerful. So along comes cryptocurrency. It cuts away the middlemen. It removes centralized financial institutions and replaces them with self-directed computer networks, decentralizing the process. Once someone figured out how to ensure transactions without recording any identity data about the payer or payee, the system began to grow quickly.”
“How does that work?”
“It’s an independent network-based ledger. It’s called a blockchain. It automatically tells one party that the other party in the transaction is legitimately paying for a good or service. It’s completely computerized, completely peer-to-peer. No third party involved.”
Clark said, “And no real regulation.”
Jack said, “It’s complicated, but yet it’s awesome in its simplicity, and its potential. It reduces fees in doing business, and it completely eliminates the corruption in intermediating institutions, because there is no one in the middle who can misuse information or steal money.”
“So how do you get the little coin into the computer?” Clark asked.
Jack assumed he was being sarcastic, but he explained anyway. “Bitcoin is not a physical coin. It’s digital cash—a long number that you enter. It’s not tangible, not issued by a government, it’s not a semiprecious metal with a dead person’s face on it. It resides nowhere, but it can be accessed anywhere.”
“But who controls the system?”
“The system is set up, and then it is monitored by everyone. Each person who takes part in cryptocurrency commerce has the same ability to oversee the operation. There is this blockchain, this ledger, which is updated in real time, and everyone can see. It won’t show me that John Clark just bought a pizza, but it will show me that the holder of this Bitcoin just bought something from someone who received this Bitcoin. Once that person buys something it will show the movement of the Bitcoin itself, not the product.”
Clark whistled. “A money launderer’s dream.”
“Yeah. I love the brilliance of this system, but as a guy who chases corrupt money around the world, I’ve got to say . . . it sucks for me.”
Clark said, “You are telling me all this at two a.m. because you want me to understand that once this money is converted into Bitcoin, it will be even harder to track.”
“No. Not harder. Impossible. We have to stop this from happening.”
“How do you know Limonov is going to see Walker?”
Jack explained how he had come to his conclusion.
Clark asked, “You think Limonov is working with him?”
“I think it’s a strong possibility. I don’t see any other reason for him to go down there to set up accounts for the money. There will be dozens of locations of these accounts around the world, no way he’d visit them all.”
Clark was confused. “So he’s going down to buy Bitcoin from Walker? To do what with it?”
“The Bitcoin isn’t a destination. It’s just a vehicle to get the money out of Russia without it being tracked by other finance people in the FSB. Once he has the digital currency, he can just sit at a computer and exchange it for government-backed currency. He’ll just buy dollars or euros or something, and he’ll plop that into accounts. The new money won’t be tied to Russia. He can put it in Chicago if he wants. I guess he won’t own the Bitcoins for any time at all.”
“What can you do to track it, then?”
“There’s only one thing. I have to get to Terry Walker before he agrees to work for Limonov, and I have to turn him, to get him to work for us.”
Clark said, “I see why this is important. Your whole case looks like it’s racing headlong into a dead end.”
“I’m not going to let that happen, John. I want to go down there. I assume Limonov is going to approach Walker at his office, but I found out he is staying with his family on Tarpon Island.”
Clark had heard of the place. “Fancy.”
“Yeah, I was thinking we could slip ashore as soon as possible and then we can talk to him at his house. If we can convince him to work with us, maybe we can unwrap Limonov’s network and figure out where he’s getting his money from.”
“You keep saying ‘we.’”
“John, to get to that island quietly, I’m going to need a boat. I don’t know a thing about boats, but that’s not a problem, because I know somebody who does.”
“Me?”
“Yep.”
“Jack. There is no way in hell Gerry is going to let you out of the country again before we know what happened in Luxembourg, and why.”
Jack said, “Let’s get Gerry in on this conversation.”
A moment later Clark conferenced Gerry Hendley onto the call. He had been sleeping as well, and he wasn’t as easy to wake up as Clark had been, but finally he understood the situation. He also understood that Jack Ryan, Jr., was asking to take John Clark and the Gulfstream to the BVIs.
Hendley said, “The problem I have with all this, Jack, is that you don’t have any way of knowing who Limonov is working for, do you?”
“No. I wish I could say he was definitely Volodin’s cashier, but I can’t. Suffice it to say this money that’s about to be moved belongs to someone high up at the Kremlin, and time is critical if we are going to have a chance to intercede. Limonov is hiding the money, and I think that is interesting.”
Gerry was confused. “Of course he’s hiding money. That’s what laundering is all about.”
Jack said, “No, I mean he is hiding it from the others in the siloviki. He’s avoiding traditional routes for Russian money. Instead of using a financial network, he goes way out of his way to use Bitcoin to steer clear of other Russian transit means.”
“Who is he hiding from?”
“The only people who have the power to see into the Russian offshore transit networks.”
Gerry Hendley said, “The FSB.”
“Bingo. Whoever Limonov is moving money for, it is someone who doesn’t trust the FSB. Someone who is getting hi
s money the hell out of Russia. Someone with enough time to set up his golden parachute with care, but someone with concerns about the FSB learning what he is doing.”
“Who does that sound like?” Gerry asked, knowing the answer to his question.
“It’s very possible this could be Volodin’s money. Limonov could be the personal cashier for the president of the Russian Federation.”
Now Clark asked, “Do you think Limonov and Kozlov were involved in the attack at your apartment last night?”
Jack didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, he was equivocal. “I wish I knew. It’s clear to me there were two different groups we ran across. One in Rome and one in Luxembourg. It looks to me like the people from Rome tracked Ysabel to me, and they might not have any connection to Limonov. But I don’t know. The fact his plane took off right after the attack . . . and it blocked its flight number . . . It looks suspicious.
“I am going to find the sons of bitches who hurt her, and I’m going to hurt them. But right now I know we don’t have a minute to lose in stopping Limonov.”
Gerry thought about it for a long time. Finally he said, “Jack, your plane doesn’t land in Dulles until eleven a.m. If you turned right around and jumped on the Gulfstream, you still wouldn’t make it to the BVIs before evening. It seems to me the faster someone gets down there, the better the chance we get to Walker before Limonov does.”
“What do you suggest?”
Gerry said, “I’m approving the G550 to travel to the BVIs, but John will go down alone. He can be there and set up before nightfall, and waiting for you will only slow that down. Jack, I want you here, in Alexandria. You can brief John on what to say to Walker over the phone while he’s en route.”
This wasn’t Jack’s first choice, but he recognized that Gerry was right. If Clark could get to Walker before Walker even came into contact with the Russians, then maybe he could avoid whatever the Russians had planned from coming to pass.
Jack said, “That’s fine, Gerry.”
Gerry said, “Of course, John, this is up to you. I know you have stayed out of operations for the past few months. This does look important, though.”
Clark said, “Agreed. I’ll call Adara and get myself packed.”
39
Air Force One left Andrews Field on Joint Base Andrews at ten p.m., lifting off into a clear October sky and turning north over the Atlantic Ocean to skirt the eastern seaboard on its way toward Europe. On climb-out President Ryan looked out the portal next to his desk, down at the black water below, and he wondered if somewhere down there, lurking below the waves, was a 113-meter-long metal tube filled with Russians, nuclear weapons, and bad intentions.
He’d been getting daily updates about the hunt for the Knyaz Oleg. Five of the Navy’s newest antisubmarine warfare aircraft, the P-8A Poseidon, flown out of Naval Air Station Jacksonville, had been patrolling the length of the coast in rotation twenty-four hours a day since the evening before the best estimates put the Knyaz Oleg in the area. U.S. Navy destroyers, cruisers, and littoral combat ships were off the coast now, too, using their sonars as well as their helicopter-based sonar systems, trying to find a needle in a haystack.
The U.S. Coast Guard was also out in force, although they had lost their principal antisubmarine warfare role in 1992 with the fall of the Soviet Union. Much of their mission now involved searching for periscopes and conning towers, sending cutters out from the Mid-Atlantic state ports and investigating potential sightings from civilian surface ships, of which there had been hundreds.
There was an immense area for the Navy and Coast Guard to search, obviously. The Office of Naval Intelligence had determined that the Russian vessel was heading toward the United States from the North Atlantic, which meant the entire East Coast of the United States was its possible destination. There were assumptions made after that, of course; ONI assumed the Russians would want to stay in international waters, which meant it would remain at least twelve nautical miles from any U.S. land. By looking at the oceanic geography of the East Coast—areas of shallows, areas of high current or other poor conditions—and taking into consideration busy shipping lanes that would hamper the submarine’s task of remaining invisible while having a perfect understanding of all threats in the water around them, the Navy and Coast Guard could eliminate more area from the search.
Of further consideration to the analysts was the United States’ missile defense system. The Navy knew that the Russians knew that if they could enter to within seventy nautical miles of the U.S. coastline, it would dramatically increase their chances of evading America’s ability to knock their weapons out of the sky.
So the ONI had worked for days, and they had “pinpointed” the possible location of the Knyaz Oleg to something like a million square miles. Twelve miles from shore to seventy miles out, in international waters, for most of the way up and down the East Coast.
Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Roland Hazelton had been frank with his President—he’d said it was his feeling from discussions with Navy and Coast Guard brass that they would only pinpoint the Russian Borei when it launched a Bulava ballistic missile out of the water and the bloom showed up on MASINT—Measurement and Signature Intelligence data.
Hazelton had been so frank in his portrayal of the Knyaz Oleg’s advantages in the present scenario that he’d immediately offered to turn in his resignation. An offer Ryan declined angrily, telling Hazelton he wasn’t getting out of the present crisis so easily. He’d sent the CNO out his door with orders to work harder, twist more arms, motivate his people and lead them.
To find a way out of this mess.
After the waters off the U.S. coastline disappeared before Ryan, he began focusing on the other, not unrelated situation, the reason for his trip. He spent the first couple of hours of the flight in his office, then he had a working dinner with Bob Burgess and Scott Adler in the dining room just aft of the senior staff meeting room.
He’d received some rare and welcome good news during dinner. Burgess had just come from a conference call, and he informed Ryan that French Special Forces had finally retaken the Nigerian oil rig from Boko Haram fighters with no losses to themselves or the hostages.
After dinner Ryan made a quick call to the French president to congratulate him on his good work and to tell him he looked forward to seeing him in Copenhagen. It was true that Ryan was impressed and happy about the French president’s decision to hit the rig, but it was not true, not true at all, that Ryan was looking forward to seeing the president at the emergency meeting the next afternoon. France would be one of the least inclined to send NATO troops to Lithuania, and the French president was a hell of a good debater.
Now Ryan was in the nose of the plane, lying on his bed in the executive suite, just below the cockpit of the massive 747. He told himself he’d shoot for five hours of sleep, which would get him up just prior to landing in Copenhagen.
But he’d settle for four. Hell, he’d be thrilled with four.
He’d be lucky if he got three.
And when he closed his eyes his fears were realized. Sleep would not come. Instead, his brain refused to shut off; it wanted to keep working, to compute, to analyze, to mind-map the Russian problem and plot a solution to it.
As a historian, and then as an analyst with the CIA, Jack Ryan always had a feeling the answers were out there. Information was attainable; he didn’t discount the difficulties encountered by those in the operations end of things who had to go out and attain it, but once they did, people on the analytic side of things had all the more responsibility to divine the correct answers from the data. And the answers were there, passing by in the wind, and he just had to snatch them out as they passed by.
Those days were a long time ago, but he still felt the same way. As President of the United States, he had access to all the information, and that to him meant he had access to all the answers.
The answer was attainable, Ryan still believed this, but as he lay there on his bed, he realized the answer remained out of his grasp.
Something Burgess had said tonight was bothering him, though. During dinner the talk had turned to Russia’s actions down in Ukraine over the past month. After nearly a year of stalemate the Russian Army had ticked up the fighting, surprising the Ukrainians and knocking them off-balance, although the Russians had failed to capitalize on this tactical advantage.
Burgess had said, “They are increasing attacks, artillery and rocket fire. Some fronts are seeing forty percent more volume in the past month. But it’s harassing actions only. That’s expensive, Russia is blowing through a lot of ordnance, but for what gain? They aren’t taking territory. They aren’t even amassing troops for any sort of a push.”
Ryan had asked, “You’re sure?”
Burgess replied, “We saw some reserve battalions move into border positions, almost like they were thinking about doing something, but it looks like it was just show for our satellites.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Fuel reserves for the battalions are minimal, they aren’t stockpiling equipment. They just took a few thousand men out of Volgograd, Russia, and moved them west to Duby, Russia. It’s just over the border from Luhansk.”
Ryan had been confused. “But Russia already has Luhansk.”
“Exactly. Why stage combat troops in Russia when you can just move them into Ukraine, closer to the front lines?”
Ryan thought over the conversation with his SecDef now, trying to figure out what that information meant.