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“It is time to dissolve your government. You have lost the support of your country. You have lost the support of your military. Your generals. Even your governors across the federation. We built our rebellion right in front of your face, Sergey Puchkov. You were blind to it, ignored what was happening beneath your nose, inside your own Kremlin.”General Yaluyevsky snarled.“You were too distracted by your dalliance, your fascination with thatpidor. You lost your country and didn’t even know it.”

“I worked for the next generation! My presidency was not for you! I worked for the Russians who will inherit this nation, who will bring her out of the ruin you and your people have led her to time and again!”

“Even your parliament is calling for your resignation. Not a single political party stands behind you. And you have lost the support of your people. The television is ripping you to shreds as we speak.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, clenched his teeth.

Sasha’s voice, his rage at Sakhalin Island.You cannot be like me! You cannot love me!

Oleg, his inconstant friend. This country isn’t ready for men like you.

Finally his optimism, the hope he’d clung to with both hands, cracked.Sasha, you were right all along.His sob burst free tangled in a snarl, and he gasped, choked, spat back at General Yaluyevsky. “Fine. You want this fucking country? You canhaveit. Take her. I appoint you acting president, General.You! The nation is in your hands! You are in charge. So go on! Fix her economy and her failing industries! Bring a meaningful future to her youth! Keep food on the table for every mouth, all 150 million of them! Go on—show me how to govern, General!”

“Iakov Zeytsev tried to save this country.He was a patriot.” Yaluyevsky said. “And in his memory, we will bring this great country back from where you’ve destroyed her. We will return to the heavens and rearm General Sevastyanov’s satellite. We will be a nation to be respected once again.We will shake off your memory like a dog shakes off fleas. Goodbye, Sergey Puchkov.”

The line clicked.

He collapsed, sliding down in a heap, a jumble of arms and legs. His back bowed, and he dug his forehead into the wall as his cries wrenched from him, aching, wounded sobs pulled from the depths of his soul.

It was over. His whole purpose. He’d tried, and he’d failed, and what did he have to show for it? A broken nation and one and a half coups in a presidency that crashed and burned. A ruined reputation, his name instantly a curse on a million mouths.Liar. Pidor.

A Russia on the war path again, hungry for blood and conquest.I wanted peace. What have I done?

Sasha… I need you.

But Sasha was locked in a death trap with his life tumbling away.

Debris. Fire raining to the ground, a thousand parts and pieces falling from the heavens. A thousand pieces of Sasha, a thousand pieces of his heart, nothing more than ash. He fell to his knees and screamed, and screamed, and screamed—

His cell phone rang. He ignored it, and it rolled to voicemail. It rang again. And again.

He groped for his phone and checked the screen. The last thing he needed was a thousand reporters calling, or hecklers, or anyone who wanted to gloat, to rage, to rub his face in his collapse.

Country code eighty-six stared back at him from the screen, followed by a long phone number. He frowned. “Who is this?”

“Mr. President, I was given your number by a Mr. Borya Golubev.”

“What?” He froze from the inside out. His hands shook. “How do you know that name?”

“I understand you have a problem,” the man on the phone said. “And I believe I can be of service to you.”

“Whoareyou?” Sergey shouted. “How do you know Borya? How the fuck did you get this number?”

“I am Senior Colonel Song from the Central Military Commission of the People's Republic of China. And my country has a rocket on the launch pad at the Jiuquan Space Center in Inner Mongolia.”

* * *

42

Washington DC

Scott’s fingersshook as he dialed.

He moved fast, striding down the West Wing and taking the steps to the basement two at a time. His throat clenched. Bile curdled in his belly.

He waited for hands to grab him, alarms to sound.

The last thing he’d seen before he slipped out of the Situation Room was Levi staring at him, face half covered in darkness, Levi’s eyes shining like full moons pulling on the tides. Levi hadn’t blinked as he’d watched Scott move silently to the door and badge his way out.