Ultimatum 2. Richard Rohmer
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’.”
CHAPTER 4
The promised appointment memorandum was delivered to Rob’s office by special courier the next morning, just before he left his Energy office for the meeting with the Secretary of State.
It was partly in response to the request Ross had made at the conclusion of the briefing of the President. It was a matter Ross had discussed with his own immediate boss, Energy Secretary Michael Borins, who gave him the okay to raise it.
Ross told the President that it would be of value if he, Ross, could visit Russia, see the rotting nuclear subs and facilities in the Kola Peninsula where U.S. money was supposed to be spent, as well as the U.S.–financed nuclear storage facilities at PA Mayak and other locations. If the President approved, then the next step would be getting the Russian President’s concurrence. When that was obtained the State Department and Energy could work out the details with the Russians.
The President had responded positively, saying that he would prepare an appointment memorandum immediately. It would outline Ross’s terms of reference and authority for carrying out the nuclear waste tasks assigned to him. The visit to Russia would be specifically authorized.
To his astonishment and delight the memorandum advised that the President, with the approval of the Secretary of State, had appointed Dr. Rob Ross to be the President’s special representative for international nuclear waste matters, with the rank of ambassador and all the rights and privileges due to that office. He was directed to provide to the Secretary of State such advice and counsel as she might consider appropriate in her dealings with the Government of Russia in carrying out the President’s mandate concerning international nuclear waste.
It was to be announced to the Russians and to the media that the purpose of the visit of Ambassador Dr. Rob Ross to Russia was to inspect the nuclear waste sites and storage locations to which the U.S. government had contributed funds and to report to the President concerning possible increased funding.
It was the “possible increased funding” that the President was sure would cause Ivanov to open the door wide to Rob Ross. As it did, in fact, when State’s second letter arrived on the Russian’s desk requesting the Ross visit.
CHAPTER 5
Before the nuclear waste briefing of the President, the shrewd Secretary of State, always wanting to be as prepared as possible, telephoned Rob Ross’s boss, Michael Borins, the Secretary of Energy. Her request: “Tell me about Rob Ross, please.”
“Sure. I’ll give it to you straight. My perspective goes this way.”
In the short time he had known him, Attorney Borins had come to respect Dr. Rob Ross because of his broad sweep of knowledge of the huge range of issues that came under the Energy umbrella, the very elements that were the foundation of the United States’s booming economy: crude oil, natural gas, and electricity with all the facets of its manufacture. Electricity was at the centre of America’s civilization, and the heart of that centre was encircled by the invisible, apprehension-generating arms of nuclear power.
Rob Ross was a nuclear physicist who had come up through the bureaucracy of the Department of Energy in the operation of DOE’s several nuclear facilities. He had received his nuclear doctorate from MIT, then went to DOE, where he progressed upward through its organizational maze from Pantex, the enormous nuclear weapons decommissioning and plutonium storage facility in Texas.
Ross was a fitness buff, and it showed. Spent an hour every day on his machines, walked or jogged for at least twenty minutes, played good tennis, had a six handicap in golf. Never smoked. Drank white wine, rarely hard liquor. Six foot two, flatbellied, tanned, with a handsome face topped by a full head of straight, prematurely greying black hair and with Paul Newman’s blue eyes above a mouth full of apparently perfect teeth, Rob Ross would be a head-turner for any woman. At least that was Michael Borins’s assessment.
There was something intriguingly unique about Ross, facts that turned up in his top-secret CIA file. When he had first taken office after Senate approval, Borins had received Ross’s dossier and those of several other senior DOE staffers. To his surprise he discovered that Ross’s mother, Ruth, was born and raised in Leningrad, as it was then called, now once again St. Petersburg. She was the daughter of Jewish parents by the name of Zolotkov. A talented dancer, Ruth had become a ballerina with the Moscow Ballet. In