Three Jack McClure Missions Box Set Read Free Page A

small stuffy room. The cottage was the original structure on the property. The government had turned it into a guesthouse for senior staff of other branches of the military intelligence community who were occasionally asked to lecture or teach a course here. The living room, low-ceilinged, bound by beams, was furnished simply, tastefully, masculinely in blacks and umbers. A leather sofa and easy chairs were arranged around a stone fireplace. A wooden Shaker sideboard held crystal decanters filled with a variety of liquors. Historical etchings were hung on the walls. There was no carpet to soften the colonial wide-plank floors.
    It was cold inside. Both men kept their topcoats on.
    “Yukin is a thieving, lying sonovabitch, if ever there was one,” the president said with considerable venom. “It galls me no end to have to make nice to him, but these days it’s all about commodities: oil, natural gas, uranium. Russia has them in spades.” He turned to his secretary. “So what do you have for me?”
    The president needed leverage in his upcoming meeting with Yukin. Paull had been tasked with providing it. “It’s common knowledge within the intelligence community that Yukin’s appointees are former KGB apparatchiks who once served under him, but what isn’t common knowledge is that his new head of the newly state-owned RussOil used to be Yukin’s personal assassin.”
    The president’s head jerked around; his statesman’s gaze bored into Paull. This was the look that had gotten him elected, that had bonded Britain’s prime minister and France’s new president to him. “Mikilin! You have proof of this?”
    Reaching inside his coat, Paull produced a Black File. Across its top right-hand corner was a diagonal red stripe, a sign of its Most Top Secret status. “The fruits of six months of work. Your hunch about Mikilin was right on the money.”
    As he scanned the contents of the file, the president’s face broke out into a huge smile. “So Mikilin ordered the poisoning of that ex-KGB agent because the agent had acquired a copy of Mikilin’s KGB dossier and was about to sell it to the highest bidder in London.” He smacked the file with the back of his hand, satisfaction in his voice. “Now I have Yukin—and Mikilin—just where I want them.”
    He tucked away the file, shook Paull’s hand. “You did a stellar job on this, Dennis. I appreciate your support, especially in these waning days.”
    “I despise and mistrust Yukin as much as you do, sir. It’s time he was taken down a peg or two.” Paull’s hand strayed to a bust of President Lincoln. “Speaking of which, have you read the brief I gave you regarding China?”
    “Not yet. I was saving it for the long plane ride.”
    “I’d be grateful if we discussed it now, sir. Behind the scenes, there’s a profound shift going on in the heart of mainland China. The regime in Beijing, having had to abandon communism in the new economy-driven international marketplace, has nevertheless decidedthat they dare not openly embrace capitalism. Yet they are in need of an ideology, because, as Mao showed them, a single ideology is the only way to unite an enormous nation with such a disparate population. Our veteran China watchers have had hints that Beijing has decided that ideology should be national atheism.”
    “But that’s monstrous,” the president said. “We’ve got to nip that in the bud.”
    “What worries our China-watchers, sir, is that the adoption of a new ideology may signal other changes in Beijing’s policies—specifically an assault on Taiwan, which is why it’s imperative for you to bring up the subject with Yukin. He has no love of Beijing or its aspirations.”
    “Thank you for that, Dennis. Beijing will be topic one once I get Yukin under my thumb.” The president moved a curtain slightly, glanced out the window at their escort. “My praetorian guard,” he said.
    “The cream of the crop,” Paull acknowledged.
    “But what about