He turned his face away. His ears went red. He said, “Randall, aka Ralston, spent a year as Keiser’s head of security before pulling another vanishing act. The United Front committed their first terror attack on an oil pipeline in the Sudan just three months later.”
Armstrong straightened up and crossed her arms again. “A guy like Randall doesn’t decide out of the blue to start his own terror organization. He had funding. Can you link Keiser financially to the United Front?”
“No,” Ezra admitted. “But that’s where things get interesting. We went over Global Security’s employee records from the last ten years. Lucas Randall wasn’t the only employee who suddenly vanished from their payroll. Twenty-seven other security specialists have worked for Global and then pulled a Houdini. They dropped off the face of the planet. No job records, no known addresses, no phone bills. It’s like they all fell into a black hole.”
“More like they got recruited,” Armstrong said. “So it’s entirely possible that Keiser is using the security company as a recruiting ground for the United Front?”
“That’s what we suspect,” Ezra said. “And that’s hardly the worst of it.”
Armstrong fixed him with a look. “What’s worse than a billionaire funding a terror organization?”
“You asked us to crunch the numbers on Keiser’s bet against the US dollar,” Ezra said.
“What did you find?”
Gwen took up the narrative. “Assuming even a ten percent devaluation in the dollar due to an influx of counterfeits, Keiser’s bet against US currency would result in a complete financial meltdown.”
Armstrong’s face froze. She stared at them for several seconds before she found her words. “How is that even possible?”
“Imagine untold billions in counterfeit bills flooding the market,” Ezra said. “It would cause a steep devaluation in the dollar. All of a sudden, the money in your wallet is no good, because you don’t know what’s real and fake. Banks have no way of knowing if the stuff they have is any good either. The stock market would crash and the economy would come to a screeching halt. It would be worse than Black Tuesday. We’ll be back to the barter system, exchanging chickens for gas. It could take decades to recover from something this big.”
“That’s impossible,” Armstrong said. She shook her head. “It would take—”
“Just over seven-hundred and fifty billion in counterfeit bills,” Gwen said. “We ran the numbers twice.”
Ezra delivered more bad news. “Assuming they only have one press and they’ve been running it since Lucas Randall dropped out of sight, they could have printed just over one trillion in supernotes. That’s with nights and weekends off.”
Armstrong breathed a curse.
“It gets worse,” Gwen said. “The dollar is the world’s reserve currency.”
Armstrong looked around for something to sit on. Her only option was the sagging, threadbare sofa. She leaned against the wall instead. “Hit me with it.”
“If the dollar collapses,” Gwen said, “China could cash in on our debts and send the economy spiraling further down. With the reserve currency suddenly unreliable and our stock market in shambles, supermarkets would run out of food in just three days.”
“Three days?” Armstrong said.
Ezra nodded. “America doesn’t produce our own food anymore. We get most of our food from Mexico. Without a reliable currency, the trains stop running, and the store shelves would be bare within three days. A week, at most. Lifesaving medications would run out in two to three months.”
“Heaven help us.” Armstrong scrubbed her face with both hands. “Death toll?”
“Hard to get an accurate estimate,” Gwen admitted. “The sick and elderly would be the first to go. That’s nearly a third of the American population.”
“Who else knows about this?” Armstrong asked.
“We had to consult with the people in financial to be sure our numbers were correct and a specialist in economics.”
“Get on the phone with them,” Armstrong ordered. “Make sure they don’t spread any rumors. We don’t want to start a panic. Then figure out how the United Front plans to move the money. Look for any commercial shipping companies owned by Apollo Fund or any of its subsidiaries.”
“We’re on it,” Ezra said and both analysts turned back to their computers.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Armstrong ordered her secretary to call an emergency meeting with the president and the head of NSA, then stopped at the open door to Wizard’s office. She hesitated before rapping her knuckles on the frame. The old spymaster stood with his hips against his desk and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was staring at the cluttered wall of newspaper clippings and red string. A cloud of smoke gathered around his head, stirred slowly by the current from the air vent. He turned at the sound of her knock. “Something on your mind, Director? Or are you just checking to make sure I made my appointment this morning?”
Armstrong stepped inside, glanced around at the explosion of paperwork and said, “We found the printing press. It’s in an abandoned torpedo factory in the port town of Rijeka.”
“You didn’t come here to tell me that,” Wizard spoke from inside the cloud of smoke.
Armstrong thought about whether to tell him the rest. It would only fuel his paranoia. Then she thought, Why not kill two birds with one stone? Wizard needed a boogeyman, and Otto Keiser was trying to crash the dollar. It was a match made in heaven. She said, “There is an investment banker named Otto Keiser. He runs—”
“Apollo Fund in Bern, Switzerland,” Wizard finished for her. “I’m familiar with him.”
She held up the paper. “He’s been short selling the US dollar.”
Wizard reached out a hand. A frown creased the lines of his face.
Armstrong brought him up to speed on everything they had learned. She finished with, “Investors are starting to panic. They’re afraid Keiser knows something they don’t.”
“Maybe he does,” Wizard said. “Maybe he knows a few billion in counterfeit bills are about to flood the market and crash the dollar.”
“The Secret Service is coordinating with local law enforcement in Croatia to take down the warehouse,” Armstrong said.
“And if Jake is right?” Wizard asked. “If Lucas Randall is running the United Front? The Croatians are walking into an ambush.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“Jake Noble may be our best option.”
“You think he stands a better chance than a Croatian SWAT team?”
“Jake was Special Forces. He knows the way Randall thinks,” Wizard said. “He can anticipate Randall’s moves.”
“It’s too late for that,” Armstrong said. “Noble is halfway to Berlin by now. Besides, he’s saddled with the assassin. She can close the book on a dozen murders. We can’t just cut her loose.”
“I wonder,” Wizard said to himself. His attention went to the wall and his eyes tracked the lines of red string.
Armstrong almost regretted knocking on his door. The old spymaster had slipped back into his web of conspiracy theories. If she let him, he would wander in the wilderness of mirrors for hours, maybe days. Armstrong said, “I’m meeting the president in thirty minutes to discuss damage control. The DNI will be there, along with the SecDef and the Joint Chiefs.” She reached over and tapped the article still clutched in Wizard’s fist. “I need someone to oversee the operation in Rijeka.”
A smile worked its way onto his lined face. “Is this your way of apologizing for shutting down my op and suggesting I’m crazy?”
“You started this,” Armstrong told him. “I thought you’d want to finish it.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Noble and Eliška laid tangled in each other’s arms as the first rays of sunlight crept in through the window. Noble was the first to stir. His bladder threatened to burst if he didn’t empty it soon, and he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He needed food, but nature’s ca
ll came first. He slowly extricated himself from Eliška’s embrace, eased off the narrow bunk, and stepped into the cramped lavatory. The door closed with a soft click. Noble took care of business, turned on the sink and splashed water on his face. Cold drove the last of the sleep from his brain. He raked both hands through his shaggy hair before inspecting himself in the mirror. A gaunt wraith with haunted eyes stared back. One hand went to the stubble on his chin. He muttered, “You’ve looked better.”
He used liquid soap on his face and under his arms. The bird bath washed away the worst of the grime. At least he no longer smelled like a dead carcass rotting on the side of the road. His stomach informed him it was time to eat by way of a loud rattle. He opened the door and let himself out.
Eliška was already dressed. She hurriedly stuffed her foot into her shoe and sprang for the opening. Noble let her slip past and reached for his pants, which were crumpled on the floor of the cabin. He dressed in silence while Eliška used the toilet. When she emerged, Noble held out her short leather jacket. “Put that on.”
“We going somewhere?” she asked as she shrugged into the coat. She zipped it closed to hide the bloodstain.
“Restaurant car,” Noble told her. “I’m starving.”
They passed along the train to the dining car. The mouthwatering aroma of sizzling sausages enveloped Noble as he stepped through the door. His stomach tied itself in knots. A dozen high-top tables lined both sides of the carriage. Dust motes danced in the soft warm glow of morning sunlight spilling through the windows. A smiling waiter in a clean white apron motioned them in with a wave of his hand. They were his first customers of the day. He greeted them in Italian and then switched to English. It’s uncanny how often Europeans can pick out an American on sight. “Please sit wherever you like.”
They took a table near the door and ordered from the menu. The waiter returned shortly with two plates piled with food and a stainless-steel carafe of steaming hot coffee. Noble picked up his fork and speared fluffy scrambled eggs into his mouth. His belly welcomed the chow with open arms and begged for more. Noble wasted no time filing that request. He wolfed down half the plate, pausing just long enough to fill a cup with strong black coffee.
Eliška was listless, poking at her food, mostly pushing it around the plate.
“Eat,” Noble told her. “You’ll need your strength.”
She put her fork down and stared out the window at the fiery red disk of the rising sun. “I never even told him I loved him.”
That statement hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity.
Noble picked up his coffee cup and cradled it in both hands, enjoying the warmth. He said, “My father died while I was overseas. By the time I got back to the States, he was dead and buried. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Sometimes, I think maybe it was better that way.”
He didn’t bother to explain it. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.
Eliška didn’t need an explanation. She nodded. “Did he know that you loved him?”
“I think so,” Noble said and added, “I hope so. Anyway, it all happened so fast. At first, it didn’t feel real. By the time the shock set in, I was busy taking care of Mom. That helped.”
“I never knew my mother. She died when I was very young. My father was all that I had left,” Eliška said. She took her eyes off the rolling countryside and looked at Noble. “The American? Lucas? You knew him?”
“Yeah,” Noble admitted. “I know him.”
“He is a friend?”
“He was,” Noble told her. “Once.”
“Will you be able to kill him when the time comes?”
Noble thought about that. He tried to imagine pointing a gun at Lucas and feeling the sudden kick. His lips pushed together. He had killed plenty of bad guys—so many he had lost count—but he had never killed a friend. “If he’s intent on destroying the United States,” Noble said, “I’ll do what I have to do.”
Eliška nodded. “You and I are very much alike. We both do what we must.”
He eyed her over the rim of his mug. She was a remorseless killer, and she didn’t do it for anything so noble as country or creed. She killed for money. It was one step above killing for sport. Noble lowered his cup and placed it gently on the tabletop. He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “You’re wrong about that. I fight for my country. You kill for money.”
“You do it for country. I do it for money. But we both thrive on the adrenaline. We both like what we do.” She flashed her teeth in a humorless grin. “Don’t bother to deny it. You have the same darkness within you, Jakob. I can feel it.”
He stared out the window. The sun was above the horizon now, casting the rolling green countryside in a brilliant gold light. He thought about Sam and about the terrible darkness eating away at him—it felt like a black hole in the center of his chest pulling in all the warmth and leaving only bitterness in its wake—and he wondered if Eliška was right. Maybe they weren’t so different after all? Maybe she was just further along the path? That idea rattled him. How many more deaths, Noble wondered, how many more Samanthas, until he was a remorseless killing machine?
He drained the last of his coffee in one long gulp that burned his throat. The dining car was slowly filling up around them. The sound of silverware clinking against dishes and friendly conversation made him feel out of place. He looked around at the other patrons. None of them knew that a pair of trained killers sat in their midst. He dropped some cash on the table and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Sixty
Armstrong was on the phone with a special investigator from Secret Service named Ron Hinson. He sounded tired but alert as he brought Armstrong up to speed on the situation. Hinson had taken a red-eye to Croatia, landing just after five in the morning. He was acting as liaison with the head of Rijeka’s Specijalne jedinice policije, or SJP for short—Croatia’s version of a SWAT team. The head of the local unit had the abandoned torpedo factory under surveillance. His spotters claimed the place was empty. Sharpshooters stationed on nearby rooftops hadn’t seen any signs of movement and nothing showed up on thermal.
“It looks like they’re long gone,” said Hinson. “If they were ever here to begin with. You might have gotten bad intel. I’ve got a team of people taking water samples from the beach about ten miles south. They’ll be able to tell us if it matches the forensics we took from the supernotes.”
“How long will that take?” Armstrong wanted to know. She sat hunched over her desk with a pair of reading glasses riding low on her nose and her hair gathered up in a plastic clip.
“A day or two, at least,” Hinson told her.
Armstrong felt any hope of a quick resolution draining away. She had spent two and a half hours in the Oval Office, with the president, his Chief of Staff, the Joint Chiefs, the head of the FBI, and the head of the Federal Reserve. They had argued different courses of action—everything from military intervention to a freeze on the markets—but in the end everyone agreed it would be best if they could stop the money from ever reaching the United States, which threw the ball back in Armstrong’s court. She was now working hand in hand with the Secret Service. The president had made it clear that they were to use any and every tool at their disposal.
“Local SWAT is getting ready to probe the building,” Hinson was saying. “If everything looks good, they’ll breech. I’ll let you know what they find, but it doesn’t look hopeful.”
There was a knock at the door and Wizard stuck his head in.
“Just a minute, Ron.” Armstrong covered the phone with one hand and waved Wizard in with the other. “What have you got?”
Wizard crossed the floor to her desk as he tore the cellophane off a new pack of smokes. The Deputy Director of Operations seemed to have an endless supply. Armstrong wondered how much of his income went to cigarettes. He rasped out, “Jake Noble never made his meeting in Berlin.”
“Has he made contact?”
Wizard shook his head. “The
phone he was using is no longer in service. Whoever he stole it from must have had it disconnected.”
“Think he’s in trouble?” Armstrong asked.
Wizard shook a cigarette loose from the pack. “I think he’s headed for Croatia.”
Armstrong looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “I’m starting to regret reinstating him.”
Wizard flicked his lighter and cupped the flame. “That kid is like a dog with a bone.”
“That’s why you put him on to this,” Armstrong said. “You knew he’d see it through no matter where the evidence went.”
Wizard waved away a cloud of smoke. “I suspected it would get hairy and wanted one of my best people on the job. Jake might be an emotional wreck right now, but he’s still the best field officer I’ve got. The kid can think on his feet and he’s not afraid to take chances.”
Armstrong bit back an angry reply. Wizard had run this op from the very beginning. He seemed to know what was going to happen before it happened. It was like he could see around corners. She figured the old spymaster could stare a hole through a brick wall, given enough time.
Wizard said, “Might be good to have Noble on hand in Croatia if things get loud.”
Ron Hinson was saying something on the phone. Armstrong took her hand away from the receiver and said, “Sorry, what was that, Ron?”
“I said they are getting ready to breech.”
“Tell them to hold on,” Armstrong said.
“What’s shaking?” Ron asked.
“Tell the local commander to put his people on hold,” Armstrong said. “I’ve got a, uh …”
“Consultant,” Wizard interjected.
“Consultant,” Armstrong said. “He happens to be in the area. Tell the local commander I’d like him to work directly with my guy.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Hinson said. “They aren’t exactly taking orders from me. In fact, they’ve made it clear that I’m only allowed to sit in on the operation as a favor to our government.”
Noble Sanction Page 20
