by Seeley James
“You’ve proven your own point—bluffing is stupid.” Mikhail Yeschenko stepped out of the shadows and switched back to Russian. “The only thing he knows about your capture is what I’ve told him. You don’t have to like him to join our group. No one does, and yet here we are.”
“Join? I was kidnapped at gunpoint.”
“My, how you’ve suffered.” Yeschenko ran Yuri’s lapel between his thumb and fingers.
“I must admit, it was not as bad as the Holocaust.”
Both men fake-chuckled at his crude joke.
“Roche.” Yeschenko put his palms on the railing and watched the roiling waves. “He’s the most important man in the world. Just ask him. He’ll be the first to tell you. We couldn’t believe the Americans elected him, but we’re not about to draw attention to the gift they’ve given us.”
Yuri observed him closely. Years ago, Yeschenko walked away from the collapsing Soviet empire with the largest tracts of oil fields under his control. He managed to convert the oil rights to cash and the cash into shipping before the government took the oil fields back. He had proven himself a smart man capable of surviving tumultuous political landscapes.
“Do I have a choice about joining?” Yuri asked.
“Everyone has a choice.” Yeschenko pointed at the sheer cliffs below. “You are being offered an opportunity to work for RULE.”
“If I choose this work, do I become a billionaire?”
“You don’t ‘become’ a billionaire.” Yeschenko looked up quickly. “No one hands you billions. RULE is not a benevolent society. If you want money, you take it.”
“What is it?” Yuri glanced back at the party inside. “Some kind of secret society?”
“Secret?” Yeschenko scoffed. “Hardly. We’ve been around forever. We will be around forever. Ours is a natural formation. We seek each other out. We always have. We always will. We make no secret of who we are. As a distraction, we plant stories about secret societies and conspiracies like the Tri-Lateral Commission, the Rothschilds, the Illuminati, the Deep State. But we remain in the light. We drive Lamborghinis, buy football clubs, race yachts, build palaces. The people know us and admire us for our success. They even vote for us where that’s allowed. Nothing secret at all.”
Yuri watched him in silence.
“You’ve been seeking us out,” Yeschenko said, “and you don’t even know it. When you formed SHaRC, you were seeking us.”
“I formed SHaRC because people like you made me crash two American airliners. It was the only thing we could do to survive. You ruined our lives. I’ve had to kill people to escape the Americans. They will hunt us down and—”
“Don’t whine to me about that little incident.” Yeschenko sneered, waving away Yuri’s complaint. “In a matter of days, Roche will prove Sabel Technology wrong by bringing in the perpetrators. I’ve not decided who did it yet. Puerto Rican separatists? Chechen rebels? Neo-Nazis? Maybe a resurgent FARC faction? Who do you prefer?”
“Not ISIS?”
“Passé.”
“Puerto Ricans then. They opened fire in the American Congress sixty years ago.” Yuri observed his benefactor carefully. “But can I trust the Americans?”
“You saw the man who runs America now.” Yeschenko put a patronizing hand on his shoulder. “Are you worried?”
“How can I trust you?” Yuri stepped back.
“The airline disaster was Roche, Popov, and Strangelove. Their methods were great thirty years ago, but now they’re pointless. Roche came up with a plan for RULE to take over the USA and Popov bought into it. All Roche cares about is leading the parade of his worshippers. He doesn’t care about where they’re going or how to get there. Within a year, he’ll be in for a rude awakening. He promised jobs and healthcare and tax cuts without any idea how to produce results.”
“Then why are you happy he was elected?”
“We aren’t interested in making Roche look good.” Yeschenko spread his hands. “We want the same thing you want, Yuri. We want the stateless, nationless world. A world without regulations, without sanctions. A world where you can be free to pursue your business interests without being forced to compensate every worthless farmer who lives downstream.”
Yuri took a moment to roll the words around in his head. “Strangelove helped Roche by creating disasters to fit Roche’s campaign. Then what did I do that you liked? The planted news stories?”
“Ah! Yes. Those were my ideas.” Yeschenko smiled. “You didn’t know it, but you had help from our friends at Cambridge Analysis Group. They matched voter registrations at the precinct level to five thousand publicly available data points on each person in the USA. You created thousands of bizarre news stories targeting the specific hot-button for each American voter.”
“Just like we did for Brexit.” Yuri stroked the stubble on his chin. “We fed anti-Hungarian stories to the man who hates Hungarians, we sent anti-union stories his union-hating wife, free-trade stories to his anti-globalization sister.”
“Don’t forget the truly unbelievable stories like the candidate who ran a pedophile ring in a pizza parlor.”
“In chaos,” Yuri began to nod, “there is opportunity.”
“Opportunity exists when my house is in order, and the other guy is in chaos. Roche wasn’t an alternative candidate, he’s a chaos candidate. He can never stop us because he has no idea how to govern.” Yeschenko turned to the ocean, his hands on the balustrade. “You have already been doing everything we need done. We need SHaRC to weaponize distrust around the world. We need to keep governments paralyzed. This is a new century and a new paradigm.” Yeschenko waved dismissively over the cliff. “Nations and governments are so twentieth century.”
Yuri pursed his lips and squinted. “No Russia? No Britain? No Germany?”
“USA and NATO and the EU,” Yeschenko said, “are just self-righteous thugs who want to dictate what’s right and wrong. They use terms like regulation, sanctions, international trade law, but it always works in someone else’s favor. Never in mine. And never in yours. Your work in Georgia, Brexit, and the USA was perfect. The future belongs to those who can wreck the trust that people place in mythological institutions like the free press, the FBI, political parties, Interpol, CIA, the World Trade Organization.”
“And when they no longer trust their establishment, you can control any markets you want.”
Yeschenko bowed with feigned humility. “Right now, they don’t believe their scientists. They don’t believe their news organizations. They don’t believe their institutions. It’s working.”
“How does SHaRC make billions doing that?” Yuri asked.
“You successfully financed your exit from Stavanger by reading emails from international companies and placing bets on their stock performance. Your work was so impressive that the people in the room behind us have coughed up seed capital for a new private equity company. We expect big returns. Only the American SEC stands in your way. They’re one of the institutions you can cripple with the help of Roche.”
A grin grew across Yuri’s face. “He pledged to deregulate the financial industry.”
“And you can help him by planting stories about how the SEC is hobbling jobs in America.” Yeschenko patted his shoulder. “Now you see why we tolerate him?”
The duplicity in every concept streaming from Yeschenko’s mind alarmed Yuri. How could he ever trust a man who propagated distrust? For now, he would play along and make sure not to object.
“I like working with RULE.” Yuri straightened up, ready to salute.
“Don’t worry, you’ve already been hired. There’s no ceremony. We will give you instructions. You do your part. I will be your contact. Our friends will accommodate you anywhere you want to set up.” Yeschenko leaned in conspiratorially. “I hope you don’t plan to stay in Albania. Terrible food and the women are mean.”
“We liked St. Barts. Or maybe Brazil.”
“The French police are too sophisticated. Go for Brazil.”
Yeschenko shook his hand. “By the way, you have a few messes to clean up before you start. You can’t leave people walking around knowing who you are and what you can do. They might hunt you down and wreck our plans. For that, Brad is at your beck and call.”
“Doesn’t Brad work for Roche Security?”
“He does. But I am the customer who hires Brad’s team for missions like contacting you in Stavanger and bringing you in when you didn’t trust me.”
Yuri squinted in confusion. “Why not just start your own security company?”
“Yuri, you disappoint me.” Yeschenko leaned back. “When they get caught, who do they work for?”
“They work for Roche, but he can’t divulge his client without losing credibility with the rest of his customers. Your anonymity is guaranteed.” Yuri nodded as he thought. “Brilliant.”
“As I said, clean up your messes. Brad is at your command.” Yeschenko walked away. He stopped after a couple yards and faced Yuri and wagged a finger. “But don’t tell Chuck.”
CHAPTER 69
Watching David Watson cross the runway brought Pia’s temper to a boil. She kept her clenched fists in her pockets and a blank look on her face. The soldiers finished disarming her team and carefully stacked the Sabel weapons just out of reach.
Watson stood off sixty yards. After everything was secured and the lieutenant gave him an all-clear sign, Watson came forward like a meerkat approaching a tiger. Twenty yards away, he stopped with an I’m-close-enough look.
The wind blew, sleet peppered them, and for a long time, no one spoke.
“This is your rodeo, Watson,” Pia said. “If you have a question, ask it. If not, we’ll be on our way.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Counting polar bears.” She saw the lieutenant smirk before catching himself and returning to his soldier stare.
“No, you’re not.” Watson closed the gap by five yards. “You’re meeting Viktor Popov.”
“Not much of a meeting. His escort shot him for stealing from the Federation. Check it out. His body is out there in the snow full of Russian bullets.”
Watson looked out across the white into the mist. He had the look of a conflicted man. Conflicted by the choice of confirming her story firsthand the way a career FBI man would do it, or bluffing his way through the rest of the encounter.
“Did he give you a box?” Watson asked.
“You mean the box of records Kasey Earl took from Roche Industries’ warehouse? Yes. He did give me those. And Tania is inside the jet uploading photographs of them to the cloud as we speak.”
“Nice bluff. Sabel Satellites don’t cover this island.” Watson gave her a tight, smug smile and braved five more yards. “Did you give Viktor the Pozdeeva files?”
“His sergeant took them.” She pointed to the sky. “Moscow needs the evidence.”
Watson snapped his fingers at the lieutenant. The officer dispatched two soldiers to the jet. A few minutes later, a scuffle could be heard inside the aircraft.
The lieutenant dispatched another pair.
Pia noticed the lieutenant and Jacob staring each other down in some kind of silent communication. After a minute, the lieutenant shrugged and mouthed, orders.
A short time later, a soldier with a bleeding nose descended the airstair with a box in his hands. Two more bruised soldiers came next holding a writhing Tania by the arms and legs. They deposited her next to Pia, then retreated to whisper something to their lieutenant. He rolled his eyes, nodded, and the pair ran back into the jet. They returned supporting one of their own who walked with great difficulty.
Tania leaned close to Pia and whispered, “Leroy Johnson’s accomplice was Watson.”
A soldier pushed Tania back.
Pia felt her anger rising. Her eyes swept the tarmac, calculating her odds for killing the bastard where he stood and getting away with it. With a platoon of paratroopers behind him, it was a short calculation. Her powerlessness infuriated her even more. She swore to herself the man would die. Soon.
Watson narrowed his eyes to slits.
The soldier with the box handed it off to Watson and rejoined his platoon. Watson rifled through it for a few seconds.
The wind stopped. Every other sound was absorbed in the fog’s cold embrace.
“For your information—” Watson said loud enough for everyone to hear “—President Hunter has determined these documents to be classified Top Secret. Divulging their existence or their contents to anyone would be a violation of the Espionage Act of 1917, punishable by death. There is a list of people who the president has authorized to see them. No one here is on that list. Anyone who has seen them and leaks their contents will be prosecuted.”
“You will answer for the downing of Flight 1028, Watson.” Pia’s voice echoed around them. “We have Strangelove’s notes. We know he did it to help get Roche elected. We know you were there—you’re the Badger.”
“He’s a great man. You can’t make unfounded charges against him. Roche didn’t know anything. I never told him about it. How was I supposed to know Strangelove would do it? I thought he was joking.”
“The crime scene report indicated Lloyd Aston’s suicide was staged.” Pia crossed her arms. “They pointed out that the gunshot residue covered only the top of his wrist and not the fingers, as if someone had put a hand on top of his and pulled the trigger for him.”
“So?” Watson sneered.
“I know it was you, Watson. Your name is on those canceled checks.”
“Lieutenant—” Watson turned to the soldiers and pointed at Pia “—kill them all.”
The soldiers looked to their officer. He stared at Watson.
“You heard me, soldier.” Watson’s voice strained. “That’s an order.”
“With all due respect, sir.” The lieutenant’s mouth opened and closed a couple times before he found the words. “If that was an order—which it is not—it would be an illegal order. You’re nobody. If he’s sworn in, you’ll be the president’s chief of staff, but that’s a few weeks away. Even when the transition takes place, you still won’t be in my chain of command.”
The soldiers squared off against Watson.
Watson and the lieutenant had a staring contest.
“Fuck you, then.” Watson dropped the box and crossed to Pia.
He pulled up two yards away, out of her reach.
“Who cares?” He leaned forward, up on his tiptoes, as he shouted. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Your daddy’s dead. Nothing in that box will see the light of day. Any pictures you might have taken are Top Secret and must be destroyed. If you don’t comply with that order, you will face the death penalty.”
“Not if the president is a criminal—” she lowered her voice to a growl “—involved in a conspiracy to commit murder.”
Pia produced her phone, pulled up a file, and pressed play. The distinct voices of Watson and Roche echoed in the frozen silence.
Watson: “You guys are underestimating her. She’ll never stop coming after us. Our only option is to infiltrate Sabel Security and kill her—now.”
Roche: “How many times do I have to tell you two? I’m bringing her inside the campaign. She’ll come around. But, just in case, you need to be close to her.”
A silence fell over the group for a long time. A white-tailed eagle screeched overhead.
“Did you really think we’re that dumb?” Pia’s killer stare made Watson step back.
Watson looked over the rest of her team and found no sympathy, no one receptive to an excuse. He turned to the lieutenant and his soldiers to find the same glaring hatred.
“Doesn’t matter!” Watson stepped close to her and lowered his volume so only the two of them could hear. “You can’t touch me. You want to know what happened? Roche paid for it. Hunter assigned McCarty to hire a crew. He pulled Leroy Johnson and me. I was an intern that summer and starving. They promised me cash every year for the rest of my life and a career at the FBI. I too
k it. If I had to do it all over again—I’d do it all over again. Roche is a genius. He’s a giant among little men. Whatever he wants, I get it for him. You blew it. You had a chance. You turned him down. Well, news flash, bitch: we won. He’s president, and you’re not. Want to hear something that’s going to make you really sick? They gave me a pardon.”
Pia’s gloved fist slammed into his jaw.
He never saw it coming. He fell backward.
Sitting up on his elbows, he rubbed his chin, then looked up at her. “It’s a pardon for anything and everything, and there’s no date on it. I can kill you, then fill it in anytime I want. So—fuck you.”
She kicked him in the ribs while he was down. “It won’t stick. He’s not even in office yet.”
“Hunter pardoned me. He’s going to pardon her. There’s no recourse on presidential pardons.”
Pia clenched her fists and turned to Tania, who shrugged. She then turned to Jacob. He shook his head and pressed his hand down as if saying “later.”
Watson crabbed to his feet and dusted himself off.
Jacob turned his gaze to the Army lieutenant. For a moment, the two had a telepathic conversation of some kind. If she didn’t know better, it looked as if they were going through coded options like a pitcher and catcher. Jacob tilted his head a fraction of an inch. The lieutenant’s eyes shifted from right to left, then settled on a young private. They repeated the odd dance a couple more times, all in the space of a second.
The officer shrugged apologetically. He turned to Watson. “Sir, my unit’s moving out. You are free to remain here if you wish.”
With that, the platoon double-timed their march to the C-130 and ran up the ramp.
Watson watched them for a second. He glanced over his shoulder to find the cold stares of Pia and her agents tracking him. He pointed at her and shouted, “You’re dead, Sabel! It’s only a matter of time.”
He ran, grabbing the box as he went. The ramp was lifting and the plane rolling when he jumped on board. The bird rolled to the far end of the runway, where it almost disappeared in the mists. It wheeled around, throttled up, and came roaring back toward them. It lifted off, dipped a wing, then banked, tracking back to the mainland.
