It took an hour before she saw her first human. Several people, in fact, as they moved between buildings in the large downtown square. None of them noticed Li Na or, if they had, none had paid her any attention. Instead they moved casually, but with purpose, disappearing into another building or around a street corner.
Still more appeared a few blocks further in, but far less inhabitants than a city that size should have. It felt eerie, leaving Li Na with a feeling of…despondence. A look of despair seemed plainly visible on their faces and in their eyes. Li Na had never felt anything like it. It was as if the people were planted there solely to prove the city was viable.
She watched them all for several minutes before following a man as he walked along a row of empty storefronts. Each displayed wide expansive windows with advertisements pasted to the glass, faded and peeling.
The man paid her no attention. He moved deliberately across another empty intersection and past more buildings until he reached two dirty glass doors. He pulled one open and promptly disappeared inside.
Li Na followed, guardedly. She looked cautiously through the glass doors before reaching to open one.
It was a shopping mall.
She stepped inside and remained near the door. It was a mall unlike any she’d ever seen. One as empty as the streets and buildings outside. She moved further down the wide hallway until she could see further in each direction. Some stores were open—a few at least—with bright neon signs over their entrances. One was a small convenience store. Another looked to be an electronics outlet with no one inside. The walls and shelves were sparsely stocked, and she could see neither customer nor employee.
It wasn’t until she turned to face the other direction that her heart nearly stopped. A feeling of excitement ran through her body, followed immediately by relief. At the end of the expansive walkway was a giant food court. Dozens of counters ringed the area, but only two were open. One served an array of soups and noodles and the other a selection of Korean dishes.
Having nearly depleted the food in her bag, Li Na allowed herself a grin and watched as the man she’d followed approached the counter and ordered a bowl of noodles.
Dozens of people were scattered around the large court, sitting randomly at different tables. Most were alone, with only a few small groups talking quietly to each other.
Even now, no one was watching her.
Li Na decided let her apprehension go. Hunger was absolutely her first priority. Thirty minutes and two bowls of noodles later, she rested in a red plastic chair, feeling full and watching two people sitting nearby. They were too far away to hear. Too far to bother anyone. Still, they whispered as good Chinese did.
Li Na tried again to listen but couldn’t. Instead she waited, bringing her bag in close and preparing to follow them when they left. Her thoughts had already moved from food to shelter, and she wondered where the people lived. She doubted that finding a place to hide in an empty city would be difficult. And she was right.
What she didn’t know about, however — what she failed to even consider — were the cameras positioned around the storefronts, buried subtly in the ceilings and overhangs.
The vast majority of cities in China still had little to no surveillance built out. It was a herculean job given the vast majority of the country was agrarian just three decades earlier. But some of the larger and newer areas were online, collecting and storing video images around the clock. Collected by giant data centers around the country, they were stored in immense databases. A practice replicated from the American FBI’s NGI system. And ironically, the ghost city of Yuhong was one of them.
But Li Na’s primary objective was survival. She did not have the years of experience to comprehend just how sophisticated a modern surveillance state could be. Or how pervasive. Even if she had seen the cameras, she would never have dreamed how quickly computers could search through millions of pictures. Or how accurate they could be in matching even the subtlest of facial features.
It would take mere hours.
28
Much like Li Na Wei, the older and much more calculating Dima Belov was also fighting for his life. Banking it, in fact, on the set of satellite pictures he’d given to Admiral Koskov––a political gamble on a man as unscrupulous as any he’d ever met. But by then it was all he had.
And so far, he’d been told exactly nothing.
Instead, he’d been taken from his cell in the middle of the night and led in handcuffs to a waiting, unmarked van. The black doors at the rear were already open when Belov was pushed forcefully inside, landing hard on his chin before rolling onto his right side. Belov was thankful there was no gag, so clearly someone knew that he was not stupid enough to try to call for help.
There were only two possibilities now. Either he was being taken to be executed, or he still held some speck of value for someone. Belov prayed it was the latter. And that the allure of immortality was still alive in the minds of Koskov and his superiors. Because the higher the secret went, the higher the chances were that someone would want to keep Belov alive.
The billionaire twisted himself against the cold metal into a slightly more comfortable position. He would know soon enough whether or not his gamble had paid off. A bet that human greed would once again prevail.
***
Belov estimated the trip at three hours in when he felt the van slow considerably and finally pull to a stop.
The most torturous three hours of his life.
Each passing minute left him clinging increasingly to the hope that this wouldn’t be his last day on Earth. A truly surreal thought. Intellectually, every person knew their last day would come eventually. As certain as night became day, and yet still unexpectedly. But even the acceptance that one day would eventually be their last never stopped them from praying it would be a different day.
Any day but today.
It had been Belov’s only thought for three long hours. Until the rear doors of the van were suddenly yanked open, and the bright sunlight washed over him, lying there helpless and afraid.
Large hands grabbed each arm and pulled him out of the vehicle. The old man tried to stand but only made it onto a knee before he toppled forward, hitting the hard cold ground. The same hands hauled him, stumbling, to his feet where the dizziness faded, and he caught a glimpse of his location.
The low-lying hills were heavily developed in every direction. Trees and other vegetation gave way to wide swaths of industrialized sections of land, all along the coast and facing outward over the waters of the Black Sea. A huge mass filled with dozens of large naval ships and submarines, most of which were resting idly in the cool gray-blue waters of the most strategic peninsula in the world.
Considered by many to have been wrested from the hands of Ukraine, the Crimean Peninsula was the single most important naval hub for all of modern-day Russia. A country whose majority of native shores and naval bases were located along Earth’s most northern oceans, and locked in by ice most of the year. A warm water base like Sevastopol in Crimea was of critical importance for the former superpower to have faster access to the greater Atlantic Ocean and the rest of the “political” world.
Belov recognized the base immediately.
The moment he recognized the area of Sevastopol, he was yanked again, stumbling forward.
He shuffled quickly and glanced at the men on either side. Large and strong, he recognized neither. They looked relatively young with faces that were hard and chiseled, and unquestionably military.
Neither of the two men paid him any attention. Instead, they headed for a door on one side of a nearby building. A warehouse surrounded by a dozen more just like it. All old and worn. Though clearly still operational.
One of the men flung the door open, and without missing a stride, stormed up a narrow set of stairs.
Belov was sandwiched between the two hulking frames and tried desperately to get a foot on each stair as they ascended. It wasn’t until they pushed through a doorway at the
top that the older man finally lost his balance. After being shoved forward into the large room, Belov hit the ground and remained sprawled in front of a wide wooden desk.
When the first words were spoken, he recognized the voice immediately.
Behind the desk sat Admiral Koskov, joined by another younger man.
“Get up,” he commanded flatly.
The admiral watched Belov struggle with some amusement before adding, “You’re not that old.”
Belov remained silent and at last managed to stand only to find Koskov smirking at him. The second man, dressed in a captain’s uniform, bore no expression at all.
The old office surrounding them looked to be completely abandoned except for the desk and chairs. But what really unnerved Belov was the material he was standing on.
Only then did he raise his head and notice the gun sitting on the desk in front of Koskov, with the admiral’s hand resting only centimeters away. When his eyes rose to meet the admiral’s eyes, all signs of humor had disappeared from the man’s face.
“If you’re surprised to still be alive, so too am I,” the larger man said. “It seems some important people also want to know what the Americans are doing.”
Belov did not answer. His eyes flickered to the captain then back to Koskov.
“But one thing we all agree on,” he continued, “is that you know more than you’re telling us.” Koskov glanced past Belov to ensure the other two had left. “So, you will tell me everything. Now. Or when my men return it will be to wrap you in the plastic you are standing on.”
Belov swallowed. “Of course.”
“Beginning with the Forel.”
Nodding his head, Belov thought for a moment. Most of what he’d told them about the Forel was accurate. The retrofit, the skeleton crew, and what they found. Everything except the final piece. He paused, contemplating where it had all gone wrong. Why he was now standing where he was.
“The Chinese warship,” he said slowly, “was to transfer its cargo to the Forel before.”
“Before what?”
“Before our Forel sank it.”
Koskov’s eyes narrowed. “Who was your agent?”
“A man named Wang Chao. A lieutenant charged with the excavation of the find. Working under General Wei of the People’s Liberation Army.”
“And how did you discover him?”
“We were introduced by a mutual friend in Pakistan. The two needed funding.”
None of this had surprised Koskov. He’d known Belov for years and was well aware of the other things he’d been involved in. But it was the next question that Koskov was most interested in.
“Who did you bribe on the Forel?”
Belov didn’t react physically. He had been waiting for this. His next word was spoken calmly.
“Ivchenko.”
Koskov’s eyes suddenly widened, and his mouth opened before he quickly shut it. There was no hiding his surprise. Ivchenko was one of the best captains in the Russian fleet. He was one of Koskov’s finest. Losing him had been devastating. But now, to find out he’d been bought, by Belov of all people, was almost beyond belief.
Koskov simply stared at the man, dumbfounded. When he finally spoke, it was with anger.
“You lie.”
Belov gently shook his head. There was nothing else to say.
It was the ultimate miscalculation. In any military around the world, the highest officers simply couldn’t fathom one of their most loyal turning on them. Even completely and utterly corrupt generals and admirals. Those who had sacrificed everything and everyone to reach their position of power.
Yet when finally faced with the facts, those same leaders were left in a state of absolute confusion. Stunned and trying to understand where and when the treachery began. It rarely dawned on them that the loyalty they had come to depend on so dearly had never been real.
Belov watched the changes in Koskov’s face as he went through the same process. Denial, then anger. He saw Koskov look at the gun, badly wanting to lift it off the table and to pull the trigger.
It was in that endless, excruciating moment that Belov finally realized his fate. And it wasn’t death. At that moment, Koskov would have killed him. Unquestionably. If he could have. But it was now clear that Koskov was not in charge. Someone else was. Someone else had decided Belov’s sentencing.
The fight in Koskov’s eyes was evident. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You have no idea of the war that has been waged. All as a result of your empty promises.”
The words were icy. But Belov did understand. He knew that the fights staged by Russia, like that over Syria, were little more than political theater. A diversion to ensure no one was paying attention to what was happening in South America. A diversion that had now spiraled dangerously out of control.
Koskov stared at him for several minutes in silence. Wishing he could end it right there. Right then. But he also knew that if he did, he would be the next one standing on plastic.
With a seething tone, he motioned toward the captain next to him. “You know Captain Zhirov.”
Belov’s eyes moved to the younger man before nodding. He was another of their navy’s top men. Less experienced than Ivchenko but considered by many to be smarter and defter at naval strategy.
“Good,” Koskov stated. Then his eyes abruptly changed, taking on a more sardonic expression. “Because you will be accompanying him. And his crew.”
“What?”
“You are the expert,” Koskov grinned. “What could be better than to have you join the attack for your precious find?”
Any trace of confidence quickly evaporated from Belov’s face. He was no soldier. He had never been in physical combat in his life. And now, given his age, he would be of little use to Zhirov or his crew, with or without a rifle in his hands.
Across the dilapidated desk, Koskov was still grinning. It was the only satisfaction he would get from their exchange. Knowing that if they lost, if the fight for the oil rig failed, Belov would never return.
And if they succeeded in securing the platform until reinforcements could arrive, Belov would still be dead. Once they verified the find, Captain Zhirov would carry out his orders to execute the traitor. He wished he could be there to see Belov take his last breath, but knowing it would come regardless of the outcome was almost as good.
And when he got the news, he would toast the end of this son of a bitch who had not just betrayed their country but damn near taken Koskov down with him.
29
Less than an hour later, Belov sat silently in his seat aboard the Antonov AN-148 Russian aircraft. The 100E was one of several variants of the original 148 design, modified specifically for maximum range in a smaller transport plane. Its overhead wing design allowed it to takeoff and land on all but the shortest of commercial runways––a key requirement for their destination in Northern Africa.
Belov turned and peered out the side window into the drizzling rain and out over the slick runways of the airport in Belbek, Crimea. It was Russia’s closest airbase to Sevastopol, which was still under turmoil following its turbulent return to Mother Russia.
Beyond the rain-soaked runways, Belov noted the airport’s tower. A sea of dull green hills stretched behind the towers until they disappeared into the thick grayness and beyond.
His attention was interrupted as he twisted and felt the bite of the steel handcuffs into his wrists. He looked down again and tried to gently rotate them into a more comfortable position, but nothing alleviated the sensation of losing feeling in both his hands.
The outer door at the front of the plane suddenly slammed shut, and a lone female crew member secured it from the inside. Moments later the AN-148 began to move, and Zhirov reappeared behind Belov from the back of the plane.
The captain sat down and watched the woman move past them. His eyes fell back onto Belov. “Koskov doesn’t like you much.”
The older man shrugged. “I’ll live.”
A brief bump
caused the men to bounce in their seats as the plane taxied onto its designated runway. Outside, the intensifying airflow caused the drops of water running down the windows to begin streaking at an angle.
After another bump, Belov raised both hands and his eyebrows.
Zhirov stared at the handcuffs with amusement. He took his time, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a small key. After unlocking the handcuffs, he tossed them onto the empty seat next to Belov and watched him rub his wrists with relief.
If he were there, the gesture would have struck Koskov as strange. But he wasn’t. It would have taken several more seconds before the mistake would finally begin to dawn on the admiral. More than a mistake, another colossal miscalculation.
Belov knew something that Koskov didn’t about Zhirov. He knew the younger man was an extraordinary captain, as did everyone. One of the shrewdest and calculating men he’d ever met.
But what the Russian Navy did not know was that their captain had a secret. One that threatened to steal the young officer’s legacy before it was fully written. A secret that Belov had found out.
The older man watched as the captain returned the key. Even with the movement of the aircraft, he noted the slight shaking of the captain’s hand before Zhirov quickly made a fist and shoved it back into his pocket.
Belov returned his gaze to the window, where the view spun slightly as the pilots slowed and turned the plane. After they came to a stop, there was only a brief pause before the whine of the engines turned into a thunderous roar and they surged forward.
The last thing Belov expected was to be assigned to the submarine crew ordered to take control of the oil rig, but it was far better than the alternative.
And yet, if Koskov was angry at Belov for “turning” the captain of the Forel, he was going to be absolutely livid when he found out about Zhirov. Even worse, when the ministry learned that Belov had, in fact, bribed several other Russian captains, Koskov would likely be executed. A fate the corrupt admiral most assuredly did not see coming.
Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4) Page 11
