The jet parked by a hangar, and Hendriks was escorted to a group of officers standing on a red carpet near a dais. General Zakharin turned to welcome the Dutchman.
“Mr. Hendriks, it’s good to see you again. You have arrived just in time.”
“Thank you for inviting me, General.”
“We’re celebrating the deployment of our new class of attack helicopter, the Mi-28NM,” Zakharin said. “President Vashenko will be making an inspection, so I thought it a good opportunity to show him the Peregrine. Perhaps you can arrange a demonstration, like the one you gave me a few weeks ago?”
“I would be delighted,” Hendriks said. “If you’ll excuse me, General, I better check on the status of our drone.”
He walked to his green tractor-trailer that was parked at the edge of the tarmac. His assistant, Gerard, met him at the Peregrine’s control panel positioned nearby.
“Any troubles at the border?” Hendriks asked.
Gerard shook his head. “No issue at the border crossing or entering the air base.”
“What’s the Peregrine’s status?”
“I launched her as you instructed before dawn. She’s currently ten miles north of us.” He rapped a knuckle on the control console. “After you take it on manual for the demonstration, she’s programmed to revert to a low-altitude flight from here to the Baltic Sea.”
“Thank you, Gerard. I’ll take it from here.” He pointed toward his jet. “I would like you and the driver to board my plane at once. It will take you to Stockholm. Remain there until you hear from my attorney.”
The technician looked at his boss and nodded. “I understand. Good-bye, Mr. Hendriks.”
The jet took off moments before President Vashenko’s motorcade entered the airport and rolled to a stop next to the dais. The Russian president inspected the troops, gave a short speech, and was taken for a ride in one of the attack helicopters. After discussing the flight with his aides, the president was steered to the dais by General Zakharin, where Hendriks had repositioned the Peregrine’s console.
“Mr. President,” Zakharin said, “may I present Martin Hendriks, the developer of the Peregrine drone.”
“I have heard good things about your drone,” Vashenko said. “I understand it even saved some Russian sailors in the Black Sea. Where is your invention?”
“It is in the skies above us, Mr. President. As I demonstrated to General Zakharin, its long-range capabilities make it difficult to detect. I invite you to try to identify its location, if you can.”
Vashenko scanned the skies while listening for a motor but saw and heard nothing. Hendriks, meanwhile, used the Peregrine’s high-power camera to target the dais a few feet away. He turned the video screen to show Vashenko.
“We are standing right here.” He pointed to the screen. “If I activate the laser targeting system, which happens to work with your Vikhr antitank missiles, you can see it lock onto our position.”
He typed into a keypad and a flashing red ring appeared on the screen, encircling the image of the men.
“Very impressive,” the president said. “Tell me, from which direction is the drone flying?”
Hendriks ignored the question.
“The Peregrine is armed and ready now,” Hendriks said. “If I wanted to kill you, I would simply press these two red buttons to launch the drone’s missiles.”
As he reached down and pushed the buttons, Vashenko gave a nervous laugh. “Now, why would you want to do that?”
Zakharin pointed to the northern sky. “Is that it? What are those two puffs of smoke?”
As Vashenko turned to look, Hendriks whispered in his ear.
“Mr. President, I am about to kill you in the same manner you killed my family in the skies over Ukraine.”
Hendriks reached into his pocket and retrieved the metal object that never left his side. It was a scarred and melted cross that had once been worn around his wife’s neck. He held the cross in both hands in front of him and squeezed it tightly, then looked up and watched the twin missiles arrive.
90
A cool breeze drifted across the knoll, refreshing the wedding guests gathered around a small gazebo. Fresh flowers and streamers decorated the structure in the traditional Bulgarian wedding colors of red and white. Just beyond, the sparkling Black Sea provided an azure backdrop under a bright September sun.
The bride wore a simple white dress, which ruffled in the sea breeze. The groom was attired in a dark suit with red tie and carried a black cane. After completing their wedding vows, Ana and Petar Ralin turned and kissed in front of the gathered guests, prompting a roar of approval.
The newlyweds mingled with their families as champagne was poured and the younger members of the wedding party began dancing. As they worked their way through the crowd, Ana and Petar reached a tall couple standing near the side.
Ralin shook Pitt’s hand. “We are so happy you could join us today.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” He introduced his wife, Loren. A congresswoman from Colorado, she wore a violet dress that matched her eyes.
Ana gave Pitt a hug, then turned to Loren. “Petar and I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for your husband.”
“You’ve all had quite an ordeal,” she said. “I’m just happy it’s led to this special day.”
“Do you have a honeymoon planned?” Pitt asked.
Ana smiled. “We’re going to Chios, in Greece, for a week.”
Ralin shook his head. “She insists on working, even on our honeymoon.”
“We’re going to try and confirm it was the Besso that sank there,” Ana said. “I’ve been in touch with your children about a Russian World War I submarine that was lost in the area and may have drawn the Besso to salvage her.”
“I’ve heard a bit about that,” Pitt said. “Mankedo may have thought he had a hoard of gold there and got tangled up with some Russian agents in the process.”
“He should have quit while he was ahead,” Ana said. “In our investigation of Martin Hendriks, we found a twenty-million-dollar transfer was made to Mankedo at a Cyprus bank, and another five million dollars to his late associate, Ilya Vasko. No one ever collected it.”
“I guess it’s now clear that Hendriks wasn’t supporting the pro-Russian rebels in Ukraine after all.”
“Just the opposite. We were slow to discover that his wife and two children had been killed on Malaysian Airlines Flight 17 when it was shot down near Donetsk in 2014. His actions were all in the name of vengeance against Russia and the rebels.”
“The man nearly started World War III,” Loren said.
“Yes, but, in a sense, he succeeded,” Ana said. “The U.S. is now providing greater support to Ukraine, and the new Russian president has withdrawn all military forces from the region. Violence is waning, and Ukraine might even regain its lost lands.”
“Ana, enough shop talk,” Ralin said. “We are here to celebrate.”
“I’m sorry, Petar, you are right. Loren and Dirk, what are your plans while here in Bulgaria?”
“We’re hoping to visit the Rila Monastery and drive the coastal road to Varna,” Loren said.
“Along the way,” Pitt added, “I plan on exploring that Ottoman shipwreck we found. After that, there’s a rusty old Italian car I’d like to see about acquiring.”
“Ana,” Loren said, “you better fill me in on where to go shopping while he’s underwater.”
Pitt took Ralin by the arm. “Come along, Petar. I’ll buy you a drink while I can still afford it,” he said with a wink. “We can toast to rich shipwrecks, vintage cars, and strong women.”
As the two men moved off toward the bar, Ana turned to Loren. “He’s a man of a different age, isn’t he?”
Loren looked over at Pitt with pride and smiled.
“Yes. But I’m glad he’s living in this one.”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Clive Cussler is the author or coauthor of over fifty previous books in five bestselling series, including Dirk Pitt®, NUMA® Files, Oregon Files, Isaac Bell, and Sam and Remi Fargo. His most recent New York Times–bestselling novels are The Gangster, The Emperor’s Revenge, and Pirate. His nonfiction works include Built for Adventure: The Classic Automobiles of Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt, and its companion volume, Built to Thrill; plus The Sea Hunters and The Sea Hunters II; these describe the true adventures of the real NUMA, which, led by Cussler, searches for lost ships of historic significance. With his crew of volunteers, Cussler has discovered more than sixty ships, including the long-lost Confederate ship Hunley. He lives in Arizona.
Dirk Cussler, an MBA from Berkeley, worked for many years in the financial arena, and now devotes himself full-time to writing. He is the coauthor with Clive Cussler of Black Wind, Treasure of Khan, Arctic Drift, Crescent Dawn, Poseidon’s Arrow, and Havana Storm. For the past several years, he has been an active participant and partner in his father’s NUMA expeditions and has served as president of the NUMA advisory board of trustees. He lives in Arizona.
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twitter.com/CusslerOfficial
Visit the NUMA website at: numa.net
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