by Tim Tigner
“You have a Champion?” Max said, thinking fast after reading the band on a discarded butt.
“I do indeed. Funny, I’d pictured you as more of a Magnum guy.”
Their big-dog dance completed to mutual satisfaction, the two alpha males dropped into plush burgundy lounge chairs, whereupon Ignaty clipped and torched their Punch Champions. They enjoyed a few initial puffs in shared silence before Ignaty fired his opening salvo. “There’s been a race going on for years behind the scenes. A very important, very intense technological race — and the Americans are about to beat us across the finish line.”
“Do tell.”
“You familiar with Vulcan Fisher?”
“The aerospace company that recently landed the biggest defense contract in U.S. history?”
“You heard about that,” Ignaty said, picking something invisible off his lip. “If you tell me you know the details, I’m going home right now. You can have my job.”
“Morozov had planned to send me on recon, but another assignment came up.”
“Yes, Switzerland. I heard. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Ignaty blew a long jet of smoke. “Back to Vulcan Fisher. Their project is codenamed Sunrise, and like the best codenames, it holds meaning without giving anything away. Ever since the Gorbachev/Reagan Years, we’ve been dreaming of so-called Star Wars defense systems. Are you familiar with the concept?”
“Lasers in space,” Max said, his heartbeat now rising from more than just the nicotine. “Officially called SDI, the Strategic Defense Initiative.”
“Exactly. But after years of sexy headlines and tens of billions of dollars worth of failed attempts, technical and budget issues finally tabled SDI in favor of more conventional systems.”
Max saw where this was going. “Are you telling me Vulcan Fisher cracked SDI?”
“Yes. Just three years from now, the U.S. will gain absolute and permanent military control of everything in the earth’s atmosphere — and everything below it.” Ignaty paused for a long, tension-raising puff before blowing smoke in Max’s direction. “They’ll essentially have their fist wrapped around the planet — unless you stop it.”
Chapter 16
The News
Black Sea Coast, Russia
MAX PRIDED HIMSELF on staying a step ahead of his bosses and peers. While they were out drinking, he was home reading. While they were chasing women or watching sports, he was looking for trends and calculating odds. But he had not seen this coming. Last he’d heard, SDI was dead. Now Ignaty was vesting it with complete military control of the planet.
Max decided to adopt Korovin’s trademark style when querying the president’s chief strategist. “How? What?”
Ignaty leaned forward, resting an elbow on each knee. “Laser, satellite, and computing technologies have grown exponentially since the 1980s. We’re light-years ahead now, and apparently Vulcan Fisher is further ahead still. What do you know about them from your earlier, almost-assignment?”
“Vulcan Fisher is a pioneer in satellite and drone technologies. Their roots are in aeronautics — aircraft control systems — where they remain the global leader.”
Ignaty concurred with a long drag on his cigar. “The biggest hurdle to overcome in a laser defense system is power generation. You basically need a nuclear power plant, and we’re not talking the nuclear submarine type. We’re talking Fukushima. We’re talking putting something the size of a football stadium on a spaceship.” Ignaty scooched forward to the edge of his chair, tapped the ash off his cigar, and gave Max the real punch. “Well, apparently Vulcan Fisher has gotten so precise with their satellite capabilities, that they’ve eliminated the need to put the laser into orbit.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Nor did our physicists, at first. It literally takes a leap of perspective.” Ignaty paused there, enjoying the tease.
Max remained silent, unwilling to ask.
“Vulcan Fisher will be building a huge, land-based laser that will shoot a beam straight up to a master satellite, which can then redirect the energy like a sophisticated disco-ball. By bouncing beams off additional satellites orbiting around the globe, they’ll literally have the power to fry any and all other electronic equipment in orbit or on the ground, all at the speed of light.” Ignaty snapped the fingers of his free left hand, then settled back into his chair.
“So many questions,” Max began, thinking out loud. “Where are they building the laser?”
Ignaty answered without enthusiasm. Apparently he wasn’t impressed. “We don’t know. They’ll probably use an island in the South Pacific, where the air is clean, the clouds are few and far between, and there are no people for thousands of miles around.”
“How long will it take?”
Ignaty gave a look that said, strike two. “The system goes live in three years.”
Max cursed himself. Ignaty had already supplied that answer. Max didn’t let his nerves show as he took his third swing. “How do I stop it?”
Ignaty pecked the air with his cigar. “Now there’s a trillion-dollar question. Let me begin to answer it with a question of my own. What’s modern America’s greatest weakness? I’ll give you a hint to get you started. Why is Korovin more powerful than Silver, despite the relative size of both his army and his economy?”
Max was pleased to be back on familiar ground. Geopolitics was his thing. “Korovin can do whatever he wants. Silver is hamstrung by legislative and judicial branches. He needs Congressional approval for most things. In other words, he can’t act without the permission of his political rivals.”
“So?”
“So America’s greatest weakness is bureaucracy. Its legal system.”
Ignaty again tapped his cigar against the air in approval. “The day after Bin Laden knocked down the World Trade Center, President Bush was on the airwaves, promising to rebuild it, Better and stronger than ever! A symbol of American resilience. And the whole world cheered him on.
“It took them fourteen years. Fourteen years to reopen a single building. And that was with American pride on the line, and the world cheering them on. Why?”
“Legal battles.”
“Legal battles,” Ignaty confirmed. “While scores of American lawyers waged their war at a thousand dollars an hour, Korovin rebuilt all of Moscow. In the time it took America to construct a single new landmark, Russia reconstructed its entire capital city. If Korovin wants something, he gets it. If Silver wants something…”
“He has to ask for it,” Max supplied.
“Exactly. So the way to stop Vulcan Fisher …”
“Is to wrap it up in red tape.”
“You got it! Do that, and by the time their sun is ready to rise, we’ll already have our star in place.”
When Max didn’t respond immediately, Ignaty said, “You look disappointed.”
“No. No. I’m honored.”
“Not sexy, is that it? You were thinking James Bond, super spy, only to find that you’d been handed an accounting assignment?”
Max said nothing.
“Well, wait till you hear how you’re going to generate that red tape.”
Max felt his heartbeat quicken.
“You’re going to make Bin Laden look like the cave-dwelling amateur he really was. I’ll pour some poison, and tell you all about it.”
The brandy came out, fresh cigars were lit, and Ignaty regaled Max with the details of Operation Sunset.
Two hours later, when the alpha males joined Zoya and President Korovin for a surf and turf dinner, Max was feeling even better than he had been when they first landed in Sochi on vacation. He had been selected by none other than the president of Russia to lead a mission that would shift the global balance of power.
Zoya too was wearing a smile that broadcast delight as she reveled in the company of her powerful new friend. But even before Max kissed his fiancée’s cheek, he knew that she was acting. Something was tearing her up inside.
First it struck him that his news was not likely to improve her mood. Then he realized that he had yet to hear hers.
Chapter 17
Soul Food
Black Sea Coast, Russia
AS THEY WATCHED their new recruits depart, Korovin turned to his chief strategist. “When you gave me the broad strokes of Sunset, I thought you were about to propose that we find some way to use the American’s own weapon against them. I was expecting you to suggest reprogramming the laser to blow up the Capital during Silver’s next State of the Union address, or something like that.”
“A frontal assault,” Ignaty replied.
“Yes, exactly. Bold and glorious, but straight at their defenses.”
“That would be an amateur mistake. The IFF safeguards on Sunrise will be triple or quadruple redundant. Attempting to trick it into misidentifying a friend as a foe would be a fool’s errand.”
“Agreed. Your solution is far more practical, simpler even. It’s genius. How’d you come up with it?”
Ignaty felt warm honey running through his veins. Korovin wasn’t one to waste words on praise. The president saved the sweet sounds for affairs of state, while adopting a more practical attitude toward domestic affairs. Ignaty knew his boss figured that keeping one’s job was all the endorsement anyone should need. In that sense, he praised everyone on his staff, every day. While this pragmatic system satisfied the minds of the Kremlin staff, it left holes in their souls. But not today. Today Ignaty felt complete. “I was working on strategies for keeping America’s economic progress in check when we cracked the Sunrise code. So I started playing chess on two boards, so to speak.”
“And you figured out how to combine them,” Korovin said, completing Ignaty’s sentence. “The plan is beautiful, but of course planning is the easy part. Max has a hell of a task ahead of him.”
Ignaty was enjoying this rare glimpse beneath the armor of the president’s psyche — at the hole in his soul. “I trust you were impressed?”
“He’s got a quick mind, and good strategic reflexes. Morozov says his operational instincts are first rate, and Morozov isn’t easily impressed. But it’s one man against an entire American defense corporation. We’re asking a lot.”
“It’s always one man. Doesn’t matter how big the team. You of all people surely know that.”
Korovin nodded, but remained silent.
“Max will find a way.”
“You don’t think he’ll be too distracted?”
Ignaty knew this was sensitive ground, so he trod lightly. “By the Zoya thing?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll just ride him hard; he won’t have time to think about it.”
Chapter 18
Dangerous Heights
South Lake Tahoe, California
THE THWAP-THWAP-THWAP of a helicopter rotor grew increasingly closer, breaking Achilles’ concentration. Not a good development when you were 400 feet up the side of a cliff without a rope. Achilles reaffirmed the grip of all four points of contact and risked a glimpse over his shoulder. The helicopter was medevac red. Some climber was having a bad morning — which was a bit surprising in that he hadn’t seen anyone out yet. The inky darkness had only yielded to dawn’s first light about twenty minutes earlier.
After a week of getting nowhere on the Korovin assassination plan, Achilles had driven to a favorite climbing spot to work the problem with an unencumbered mind. He did his best thinking while climbing, and Lover’s Leap was perfect for that purpose.
Popular with San Francisco, Sacramento, and Silicon Valley residents looking to tackle tough climbs without battling Yosemite’s crowds, Lover’s Leap was a jewel just south of Lake Tahoe. Achilles loved it both for the spectacular views, and because it was well maintained. When you climbed without ropes, you needed solid surfaces free of grit and growth. The steady flow up the vertical visage of Lover’s Leap meant he didn’t have to devote time to tedious prep work.
Speaking of prep work, Achilles was on his own when it came to developing the Korovin plan. By Foxley’s own admission, he was a doer, not a planner. Achilles suspected that the abdication was driven more by Foxley’s political instincts than his self-awareness. The task had appeared impossible when Collins presented it, and seven days later it still did. Failure, nonetheless, would rest entirely on Achilles’ shoulders.
The medevac helicopter kept closing in, its roar vibrating everything that clung to the granite, including Achilles himself. Achilles stayed put until its red tail rotor disappeared from view, eclipsed by the cliff top some 200 feet above his head. Soon the silence of a mountain dawn enveloped him once again, and Achilles resumed his ascent in peace.
Given the data they had, the Korovin assassination resembled a deer hunt. Instead of watching a stream at dawn, Achilles would be watching the Kremlin’s employee exit after dusk. Unfortunately, that was where the similarities ended. He couldn’t erect a hunting blind on Red Square. He couldn’t even loiter in the area. The FSO kept eyes on the Kremlin’s surroundings like a fat man on his doughnuts.
As bad as the observation challenge was, the timing aspect was worse. Korovin didn’t come out daily like a deer to a stream. His appearances were rare and unpredictable. Achilles had to be there, watching, every evening Korovin was in the Kremlin. If he missed one opportunity, it might be months before he got another.
Despite the seemingly insurmountable challenge this mission presented, Achilles was thrilled to be back in the espionage game. Thrilled to be putting his talents to use to serve his president and his country. And thrilled to be ridding the world of the scourge that was President Korovin.
If he found a way to accomplish his mission, Achilles had no doubt that President Silver would call on him again. Then he’d be sitting pretty, doing patriotic work for a well-meaning man, without bureaucracy or a boss. If he failed, Achilles didn’t know what he’d do. Anything else would feel like settling for second place. The conclusion was obvious: he couldn’t fail.
Easier said than done.
The valley was coming to life below as the sun began peeking above the mountains, stirring up the breeze and waking the birds. Achilles was looking forward to greeting the morning from atop the cliff. He’d sit cross-legged with the sun warming his back while the shadow of the granite monolith slowly receded from the valley. If all went according to plan, the Korovin solution would blossom in his brain like one of the blooms below.
The sun seemed to be right there before him as he poked his head over the crest, like a bare bulb hanging in an attic, or a flashlight in the eyes. Achilles checked his watch once his pupils had adjusted. The 600-foot ascent had taken him twenty-eight minutes. Far from a record, but mighty respectable for a meditative climb on a cliff rated a 5.11 — which put it near the difficult end of the technical-climbing spectrum.
As he rose to full height in salute of the sun, Achilles made a discovery that put a shadow on his meditation plan and set off warning bells. He wasn’t alone.
PART 2: REVELATIONS
Chapter 19
The Partner
Seattle, Washington
“ARE WE HAPPY?” Ignaty asked Max, his voice sounding more like a child’s than his own. They were using Voice Over Internet Protocol delivered via The Onion Router using 256-bit encryption and voice-scrambling technology. The setup caused a four-second communication delay, but with those stacked systems, even the NSA was powerless to eavesdrop.
Max cleared his throat. “I don’t know yet. Wang’s not due for another twenty minutes. How on earth did you hook up with this guy?”
Ignaty's reply came through four seconds later. “One of our Seattle operatives bumped into him. They were both chasing the same technology. Wang was coming out as our guy was going in, so to speak, and offered to sell him the information. For cash. Our guy didn’t take him up on it, but he did let Morozov know that Wang was for sale. Morozov proposed him to me — at the same time he proposed you.”
Max suspected there was more
to it than that. So far Wang was proving to be the most unusual agent Max had ever worked with. “I’m sure you ran a full background check. What did you learn?”
“Wang runs China’s industrial espionage network in the Pacific Northwest. He’s been in Seattle for nearly a decade, and has established an entire cell of spies. His clandestine operatives are all in the U.S. on legitimate work visas, all hired as programmers and engineers by unsuspecting technology corporations looking to save a buck. The Americans think they’re getting high-quality talent on the cheap. What they’ve really bought themselves is a big fat security gap.”
“The human version of spyware,” Max said.
Ignaty emitted an annoying chuckle. “Sometimes old school rules. Why are you asking about Wang?”
“He’s not what I was expecting.”
“How so?”
“Have you met him?”
“No. Everything has been done remotely — to disguise our nationality. You’re the only Russian to have a face-to-face meeting with him since that initial agent — and he thinks you’re British.”
Max knew he was getting on Ignaty's nerves, but pressed anyway. “That’s kind of my point. You’ve got me playing the dapper Englishman to an audience of one, but that one is a stumpy, soft-spoken peasant, with thinning hair, a hygiene problem, and an addiction to American soap operas. As the Brit’s would say, we’re chalk and cheese.”
“What you have in common is money. You have it, he wants it. There’s no penalty for running too sophisticated an operation. On the other hand, getting sloppy could be catastrophic. Make sure he doesn’t figure out that you’re Russian and we’ll be fine.”
A knock at the door preempted Max’s next comment. “Speak of the devil.”
“Let me know as soon as you’ve verified the product. Don’t wait for me to call you tomorrow.”
