“How do you mean?” asked Julie.
Devon held the bullet up for them to see and pointed to the end. “These tiny, bent shards sticking out? They’re essentially propellors, like you would see on a—”
“Torpedo?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s what we figured.”
Devon nodded. “If I were to guess, I would say the shell casing for this thing is as advanced as the bullet itself.”
“In what way?” asked Collins.
“Well, you know how an ammunition round works, right?”
They both nodded.
“When the gunpowder behind the bullet ignites, it forces the bullet out of the end like a bat out of Hell. But for this bullet here to actually work, the shell would have to be constructed in such a way as to fire it and start its little motor on the end. Kinda like starting up a speedboat engine. Something would need to pull the rip cord, so to speak.”
“So, whatever weapon was used to fire that thing would also have to be heavily customized?” observed Julie.
Devon nodded. “Without a doubt. I’d need to take a look inside this thing to figure out how it did what it did. There has to be some kind of mechanism or counter-balancing design inside that would allow the propellors to maintain velocity beyond the normal drop-off point. That’s the only way a single round would have enough momentum to keep going after the first or second impact.”
“Can you give us a full report by the end of the day?” asked Julie.
Devon sighed. “I’ll give you what I can, of course.”
“Good. This is what you’re doing now. Everything else can wait. This is the priority, and no one can know what you’re working on, okay?”
“You got it, Miss Fisher.” He paused. “Am I okay to… y’know… dissect this thing?”
She nodded. “We’re not precious about it. We’re not collecting evidence for a conviction here. We want to know how it works in the hope that will lead us to who made it. Do what you have to do.”
He checked his watch. “Okay. Let me get to work.”
Collins patted his shoulder. “You’re a legend, Dev.”
The two of them walked away, heading for the stairs.
Devon leaned forward on his worktop, staring at the bullet he held between his finger and thumb. “Let’s see where you came from, little guy.”
Buchanan sat behind his desk, leaning his elbow on the arm of his chair, his hand covering his mouth. The call had gone as he had expected, but that hadn’t made it any easier to deal with.
The United Nations Security Council president had called personally. This month, it was the United Kingdom’s turn to chair the council. The conversation had been courteous and respectful, but the president had made no attempt to hide the severity and urgency of the situation.
Buchanan had been summoned to New York to attend an emergency session in the morning.
He felt tired beyond measure and burnt out to the point of near delirium. He checked his watch.
I guess I have a long flight I can sleep through, at least, he mused.
As he stood, there was a knock on the door. It opened and Kim appeared.
“Sir, I’ve got Jericho for you,” she said.
“On video?” he asked.
She nodded.
He let out a long, tired breath. “Sure. Patch him through. But after this, I need to fly to New York, okay? Can you tell the pilot to ready the jet please?”
Kim’s brow furrowed with concern. “New York?”
“Yes. The UNSC has wasted little time in gathering to give me a scolding. The meeting’s first thing tomorrow, so I’m flying there now.”
“Okay.” She folded her arms across her chest and tapped a finger impatiently on her arm. “You’re going to eat and sleep on the plane, right?”
Buchanan smiled. “I’m going to try. Can you also arrange for a fresh suit for me to change into during the flight?”
“Of course.” She pointed to his wall-mounted TV screen. “Jericho will be up in a moment.”
Kim closed the door again. He perched on the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the floor. A moment later, the screen flickered into life. He looked up to see a pixelated image of Jericho sitting behind a desk, looking down into a laptop camera.
“How’s it going, soldier?” asked Buchanan with a friendly yet tired smile.
Jericho’s expression betrayed no emotion. His jaw was set, his gaze firm. His eyes were surrounded by the faint shadow of fatigue.
“I wish I could get out of the palace,” he said. “But it could be worse, all things considered.”
“Are you on lockdown?”
Jericho nodded. “Colonel Ramirez is personally heading up the security around the palace. His advice is to stay here and keep our heads down.”
“Do you trust him?”
He nodded again. “I do.”
“Okay. Then do as he says. You’re able to coordinate our forces on the ground still?”
“Affirmative. I’m in regular contact with every outpost across the country. Our personnel are holding their ground but giving the Palugan military a respectably wide berth.”
“It’s all we can do for now. Any reports of violence?”
Jericho shook his head. “Nothing significant. A few riots here and there, but they’re small and manageable. The general’s men have emerged from their bases and taken to the streets to lock everywhere down. They’ve been a little too forceful with civilians for my liking, but it’s their backyard. I’ve reiterated to our people that we will not get involved unless there is a risk to innocent life.”
“Thank you, Jericho,” said Buchanan earnestly. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle, but I’m glad I have you there.”
Jericho offered a brief smile. “It’s the job, right? How are things there? I don’t have international news here, and the internet is sketchy.”
“Yeah, your feed isn’t great. The sound keeps glitching, but it’s passable. It’s a goddamn circus here. You would think it was Kennedy or Lincoln all over again. The media are having a field day, and from a PR standpoint, GlobaTech are public enemy number one.”
“How quickly things change, huh? Anything I can do to help from here?”
Buchanan shook his head. “No, but I’ll let you know if that changes. Your man arrived earlier. Jones.”
“I was about to ask if he had made it in one piece.”
“He did. He’s a good man. Reminds me of a younger you.”
Jericho flicked up an eyebrow. “Respectfully, you can kiss my ass… sir.”
Buchanan smiled. “Yeah, well, he did an outstanding job of making it out of there as quickly as he did.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“What did you make of it?” asked Jericho finally.
“The bullet?” Buchanan let out a long, low whistle. “Beats the hell out of me. You?”
“Same. Never seen anything like it.”
“Fisher and Collins have taken it to Devon Green.”
He nodded. “Good call.”
“He’s looking at it now. I’ll make sure they keep you in the loop.”
“How are they doing?”
Buchanan stared at the screen. “They?”
Jericho sighed. “All right… she. How’s Julie?”
Buchanan smiled to himself. “Worried about you but not short of a distraction. She’s coping about as well as the rest of us right now.”
Jericho nodded and glanced away. “Make sure Ray looks out for her.”
“You know he will, Jericho.”
“And what about you, boss?”
“Me?” Another long, tired sigh. “I haven’t slept in almost two days, and I’m about to fly to New York.”
Jericho thought for a second. “The U.N.?”
Buchanan nodded.
“How bad is it? Honestly.”
“About as bad it can be.”
“We’ll be okay,” said Jericho, offering some reassurance. �
��I’ll get to the bottom of what happened. You have my word. I won’t rest until I do.”
“I know you won’t. Another reason I’m glad you’re there. But don’t forget this isn’t on you. You hear me? Just because you probably could carry the whole world on those shoulders doesn’t mean you should. No one saw this coming.”
“I should have. It was my job to protect him. President Herrera was a good man. He just wanted what was best for his people. He didn’t deserve this.”
“I know. Do you still think this General Guerrero is behind it?”
“He has to be. He controls two-thirds of the military. He repeatedly opposed Herrera in public, and he was set to lose the most, with the army having its funding and powers reduced.”
“He certainly has means and motive.”
“You think otherwise, sir?”
Buchanan shrugged. “I just think the Palugan military aren’t exactly an advanced fighting machine. Where would they get technology as advanced as that bullet?”
Jericho thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess they could outsource to keep their own hands clean. It’s possible they—”
He stopped abruptly, glancing away as if struck by a sudden thought or realization.
Buchanan frowned. “What is it?”
When Jericho turned back to the camera, his eyes burned with intensity. “Do you think it was… him?” he asked.
“Who?”
His jaw muscles visibility knotted with tension. “Adrian Hell.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not? He’s still supposedly the best there is. He’s an arrogant bastard, which means he would enjoy the challenge. Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t done this type of thing before…”
Buchanan held his hand up to the screen. “Jericho, I can assure you, Adrian had nothing to do with this.”
Jericho sat back in his seat, his eyes narrowed. “You seem sure of that.”
“Because I am. Trust me, you’re barking up the wrong tree. That man is not your enemy.”
“He ain’t my friend, either. If you’re wrong and he is involved, I swear to Christ I will…”
Buchanan smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will. But you need to stay focused on the facts here. Adrian wasn’t involved. Just… trust me.”
Jericho held his gaze for a moment, then nodded his resignation. “Fine. I’m analyzing the local surveillance footage of the area. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, e-mail me whatever you have by the end of the day, please. I suspect I’ll need it tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll make sure the team catch you up.” He checked his watch. “Now I have a flight to catch.”
“Remember, if I can help in any way, let me know.”
“I will. Stay safe, Mr. Stone.”
He clicked off the call using the remote next to him on the desk, then moved to his chair. He took the suit jacket that rested over the back of it and slipped it on. He grabbed his cell phone and his briefcase and left without looking back.
He had a long night ahead.
10
May 5, 2020
* * *
John Rutherford looked at his reflection in the men’s room mirror as he washed his hands. His shirt and suit jacket sleeves were pushed up to avoid being splashed. His gold Omega watch rested on the shelf above the basin for the same reason.
He had been president of the United Nations Security Council for five days. He was about to head into his seventh meeting in the last forty-eight hours. He had been the United Kingdom’s chief U.N. ambassador for over seven years and an advisor at Downing Street before that. He accepted the position with pride, considering it the culmination of years of hard work.
But these had been the most challenging five days of his life.
Rutherford leaned forward, squinting into the mirror. He closely examined the dark rims below his eyes.
He didn’t get nervous, but he would freely admit there was a certain level of stage fright before addressing a room filled with so many dignitaries and statesmen and politicians. Today was going to be the most important meeting of his life.
Today, he felt true nerves for the first time.
He dried his hands and re-fastened his watch. With a final look in the mirror, he adjusted his sleeves, straightened his tie and pin badge, and nodded to himself.
He left the men’s room and stepped out into the corridor, where he was greeted by two security guards. They silently escorted him to the council chamber. Without hesitation, Rutherford pushed the doors open and stepped through, leaving the guards to flank the threshold.
The meeting room of the U.N. Security Council looked akin to a cathedral. It was a large, hollow room with high ceilings. The left wall, near the entrance, was dominated by a renaissance-era mural, which loomed over a large horseshoe table in the center of the floor. Around the table were fifteen chairs. Fourteen were filled. Surrounding them were two more rows of seats, forming a wider semicircle. These were empty.
The room expanded away to the right, where stacked rows of seats climbed up at an angle. They were also empty.
He walked across the light blue carpet toward the remaining empty chair at the apex of the horseshoe. His footsteps echoed throughout. As he approached the desk, the other fourteen people stood out of respect. He patted the air, gesturing for them all to sit as he did.
Rutherford composed himself and looked around the table at the representatives of fellow member nations of the security council. Then he turned his attention to a solitary chair positioned to face the horseshoe and the man currently occupying it.
He cleared his throat. “Mr. Buchanan, thank you for joining us on such short notice. As I’m sure you can appreciate, these are unique circumstances, and it’s necessary to act quickly.”
Buchanan shifted in his seat, his legs crossed at the knee. He smiled courteously.
“Of course,” he said. “And if I may… my congratulations to you, Mr. Rutherford, on your promotion.”
Rutherford nodded his thanks. “Only temporary, as we know. Now, Mr. Buchanan, this meeting is unofficial and informal.”
Buchanan raised an eyebrow. “Due respect, but it didn’t sound all that informal on the phone yesterday when I was summoned here.”
“No, I suppose it didn’t. But I know the importance of this meeting and the reasons for having it will not be lost on you.”
“They’re not.”
“Good. Then, if there is nothing else from my fellow members of the council, I would like to begin.” He paused, offering a chance for contribution, but none was forthcoming. “Mr. Buchanan, can you please tell us what happened in Paluga?”
Buchanan took a long breath. “You all saw the news, I’m sure. A shot was fired that killed President Herrera and three of my men.”
“Where was this shot fired from?” asked a man sitting to his right.
“From a building overlooking the event from the president’s approximate ten o’clock position. Surveillance footage continues to be analyzed, and we believe it was from a fourth- or fifth-story window.”
“Do you have any leads on the shooter?” asked a woman to his left.
Buchanan shook his head regrettably. “As of right now… no, we don’t. Local police are trying to help, but honestly, they’re not equipped for this. They’re barely a police force. And the military… well, I’m not sure we could trust any intel they give us right now anyway.”
Rutherford nodded. “Do you believe there is a connection between the shooting and the political issues Paluga is facing with the military?”
Buchanan paused a beat, choosing his words carefully. “There’s no evidence to suggest that. It’s too soon for anything more than speculation. But the man I have coordinating things on the ground considers that the most likely scenario right now.”
“You have someone investigating this on GlobaTech’s behalf?”
“Mr. Rutherford, sir, I have two thousand men and women confined to their designated outposts in
a country torn apart by civil unrest and tragedy. They’re not able to leave and return home. May as well try and help while we’re there. It’s our job, after all.”
“Indeed.” He took a moment to sift through a small stack of papers in front of him, bringing a new sheet to the top. “How was such a tragedy allowed to happen in the first place?”
Buchanan struggled to compose himself. “I wouldn’t say we allowed anything to happen, sir. It happened. Nobody expected this situation would escalate to assassination. GlobaTech took every precaution when preparing to protect not just the principal target but the thousands of people also in attendance that day. Our responsibility was the president and the crowd. The Palugan military were responsible for securing the area and putting on the event itself.”
“So, you’re saying the military was involved?”
Buchanan took a deep breath. “No, sir. I’m saying GlobaTech worked alongside the military. We took care of the people; they took care of the location. Only the part of the military loyal to the president was working with us. Over half of their forces were on standby in their bases, as per the orders of their general. Look, this isn’t the time to speculate and assign blame. Like I said, this was an unexpected turn of events, and we’re working hard to get to the bottom of it.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Buchanan, now is the exact time to assign blame. That’s why we’re here… to establish what happened and find out who didn’t do what they were supposed to do, resulting in a foreign leader being killed on national TV.”
“Believe me, I want to find out what happened just as much as you do. Regardless of who was behind it, what evidence we have suggests this was a professional hit.”
The man sitting directly to Buchanan’s left tentatively raised a hand. “So, now you’re saying it wasn’t the military?”
“No, sir, I’m not saying that.” Buchanan’s impatient sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m saying the shot was taken by a trained sniper. That much is clear. Whether they were trained by the Palugan military or hired by a third party… or even acting independently, I honestly don’t know. That’s what we’re working to find out.”
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