Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  “I suggested that since Phoenix Force was already in Minsk, and because we know the transmission originated from somewhere within the European or Mediterranean hemisphere, that we play along and submit a bid by Madari’s terms.”

  “You don’t actually think he’d sell to the U.S.,” Lyons said with a snort.

  “Possibly…or not. But we won’t really know until we actually try it. And since we’ve nothing to lose at this point, I think it makes sense we at least give it the old college try.”

  “So you’re thinking of using Phoenix Force as a courier for the buy?” McCarter asked.

  “Of course not,” Price said. “I think Hal’s figuring the more contact we have with Madari, the more time it buys us to locate him.”

  “Your mission parameters will change only in a small sense,” Brognola said. “If you are unable to get the technology and Dratshev away from Madari, your orders are to neutralize the entire situation. Quickly and permanently.”

  “Quickly and permanently we can do,” McCarter said.

  “In the meantime, David,” Lyons said, “we’ll be keeping Steinham and his goons off your back. But be watchful. We think he might have people either in Minsk—or the more likely scenario is they’re on their way.”

  “Steinham? Who the hell’s Steinham?” McCarter inquired.

  “We’ll bring you up to snuff on that issue in short order,” Price said.

  “Actually, I’m beginning to think Ironman could be headed for status as the Farm’s newest prophet,” Kurtzman interjected.

  “Because?” Lyons said.

  “As soon as we connected Steinham and Cyrus, I began a full data sweep on him. Background, dossiers of all employees past and present, projects, contracts, everyone he’s ever worked with or talked to. Seems that one of his corporate jets filed an overseas flight plan. You’ll never guess the destination.”

  “I’m betting…Minsk?” Price said.

  “Aw, you guessed it right away!” Schwarz joked. “That’s no fun! You should’ve made it harder, Bear.”

  “Listen up, gentlemen,” Price said, her voice taking a motherly pitch. “There are a lot of players in this game and there are about to be a lot more. I want both teams to be diligent and to report regularly on your progress. Able Team, we’ll have Black Betty ready and willing when you arrive here. And, David, you and Phoenix Force pay attention to everything. My guess is that you’ll have multiple parties inside your AO soon enough, and the lines may get fuzzy quick.”

  “Yeah, agreed,” McCarter replied. “And it wouldn’t be the first bloody time, now, would it?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Greek Isles

  While it seemed all was going as planned, Ishaq Madari’s years of experience had led him to never assume things would continue to go well. Operations of this magnitude never ran a strictly linear course. There were too many variables and if one expected longevity in life, one had to insert contingencies into any plans when things went awry. According to Mishka, the American force now in Belarus had survived the attack by Madari’s team. She’d also informed him the American leader didn’t seem convinced by her story about the FSB being responsible for the attack. Fortunately, Madari had been prepared for such an eventuality and advised her not to worry but to proceed as scheduled.

  It was a secondary concern, anyway. Madari had finally convinced Oleg Dratshev to work on the EMP weapons and the scientist had appeared to move forward with genuine eagerness. At least for now.

  In fact, Dratshev had made considerable progress in just a short time. Madari had invested most of his material resources in a building a lab equal to the task and they were already manufacturing the first of ten prototypes based on Dratshev’s material designs. Madari could not resist a smile of great satisfaction as Dratshev presented the first one to him. The barrel of this weapon was half the length of the earlier prototype.

  “With good reason,” Dratshev replied when Madari remarked on this. “It’s made of a much lighter alloy. I also reconfigured the energy chamber so that the pulse is directly cooled by coils carrying the liquid helium. This has created an energy build-up with a shorter half life.”

  “What about the range?”

  Dratshev shrugged and frowned. “Unfortunately, my original modifications of your design did reduce distance and accuracy by about twenty-three percent. However, there is no reduction in force at the peak impact point and it still puts the bearer out of danger. Provided they do not attempt to fire at a target point-blank.”

  “Of course,” Madari said. “Your progress is still remarkable.”

  “As are your facilities.”

  Dratshev’s remark both impressed and put Madari on guard. He knew demonstrating the progress would have impressed Dratshev enough to elicit the scientist’s cooperation but that did not mean he trusted Dratshev, by any means.

  “Would you care to test it?” Dratshev asked.

  Madari passed the rifle to Dratshev. “I would say the first honor should be yours, Doctor.”

  Dratshev looked concerned for a moment but then took the offer with indifference. He raised the weapon to his shoulder, aimed downrange and squeezed the trigger. The weapon responded without delay as in the earlier version, and Madari saw no significant recoil effect on Dratshev’s short frame. A heartbeat later the massive block of cement blew apart and the energy wave left a hole in the steel plate at the center the size of a volleyball.

  Madari nodded but consciously attempted to mask his shock. He said, “Most impressive!”

  Dratshev looked at a small gauge on the side of the weapon, something that had not been present on the weapon created by Madari’s engineers. “Blast it. The charge has been reduced by half. The lithium ion battery I’d hoped would sustain the energy pulse build is not effective enough.”

  “Is there any way to recharge it?”

  “Not without a significant power source. And even then, the recharge would take time.”

  “This is not good, Dr. Dratshev,” Madari pointed out. “It means your prototype design is only capable of generating two full EM pulses, at most.”

  Dratshev produced a hiss and shook his head. “I think I fully understand that, Mr. Madari.”

  “This won’t be acceptable to my bidders.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Madari had carefully planned when to reveal the information regarding his intent. “I’ve informed a number of my contacts that you are currently under my…protection.”

  “A foul term to use in consideration of the truth.”

  Madari allowed a little smile. “Do tell.”

  “Despite your hospitality, I still consider myself a captive.”

  “And you do well on that count, sir. But you must admit that I’ve intrigued you beyond your wildest aspirations. This is more, much more I’m afraid, than your comrades at the Kremlin. I’ve been led to understand, in fact, that the highest authority in Moscow issued a terminate-on-sight order to the FSB mere hours ago.”

  “Of course.”

  “You knew they would do this?”

  “It was always the protocol.”

  Dratshev lit a cigarette and as he did, Madari could see his hands shake. “So then you acknowledge your life is forfeit if they were to find you, but you scorn the idea that while here you are safe.”

  “Perhaps I’m willing to take my chances,” Dratshev replied through a cloud of smoke that wisped around his head in the gentle breeze.

  “Hardly,” Madari said. “No, you can put up the brave front if you so choose, Dr. Dratshev, but I will continue to offer you my support and assistance in completing your work.”

  “Only because you stand to gain something by it.”

  “And your own government did not?” Madari shook his head. He sat on a nearby bench and c
rossed his legs. “Since you seem intent on bantering the politics of your situation, let me take a moment of your time to explain myself in more detail.”

  “What makes you think I’ll care?”

  “Don’t do that, Doctor. It’s not worthy of you.”

  “As you wish.”

  “My only real concern here is that democratic rule be instantiated within Libya. I hope one day to return to my country a free man.”

  “I was taken to understand the government in power is attempting this. That would mean that you’re actually fighting against them. I believe the conventional term for such rebellion is called terrorism.”

  “The attempts of the current president and so-called elected body are fallacious, at best. And if I’m a terrorist then you must admit I’m the most mild-mannered of any you’ve ever met. To be sure, terrorists are fanatics and I can assure you I am anything but a fanatic.”

  “I suppose your ideology helps you sleep better at night.”

  “On the contrary,” Madari countered. “I’ve not slept well in a very long time, Dr. Dratshev. In fact, my personal physician has told me that my health is not good and that within a few years I will most likely be an invalid. That’s if I live that long.”

  “If you’re attempting to appeal to my sympathies, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. I have nothing but loathing for you, Mr. Madari.”

  “It probably won’t interest you to know this but I did quite a careful study of your background before planning this operation.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You were a mediocre student for the majority of your early school years and it was only by the recommendation of a number of influential professors at Yugev Polytechnica that you came to the interest of certain members at the Kremlin. You have no family to speak of—both parents are deceased, no siblings and you never married. In fact your only relation was your ailing grandmother until she passed…um, what was it? Two years ago?”

  Dratshev remained impassive, smoking and staring.

  “For the past fifteen years, you’ve thrown yourself fully and completely into your work. You have no attachments and I would assume you never really did. They are a luxury men like you realize they can never afford, a distraction from your real mistress of science.”

  “What do you know about attachment?”

  “Much more than you might believe. I was married with two daughters. Do you know what happened to them?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Fine,” Madari replied, trying not to look stung even though he felt as if a monster had clutched his heart. “But I will tell you. The bastards I worked for killed them when they found out I was supporting the rebellion. That’s right. Gadhafi ordered my family killed. That wasn’t before the men who did the job took liberties with all of them, of course. My youngest was twelve. Yes, that’s right, I can see from the look on your face it disgusts you. Strange for a man who claims not to care.

  “But allow me to tell you why I think you do care. As I explained before, you’re apolitical and you want only to further your own scientific curiosity. But there was someone you cared about deeply, once. Ah…I see you thought I knew nothing of her, what was her name? Natalia?”

  “You have no right to pry into my life,” Dratshev said in a cloud of gray-blue smoke. “No right! And I will not listen to you any longer!”

  “You will listen!” Madari said, jumping to his feet. He’d had enough of this. “You will listen because I know that you do care about other people. You cared for Natalia and they murdered her! She didn’t die in any car accident. They killed her and they threw her body in a vehicle and pushed it over that bridge and into the cold water.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “And you’re a fool! Do you honestly think they give a shit about you, Dr. Dratshev? What kinds of men do these things?” Madari sat to calm himself and shook his head. Finally he looked up to find Dratshev staring at him. “What?”

  “Is it true? Did they kill her…did they kill my precious Natalia?”

  “I have no reason to lie to you,” Madari said with a shrug. He looked away and tried not to think about his own family, his sweet girls killed by the bastards who were now ruining his home country. “As I said, if you don’t cooperate with me I merely have to let you go and sell what I have outright. It makes no difference to me.”

  “Or you’re suggesting I stay.”

  “Yes.”

  “To what would it profit me?” Dratshev asked.

  Madari felt suspicious at first but he could see something new and hard had come into Dratshev’s face. The revelation of Natalia’s death, which he didn’t know to be completely true but for which he had strong evidence and suspicions, had shaken Dratshev’s resolve. The scientist would cooperate fully now; of that much Madari felt certain. What he couldn’t help but wonder was at what price.

  * * *

  Minsk, Belarus

  MCCARTER HAD REACHED the point of intolerability as he paced the floor of their hotel room.

  “Frankly, I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about,” said Rafael Encizo, the ever-present voice of reason. He sat on the edge of the coffee table with a Tanto fighting knife in one hand and a sharpening stone propped on his knee.

  “I’m not worked up,” McCarter said. He fished into his shirt pocket, removed a cigarette and lit it. “I’m mulling.”

  Nearby on one of the overstuffed chairs, Gary Manning asked, “You think Mishka’s a traitor?”

  “I think she’s as dirty as a two-dollar whore,” McCarter replied. “But that’s not what has me concerned. We’ve dealt with more than our share of bloody turncoats and we know how to handle them. What has me rethinking this is that bit about this new party of American mercs. What we don’t need right now is to start a war on the streets of this city.”

  “Maybe it won’t come to that,” Encizo said.

  “I have the feeling it may be unavoidable,” McCarter said. “And I really don’t like this plan the Farm cooked up. We’re being asked to play by the rules of the game.”

  Manning shrugged. “Then change the rules.”

  “Such as?” McCarter stopped pacing and cocked his head.

  “Well, we’re pretty sure we know who the enemy is and we have a perfectly good information source,” the big Canadian replied. “Instead of sitting here collecting dust, let’s take the fight to them.”

  “You’re talking about a shakeup play.”

  “I am.”

  “That’s the best bloody idea I’ve heard all day,” McCarter replied. He called James and Hawkins to join them, and began, “Okay, Gary’s made a pretty good point and I’ve come to a decision. We’re going to turn this around.”

  “How?” Hawkins asked.

  “By going on the offensive,” McCarter replied. “If our local spook’s right and this is the FSB on us, I don’t see any point sitting here and waiting for them to try again.”

  “Okay,” James interjected. “But how do you propose to find them?”

  A rap at the door brought a smile and a wink in way of reply. Manning rose and went to the door. He opened it to admit Mishka and Carnes.

  “Were your ears burning?” Hawkins asked as they entered.

  She gave him a queer look and then put her attention on McCarter. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

  “No,” McCarter replied. “As a matter of fact, you’re right on time.”

  “Right on time for what?”

  “We were just discussing our next move. I have it in mind that to wait here for the FSB to attack us again is stupid. We need to take the fight to them.”

  “You’re talking about going on the offensive.”

  “I am.”

  Mishka shook her head. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
>
  “And why’s that?” Encizo queried.

  “For one, we can’t be sure it was even the FSB who attacked us.”

  “You seemed convinced earlier,” McCarter said.

  “Well…” Mishka looked at Carnes, who nodded, before saying, “I’m not so sure it is now. And I know after what happened on the way from the airport you have no reason to trust me. But I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it. And neither did Carnes. We’re on your side.”

  “Nobody said we mistrusted you.”

  “Oh, come on! I didn’t graduate from Langley last week.” Mishka shook her head. “Don’t treat us like we’re stupid, gentlemen. You’re above that. And let’s face it, you got blown fast. But I think I have an explanation.”

  “We’re listening,” Encizo said.

  “We hear the Russian government has received word a third party has come forward to claim responsibility for Dratshev’s kidnapping. At least, that’s what they claim.”

  “And who’s the third party?” McCarter asserted, already confident he knew what she’d say.

  “We don’t know yet,” Mishka replied.

  A shift of his eyes to the rest of the team made it clear they knew she was lying. Apparently she had no idea that they’d already had word from the Farm about the same claim having been made to the United States. That was damning enough, even if Mishka had neglected to mention that the EMP weapons schematics had been put on the international auction block.

  “What we do know,” Mishka said, “is that the transmission originated right here in the Belarus. Just outside the city, in fact.”

  “So you’re thinking we should hit this target?”

  “I think so,” Mishka said. “Before we lose the option.”

  “Only one problem—you still have our equipment,” James pointed out.

  “We got a new mode of transportation,” Carnes revealed. “New wheels.”

  “And it’s clean?” McCarter asked.

  Carnes nodded. “Completely.”

  “Um, we may now have new transportation but I don’t think that’s our biggest worry,” Hawkins said.