The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  Pete and Anna grinned conspiratorially. Pete started, “Oh, it got a little exciting, didn’t it, Dear?”

  “I don’t know...just a fairly typical day for me,” she teased.

  “Guys, this isn’t fair. I deserve more than that!” Patrick protested.

  “Okay, you’re right...but you can’t tell anyone.” Pete winked at Anna, then noticed her right hand reached underneath the back of her blouse and with deft fingers unclasped the bra that altered the natural shape he so admired. He grimaced when her hand slid under her left sleeve and grabbed a bra strap. Recognizing the moves, he unbuckled and quickly repositioned to block Patrick’s view to the back seat.

  “Here’s what happened,” Pete started. “Anna got there first, rescued her servant, and incinerated part of her villa. We each took out an armed thug, then destroyed a computer center. We followed more bad guys, wirelessly hacked their car’s computer and forced it off a cliff, then had this great dinner in a cute coastal Italian town.”

  Pete glanced to his wife who was stuffing her push-up bra into the bag. “Shall we tell him about dinner, Darling?”

  She was tugging rapidly at her ruffled blouse to circulate air. “By all means.” She closed her cosmetic case.

  “Well, I had this fantastic spit-roasted veal basted in lemon—”

  “Okay,” Patrick interrupted, “I get it, you’re going to feed me travel stories. You guys are killjoys.”

  “But we’re appreciative killjoys, aren’t we, Dear?” Pete asked facetiously. He leaned back into his seat.

  “Thank you, Patrick.” She leaned forward, put her right hand on his shoulder, and kissed Patrick on the cheek. “You’re a great brother-in-law.”

  He blushed and then added, “By the way, the green dot over the yacht turned red several hours ago.”

  She sat back as her cheerful expression turned pensive.

  Pete leaned into her and asked in a subdued voice, “What’s that mean?”

  She bit her lower lip and looked at him. Her response was equally quiet, “One of two things. Either it’s been put somewhere shielded...or there’s a new player.”

  “New player?” Pete continued whispering. “Is that good or bad?”

  Her smile reappeared. “I think it’s a positive development.”

  “Come on guys!” Patrick complained. “You’re whispering again. This isn’t high school!

  Chapter 8

  August 6, 2200

  Spider

  Gabriel re-entered the lounge. “I’ve finished a security inspection, Boss. So far, the Spider’s clean. We’ve got two bomb dogs onboard and have checked every deck and most of the electronics. Our computer techs are scanning for malware Anna might have uploaded, and Yoav’s setting up a surveillance team in the security office.”

  Swanson’s anger had not diminished. “I want to know when she started to plan the torching of my financial transaction center. She must have planned it before yesterday.”

  “Anna did order a large quantity of white phosphorus charges last month,” Gabriel said with a bemused expression, and then thought, for which you paid top price. No reason to tell you there’s still over a million euros in the retainer account.

  Gabriel selected a Heineken from an ice bucket and took a sip. “How come you didn’t know the center’s location?”

  “She insisted.... Said the only way she’d trust security was if no one in our organization knew.... I fronted its startup with...probably 70 million euros. The hacking operation profits were funding part of my global operations. My head accountant tells me that the deposits decreased dramatically.”

  “Over what period?”

  “The few weeks just before she destroyed my computer operation at the Eurécom Research Center...what did she name it?” Swanson looked up in thought.

  “The Dark Energy Computer Company, according to the fire marshal’s report.”

  “Right.... Since the fire, money from there has ceased entirely. That woman probably was skimming profits and cost me hundreds of millions of euros in the past couple weeks.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Still less than one percent of your net worth, I’d say, and a fraction of what she made you.... I need your accountant to give me a complete breakdown of the trades and financials.”

  “Why?” Swanson asked suspiciously.

  “Forensic accounting. I need to know if money was, or still is, being diverted through secondary servers. Did she take any? And, if so, how much? It appears she had advanced planning, so I have no doubt she made it a contingency. The transactions might help me find her.... She has expensive tastes. Her preference for the best wines alone would easily run a thousand euros a week.”

  “At least now she has to buy her own!”

  Gabriel chuckled. “That’s right! She frequently lifted the finest bottles from the Spider’s wine cellar.”

  “That woman was a mooch!” Swanson said with disdain.

  That woman was establishing dominance, Gabriel thought. “By the way, did you change your account numbers?”

  “We did that within an hour of Jared calling me about a secret datacenter burning, so armored, firemen couldn’t get in. The protocol was typical of her security precautions. That was the last I spoke with him. Jared was right to insist I not give Anna so much freedom.”

  Gabriel grinned. “She never was much for being bridled.”

  Swanson’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know of her hacker operation?”

  Gabriel feigned dismay. “Sorry, but no. She didn’t include me in that. I’ve always known she held back key information. Operation security was important to her.” A slight smile returned. “The only way to keep a secret is not to tell anyone.”

  “Well, you will not keep secrets from me! Keep me apprised of the search for her,” Swanson said resolutely.

  “No, I won’t,” was Gabriel’s calm response.

  “What?!” Swanson’s eyes narrowed and his voice was raspy. “You’re defying my orders?!”

  “I’m not a puppet whose strings you can tug at a whim. I don’t like being micromanaged. I got too much of that in the CIA. That’s partly what carte blanche means.” He leaned forward. “Alexis, if you want me to help you, let me do it my way, otherwise, I’m out.”

  Swanson took in a deep breath, exhaled, then slowly grinned. “Okay, Gabe, I’ll let you do it your way, for now.” He poured another vodka. “Let’s talk about Johansson.”

  “Ah yes, your mad geneticist.” Gabriel grinned. “I’ve heard he’s arrogant, brilliant, a workaholic, and hates rules.” He picked up the folder and looked at the photo and profile. “And I’ll bet he’s quite the ladies’ man too. He could have been in the movies with those Scandinavian looks – tall, blond, chiseled features.”

  “Sven was a star employee until July.”

  Gabriel looked at his notes. “According to the preliminary reports you sent, he absconded with materials and research specific to the carbon-trapping phytoplankton project. Oddly, he didn’t touch the other projects – the moss, the aerial bacteria, the biofuel production microbes, or the oil and natural gas well-sealing microbes.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” Swanson said sarcastically.

  “Did he take anything else?”

  “About 50 million dollars, but that’s not what’s important.” Swanson emptied his glass. “The rogue cost me more than that scheming woman.”

  Gabriel brushed freshly landed strands of moss off the table while waiting.

  Swanson’s face was beet red. “He assured me that minimum CO2 concentrations would prevent the technology from spreading. Secretly, he must have known his CO2 trapping moss would go wild. Now, anyone with a basket can pick up as much moss as they want...without paying me! All the reinvestment in ramping up production and global distribution...wasted!”

  “How much would have made?”

  “I stood to make hundreds of billions from that filtration technology. Now, I’m going to lose billions. That thief lied to me and ruined m
y plans!”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find Johansson.”

  Chapter 9

  August 7, 1300 hours

  Anchorage Suites Hotel

  Anchorage, Alaska

  A green laser dot danced on Alaska. The beam’s trajectory passed through the narrow gap of two front window curtains to hit the state map mounted prominently on an Anchorage Suites Hotel suite’s wall.

  The small gathering of men and women went silent and glanced nervously as the intense light flashed twice, held steady for five seconds, and ended with two more flashes.

  There was an audible sigh of relief.

  Moments later, two men dressed in casual work attire rapped on the door. The guard held a semi-automatic hunting rifle across his chest and peered through the peep hole. He opened the door.

  The arrivals were warmly greeted and sat down to listen to a conversation in progress.

  “We should wait...this whole Sell Alaska Bill will be overturned,” a merchant claimed.

  He got questionable looks from the others.

  “You really believe President Fernandez and a progressive Congress will change their mind about selling Alaska to Russia for $1.1 trillion?” one woman challenged. “Did you hear his self-aggrandizing speech?”

  “The media was tripping over itself to promote his plan!” an elderly man proclaimed.

  “Yeah, the hardest decision Congress made was voting for it. With its passing, they have political cover,” a fisherman said.

  “Dis President neutered Congress. Dey tain’t got da balls to fix dis,” an elderly woman hissed.

  Many in the room chuckled.

  “True. This government primarily governs by executive orders,” a former mayor said. “That was Fernandez’s intent from the beginning...make Congress irrelevant.”

  “The press is already spinning the deal about how forward-thinking the president was in reducing CO2 and partly paying for it,” the fisherman added.

  “Maybe the Supreme Court will overturn it,” a restaurateur ventured. “What do you think, Joe?”

  The room went silent.

  Joe Barco was an Alaskan state senator in his early 60s. His silver hair and weathered skin distinguished him. He had been quiet until now. “By the time it even reaches the docket the Russians will have paid off the balance by transferring US Treasury Notes they’ve accumulated. That comes January 1st. No...don’t put too much faith in the Supremes. The deck there is stacked against us, too.”

  The room hushed as another laser dot flashed on the map.

  “Okay, he’s here.” Joe stood up.

  “Why the laser designator and not a radio or cell phone?” Matilda, a prominent lawyer, asked as Joe walked to the door.

  Joe responded over his shoulder, “The government can’t intercept a laser unless they’re between the source and target.” He picked up a bottle from a cooler.

  “Is it necessary?”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Yes,” Joe said abruptly as he peered through the peep hole.

  He was smiling as he opened the door and a man in his mid-fifties strode in. “Charles, welcome to our little gathering.” Joe handed the new arrival a bottle of Alaskan Perseverance Ale.

  “Thanks! It was a long flight.” The man plopped down on the sofa and took a sip.

  Joe turned to the gathering. “Folks, for those who don’t know him, Charles Freemeyer is a constitutional attorney. He’s here from D.C. to help plot our course in light of Congress selling Alaska.” He turned toward a dour-looking Charles. “We’ve just gotten started.”

  General comments welcomed the distinguished guest.

  “So, where do we stand?” the fisherman asked.

  “Let me make this short,” the well-dressed attorney started. “According to my off-the-record discussions with some Supreme Court justices, you won’t win an appeal to their court. Congress has the right to sell Alaska—”

  The angry crowd erupted.

  His hand rose for quiet.

  “Precedence was set when the US bought Alaska and only required a Congressional vote to appropriate the money. And of course, under Bush the Elder in 1990, the Secretary of State signed the US—USSR Maritime Boundary Agreement. That gave the USSR eight strategic, resource-laden Alaskan islands in the Law of the Sea Treaty along with their entire territorial seas and seabeds. It also delimited the territorial sea and seabed of Little Diomede.”

  “Yeah, it’s not really LOST, it’s the LOSer Treaty! He did that without our participation!” one yelled. “We tried to get a seat at the negotiation table, but the Secretary of State wouldn’t even respond.”

  “They knew it would undo the gift they were giving our enemy,” Freemeyer stated. “And it adds to the precedence of executive power.”

  “Our legislature fought that!” one said angrily.

  “Yes you did, back in 1999 with your 31-5 vote on Alaska House Joint Resolution 27, and despite the state Senate unanimously passing Joint Resolution 12. You lost again when President Clinton told Alaska he wouldn’t consider changing the boundary the US had created when giving the islands to Russia. With that insensitivity to American property and financial potential, he gave Russia well over a trillion dollars in resources—”

  “And he caused about 100 Alaskans to be ruled by Russia!” another charged.

  “Careful on the issues you pick. They were given the chance to return to the US.” Freemeyer proceeded to describe the legalistic arguments to be used to block the sale, and the defenses that would be used to permit it.

  After an hour of discussion the group felt their legal issues were for naught.

  “Then what are our alternatives?” Matilda asked.

  “You won’t like them,” Freemeyer warned.

  “Let’s hear them anyway,” a mining executive said.

  “Submission or rebellion,” came his curt response.

  “Giving up’s not in our nature,” another said as he patted the .44 Colt strapped to his belt.

  “Can we take it to the International Court at the Hague?” Matilda asked. “We’ve always contended that the Alaskan statehood vote was illegal and in violation of United Nations charter and international law."

  “Selling Alaska was the president’s idea of paying for the CO2 reduction program. And mightn’t I remind you the UN Carbon Law forces the US to abide by it. The International Court certainly won’t abrogate what the UN has determined essential for saving the planet from global warming...even if it is a bunch of hooey.”

  The collected group groaned nervously.

  “Maybe the American people will rise up and force a rescission,” one suggested hopefully. “Most Alaskans believe in state’s rights. Other Americans certainly must share our belief.”

  “Sharing beliefs is one thing. Sharing the pain inflicted by a dictatorial government is quite something else,” Freemeyer stated. “At least your governor has decided the Alaska National Guard will not be used to enforce the Sell Alaska Bill.”

  “That didn’t stop the president’s massive private army. The Ready Reserve Force arrested over 12 thousand protesters and their leaders across the country the day after the announcement,” said one woman.

  “Yeah, and the protesters are as disorganized as us,” yelled another.

  “Most now have been freed, and are hesitant in firing up their base again,” Freemeyer said.

  “I really thought we would have a chance to vote for independence or something more than what we’ve been offered,” another muttered.

  “Our leverage dissipated when they shut down most of our oil, gas and mining industries. Even the lower 48’ers now think we’re a financial burden,” Joe added.

  “Can we renegotiate with the Russians?”

  “With what?” Freemeyer asked. “Do you have a couple trillion dollars? Why would they give up resources worth several times what they paid?”

  “Then we should fight!” on old miner charged.

  “Again I ask, with wha
t?”

  “We have weapons – damn near everybody has a rifle.” He held his shotgun up. Others spoke up about their personal guns.

  “Folks, it wouldn’t be enough!” Freemeyer shouted over the crowd. “I’m not advocating an uprising, because without modern military weapons and coordination, you’d be routed. Even your National Guard wouldn’t be enough in a full-out rebellion. I advise you prepare first before you do anything rash.”

  “Prepare with what?”

  “Structure,” he responded, then briefed them on his idea.

  Chapter 10

  August 7, 2200 hours

  San Diego, California

  Mooring lines lashed a megayacht and the embarcadero in a tight embrace. In the glow of a pier light, the stern identified the ship as The Green Way, homeported in Valparaíso, Chile. Beyond the dark green paint, it was like any number of large yachts that plied the west coast. Tourists paid scant attention, preferring to admire the spotlight-illuminated 21-meter brig Lady Washington moored just aft.

  A very tall couple walked arm-in-arm along the darkened quay past the historic ‘tall ship.’ In a graceful move, Sven guided Tanya to a stop and turned his back to their destination. His hands took hers and their eyes met. His wide, confident smile narrowed while hers grew.

  Her long, straight platinum blond hair drifted with the sea breeze. She looked up expectantly through loose strands.

  “Tanya, sure you want to do this?”

  The woman cocked her head. “Why not? I’m always up for a bit of excitement. You and me, we fit – my yin to your yang, so to speak. Your toughness balanced by my supportiveness. For now, I’ll tag along as you follow your ideological dream.”

  “But it’s not your dream. What if you get bored?”

  She shrugged. “If we stop working as a couple, I’ll leave...no strings.”

  His smile broadened as he shook his head in amazement. “There’s nothing about you that causes me a second thought. From the moment I hired you, I knew we’d click.”