Spencer snickered and Reading groaned, their awkward moment broken, Acton’s job done. He patted Laura’s cheek. “So beautiful yet so modest.” He slowly rotated both wrists and winced. “Yeah, they hurt, but nothing I can’t live with.”
Reading frowned. “If you intend to jump into the water and disarm a bomb—something, I remind you, you have no clue how to do—then not only are you going to be crying like a baby from the salt water on those wounds, you’re going to be attracting every damned shark in the area.”
Acton regarded his friend. “Who invited the voice of reason?”
“He invited himself when he saved your arses.”
Acton rolled his eyes and winked at Laura. “Something tells me we’ll never hear the end of that.” He became serious, holding up one of his bandaged limbs. “You’re right, of course. We can’t go in the water, not with a bomb there. But if we get there in time, hopefully we can direct the authorities to where the bomb is. Have you been able to reach anyone?”
Reading tapped the phone sitting on his crossed leg. “I’ve sent a message to Dylan, and my partner back in London will be working with the Portuguese authorities. Hopefully by the time we get there, this will all be over.”
Acton checked his watch. “Well, I’ve told the pilot to push it, so we’ll be there in less than an hour and a half.”
Laura leaned closer to him. “Mary is arranging for a vehicle to be waiting for us, and for dive equipment to be ready, just in case we do decide to go in.”
Reading stabbed the air between them with a finger. “Not going to happen.”
“Well, let’s just hope the Portuguese get there in time, with the proper expertise. I don’t give a damn about that cable, but if it detonates, it could send the entire find sliding down even farther.”
Reading frowned. “What would that mean?”
Acton shrugged. “It depends on how bad it is. It’s already pretty close to the maximum depth we can dive in suits, without having to switch to hydrox or something. If it slides too far, then only submersibles will be able to reach it, but that’s only if it’s exposed. If it slides and gets buried again, we might not ever find it. Nobody is going to be able to afford a dig that deep without an exact location. It could be years, even decades, before anybody could make an attempt.”
Laura squeezed his hand. “Let’s pray that doesn’t happen.”
45
Director Morrison’s Office, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison looked up from his computer and pointed at one of his chairs as Leroux entered. Little progress had been made so far, except that the French authorities had confirmed the cable had been severed physically, and likely by an explosive. Other cables were being inspected, but it would take time to get teams in place, and it couldn’t be rushed, since no one knew which was due to be detonated in only minutes, their time almost up.
“You said it was urgent.”
Leroux nodded, dropping in the chair. “Yes, sir. It’s about the professors.”
Morrison frowned. “I thought I told you to drop it.”
Leroux paled slightly. “We did! We passed everything to Dylan and Agent Reading, then left it. But I just received an urgent communique from Dylan. The professors have been rescued, and they said that their kidnappers claimed to be the ones who planted the explosives on the cables.”
Morrison’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding me.”
Leroux shook his head. “No, sir.”
Morrison leaned forward. “I sense you’ve found out something.”
“Yes, sir. During the rescue, a call was made from the location of the hostage rescue, to the boat we had been monitoring that we thought might be involved in their kidnapping. A boat that had some serious dive equipment on board.”
“To plant the explosives.”
“That’s our working theory. Anyway, just minutes ago, a ship-to-shore call was placed from the boat. It used some serious encryption, so we weren’t able to monitor what was said, but the landline it connected to in mainland Portugal, routed the call through the same Russian satellite that our extortionist used.”
A smile slowly crept up the side of Morrison’s face. “Coincidence?”
Leroux’s smile grew to match. “No, I don’t think so. We were able to trace the routing to Chkalovsky Airbase near Moscow, the same place the two Russian planes are based.”
“What planes?”
“Oh, sorry, I never mentioned it because we hadn’t connected them until just now. A Russian Ilyushin Il-80 has been circling over the Atlantic for hours, been refueled at least once already, and another tanker is on its way. Some assets were scrambled to monitor, since it was behaving oddly, and there’s been no communication with them except to basically tell our guys to back off.”
“So you’re thinking what?”
“I’m thinking that it’s too big a coincidence that these Russian military jets are based in the same location our blackmailers just placed a call to.”
Morrison leaned back. “My God, Chris, are you saying that the Russians are behind this after all?”
Leroux shrugged. “I find it hard to believe they couldn’t be, if these planes are Russian military.”
Morrison sighed heavily. The idea that the Russians could actually be behind this was unthinkable. What they would have to gain, beyond simply causing havoc from behind their wall of nuclear missiles, was beyond him. But the nation was so corrupt, there was another possibility. “A rogue element.”
Leroux nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping, but either way, there’s not much we can do. The next detonation is in minutes. Without blowing that plane out of the sky, there’s no way to know for sure.”
“That’s out of the question.”
Leroux frowned. “I know. But I do have an idea on how we can confirm things.”
Morrison’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“Let them detonate the next cable.”
46
National Defense Management Center
Moscow, Russian Federation
“Petra, I’m calling as a friend, not a representative of the American government.”
Major Petra Yolkin frowned as she stared at the phone. She hadn’t heard from the man on the other end of the line in years—in over a decade. But she had followed his career, and knew he had made something of himself, and his reputation was still that of an honest man. And everything he had told her was so fantastical, he had either had a mental break, or he was telling the truth. She was leaning toward the latter. “If this is true, why haven’t we heard anything?”
“It’s all very hush-hush on this end. We think we’ve tracked them, but I need your help.”
“You’re asking a lot, Leif.”
“I know, but have I ever lied to you?”
She laughed. “It’s been at least ten years. There hasn’t exactly been a lot of opportunity.” She could almost hear him smile through the phone.
“Trust me on this. Find out about those planes. If they’re legitimately there, we need to know, because in a few minutes, we could be blowing them out of the sky, and that could start a war.”
Yolkin frowned as she stared at her screen, part of Morrison’s story already confirmed. The tail numbers were legitimate, and they were based at Chkalovsky Airbase. Now the question was why they were over the middle of the Atlantic, one of them going in circles, the other about to refuel it. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Make it quick. We’re out of time.”
47
Conference Room 212, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“One dollar? Are you insane?”
Morrison shrugged at White House Chief of Staff Nelson. “Quite possibly, but our psych profile suggests this will infuriate him, and force him to call us live, as opposed to sending a pre-recorded message.”
“It’s liable to infuriate him and push him to detonate everything.”
&n
bsp; “Possibly, but we don’t think so. The President still has no intention of paying him?”
“No, he’s committed to that course.”
“Then the next detonation is in less than two minutes. We need to send our message now.”
There was a pause, then Nelson nodded. “Do it.”
Another talking head spoke a moment later. “Done. Exactly one dollar has been transferred to the account.”
“When will they know?”
Morrison leaned forward. “My bet is he already does.”
48
Somewhere over the Atlantic
Konstantin Kozhin glared at the display. One dollar? Was it a mistake? He refreshed the page, and again the same digits appeared. 1.00 USD. “Who the hell do they think they’re dealing with?”
He growled at the empty cabin as he glanced out the window, something catching his eye. One of the American fighter jets had broken away, followed by the others.
Maybe they’ve lost interest.
He wasn’t worried about them. They were in a Russian registered aircraft, and the Americans wouldn’t dare touch them. He hadn’t planned on being found, especially before the mission was accomplished, but they had contingencies in place. Their refueling aircraft would be here again soon, then they’d have another six hours in the air, and could be refueled as many times as necessary. If the Americans hadn’t backed off by then, they’d simply fly back to Russia, ending any pursuit, and the dirt he had on General Gorokhin would ensure their safe arrival and escape.
With what looked like two billion dollars, rather than one.
One dollar.
They’re not taking me seriously.
He brought up the detonator control interface, selecting another cable, this time off the coast of Spain, then had the computer dial the White House.
Time for a personal chat with the President.
49
Conference Room 212, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“It’s him.”
Leroux’s heart pounded, sweat beading on his back and running down his spine. This was his plan, and if it didn’t work, he’d wear it. What that meant, he wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t be good. Everything had to proceed like clockwork, and everyone had to react the way he had predicted. They had sent the single dollar, and now they had a call. The question was whether it was a live call.
“You seem to think I’m joking, Mr. President.”
Leroux and Morrison exchanged grins.
“This is White House Chief of Staff Nelson, speaking on behalf of the President. We do not think you are joking, sir, but we need more time.”
The silhouette displayed leaned closer to the camera as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff whispered into his phone. “Nonsense. You’ve just lost another data cable, and the price has gone up to two billion dollars.”
50
Somewhere over the Atlantic
“Echo Leader, this is ParkRanger, proceed, over.”
USAF Major Chariya “Apocalypta” Em dropped back from the left wing of the Russian, wishing she knew what the hell was going on. She had never been ordered to buzz a Russian aircraft before, and didn’t know anyone who had done it at Mach speeds. Then again, she had never been stationed in this area before, so maybe this was more common here.
Bullshit.
“Okay guys, everyone back off, just in case our friends overreact.” She watched the rest of her flight break away, the Il-80 still in a slow counterclockwise turn, the refueling aircraft now only minutes away. She checked her range and said a silent prayer. “Here goes nothing.”
She pushed forward on her throttle, the acceleration shoving her into her seat as the g-forces rapidly increased. Normally these speeds would be a thrill, but precision flying while accelerating was an art, and buzzing an aircraft traveling at dramatically slower speeds, while it was banking, required mathematical precision, not broad brush strokes. She rapidly closed the distance on the Russian, not bothering to check her airspeed indicator—her orders were to pass as closely and loudly as possible, nothing more.
The Russian was slowly banking into her path. Approaching from the other side would be useless, as she’d end up too far away for what she assumed would be the desired effect—a reaction from the pilot.
Too late to change my mind.
Instinct told her to close her eyes, training told her to keep the damned things open. She squinted instead, bracing for a screw-up, then blasted past, banking left to display her weapons pods and give them a taste of her exhaust, mere feet from the cockpit.
“There they go!” cried one of her wingmen, and she eased off the throttle, continuing to turn, her head twisted back so she could see what was going on. She smiled as the Russian came back into view, now banking in the opposite direction.
“Now that was precision flying!”
She laughed, and activated her comm, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “ParkRanger, Echo Flight Leader. Mission accomplished, over.”
Kozhin gripped the desk as the plane banked hard to the right, its engines whining, his ears still recovering from the screaming sound of moments ago. He continued to stare at the camera, straightening himself, the Americans outside apparently playing games. The question was whether the left hand knew what the right was doing, and since these shadows had been here long before he detonated the first cable, he had to assume they weren’t related.
“You have two hours, then I detonate another cable, and the price goes to four billion. Don’t trifle with me, gentlemen. You still have time to get out of the mess you’ve made.”
He ended the call, then stormed out of his cabin and toward the cockpit. “What the hell just happened?”
The pilot glanced over his shoulder. “The bastards buzzed us. He missed us by less than ten meters!”
“Could they know?”
“Bah! It’s the same assholes who’ve been here the entire time. Those stupid Americans know nothing.”
Kozhin frowned, not entirely sure whether to agree with the man or not. “Perhaps we should head back, just in case.”
“Let’s get refueled first. If they interfere with that, we won’t have too many options.”
“How much fuel do we have?”
“Just enough to get us to America, or Mother Russia over the polar route. But if we don’t refuel soon, it’s Europe, Iceland, or Greenland.”
“Or the drink,” added the copilot.
Kozhin frowned. “Let’s refuel then head back to base. Can we still detonate the bombs?”
“We’ll be able to for a couple of hours, then we’d need to bounce the signal through another satellite.”
Kozhin nodded. “Well, if they don’t pay us in the next two hours, they probably never will, so we’ll just detonate them all anyway.”
51
Conference Room 212, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Morrison slapped Leroux on the back as handshakes were exchanged around the room. “Well, that pretty much confirms it,” Morrison said as the clip replayed on a loop, their subject clearly leaning into an unexpected movement, the scream of jet engines audible in the background. Their mystery man was definitely on the plane, and Leroux was the hero of the moment with people he barely knew shaking his hand.
“So, what do we do now?” someone asked, the room settling down.
Morrison looked at the faces surrounding them. “I say we let the Russians handle them.”
Chief of Staff Nelsen nodded slowly. “And if they don’t?”
“Then we blow him out of the sky before the deadline.”
Nods of agreement rounded the room and the displays as Leroux’s phone vibrated with a message. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the urgent message from Child, then cursed.
Out loud.
Morrison turned toward him. “What is it?”
Leroux blushed. “Sorry for that. Umm, we’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“The media has the story. Apparently, the explosion of the second data cable was caught by a news crew that happened to be filming in the area. CNN just picked it up.”
Curses filled the room.
52
Approaching Chkalovsky Airbase, Russian Federation
Major Petra Yolkin sat in the Mil Mi-17 transport helicopter, trying to remain as calm as possible, at least to the men surrounding her. It was tough being a woman in her position, especially at this moment. These men were the best of the best. Battle-hardened Special Forces—Spetsnaz. They were the best at what they did, and in every Russian’s opinion, better than anything the Americans had to offer.
She wasn’t so sure that they were better, but perhaps they were more effective. It helped when your rules of engagement were essentially kill everything in sight. Americans and their Western counterparts were too concerned about minimizing civilian casualties. Russians had no qualms about killing anyone who got in the way.
And today, she had a feeling the bodies were going to pile up, though thankfully, where they were heading had no civilians, or at least very few.
She had confirmed that the planes Morrison had identified were Russian, she had confirmed that they were supposed to be at Chkalovsky, and she confirmed that they were definitely not supposed to be over the Atlantic Ocean. She hadn’t bothered calling the base to find out—that would only tip them off.
When she had taken what she found to her superior, he had been incensed, and within minutes, she was in the rear of one of two choppers, with a team of forty, heading for the base. Her orders: shut down whatever General Gorokhin was up to. With tensions high around the world with respect to Russia, Moscow didn’t want to risk further enflaming them by getting mixed up in a conspiracy to blackmail the American government.
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