Falling Stars

by Tim Tigner

  The Vazovs both awoke to find guns pointed at their chests. Achilles was packing twin Glocks. “Quiet please. I’m here to help you, not hurt you.”

  Iveta began mumbling an incoherent stream of moans, pleas and prayers.

  Achilles ignored her words but kept her hands in view, as he did Victor’s. “There’s a plan in place to kill you and your son. I came here to discuss it. To work with you to prevent Vlad’s assassination.”

  Victor’s eyes pulsed wider, but his wife spoke first. “I smell blood! Vitya, I smell blood!”

  Victor glanced toward the bedroom door where the dark pool had leaked under. He quickly returned his focus to Achilles. “You’re the man we caught breaking into the office the night of the investor reception. The man who killed Pasha.”

  Iveta’s moaning got louder.

  “I am. I visited Vertical Vision on the trail of the man who intends to murder you and your son. The man known by the global law enforcement community as Ivan the Ghost.”

  Victor’s expression morphed from skepticism to scorn. “Ivan’s not my enemy.”

  “Perhaps not. But he still intends to kill you, your wife and your son at Vlad’s fortieth birthday party.”

  Victor considered that for a second. “Did Slava Gulin put a professional hit on us?”

  “Good guess. That’s exactly what Ivan wants the world to think.”

  “Why would Ivan want us dead? Or care what the world thinks? He and my son have a solid working relationship doing legitimate business.”

  Iveta finally stopped moaning. Decades by the side of a ruthless oligarch had toughened her nervous system and sharpened her mind. She was processing the revelation in parallel with her husband.

  Achilles paused before answering the question as the unfairness struck him. He and Jo had repeatedly risked their lives, suffered traumas and toils, and nearly died while uncovering Ivan’s plan. Now Victor Vazov was going to get spoon-fed most of what they’d learned. Breakfast in bed. “Ivan is active as The Ghost again. In fact, he’s running the biggest illicit operation of his life.”

  Curiosity flickered. “So?”

  “He plans to get away with it.”

  “Ivan always gets away with it.”

  “For good this time. He’s going to convince the world that your son, your dead son, is Ivan the Ghost. He’s been setting Vlad up for years. Leaving clues. Planting evidence. Leading the authorities to his door.” Achilles was only speculating on these latter points, but he was confident in his speculation, knowing Ivan.

  “Go on.”

  “He needs you dead as well, so you won’t refute the story—or go after him.”

  “It’s an interesting theory. Why should I believe it?”

  “I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to come with me—so you can witness Ivan’s treachery with your own eyes. And prevent it, of course.”

  “You have a strange way of asking.”

  “After our last meeting, I doubted the wisdom of a conventional approach.”

  Victor was one of those guys who was charismatic despite being ugly. Hairless but fit, with taut skin, flat features and a neck two sizes too wide. His eyes were intelligent, but non-expressive. Hard to read. He gestured toward the gun Achilles was still pointing at his wife. “This isn’t the kind of situation men like me are inclined to forgive or forget. What makes you think I won’t kill you the first chance I get? ”

  “You’re too smart to do that. By giving you the opportunity, I’ll be proving that I’m an ally, not a threat. And to beat Ivan, you need every ally you can get. Furthermore, everything I’ve done tonight, I’ve done in the best interests of your family. And by getting here, into this room with you and your wife, I’ve proved that I’m better than any other weapon you have.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?”

  Achilles lowered the Glocks. His seventh, final and most risky gamble. “First, we clean up the mess outside your door.”

  Iveta began blinking rapidly as her processor spun, but Victor immediately caught on. “You want to conceal your handiwork from my staff?”

  “Ivan might have a spy within your organization. He did have one within your son’s.”

  “How do I explain Pyotr’s absence?”

  “You inform the staff that you’ve decided to replace him.”

  Again Victor displayed the power of his oligarch brain. “With you, I presume?”

  “With me.”

  99

  Dread

  French Riviera

  TO TURN THE WINE CELLAR beneath his villa into a secret storage facility, Ivan had converted the stairway entrance into a coat closet. Michael watched him lead Team Raven there now. After opening the door, he leaned in, spread the hanging outerwear aside, and gave the rod on which they hung a twist. Had he been standing in the closet, nothing would have happened, but because there was no weight on the hardwood floor, it hinged upward from the back like a trapdoor, revealing the original stairway and activating a light.

  They descended into a cool chamber hewn from bedrock and built with red brick. Solid, soundproof and stable in temperature. The size was a modest fifteen by twenty feet, the perimeter of which was still surrounded with wine racks. The middle of the room contained several large safes, but Ivan ignored them. He walked to the corner beneath the staircase and removed a specific bottle from the rack, a Bordeaux with artificially-adhered dust. He reached in to manipulate one of the supporting crosshatched struts, then put both hands on the side rails and pushed the whole rack including the brick wall behind it straight back. Rolling on concealed casters with perfectly balanced placement, it receded smoothly and silently under minimal effort.

  The three men followed him into a room the same size as the one they’d just vacated. This one contained tool racks rather than wine racks, as well as workbenches that held large devices. “Recognize these?” Ivan asked with a sweep of his hand.

  “The first two Raven prototypes,” Boris said. “What’s that you’ve added where the winch used to be?”

  “It’s the dock for these.” Ivan pulled a tablecloth off a third workbench, revealing two black boxes roughly the size of large push lawnmowers, without the handles. “Anybody know what these are?”

  Boris stepped forward and inspected one closely, paying special attention to the openings. He peered through them with the assistance of his phone’s flashlight. The others watched in silence. “Is this a centrifugal gun?”

  “It is. It’s a DREAD gun. Don’t ask me what the acronym means. I forgot.”

  “What’s a centrifugal gun?” Pavel asked.

  Boris was happy to answer. “They use centrifugal force rather than gunpowder to accelerate projectiles. Basically, they spin ball bearings around at tremendous speed and fling them out. Kinda like what happens when a lawnmower hits a rock, but a lot more organized. They can fire hundreds of rounds a second at speeds faster than bullets. They operate quietly and have no recoil or muzzle flash.”

  Michael could hardly believe his ears. “That’s incredible! Why haven’t I heard of them?”

  “They’ve never been commercialized,” Ivan said.

  “Why not?”

  “Accuracy,” Boris said. “They’re not much more accurate than lawnmowers kicking rocks.”

  “That’s right,” Ivan said. “But the DREAD will fire 6,000 7.62 mm rounds a minute at a speed of 8,000 feet per second.”

  “What about the accuracy issue? Doesn’t the speed and power just compound that problem?” Pavel asked.

  “Depends on the application. It’s fine for blanketing an area at close range. Functions well in instances where you might otherwise want to detonate Claymore mines one after the other—like at Vazov’s fortieth birthday party.”

  Boris skipped over the big reveal and asked.“Why not just use Claymore mines, then?”

  Truth be told, Ivan was loathe to use something so commonplace during his coronation. But he didn’t want to share that glimpse into his sou
l—even though Michael had guessed as much, judging by the look in his eye—so Ivan voiced his secondary reason. “I need it to look like a mob did it. This will produce a scene similar to what you’d get if machine guns were fired on full auto. Not forensically, but in photos. And the low system weight and lack of recoil makes centrifugal guns much more suitable for deployment by drone.”

  Pavel jumped in. “Why do you need it to look like a mob hit?”

  Ivan paused to up the tension before his dramatic revelation. “Because the Gulin family wants credit.”

  “They want credit?”

  “It’s analogous to ISIS claiming credit for a terrorist attack. Except in this case, they actually did contract with me to do it. It was the Gulins who did all that reconnaissance work for us in the States, the scouting and selecting of targets. They did it in exchange for my agreeing to wipe out the Vazovs.”

  “Their rivals.”

  “Exactly.”

  Once Michael’s brain struggled past the shock and awe of the cool new weapon and the Gulin family twist, it thwacked back to the core of their conversation. He cleared his throat. It sounded a lot louder than usual there in the cave. “Are we really having this discussion this way? So nonchalantly? So matter of factly? We’re talking about murdering everyone we worked with at Silicon Hill.”

  Ivan shook his head. “We did what it took to secure a fortune, and now we’re doing what it takes to keep it. That’s the theme of human history. The natural order. Why do you think Europe is covered with castles? First kings conquered, then they defended. Great men don’t use knights and moats and boiling oil anymore, they use lobbyists and lawyers and spies, but they still do what they’ve always done. They do whatever it takes to defend their ill-gotten gains.”

  The clouds parted before Michael’s eyes, but it wasn’t sunshine that he saw. “That’s why you gave us that speech about men getting rich by usurping other people’s lives.”

  Ivan said nothing.

  Michael kept going. “You’ve been preparing us for this all along. That’s why you had us kill Gordon Sangster and Billy Burns. You were getting us ready for your endgame. Dirtying our hands and our consciences.”

  Ivan said nothing.

  Michael said nothing.

  Pavel broke the silence. “I see two drones and two DREAD guns. Who’s going to fly the second?”

  “Actually, Boris is going to fly one and Michael is going to fly the other. You’ll be busy flying Raven. More on that later.”

  Michael felt the cold hand of harsh reality closing around his throat. “You want me to fly one of them? And pull the trigger?”

  “It’s up to you. But if the three of you all do your part in the final op, thereby ensuring that we’ll get away with everything we’ve earned, I’ll up your bonuses.”

  The unexpected twist left everyone dumbstruck, but Pavel eventually broke the silence with a telltale question. “How much?”

  “The same percentage originally promised, but of the $12.5 billion, rather than the $600 million.”

  Ivan’s ultimate revelation sent Michael’s head reeling. His two-percent share was worth $250 million. Roughly $1 million for every person they were about to kill.

  100

  Cavalry

  French Riviera

  JO HAD BEEN TOO BUSY to worry about Achilles during his crazy quest to co-opt Victor Vazov. She had to prepare her side of the operation. The outside, so to speak. Over the last couple of days, she had successfully scouted Silicon Hill from the sea and procured the equipment their plan required. She’d checked off almost everything on her extensive list with time to spare. But now that she no longer had to dash and scrounge, haggle and negotiate, now that she had time to relax a bit before the big op, anxiety came calling.

  Victor Vazov had beaten them once. He’d caught them. Vlad Vazov had also beaten Achilles once. He’d caught him. Both times, Jo had been the one to turn the tables—and she wasn’t with Achilles now.

  It wasn’t that she felt superior to Achilles. He had the better operational brain and was far more physically capable. But she had tactical talents that complemented his, as well as a highly refined ability to manipulate objects and people. More importantly, Achilles was alone. Alone against a ruthless oligarch and his security forces.

  There was nothing she could do to help him at the moment. No call she could make, no aid she could send. But she could help them both in the future. That was the final to-do item on her part of the preparatory plan.

  She pulled up the TOR Fone app on her laptop and dialed a U.S. cell phone number. It rang six times before a familiar voice answered.

  “Ripley Zonder.”

  “Have you missed me?”

  “Like the desert misses the rain. Although I really wish you’d called a few days back.”

  Jo knew why. She’d seen the news. But she wanted him to say it. “Why is that?”

  “Director Brix took me off the investigation, citing my lack of progress. He sent me on vacation without designating my next role. I’m supposed to do the honorable thing and resign.”

  “Tough break. I know exactly what it feels like. I lost my job at the CIA for the same reason—failing to catch Ivan. As did Achilles. We’re three casualties of the same conflict.”

  “Well, spank me cross-eyed, I’d forgotten. I can’t say that news makes me cheery, but it’s mighty nice to have company. Do you want the number for my replacement?”

  “Do you want redemption?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Do you want to help us solve the case?”

  “I’m not in a position to do that anymore. As I said, I’m not in any position at all, unless you count purgatory.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Am I interested in solving the case? Hell, yes!”

  “Would you like to come to Europe and help me catch Ivan?”

  “Me, personally?”

  “You, personally.”

  “Hell, yes! I want to lasso that sumbitch with barbed wire and drag him all the way to Langley behind a slow horse. Show the sheriff that he was mistaken to lose faith in this cowboy.”

  “Well then get yourself to Paris. I’ll meet you beneath the Arc de Triomphe at noon tomorrow. Wear boots and a cowboy hat.” Jo had sourced the weapons for their big operation from an acquaintance in Paris, so she had to head north anyway.

  Rip took a few seconds to respond, making Jo nervous. She was counting on his help. “You really think we can catch Ivan?”

  “I have almost no doubt.”

  “Almost, huh? Well, that’s good enough for me. I’ll be there.”

  “Glad to hear it, partner. One more question.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Can you scuba dive?”

  101

  Opening Doors

  French Riviera

  ACHILLES STOPPED the limo at the entrance to Silicon Hill and lowered both left-side windows. “I’ve got Victor Vazov in the back.”

  In order to prove his outlandish assertion, Achilles had agreed with Victor to play the role of his driver and third bodyguard, while under the watchful eyes and loaded guns of the other two. The four had come to France a day earlier than Victor had planned. His wife would follow as originally scheduled.

  Victor pressed him for details during the flight, but Achilles remained tight-lipped. He didn’t want Victor deciding that he could prove Ivan’s treachery without assistance.

  The gate guard leaned forward to inspect the contents of the car. It wasn’t the same guy who had admitted him when he visited with Jo. This one had a thick head of gray hair and a matching mustache. “And the rest of you?”

  “Protection.”

  “All three of you?”

  “All three of us.”

  “Our birthday party isn’t until tomorrow. Today’s celebration is at the polo club.”

  Vazov spoke up from the back seat. “I know what day my son’s birthday party is. I was there for his birth. I came early for o
ther business.”

  The guard queried his computer. “Your son’s not here at the moment, Mr. Vazov. And you’re not on today’s visitor list. I’m sorry. Our security procedures are very strict.”

  Achilles jumped in. “Call Chantal. Ask her to authorize us. Tell her Victor Vazov will be phoning her momentarily.”

  “I can do that. Just a moment please.” The guard shut his sliding glass window and picked up his phone. He spoke for a few seconds, gave a thumbs-up and opened the gate.

  Achilles called the number on the public relations manager’s business card, using the hands-free phone.

  “Bonjour, Chantal speaking.”

  “Chantal, this is Victor Vazov. Thank you for signing me in.”

  “My pleasure. Had I known you were coming, I would have made arrangements.”

  “I didn’t want my son to know I was coming. Part of a surprise. On that note, I have a quick request. Would you kindly ask Mickey Leonov to meet me in the lobby?”

  “Mickey Leonov. But of course. If there’s anything I can do…”

  “No, no. He’s an old family friend. But I want it to be a surprise, so just tell him he has a visitor, please.”

  “My pleasure. You have my number if I can be of further assistance. Don’t hesitate to use it.”

  Mickey was already waiting in the lobby when they arrived. The sight of four large men in suits walking straight for him with purposeful strides put a look of alarm on his face. “Can I help you?”

  Victor held out a hand that looked capable of crushing ostrich eggs. “Victor Vazov.”

  “Mickey Leonov.”

  “We need to talk. Let’s go to my son’s office.”

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. Follow me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  When Victor didn’t reply, Mickey turned and led them up the stairs. He held the door open so they’d be the first to violate the boss’s space. Victor entered like he owned the place and went straight for one of the soft leather chairs configured around a coffee table.