by Tim Tigner
He could hear the drones now that he had one ear over the ledge. Their hum was getting louder. A dozen steps took him to the spot directly behind the Vazovs. He stopped there and turned to face the crowd.
Victor completed his toast and raised his glass, but the crowd’s response was lukewarm. All eyes were on Ivan. Victor drained his vodka, then turned. “Would you like the microphone?”
Ivan didn’t answer. Instead, he stared into the oligarch’s eyes while counting down in his mind. Five… Four… Three… Two…
Raven rose majestically behind him with a gust of wind and the hum of rotors. The crowd recoiled as if yanked by a common string. A few people screamed. Everyone stared. They all knew what they were seeing, but nobody expected to see it.
Almost nobody.
Victor looked oddly unwavering. Then again, he was known to be tough as a two-dollar steak. His bodyguards also remained unflinching.
Raven wrapped The Claw around Ivan the instant it reached the right height. He hadn’t felt that cool constriction since the prototype-testing days. Tonight, he found it tougher and tighter than he remembered. It allowed him enough room to breathe but left no space to move.
The crowd gasped in unison.
More screams erupted.
His feet left the ground.
Raven took him up. Ten feet. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Then it backed him away to optimize the view. Theirs, and his.
Every eye was on Ivan. Every mouth half open. The cameras would surely be out and rolling, if cell phones hadn’t been confiscated.
The guests were transfixed on the scene in front of them and what was surely about to happen, so transfixed that nobody noticed the gun drones rising off to the left and right. Michael and Boris would start shooting the instant the guns cleared the wall. They’d calculated their flight paths in advance to optimize coverage and to avoid shooting each other. Distance and angle would also minimize the chances of ricochet, although even if a drone went down it wouldn’t matter. The other could do the deed ten times over.
While Ivan watched, the gun drones froze. Why weren’t they rising into firing position? Surely the guys weren’t having second thoughts? Not both of them. Nobody walked away from $125 million. In the whole history of the world, that had never happened. Not once.
But they clearly weren’t moving.
What was going on?
He looked up to signal Raven’s camera—and saw the headset coming down.
106
Do it
French Riviera
IVAN GRABBED the headset as soon as it came within reach and yelled “Fire! Everyone is in place up here. Raise the drones and fire!”
“The guns can’t fire. Achilles disabled them.”
The voice had a familiar accent, but Ivan couldn’t place it under the circumstances. “Who is this?”
“It’s Ripley Zonder here, Ivan.”
“Agent Zonder,” Ivan repeated. He looked down and back at the yacht but couldn’t make out any details in the dark. He saw shadows behind the glow from the Drone Command Modules, but that was it. “Or should I say Former-Agent Zonder?”
“Why don’t you just call me Rip. I’m feeling friendly. In fact, I’m feeling happier than a boardinghouse pup, knowing we’re about to meet in person at long last.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Oh, I’m counting. Been counting for a while now. One, two, three. Boris, Pavel and Michael. Three collars clapped on, one to go.”
Ivan wondered why they weren’t bringing him back to the boat if they really had everything under control. Perhaps they just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, hanging there helpless in space, hundreds of feet above the ground while a crowd looked on like he was a float in a parade. Perhaps they were interrogating his men to see if he had explosives. Well, he had an explosive all right. “Put Achilles on the phone.”
“He’s not here at the moment.”
Ivan guessed he was hidden among the crowd as part of a backup plan. Probably snuck in over the rail after climbing up the cliff. “Surely he can hear us?”
“I can hear you.”
No background noise. No turning heads. Achilles wasn’t in the crowd. “Why aren’t you on the boat with your friends?”
“I figured you’d be down in your bunker of a lab when the bullets started flying. That’s where the generals usually go. Figured I’d be waiting with a warm welcome. Apparently I underestimated your bravado.”
“My bravado isn’t all you’ve underestimated.”
“This is no time for talking tough, Ivan. A man should know when he’s been beaten.”
Ivan pulled out his cell phone and typed in a dark web address from memory. “Why don’t you come up to the terrace. We’ll discuss this like men.”
“I’ll just meet you on the beach.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find the elevator is out of commission. You sure you won’t consider the terrace? I’d really love for us to meet before I slip through your fingers again.”
“No slipping this time. I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Raven waggled violently in reaction to his words, almost causing Ivan to drop the phone. What a disaster that would be. He double-checked the screen, then held it up to Raven’s camera. “It’s not me you should be worried about. Don’t you know by now, I’m always six steps ahead.”
“That doesn’t appear to be the case this time,” Achilles said, his tone calm, cool and confident.
Ivan realized that Achilles couldn’t see the camera image now playing on the DCM. He only had audio.
“He’s got Katya,” a woman said. Ivan recognized the French accent of Jo Monfort. “She appears healthy, but she’s chained to a wall in a room with some books, a mattress, a bucket and nothing else. She clearly can’t hear us. She’s just lying on the mattress, reading.”
Ivan was tiring of his dangling position. The Claw was digging into his ribs and every breath made it worse. Time to end this thing. “Before your petty little mind starts spinning and any silly little plans come out, you should know that the camera feed can’t be traced and you can’t beat her location out of my colleagues because they don’t have it. You should also know that your precious professor has no food or water. She won’t get either if I don’t send explicit, coded instructions. And forget about trying to find her. You don’t even know what time zone she’s in. She’ll be a dusty skeleton before you discover the body.”
“How did you find her?” Achilles asked, obviously buying time to think.
Ivan ignored the question. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to release my men and get off Vazov’s yacht. You’re going to let me and my men sail away. When we’re where I want to be, I’ll let you know where you can find Katya. End of negotiation. Now give the phone to Michael.”
Ivan began counting to himself, “One billion dollars. Two billion dollars. Three billion dollars. Four—”
“Do it, Jo,” Achilles said. “Do whatever he asks.”
107
Disagreement
French Riviera
RIP SAVORED the capture with the relish of the world’s best whiskey. The slow and silent ascent up the stairs, armed to the teeth. The acceleration of the attack, fast and furious. The crestfallen faces of Ivan’s lieutenants, helpless and bound. He lived for events like that.
But it got better.
The rush that followed the capture was more powerful than any he’d ever felt before. It was the rush of a revitalized career. Not just revitalized—reinvented. He would become a legend. The man who succeeded where hundreds had failed before him. The man who captured The Ghost.
He’d let Brix take the credit, of course. Brix would do the press conferences and talk shows and magnanimously mention “team” without ever saying Rip’s name. Rip wouldn’t mind. Well, not too much. His peers would know the truth, and more importantly, Brix would owe him. Rip would be able to name his next assignment. He’d pick San Antonio. Not the most power
ful or prestigious SAIC post, but solid, rural and off the Washington radar.
It all vanished as quickly as it had come.
Fast as a finger snap, his rush faded and his career flushed and he was back where he’d been before Jo called.
When Ivan lifted the hostage video stream to the camera, Rip understood why the hundreds who came before him had failed. No matter how clever or competent you were, no matter how much you plotted, planned or innovated, that damn Ghost was always one step ahead.
Still, Rip had come closer than anyone before him. He was closer. He actually had Ivan in his grasp. In his grasp.
He reached over Jo’s shoulder and ended the call to Ivan while keeping Achilles on the line. As she turned to stare at him, he said, “We can’t let Ivan go. We’ll get the girl another way. The CIA and FBI will put their full resources into finding her.”
They were standing in the middle of the top deck, in the open space at the top of the stairs they’d charged up minutes earlier. She was holding a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a phone in the other. He had an H&K MP7A1 in each hand. Both were leveled at the three men seated a couple of yards in front of them at the Drone Command Modules. Jo had duct taped their mouths and zip tied their ankles to each other, but she had left their hands free for now to operate the drones. Thus the raised weapons.
“You know that’s not true,” Achilles immediately interjected. “Once Ivan’s in the can, all attention will shift to the next political priority.”
Rip leapt on that. “I’ll make Katya a priority. Not just a law enforcement priority, a public priority. We’ll piggyback her story on the Ivan news. The media will eat it up. A ticking clock, a beautiful girl. It’s the perfect human interest story. Within 24 hours the whole world will be searching.”
“Where will they be searching? We don’t even know what country she’s in. Is it Russia? France? Or one of the two dozen countries in between? There’s got to be half-a-billion basements between Moscow and Monaco.”
“We’ll put pressure on his three lieutenants. Offer a deal. The prisoner’s dilemma. First one to talk, walks. One will talk. Guaranteed.”
All three began shaking their heads.
“Ivan said he’s the only one who knows,” Achilles pressed.
All three began nodding.
Rip ignored them. “You believe him? You believe Ivan the Ghost, one of the greatest con men of all time?”
“I believe the three men before you have been too busy flying drones in the U.S. to be kidnapping Katya in Moscow. I believe Ivan would outsource the brute work to someone less critical. And yes, I believe he would keep that information strictly to himself because he plans for situations exactly like this. That’s what he does.”
“It’s not your call, Achilles. I’m the only law enforcement officer here. It’s my call.” Rip was the only objective party on that boat. The only person with the detachment required to make the right decision. The decision that yielded the greatest good. Was he happy about sacrificing a life to put Ivan and his lieutenants behind bars? Of course not. Did commanders routinely make similar calls? They certainly did. Was it the right call? Absolutely.
“It’s not your operation. You’re a guest. And Katya’s life is not yours to gamble.”
“And yet here I am holding the guns.”
Achilles tone changed. His voice cracked. “Talk to him, Jo. Make him see reason. This is Katya we’re talking about. You may not know her, but you’ve been in her shoes.”
Jo turned toward Rip and started to speak, but stopped herself. His look of determination must have halted her. She shook her head and handed over the phone, accepting one of the machine pistols in return. Then she pointed her tranq gun at his thigh and fired.
108
Suspicion
French Riviera
MICHAEL TOOK GREAT PLEASURE in carrying Agent Zonder’s limp body off the yacht and dumping him on the dock. There was something about turning the tables that tickled him to his core. Another reason he loved being part of Team Ivan.
He turned to Jo while reboarding the Bright Horizon. “I’m afraid the elevator’s out of order, but I suspect Achilles will be climbing down momentarily to keep you company. Meanwhile, look on the bright side. Last time we parted company, you had a bullet in your chest. I’d say this is a marked improvement.”
Jo raised one of her machine pistols. “I could still change my mind.”
“Someone else could. You have too much heart.”
He waved up to the navigation deck and Boris began backing the yacht away from the dock.
Jo lowered her weapon.
They sailed out far enough to fade into the dark, then stopped long enough for Pavel to land Ivan on the bow. The return of the king. He ran up top to join them. “Send the drones high up and far out, then hit their self-destructs. I’ll meet you on deck three.”
“Aye aye.”
Deck three housed the main wheel and operating controls, the ones you would use during inclement weather or whenever you preferred to escape the sun. Ivan rose from the captain’s chair as his lieutenants joined him and motioned toward the soft seating. “I’ve set course for Nice. We’ll be there in an hour. Time to relax a bit.”
“Relax?” Pavel said. “The CIA now knows who’s behind the drones. Victor Vazov now knows we intended to massacre his entire family. Vlad Vazov now knows we were framing him. And Kyle Achilles is still out there.”
Ivan raised his left hand and flicked out a finger for each of Pavel’s concerns. “Four problems.” He raised his right hand. “$12 billion.” He mimicked a balance with both hands, then landed on the right. “Granted, four problems is four more than I had hoped we’d have at this point. But I’m not blindsided by our predicament. I did plan for it.”
“You planned for it?”
“Do you really doubt it?” Michael asked. “Look what he just did to Achilles and Co. Imagine the foresight that required.”
“What is the plan?” Pavel asked.
Ivan dropped his hands. “There’s a private plane waiting for us in Nice. It will take us to Bangkok, where we change both airports and planes before flying to Sydney.”
“What happens in Sydney?”
“In Sydney, we’ll be met by a man who has Australian passports ready and waiting for us. With new names of course. Anybody want a drink? I could really go for a vodka—on the rocks. Our time in the States warmed me to the American style.”
“I’ll pour,” Michael said. Despite his confidence in Ivan, he was too anxious to stay seated. He wanted to look around.
There was a refrigerator between them and the captain’s chair, right at the top of the stairs. Standing before it, he gave the horizon a 360-degree scan, spotting nothing but the lights of the distant shore. He glanced at the navigation console. They were headed toward the tip of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, en route to Nice.
Inside the fridge, Michael found ice and a bottle of Jean-Marc XO. He filled four tumblers with ice, grabbed the chilled vodka and returned to the table.
While Michael poured, Ivan said, “In Australia, I’ll devise another plan to get our enemies off our backs. That will take time, but I promise you, we’ll still enjoy a long and peaceful retirement.”
Everyone drank deeply.
“How do we avoid capture in the meantime?” Pavel asked. “Did you contingency-plan for that?”
All eyes turned back to Ivan.
“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s not so much a contingency as another core part of my plan, a part I haven’t yet revealed. But it will serve that purpose nicely.”
Everyone waited for Ivan to elaborate. He let them stew for a minute while toying with his ice cubes.
“I’ve got two new pages prepared for fallingstars.info. I’ll post them at the airport. My laptop’s waiting on the jet. The first contains a link to the MiMiC program. Within hours it will become the most downloaded app in history. Mark my words.”
Michael believed him. The ability to imitate
anyone on the phone was a dream of every adolescent prankster, cheating adult and criminal mind. “And the second?”
“The second page delivers the blueprints for Raven and The Claw. Both of Boris’s engineering packages. And since we didn’t get the chance to use it, I’ll also include what I have for the DREAD gun.”
Everyone gasped, to the extent that men like them ever reacted that way. All three immediately understood the implications. Copycats would crop up like weeds after rain. The world would change overnight. Life on Earth would never be the same.
Ivan continued before anyone composed a suitable comment. “I think that will derail any pursuit plans for the foreseeable future. At the city, county, state and federal levels, law enforcement will be far too busy to bother looking for us.”
“Won’t they just disable the fallingstars website?” Pavel asked. “To date, they’ve been afraid to touch it for fear that you’ll just put up another and advertise it. But as soon as they know you’re out of commission, there’s nothing to stop them.”
Boris answered for Ivan, “It won’t matter, once the genie is out of the bottle. And believe me, it will be out within seconds of the post going live.”
Michael chimed in next. “Earlier you indicated that this action was part of your core plan. That means you planned on releasing MiMiC and Raven even if Vazov’s party had gone as planned.”
“I did say that,” Ivan conceded.
“But why?”
Ivan set down his glass and stared into it for a few seconds before looking back up. “Vanity. I want the credit. I want to make a lasting global impact. I want my name in the history books. I want children to study me in seventh grade, and write about me in five-page reports.”
“Like Nobel and Oppenheimer,” Boris said.
“Like Nobel and Oppenheimer,” Ivan repeated.
The room again went quiet as the four men drank and contemplated.
