by Ted Bell
“I wouldn’t doubt you for a second, sir. And I can promise you Vulcan will exceed your war-fighting expectations by a factor of one thousand. We will be worth every ruble.”
“A pleasing scenario. I wonder. Could you please share your war-fighting modus operandi, Colonel?”
The American sat back in his chair, giving it some thought before replying. He said:
“I believe one must attack with a cold and unstinting fury. Leave the enemy whimpering and on its knees as quickly as possible. I believe in making the enemy at home scream out for their dead and wounded abroad. And I believe the suffering and pain of the bereaved left behind can be as effective as a fresh regiment in bringing a battle to a swift and timely conclusion. Teach them unalterable lessons about the horror of warfare. I consider myself not a warrior but a conqueror, sir. I learned these tactics studying another conqueror, General William Tecumseh Sherman, and his slashing and burning march through Georgia.”
The Dark Rider was silent but nodded his strong approval of the colonel’s remarks.
“Where is the bulk of your force currently located?” he asked.
“Scattered, for obvious reasons. I’m a nuisance, an inconvenience, for a lot of folks inside the Beltway. I myself live in a large fortified compound in Costa Rica. I have a skeleton force there dedicated to my personal security and the few regional ops we currently have under way. The bulk of my men have gone underground, waiting for me to notify them of an opportunity just like this one. I’ve got about a thousand men living and working at the old Vulcan complex near Port Arthur, Texas. And assets positioned around the world I communicate with via Skype and a dedicated satellite I had placed in orbit. Totally secure.”
“How would you feel about relocating the entire operation in one place? All thirty thousand.”
“No problem at all. Where do you have in mind, exactly?”
“Right here. I could begin construction of a facility to house and train your men immediately. A command-and-control center. Hangars for drones and combat aircraft. A landing strip that could accommodate your needs. Barracks and a dining hall for your soldiers. You would be adjacent to, but entirely separate from, the main KGB training and headquarters compound.”
“Sounds pretty damn good to me, sir.”
“I’m not sure our weather can compete with Costa Rica.”
“Uncle Joe, let me assure you. Living on a mosquito-ridden beach with two fat ladies and a flea-bitten mongrel dog is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
The Russian laughed. He’d made the right choice.
“How soon could you mount an operation in, say, Washington? Or, just for argument’s sake, let’s say . . . Cuba?”
“Washington? That would take one phone call, sir. I have two of my very best assets in the capital. American, incidentally. Her late husband was former CIA, and his aggrieved widow is as good as they get.”
“Excellent.”
“Names?”
“In due time. But I already have one name for you to cross off my list.”
“Consider him gone. Or, her, as it may be.”
“Good. Another thing. You once worked with Fidel Castro in Cuba, I believe.”
“I did.”
“So you know El Commandante’s successor, his brother Raúl?”
“Yes. We’re on very good terms.”
“I am mounting a critically important operation on an island called Isla de Pinos. You recall, perhaps, the old Soviet spy installation on that island. Twenty-four square miles. Fell into disrepair when we abandoned Fidel. Now, I could use your help in rebuilding it for twenty-first-century warfare in that hemisphere. In the early stages, I will use it as a base from which to mount sabotage operations against southern Florida.”
“It’s yours.”
“Welcome to the New Russia, Colonel.”
“Uncle Joe, I will say one thing. It is an honor and a privilege to be part of your vision, sir.”
“I have one more question for you, Colonel, and then I’ll excuse you. Was Vulcan ever considered for a contract involving the protection of America’s national electrical grids? I believe I read that somewhere . . .”
“Did a lot of research on them that never went anywhere. The power companies provide all their own security. And they don’t want the government or someone like me nosing around in their business. Sheer stupidity, but there you have it. But I knew more than just about anyone about those damn power plants before I was done.”
“And that is still true?”
“Far as I know. A grid’s a grid is how I see it.”
“Very well. You will be hearing from me in the next few days. If there is anything at all you require, General Krakov here is at your service. I have assigned him to you for the duration of facilitating your incorporation into our existing KGB framework. Don’t hesitate to let me know what you need, Colonel.”
“Right now, Uncle Joe, what I require is a little vodka.”
“So do I!” General Krakov said. The Dark Rider must have pushed a button or something, because in a heartbeat a white-jacketed servant was rolling a table into his office. On it were two bottles of some vodka called Feuerwasser, a large silver bucket of ice, and three glasses.
And the official meeting was over.
Beauregard savored the intense bite of frozen vodka on his tongue. He couldn’t stop smiling. For better or for worse, the colonel was risen at last from the ashes. And what havoc he might wreak upon those whom he felt had betrayed him?
It was all yet to be seen.
CHAPTER 27
Washington and Cap d’Antibes, France
Daddy! Daddy!” Alexei cried when his father entered the White House nursery. “Guess what I did?” Alexei was sitting cross-legged on the carpet beneath a sunny window, his squirming dog, Harry, in his arms. Harry, who was now known officially as “Harry the Wonderdog.” The little boy had regained his healthy smile and complexion and was a pink-faced picture of robust English youth once more. When the dog bounded away and made a beeline for Hawke, Alexei said, “Did you know there was once a president named Harry, too, Daddy?”
“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. Harry Truman.”
Hawke took long strides across the room, dropped his bulging Royal Navy duffel bag on the floor, and gathered the boy up into his arms. He raised him high above his head, saying, “What? What amazing thing have you done now? Nell tells me you two had quite an adventure this morning.”
“Oh, yes! The Secret Man took me to the president’s swimming pool! He’s nice. He took Nell and I—”
“Nell and me.”
“Nell and me swimming for two whole hours! Oh, Daddy, can we have a pool someday? Just like the White House one? Please?”
“The Secret Man? You don’t mean Agent Sullivan, do you? Who works here for the president?”
“Yes! I do. And I went underwater all by myself!”
“Can the boy swim, Nell? Don’t tell me he can already swim?”
“Yes! I can, Father!”
Nell laughed. “The Secret Man is a former Navy SEAL, Alex. He was working in the pool with Alexei for two hours. What do you think?”
Hawke laughed and threw his son up high and caught him.
“Do you and Nell like it here?” he said.
“Oh, yes, Daddy. Don’t we, Nellie?”
“Oh, yes, Daddy, we do, we do,” Nell said, grinning at Alex.
Hawke cupped his hand around her neck and kissed her lips. It lasted a little longer than it should have perhaps, but it was a good-bye kiss and they both attached a lot of importance to the kisses they shared whenever he flew off to put himself in harm’s way again.
“Be safe, baby,” she whispered in his ear.
“You, too, kid.”
“Are you going away again, Daddy?” Alexei said, looking up at this father with a heart full of love in his adoring blue eyes. He had the same unruly black hair as his father, and Nell Spooner had finally given up trying to keep it under control.
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“Yes, darling, I am. But only for a few days, I hope. And you and Nell will have lots of fun exploring the White House with the Secret Man, I’m sure. Just wait until you see the bowling alley.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see,” Nell said. “And this afternoon you’re going for a pony ride, Alexei.”
A small frown clouded Hawke’s face. Nell and Alexei had a bad history with horses. Nell had almost died saving her charge from a man on a horse trying to kill them in Hyde Park one Sunday morning.
Hawke dropped to his knees and embraced his son, pulling him close.
“Now, listen very carefully. I want you to make me a promise, Alexei. You will do everything that Nell tells you to do while I’m gone. And everything Agent Sullivan says, too. No games. No running away. No hiding. No playing tricks on anybody. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll be the best boy. I promise.”
“All right,” Hawke said standing up. “I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late. Good-bye, Nell.”
“Good-bye,” she said to him, quickly looking away to hide the tears welling in her eyes, those eyes that looked like two pieces of the sky.
“Good-bye, Alexei.”
“I love you, Daddy, so much.”
“I love you, son.”
“Will you be back in time for my birthday?”
“Try and stop me,” Hawke laughed, ruffling his hair.
“If your father can be here, he will be here, Alexei, don’t worry,” Nell added, knowing Hawke’s schedule changed hour by hour.
Hawke turned and headed for the door, emotions swirling inside his heart and mind.
Time to go.
HAWKE LOOKED OUT THE AIRPLANE’S starboard side window and saw Putin’s bright red chopper’s main rotor begin to revolve just as the U.S. government–issue G4 was making its final approach at Aeroport Nice Cote d’Azur on the coast of France. “Have a look, Constable,” he said to Ambrose who was seated just across the aisle.
“At what?”
“Putin’s chopper is painted the identical shade of red as his yacht. Don’t you find that unbearably chic?”
“I’m worried about you, Alex. Seriously.”
Hawke laughed.
“You think I’m no match for the old fox? You underestimate me.”
“I certainly hope so. You know what I’ve been thinking about for the last hour or so?”
“I couldn’t begin to imagine. Sherlock Holmes? Chess moves? King takes pawn? The famous ‘King’s Indian Attack’ opening?”
“Please don’t be clever. I’m thinking about what you told Brick Kelly. That something doesn’t smell right to you about this whole scenario. This sudden invitation to go yachting.”
“Yes. Do you smell it, too?”
“Perhaps. Here’s the dichotomy you face, Alex. Putin is perhaps the most powerful bad man on the planet. Certainly the richest man on the planet. His resources know no boundaries. Forty billion is said to be conservative. I know you think he likes you. And you’re rather fond of him in the most peculiar way.”
“Not peculiar at all. I think he’s amusing at times. He can be very funny, you know.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Not to mention that were it not for Volodya, I would have been impaled on a stake on an island prison and left to rot in the noonday sun. My child’s mother would have died in front of a firing squad in Lubyanka Prison. And my son would have had his brains bashed in the moment he was born.”
“Well. There is that.”
“There certainly is that. Did you know he wants me to defect to Russia and work for him?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Don’t you find that funny? That he would be so brazen about it? That’s why I like him.”
“Just be careful, Alex. Because as hilarious as you seem to find this much-vaunted friendship with an evil dictator, it doesn’t come without its downside.”
“Such as?”
“He could turn on you in a heartbeat. If he felt for one moment that it would serve his purposes to take you off his chessboard, I have no doubt in the world that he would do it.”
Hawke buckled his seat belt seconds before the plane touched down at Nice and began to taxi outward to the waiting Russian chopper that would ferry them on the short hop to Cap d’Antibes on the French Riviera.
He was thinking about what Ambrose had said.
And of course, as usual, he was absolutely right.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, THE three men were basking in the soft sunlight you only find in the South of France. A cool breeze came up off the sea and rippled the colorful flags that were rigged on the backstay from the masthead down to the aftermost cleat on the yacht’s wide stern.
Tsar was moored within spitting distance of the Hôtel du Cap. It was Hawke’s favorite hotel in the world and if it weren’t for Putin’s famous hospitality aboard the three-hundred-million-dollar ship, he’d be sleeping there tonight.
“Well. Good to see you, Chief Inspector. And you as well, Alex,” Putin said, after the red-jacketed steward who’d served their drinks had withdrawn. “You look fit, old boy, well rested. Troubles me. I like to think we keep your side awake at night. That we get on your nerves.”
Hawke smiled.
“Oh, you do that, too, Volodya. But the mere fact that the chief inspector and I are sitting here in splendor at your request would indicate that you’re lost without me. Thus, my confident smile and easy manner. Right, Ambrose?”
Congreve was staring at the Russian when he said, “The whole world seems to find us indispensable, Alex, not just President Putin.”
Putin found a laugh deep down inside, and there was sudden merriment in those light blue eyes that many who’d met him described as cold or ruthless. Ambrose was instantly aware of what forged this odd bond between one of Britain’s greatest warriors and the man many thought of as one of the world’s great villains. It was mutual respect. And, on some level, their intelligence found a connection through self-assurance, confidence, and humor.
“We were both sorry to hear about your untimely loss, Volodya. I understand you and the late general were very close.”
“Thank you. Tragic. I shall miss that old soldier deeply. After hearing of your success with the Paris murder, I am eternally grateful that you both agreed to help me find his killer. In each of your staterooms you will find a dossier prepared by my office that contains everything we’ve been able to ascertain about what happened that night. You’re already aware that he was killed aboard Tsar in the harbor over at Monte Carlo?”
Hawke nodded. “We are.”
“I think it best if we wait until you have digested the contents of the file before we take up this matter in any detail. Is that agreeable?”
“Indeed, I was going to suggest it, President,” Ambrose said.
“Good. I’ve got a reservation for lunch across the way at the Eden Roc restaurant. Hôtel du Cap. Best-looking women in the south of France. I know you like it, Alex; we’ve dined there before. Would either of you care for some water?”
“Water? It’s delicious. What is it?” Ambrose asked, plucking a cold half-liter bottle from the icy champagne bucket. The bottle’s bright red label proclaimed it to be a natural elixir called “Feuerwasser.”
“Elixir?” Hawke said.
“Vodka,” Putin replied. “We call vodka ‘little water’ in Russia. The ‘Water of Life’”
“I’d be delighted.”
“Ah, you’ll like it, Alex. Very potent, shall we say. Our Russian specialty vodkas have become very chic, you see. This vodka is bottled for me in Germany. Worldwide sales, even in America. The manufacturer ships hundreds of thousands of cases each year. I was responsible for the first case served over here at Hôtel du Cap. Now they don’t even offer Stoli anymore. I hate competition, as you know. Stoli doesn’t know who it’s dealing with!” He took a deep swallow and laughed.
“What is that place over there?” he said. “It looks marvelous.”
“It is marvelous, Chief Inspector. That is the Eden Roc beach club. My launch will ferry us over. Say, one o’clock? Perhaps you’d both like to retire to your staterooms and freshen up? Your bags have already been unpacked.”
Hawke caught Congreve’s eye and winked. They both knew what that meant.
Putin got to his feet and smiled. He didn’t need to say that he clearly had other matters to attend to. Hawke was struck by the set of his powerful shoulders and the jutting jaw as he turned away and strode toward the bow.
Say what you will about Vladimir Putin, he thought, this is a man on a mission.
ONE NIGHT, SOME YEARS AGO NOW, Hawke had shared a prison cell with the then recently ousted Putin. It was most unpleasant: a dank, lead-lined hole in the dungeon of a horrific place, a fortress island called Energetika. Every square inch of the prison, every surface, every stone, every nail, and every denuded tree was burned ash black by decades of radioactive assault. The prison, not so ironically, had been built atop the mound of rock the Soviet Navy had used as a dumping ground for all its nuclear waste. Hence, Putin’s lead-lined cell, provided secretly by his supporters inside the Kremlin.
Putin had that night given Hawke a peek into his soul that few if any other men had ever been made privy to. After a long night of cigarettes, Hawke had simply asked the infamous Russian leader what made him tick. And the floodgates had opened wide.
“I am a born patriot,” Putin had begun. “My father and two brothers died defending our homeland, the city of Stalingrad. At the age of sixteen, I walked into the local KGB front office in St. Petersburg and tried to sign up. They laughed at me and suggested I go get an international law degree first, which I did, and come back later, which I also did. I was posted to East Berlin in the days before our wall came down. I spent most of my free time reading the history of my beloved country. At work? Well, there were plenty of Germans who deserved my undivided attention, shall we say.
