by Brad Thor
Once they were well out of earshot, she said, “I think that bomb is from Pakistan.”
“Pakistan? What makes you think that?”
“Because the Indian military intercepted several similar devices a year ago en route to Bangalore, their version of Silicon Valley. They believe it was a plot funded by Pakistani intelligence.”
“I remember something about that,” said Walsh. “But wouldn’t that give more credence to the notion that this bomb didn’t materialize out of thin air, but is here because terrorists were training with it?”
Paxton shook her head. “I don’t think a terrorist group is going to go to all that trouble to smuggle a bomb into Paraguay, just to leave it in the middle of the jungle.”
“So you think it came through the device?”
“Don’t you? Should we go back and look at the bodies again? You know what caused that carnage and why they were melded to those rocks.”
She was right. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let’s say all of it did come through the device. Why here? Why Paraguay?”
Leslie swept out her arms. “The World War II–era trucks. The old road. This was a receiving point.”
“Receiving point for what?”
“Gold. People. Equipment. Stolen artwork. You name it. This would have been humming like a Nazi Greyhound bus station.”
“But when I think of Nazis fleeing Europe for South America,” said Walsh, “I normally think of Argentina or Brazil. Those were the real hotspots. Why not set the receiving point there?”
“I had the same question until I saw the runes carved in those old stones,” replied Paxton. “Nueva Germania.”
“Nueva what?”
“Nueva Germania. New Germany,” she replied as she walked over to him. “In the late 1800s, Friedrich Nietzsche’s sister and her husband traveled to Paraguay to establish a colony in the jungle that would demonstrate German superiority and the superiority of the Aryan race to the entire world. It’s where Josef Mengele fled after the war.”
Walsh stared out at the thick, overgrown jungle. “This was Neuva Germania?”
Paxton shook her head. “I think this was the site of the original colony. It thrived for a while, but they were under constant assault from the indigenous Guaranis, who eventually chased them off. The colonists moved on and built a more conventional style town, closer to civilization, but the original colony always maintained a mystical, almost cultlike aura for them.”
Walsh thought about that as Leslie continued. “Maybe we weren’t the only ones to know about what Kammler was up to, but we were the only ones to successfully get our hands on the research and the majority of the scientists at the end of the war.”
“But we haven’t made significant progress with it, have we?”
“Remember what Einstein said: If we knew what we were doing, we wouldn’t call it research,” Leslie replied without really answering his question.
“Einstein also said that what we were doing with quantum teleportation was spooky.”
“And I would agree with him. In a sense, it is spooky, but let’s get back to my hypothesis about what happened here.”
Walsh was uncomfortable with hypotheses. He preferred facts. That was the difference between science and the intelligence field. Scientists came up with an answer and used it to find facts while intelligence operatives came up with facts and used them to find an answer. Nevertheless, they were dealing with someone that straddled her world and his. To get to the answer, they were going to have to work together. “Okay, so tell me what happened,” he said.
“So we had a monopoly on the Kammler personnel and the Kammler technology, but at some point that changed. And we know someone picked the bunker clean in Zbiroh.
“Let’s assume that at the very least they have been able to rebuild the device.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” replied Walsh.
“Are you going to leap right into big experiments? Or are you going to start small?”
“Small, of course.”
“Is pushing people through or pushing a bomb through big or small?”
Walsh looked at her. “It’s big. Very big.”
“And what does that tell us? It tells us that they probably already completed their lower-range experiments. It tells us they, whoever they are, felt ready to move to the next level.”
Walsh had a bad feeling he knew what she was thinking. “Are you saying that whoever this is, they’re only a few steps away from us with this technology?”
Leslie thought about her answer for a moment. “I think what happened here is an anomaly. I think they started with safety pins, pencils, or tennis balls, probably inorganic items that were even smaller. I think they were able to specifically direct those items to a designated receiving point somewhere.”
“But why did this stuff end up here?” asked Walsh.
“That’s a good question,” she replied. “We had something similar happen during our research. The scientists back then called it an echo. After multiple successful transmissions, we decided to adjust and send things to a new location. Inanimate objects worked fine, but the minute something with a certain amount of electricity or electromagnetism was sent through the device, it began randomly defaulting to the old location. It also ended up scrambling whatever was sent through.”
“So you think that’s what’s happening?” asked Walsh. “You think their equipment is defaulting to here?”
Paxton nodded. “I do. I think they managed to reconstruct the Kammler Device from Zbiroh and this was its original receiving point.”
“How long before they get it straightened out?”
“I don’t think it matters,” replied Paxton.
“Why not?”
“Because the bomb they sent through didn’t end up scrambled. It might have been only a test run, but the bomb itself was perfect. Sooner or later, they’re going to figure that out. Sooner or later they’ll also realize that every third or fourth bomb isn’t going to make it through. At that point, they’ll simply chalk up the bombs they can’t account for to the cost of doing business.”
Walsh wanted to argue with her, but once again she was right. He also had a very bad feeling about who the bombers’ ultimate target was going to be unless they were stopped.
CHAPTER 40
NEW BELGRADE
SERBIA
MONDAY
The stunning glass and steel structure had been built by a world-renowned engineering and design firm. From its internal internet hub and proprietary server farm to its cutting-edge security system, it was considered one of the most sophisticated and most secure buildings in Eastern Europe.
It occupied a prominent position on the left bank of the Sava River in the Serbian capital’s bustling business center known as New Belgrade. Its tenants were prestigious multinationals and leading Serbian businesses. A mixed-use development, it offered not only commercial and retail space, but also luxurious residences to those who could afford them. Attorney Branko Kojic was one of those people.
The Athena Team had flown from Prague to Belgrade via private jet and took rooms at a hip, four-star hotel. They left Vlcek in charge of their two prisoners while Hutton decided what would be done with them. On their way out, Megan had given Vlcek a playful kiss on the cheek, and even though they debated who had lost their bet, he still offered to take her to dinner.
After catching what little sleep they could on the short plane ride in from Prague, they had grabbed a few more hours at the hotel and then had gotten to work.
No one knew very much about Branko Kojic. That wasn’t necessarily a surprise. Many people had reinvented themselves after the Yugoslav wars.
Some had returned years later with new names, new identities, and passports from new countries of citizenship, while others had found ways to emerge from expensive cocoons reborn, with shiny new personas, unmarred by the violence that had so scarred the region. Branko Kojic was believed to be one of these “Serbian butterflies,” a
s they were known. The Athena operatives were instructed to use the utmost caution when dealing with him. They were on his turf, and they took the directive very seriously.
To conduct good surveillance you needed one thing in abundance—time. But time was something they didn’t have. From what little they had been able to learn from Megan’s interrogation of Heger, Kojic lived and worked in the same building. He rarely went out. When he did, it was in an armored vehicle accompanied by a follow car and multiple private security specialists.
They entered and exited the building via its highly fortified garage, which, like the building’s lobby, had a strong security presence of round-the-clock guards. It was next to impossible to plan to take him en route, because they had no idea where he would be going, or when.
Casey had come up with the idea of posing as an American attorney whose client was looking to open an office in Belgrade. She hoped to get him to dinner, or to at least get a face-to-face meeting with him in his office. When she called that morning, the woman who answered his phone told her that Kojic was not accepting new clients at this time. That was it. Though Gretchen pushed for a referral, something most professionals were usually happy to provide, the woman said she could not be of any help and hung up.
This put them in a very difficult position. Not only did Kojic not leave the building that often, he also didn’t take meetings, at least not with anyone new. That left them with two choices. Either they could force him out, or they could force their way in. For a moment or two, they explored the idea of setting the building on fire, but then decided against it.
Without weeks to surveil him and watch for any pattern or weakness, they had no other option than to go into the building after him.
While Hutton and the team back at Fort Bragg assembled satellite imagery of the building and began gathering as much information about it as they could, Casey, Rhodes, Cooper, and Ericsson did the footwork.
Using one of the false-front consulting companies the DoD had established for intelligence operations, Cooper and Ericsson were able to set up meetings with three businesses in the building to compile as much of an idea as possible of the security on the commercial side. Casey and Rhodes arranged to tour multiple units in the residential portion of the tower that were for sale.
As they had been trained, the women took in everything while not appearing to be very interested in anything. They were also alert to opportunity, and Cooper was able to steal a building ID badge from an employee in one of the offices they were visiting.
At the end of their first day of intelligence gathering in Belgrade, they met back at the hotel to debrief. The consensus wasn’t good. Though Cooper had done a great job grabbing an ID badge that also functioned as an access card, it was tied to its owner’s biometrics. They would have to find another way.
Casey ran down what she and Rhodes had learned via their walkthroughs of several high-end condo units with one of the building’s sales agents. The man had been incredibly forthcoming, even to the point of admitting that he was telling them things he shouldn’t. All of the women laughed at this remark, as they knew it was part of the raison d’être for the Athena Project.
The man’s candidness had given Casey an idea. It was dangerous, but it was a scenario they had trained for. “And if we do it just right,” she said, “I think we may be able to pull it off.”
CHAPTER 41
Gretchen’s plan was in fact extremely dangerous and Rob Hutton wasn’t exactly quick to endorse it. “Let’s see if we can get the other pieces in place,” he had said.
Casey knew he’d come through for them. That was what a commander did. He made sure his team had everything they needed to get their mission completed successfully. If Hutton came up with a better idea for pulling this off, Casey and her teammates would be all ears, but until that happened, they were preparing to go with Plan A.
And, with nothing better to do than sit around and wait, Casey decided they should go out and get something to eat for dinner.
They picked a Serbian restaurant not far from their hotel in the old part of the city known as the Bohemian Quarter. Even Cooper, who leaned a bit more to the vegetarian side, found something to enjoy on the menu.
Casey didn’t need to warn her team about their alcohol intake. They were all adults. They were also all entitled to a little R&R. They had been going ninety miles an hour with their hair on fire since Venice. A couple of drinks would probably do them some good.
Casey held up her wine glass. “To the toughest, smartest, and best-looking bunch of women I know,” she said.
The rest of the team voiced their agreement and clinked glasses. While they could handle any operation thrown at them, by definition the Athena Team members weren’t marathoners. They were sprinters. Get in, get it done, get out, get home. That’s what they did. And even though not a single one of them had complained or would complain, they were overdue for something like this.
They laughed and told stories. There was a lot of good-natured ribbing as well. Being highly competitive and fiercely loyal to each other meant that there were no subjects that were off-limits.
Casey was in the middle of pressing Ericsson on whether Vlcek ever cooked breakfast for her the morning after or if Rhodes should just plan to be gone before he woke up, when the secure Qualcom CDMA phone she’d been given for the assignment began vibrating.
There was only one person who had the number. “Casey,” she said, holding the phone up to her ear.
The restaurant was crowded and there was a strolling band of Serbian minstrels that was nearing their table. “Hold on,” she stated. “I can’t hear you. I’m going to step outside.”
Mouthing the name Hutton to her teammates, she stood up and indicated that she was going to finish the call outside. When she exited the restaurant and stepped onto the sidewalk, she raised the phone back up to her ear.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“Where are you?” asked Hutton.
“Some restaurant. Having a glass of wine and getting something to eat. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to save the receipts.”
“You’re going to need to get the check,” he replied.
“As soon as we’re done eating.”
“Get it to go. You’re going in tonight.”
“Tonight?” repeated Casey.
“Yes,” said Hutton. “We’ve been able to breach part of their security network. According to what our folks discovered, they do server maintenance tonight. They hand off different operations in shifts to a backup system. Our people are looking at whether they can penetrate the network while this is going on. If they can, they think they’ll be able to control the elevators, door sensors, and video feeds before you attempt to enter the building.”
“They think, or they know?”
“You know how this works, Gretchen.”
Yes, she did know, but that didn’t mean that she had to like it. “What about the gear?” she asked.
“Everything will be waiting at the airport. Tell the ladies I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”
“They won’t believe me, but I’ll tell them.”
“Listen,” he said, sensing her concern. “Your safety comes before everything else. You know I wouldn’t ask all of you to do this if I didn’t think it would work.”
“I know,” said Casey, wanting to get back inside and at least grab one hot bite of food before they had to take off running again.
“There’s something else I want you to know,” he added. “I heard from Walsh. He’s personally seen one of the bombs these people have transmitted. You need to get to this Branko Kojic and find out who he is working for and where all the equipment from Zbiroh went. And you need to do it fast. He doesn’t care what it takes.”
“I understand,” said Casey, and she meant it. It was one thing to be upset about not getting enough downtime. It was something else entirely when your commanding officer told you that the director for intelligence for the Joint Chiefs needed a bomber
run to ground ASAP. This wasn’t about her and what she wanted. This was about the job and what needed to be done. It was a job Gretchen Casey was 100 percent committed to.
“I’ll talk with you as soon as we’re ready to launch,” she said, ending their call. She then walked back into the restaurant, placed several bills on the table, and stated, “We may have just caught a break. Rob has okayed our plan. He wants us to move. Now.”
CHAPTER 42
PREMANTURA
ISTRIAN PENINSULA
CROATIA
Thomas Sanders looked at his boss. With a thick gray beard and abundance of poised self-confidence he appeared Zeuslike. “I don’t understand how you can be so relaxed.”
They were sitting on the stone stairs in front of the compound’s main building waiting for Viktor Mikhailov to arrive. Abressian held a snifter of B&B in his hand and was smoking a Gurkha Black Dragon from the hand-carved camel bone chest in his office. “Patience, Thomas, is the art of caring slowly.”
It was a warm, breezeless night. Stars punctured the dark curtain of sky above. The only clouds came from the leathery smoke of Abressian’s eleven-hundred-dollar cigar.
“I have a bet with our security chief, Marko, about how many cars Viktor will bring,” Sanders remarked. “I’m guessing five—a full, flamboyant show of Russian muscle.”
Abressian plucked a small piece of tobacco from his tongue and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it to the ground. “And how many cars does Marko believe are coming?”
Sanders smiled and shook his head. “He says only one.”
“And how much did you bet?”
“Only a hundred dollars.”
“Well, you’d better get your money ready,” said Abressian as he stood and drained the liquid in his snifter. “Comrade Mikhailov has arrived, and he brought only one vehicle.”
