Ward raised his hands in a show of uncertainty. “That’s up to the politicians. Frankly, if it comes to it, I don’t think we will. Right now, the only thing holding him back is the fact that he’s not one hundred percent sure what our response will be. It’s a gamble, and if he’s wrong, things could escalate all the way to DEFCON 1.”
“Okay, I get all of that,” King said. “It doesn’t explain why you sent a team over there. What were they doing?”
“As I said, Russia knows that testing NATO’s resolve is a gamble. All this saber-rattling could very well do the opposite, unify NATO instead of destroying them. If it comes to total war, they won’t back down. They have to win it.”
“They need to go back and watch War Games,” Rook said. He affected a robotic voice. “‘The only way to win is not to play.’”
“Well, the Russian president doesn’t think that way. Remember, these are the folks that gave us that unique version of roulette. But to answer your question, we picked up some intel indicating that the Russians have re-opened an old Soviet research facility in the Ural Mountains, north of Yekaterinburg. During the Cold War, Yekaterinburg—or Sverdlovsk as the Soviets called it—was a closed city dedicated to the production of WMDs. Nukes and bioweapons. We still don’t know everything that went on there, but we do know that they were developing anthrax strains based on research conducted by the Japanese Unit 731 during World War II. In 1979, there was an anthrax leak that resulted in at least a hundred deaths, probably a lot more. The city was demilitarized in 1992, but there have long been rumors that the research continued underground, figuratively and literally, at a complex in the Urals near a place called Kholat Syakhl.”
Bishop looked up suddenly. “I know this place. It means Dead Mountain.”
Ward’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Bishop for several seconds.
Rook finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Of course it does. Where else would a Bond villain like Crazy Vlad build his secret death lab? You know, I think we could solve all the world’s problems if we just gave these places cheerful names. No one would even think about cooking up anthrax on Fluffy Bunny Hill.”
King seized on the distraction to shift attention away from his sister. “So you sent White Team to investigate, and now they’re missing. You want us to go find out what happened, get the goods on what the Russians are really up to and rescue or recover your boys if we can. Have I got that right?”
Ward slowly looked away from Bishop. “Pretty much. White Team has been disavowed. We can’t admit that they’re missing. We can’t even acknowledge that they are American citizens, much less soldiers. We sure as hell can’t send anyone after them. But you’re outside our control. If, God forbid, things go south, your record as rogue operators will immunize the President from blowback.”
Rook shook his head. “Dude, you need to work on your sales pitch.”
King cracked a smile. “He’s right, Admiral. You’ve pretty much made it clear why you want us to do this, but I haven’t heard a word about why we should. What’s in it for us?”
Ward appeared unfazed by the question. “It’s pretty clear to me that you intend to keep operating as the Chess Team, regardless of whether you have official sanction or not. I can make that a lot easier. First and foremost, you would have an assurance of amnesty against any prosecution for any activities past, present and future, within reason of course. President Chambers has already signed off on that.”
“Promises like that are hard to keep,” King said. “Administrations change. Admirals get promoted…or fired…and people can become very forgetful.”
Ward spread his hands. “I won’t lie. You’re right. But a presidential pardon still carries a lot of weight. Second, I know that you’re trying to find Tom Duncan.” He glanced at Queen. “That’s how we knew where to find you. We got the same tip you did about that black site near the Arctic Circle. We knew you’d end up there eventually.”
“Yeah, about that…”
“We’re still trying to put the pieces together and figure out what happened, but I can assure you that the U.S. military was not involved in the operation of that site, nor in the death or disappearance of anyone there. I’d like to know what happened to Duncan as much as you. When you’ve finished up in Russia, you will have my blessing to continue looking for him, along with whatever help I can give you. Unofficially, of course.”
“Is it possible the Russians are behind that as well?” Knight asked.
“Very possible. You may be killing two birds with one stone.”
Or three, King thought. There was a connection between the woman that looked like Julie and Russia—that much was obvious. He didn’t know if all these threads would connect, but he had already decided that they would accept this mission. Now it was just a question of seeing how much Ward would be willing to give them. “Okay, what else?”
Ward stifled a chuckle. “Playing hard to get, eh? I’ll bite. What else would it take?”
“A tech upgrade would be a nice start.” King looked over at Deep Blue. “Lew, can you put together a wish list?”
A mischievous gleam appeared in Deep Blue’s eyes. “Absolutely.”
Ward frowned. “That could be a sticking point. Even a black budget can get audited. The one thing I can’t be seen doing is funding you.”
“Money isn’t a problem,” Deep Blue said. “But a lot of the components I need are restricted for civilian purchase.”
“This mission is time critical. We can’t hold things up waiting for a FedEx shipment.”
“Two days is all I need,” Deep Blue promised.
“It will take us at least that long to prep,” King added.
“But you will do it?” Ward pressed.
King looked to the others to see if they were with him. It was a formality. He did not doubt that they were on board, if for no other reason than to rescue, if possible, the missing operators. It was a part of the Soldier’s Creed: I will never leave a fallen comrade. Their nods signaled that he had judged them correctly. “Lew, can you run the op from here?”
Deep Blue considered the question. “I can rig up quantum ansible audio comms—”
“Ansible?” Ward asked.
“A device for faster-than-light communications.”
“Faster than light? Sounds like science fiction.”
“It was. A science fiction writer, Ursula LeGuin, coined the word in 1966. It’s a mainstay of science fiction stories. But quantum entanglement makes it actually possible to have instantaneous, undetectable and completely secure communication over any distance. Audio is no problem, but anything more than that would take time we don’t have.”
“So you won’t be able to upload real-time satellite recon,” King said.
“Unfortunately, no. And I’m not sure how reliable the satellite coverage is for that region. A better option would be to put a couple micro-drones in the air…” He trailed off as if lost in thought.
“Is there a ‘but?’”
“I can’t pilot the drones from here. We’ll need to establish a mobile command center near the AO.”
“If you’re up for it, make it happen.”
King had no doubt that Aleman was fit for field operations. “The rest of you head to Yekaterinburg. Travel separately and regroup when you get there. Start picking up whatever you think we’ll need. Bishop, if you have any old black market contacts, see what you can get us, but be discreet. The Russians are probably expecting another team. Keep a low profile.”
“I take it you’re not joining us?” Queen said.
“I’ll catch up to you, but there’s something I need to take care of first.” He turned back to Ward. “There is one other thing, and this is non-negotiable.” He waved to the members of Red Team. “You need to come up with a new name for them. There’s only one Chess Team.”
12
Bremerton, Washington
Gray drizzle dampened the observation deck of the commuter ferry as it plowed across Puge
t Sound. It was heading toward Washington state’s Olympic Peninsula, but rather than diminishing the craggy Olympic Mountains, the weather seemed to accentuate their abrupt majesty.
The Olympics were nowhere near as imposing as the snow-capped triple-crested peak of fourteen-thousand-foot Mount Rainier, just visible to the southwest. But the contrast of dark rock, lush green forest and turbulent water was hauntingly beautiful.
King had the deck mostly to himself for the duration of the journey, which gave him plenty of time to appreciate the scenery. Unfortunately, it also gave him plenty of time to contemplate the upcoming reunion. As the vessel neared port, the view of the mountains was lost behind the no less imposing silhouettes of warships docked at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard in Bremerton. Then those, too, were hidden from view, as the ferry pulled into the terminal.
He had made the trip alone, telling no one where he was going or why, but he had assured the team that he would be no more than a day behind them. He had debated bringing Bishop along, but had decided against it, not despite, but because of their familial bond. There was no telling how she would react when he accused their mother and father of conspiring to fake Julie’s death and turn her into a Russian spy.
King had not seen his parents in well over a year, and while that last meeting had ended on a positive note—surprising given the corrosive nature of their family history—his feelings about seeing them again fell somewhere between ambivalence and dread. Seeing Julie again, whether it was really her or not, had ripped off a Band-Aid covering a wound that he had completely forgotten about.
When he thought back to his youth, he saw everything through the context of subsequent revelations. After Julie’s accident, his father—their father—had left the family, disappearing off the face of the Earth. Yet the pain of abandonment that young Jack Sigler had felt had been somewhat eased by the knowledge that Peter Sigler had not simply walked out on his loved ones because of an inability to deal with the tragedy.
King’s parents, Peter and Lynn Machtchenko, were former Russian spies, poised to carry out a campaign of sabotage, if and when the activation orders were given.
Those orders had never come.
The Soviet Union had fallen, and the Siglers, as they had called themselves, taking Lynn’s maiden name as their surname, had fully embraced their new lives. Yet, despite their best efforts to keep the secret buried, the truth had eventually bubbled to the surface, and Peter Sigler had been forced to go into exile to protect his family.
King had lived nearly two decades believing that his father was a deadbeat. But the man had been living in Russia with Asya, a sister that King had not even been aware of. King had also learned that the secret that had wrenched the family apart had almost nothing to do with Peter and Lynn being spies, and everything to do with their bloodline. They were both the descendants of a man named Alexander Diotrephes—the man who had inspired the legend of Hercules.
Diotrephes—Hercules—was King’s great-grandfather many times removed. The man might not have been a mythological demi-god, but he was an extraordinary man: an explorer from a parallel universe whose knowledge of science had given him almost god-like abilities. He had conquered death, remaining alive for thousands of years.
Following the sighting, King had avoided contact with his parents. The last thing he wanted to do was make them relive the pain of losing their firstborn daughter, especially if it turned out to be nothing more than a case of mistaken identity. But regardless of whether the woman was Julie or not, she was inextricably connected to a plot hatched in Peter and Lynn’s homeland. He could postpone this meeting no longer.
His parents were waiting for him outside the ferry terminal, standing together under the protective canopy of an umbrella, holding hands like an old married couple in their retirement. They were that, but they were something more, too. Spies, trained in the art of deception. He wondered if he would get a straight answer from them.
“Jack!” Lynn stepped out from under the umbrella and moved quickly to embrace him. He returned the hug with all the enthusiasm he could muster. There was nothing insincere about his love for her. She had stayed, after all, raising him, guiding him through the dark years after Julie’s death and Peter’s disappearance. He had not always been an appreciative son, and he knew it, but all of that seemed so long ago.
“You look well,” she said, though there was a hint of concern in her eyes. “Married life agrees with you.”
There was a subtle dig in the comment. Circumstances had prevented Sara and King from having a public wedding ceremony. Before he could respond, Peter came to his rescue. “Leave the boy alone, Lynn. We both know how tough it can be to live a secret life.”
King managed a tight-lipped smile. “I was about to say that retirement seems to agree with both of you. I’m surprised you decided to come someplace so wet and gray.”
“Are you kidding?” Peter said. “The rain is what brought us here. It’s very soothing.”
“I suppose it is,” King said, evasively. “And no one will think to look for you here.”
Following the events of what had been semi-officially labeled ‘the Omega crisis,’ Peter and Lynn had been forced to yet again rebuild their lives. They had taken new identities and relocated far away from anything familiar, covering their tracks, so that old enemies, or worse, old masters, would never again disrupt their lives. That was, in fact, a reason—though not the only one—why King had not invited his parents to the wedding.
Lynn spoke up. “Just because we love the rain doesn’t mean we need to stand here and get soaked. Come on. Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll make us some hot cocoa and we can catch up.”
“If it’s all the same,” King said. “Maybe we could just grab a cup of coffee somewhere. I’ve got to be on the three o’clock ferry back to Seattle, if I’m going to make my flight.”
Lynn raised an eyebrow. “You came all this way just for a cup of coffee?”
Peter stepped forward, holding the umbrella high to partially shield all of them. “Your mother’s right, Jack. We’re glad to see you, of course, but if you couldn’t stay at least a couple of days, why bother coming at all?”
“I’ll explain, but I think we should all be sitting down.”
Peter and Lynn exchanged a glance, and then Peter shrugged. “The wheel turns,” he said, cryptically. “There’s a place a couple blocks from here.”
King just nodded. “Lead the way.”
As they walked along, Lynn staved off the awkward silence by telling King about their house, a cabin overlooking Discovery Bay, midway between the touristy bedroom communities of Port Townsend and Sequim. The latter, she explained, rhymed with ‘swim’, even though it looked like it ought to sound more like ‘sequin.’
King nodded perfunctorily, acutely aware of the fact that what he was about to tell them might destroy the idyllic existence they had carved out for themselves. He knew they sensed it, too, even if they didn’t know exactly what shape the trouble he had brought would take. Finally, seated in a corner of a little café a few blocks from the ferry terminal, King dropped the bomb.
“Something has happened,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “that has raised some questions about Julie’s death.”
Just putting it into words felt like shedding a tremendous burden. It was out there now, for better or worse.
Peter’s eyebrows came together in an expression of dismay. “What kind of questions?”
King leaned forward. “I need you to be completely honest with me. Is there anything about your original assignment that you haven’t told me?”
He paused, searching for the right way to ask the next question. He didn’t want to come right out and ask if they had somehow contrived to fake Julie’s death, just as they had, years later, faked Lynn’s death.
“Something that might have involved Julie?” he said at length.
Peter shook his head slowly, a look of confusion on his face that was too sincere to be a
put on. “We got our assignment long before your sister was born. Everything we did after you kids came along was to get us out of that life.”
King took a deep breath. “I’m going to ask you a hard question, and I need you to be completely honest with me. A lot of lives might depend on it.”
His parents returned solemn nods. “We owe you complete honesty,” Lynn added. “Don’t be afraid to ask.”
“Were you grooming Julie to take over your mission?”
Peter let out a snort of harsh laughter. “That’s your question?”
Lynn laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “He has a right to ask, Peter.” She looked King in the eye. “I can’t imagine why you would wonder that, but the answer is an unequivocal ‘no.’ We didn’t want anything to do with that life, and we certainly didn’t want our children following in our footsteps.”
In a quieter voice, Peter added, “You know that’s why I opposed Julie’s decision to join the Air Force.”
King continued to scrutinize them. They seemed so very sincere, and yet if they were play-acting, would he know the difference?
Peter held him with a stare like a laser beam. “You said this had to do with Julie’s death. What’s this really about? Do you think someone killed her? That it wasn’t an accident?”
“There’s a possibility that…” He faltered. Took a breath then another. “Are you sure that Julie really died that day?”
The stunned silence that followed was sufficient to alleviate any concerns that his parents were keeping something from him.
After almost a full minute, Peter found his voice. “What are you saying, Jack? Is our daughter still alive?”
“I honestly don’t know.” And then he told them everything, starting with the one and only time he had seen the woman with Julie’s face, and ending with the discovery in the Virginia warehouse.
“The dots connect,” he finished. “I don’t know if that woman was Julie, but she’s involved with this somehow. That’s why I had to ask.”
Empire (A Jack Sigler Thriller Book 8) Page 10
