Oleg smiled out of the left side of his mouth. “There is something we have. It may interest you. And it may … how do I say … impact your decision.”
“It’s not my decision,” DeSantos said. “I have my orders, just like you.”
“Yes, well. Orders can be … changed, hmm?”
“I can’t be bought. Money is not going to—”
“Oh, no money, Mr. DeSantos.” Oleg laughed. “More valuable than money.” He turned to his instrument panel and called up a looping video image of a man sitting on a squalid floor, large soldiers with submachine guns standing over him, at each side. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut. “You know this person, yes?”
DeSantos knew that person all right. His father. He looked at Oleg.
“He has not been harmed. And he will not be harmed. If.” He held up an index finger. “If you change mind. About the caesarium.”
DeSantos glared at him. “Not been harmed? Look at—”
“We do not want fight,” Oleg said, as if his offer was completely reasonable. “But if need to, we fight. And we win. Much easier if you … you know, what is saying? Turn the other way.”
DeSantos ground his molars. “I can’t look the other way. I don’t know how else to say this, Oleg. I have my orders.” Truth be told, he wanted to reach back and slug the man. Pound his face into the sharp metal protrusions that lined the interior. And then toss him outside without his helmet.
“We will see, no?” Oleg smiled. “You know where I be when you change mind. But do not take too long. We leave when we have what we come for.”
DeSantos shoved the helmet over his head and pressurized the suit. Once the cabin was depressurized, he opened the hatch and climbed out.
Uzi and Carson were where DeSantos had left them, standing ten paces away from their counterparts, who now numbered three: Andrei, Boris, and Viktor.
“How’d it go?” Carson asked.
“About what I expected.”
“Waste of time?”
“We now have an understanding.”
DeSantos hopped over to them, stopping for a second to steady himself in the low gravity. He kept his gaze on the three Russians as he passed.
“An understanding?” Uzi asked.
“Their lander is called the Resurs. His name’s Oleg and these comrades here,” he said as he shuffled by them, “are Andrei, Boris, and Viktor.” And he wanted to put a bullet in each of their brains.
“Santa. You hear me? Is that it? Are there four of them?”
“Sorry.” DeSantos turned away from the cosmonauts. “Best I could see, four hammocks.”
“Four of them, four of us.”
“Good to see the lower gravity hasn’t eroded your math skills, Boychick.”
Uzi looked at him. His friend’s visor was still up, so he could see DeSantos’s eyes. “You okay?”
If there was someone who knew him well, it was Uzi. DeSantos did his best to shrug it off as he climbed back into the rover. “Oleg told me he’s under orders to bring the caesarium back. And I told him we can’t allow that.”
DeSantos wanted to tell them that the Russians had kidnapped his father. He knew he should. But something was telling him not to. Why? Because they would cut him out of vital parts of the mission to eliminate any conflict of interest. Was there a conflict? If he was objective, he would acknowledge there had to be. He prided himself on being able to compartmentalize things in such situations, but could he simply ignore the fact that they had kidnapped his dad and go about things as if it did not matter?
“So,” Carson said, “what do we do about it?”
DeSantos looked over at the Resurs.
“Not sure there’s anything we can do to stop them from finding it and bringing it back to their ship. But one thing I am sure of is that if they do find it, we’re not going to let the Resurs leave the surface.”
STROUD MANUALLY WITHDREW the hollow core bit from the freshly drilled hole and transferred the haul into the rover’s front bin. He pressed a button and waited for the analysis to be completed.
He glanced around at the barren landscape surrounding him. The Raptor was not visible, as he had ventured around the eastern edge of the South Massif to Bear Mountain. The Taurus-Littrow valley was located on the edge of Mare Serenitatis, along a ring of mountains formed billions of years ago when a large object impacted the Moon, pushing extensive areas of rock upward. Though the entire valley showed promise for caesarium, they had assembled a list of places in descending order that he should poke full of holes. And the location where Stroud now stood was one the geologists had prioritized. Somewhere nearby was where Cernan and Schmitt found the caesarium traces that touched off years of planning—and hand-wringing.
Thus far, all he had found was feldspar-rich breccia in the massifs surrounding the valley and regolith and basalt on the valley floor. Of course, none of this mattered if they got into an escalated conflict with the Russians.
Stroud turned back to the Spider and saw a green light on the spectrometer. His pulse began thumping in his ears.
Holy shit. I found it?
Stroud looked around to make sure no one was there, then pulled on the Velcro closure of the front pocket of his pressure suit. He extracted a thin lead-shielded receptacle and popped it open, then scooped the rock and soil that had tested positive into its small cavity. He set it down, removed his handheld Geiger counter, and took a reading as confirmation. Satisfied that it was, indeed, caesarium, he closed the container and slipped it back into his pouch.
He went around to the back of the Spider and entered the suit lock, then deleted the location and geologic data from the computer.
“Digger,” he said, “give me a SITREP. How’d it go with the Russians?”
“As expected. They say they’re not leaving without caesarium. Speaking of which, how about you? Find anything?”
“Just basalt and breccia. But I’m not giving up.”
“We’re heading back, see if we can finish removing that fuel tank. Then we have to swap out our O2 tanks.”
“Roger that. Meet you there in half an hour.”
57
Washington, Dc
Where do you want to start?” Rusakov asked.
“Back at the general’s house.” Vail walked outside, where the old black Suburban was parked. “Gotta make sure we didn’t miss anything. We also need to look at his life, phone records, emails, texts, letters, men and women he served with and under, foreign governments he had conflicts with, terror suspects he may’ve had a public discourse with, employees he may’ve had a beef with, and—”
“Karen,” Rusakov said as she pulled open her door. “This is all great for a couple detectives investigating a crime. But we don’t, and can’t, have that kind of help. It’s just you and me. And we don’t have time to do all that stuff.”
“No we don’t. And we don’t even have Hector as a resource for insight into his dad’s life. So we need to be smart about it. If we can find the relevant tip of the iceberg, we can dive deeper and find the answers. And right now, there are three priorities—his home, his office, and Jessie Kerwin.”
“We can’t talk with Kerwin until we find her.”
“I’ve got someone working on that. So we’ll start at Lukas’s home, spend a couple of hours, and then drop by his office.”
Rusakov groaned.
“There are no magical shortcuts, Alex. Crimes don’t solve themselves. It’s the result of grind-it-out police work. That, my dear covert operative, is why cops earn their paychecks.”
THEY ARRIVED AT Lukas DeSantos’s home, which was still under military guard.
They spent the next two hours going through his office desk, file cabinets, and safe room. They looked for hidden compartments, threatening notes, and seemingly harmless photos of the general with troops and foreigne
rs that could be evaluated by CIA analysts. They scanned documents, pictures, notes, written communications—and uploaded it all to OPSIG for analysis.
Everyone had to be looked at—a seemingly insurmountable task, as Rusakov had pointed out, except for one thing: there appeared to be Russian involvement in his capture.
“Even if we had an army of agents, we wouldn’t be able to look at all possibilities,” Vail said. “So we have to cut away the distractions and focus on the most likely things, things that are related to what the Russians and Chinese are after—and anyone who might benefit from that.”
“Like Ronck. Its shareholders. President Pervak, or even our favorite mass murderer-turned-diplomat, Mikhail Uglov.”
“Even Uglov. I asked Hot Rod to keep looking into his background and to check out the info he gave us. Seemed like we got the truth from him, but who knows. He could’ve given us 60 percent of the truth and left out key facts—like maybe he was the one who engineered the general’s kidnapping.”
“As the second largest shareholder, Uglov’s got a lot of money riding on the rover’s success in bringing back the caesarium.”
“Bit of an understatement.” Vail placed her right hand on her hip. “We should move on to his office. Anything else you need to look at here?”
Rusakov indicated she was done as well, so they left the premises and headed to the corporate headquarters of DDI.
DESANTOS DEFENSE INDUSTRIES was the third largest defense contractor in the United States, fifth in the world—but no one would know it from the appearance of its facility. Utilitarian and generic in its construction, there was nothing grand in its design or materials. And that was how the general wanted it. He preferred business to come to him and clients to hire him because he and his employees did a fine job, not because their marketing department produced glossy brochures and flashy websites or networked relentlessly in Washington.
Vail and Rusakov entered the building and checked in with the security guard at the front. After he scanned their faux IDs, he gave them each a barcode-enabled pass that hung from a lanyard they slung around their necks.
They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and were met by a man who brought them to the office of Cynthia Meyers, the chief operating officer. Meyers was a well-kept fifty-year-old professional, dressed in a black dress and heels.
“Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice,” Vail said.
“And thank you for taking this seriously. I’m really concerned about him.”
“Any idea who may be involved in this?” Rusakov asked.
Meyers sat down behind her large desk, which was orderly yet stacked with work: files to the left and a humongous HP monitor in the center. She pressed a button and the screen folded down into the desktop, out of the way.
“I’ve been going through old cases,” she said, resting her left hand atop the pile of folders. “And there are a handful of potentials, though nothing that stands out as an obvious lead. I was about to call Douglas but since you’re here …”
Douglas? First name basis with the FBI director?
“Probably best for us to determine what’s a lead and what isn’t. There are things we know that you don’t.”
“Of course,” Meyers said. “I’m used to being in charge. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Douglas said he was sending his best. He obviously thinks a lot of you two.”
Fishing for brownie points or did Knox really say that?
Vail’s phone rang. She excused herself and walked into the hallway. “Vail.”
“It’s Hot Rod. Got something here I thought you should know about, in case it’s important.”
“Whatever you’ve got, I’ll take it.”
“One of the photos you sent us from the general’s house. By the way, you happen to know? Last name is same as—”
“It’s Hector’s dad, yeah.”
“Well, shit. Does Hector know?”
“No, and he’s not supposed to. Direct orders.”
“Not like I have a way of contacting him. He’s on the friggin’ Moon.”
“What’d you find? That photo?”
“Sorry—we identified all the people in the pictures you sent over, except one of them. But there’s a guy who served under the general. Bill Tait. After being discharged from the military, he started an executive protection, security, and investigation firm—Tait Protection Services. Looks like DDI used Tait on several jobs each year.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Don’t know there is a problem. Just looking for connections.”
“I’ll run with it, see where it takes us.” Vail returned to the office and apologized for the interruption. “What do you know about Bill Tait?”
“Bill served under Lukas,” Meyers said, “looked up to him. They developed a deep relationship over the years. When Bill got out and started up his company, the general was one of his early investors. Lent him half a million dollars seed money.”
“Did Tait pay him back?”
“He made his last payment six months ago.”
“Any bad blood between them?” Rusakov asked.
“None I’m aware of. They’re good friends, like a mentor relationship. Almost …”
“Almost what?”
“Well,” Meyers said, “kind of like father-son.”
Wonder how Hector feels about that.
“I called him soon as I realized Lukas was missing. He’s out of the country but he said he’d put some people on it and let me know if they dug anything up.”
“Does your company have any ties with Russia? Or Russians?”
Meyers cocked her head left. “Why?”
Vail smiled.
“Right,” Meyers said. “Just answer the questions. I get it.” She lifted her brow. “We’ve done business with a number of Russian companies. And anytime we’ve shipped weapons overseas to Moscow, we’ve always gotten the appropriate foreign military sales State Department approval and coordinated it with the Department of Defense. Of course, that was before the sanctions.”
“Has the general had any direct dealings with Yaroslav Pervak?” Rusakov asked.
“Well, there’s some complicated history there. The two don’t like each other much, but they’ve had a working relationship. Enough to get things done. But they won’t be playing eighteen holes anytime soon.”
“Any reason to think Russia, or Russians, could have anything to do with the general’s disappearance?”
“There’s a Russian deal I’ve pulled, actually. One of the cases I was going to pass on to Douglas.” She handed the file to Rusakov, who opened it and thumbed through it, then passed it to Vail.
Rusakov continued asking Meyers questions—until something caught Vail’s eye.
“Wait, the general knew Mikhail Uglov?”
Meyers stopped talking and turned to Vail. “They’ve known each other since the late eighties.”
“When Uglov was KGB?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “Lukas knew something about Mr. Uglov that complicated their relationship.”
“Such as?” Vail asked.
“He never said. He didn’t like talking about it.”
Probably the bombing. And he likely knew Uglov’s real name. Vail turned her attention back to the file. “Looks like this was one of those cases where DDI threw some business to Tait Protection.” She looked at Meyers.
“Right. That was the only time Bill and Lukas had words.”
“About what?”
Meyers sighed. “He wouldn’t say. You think that’s got something to do with his disappearance?”
“We don’t know enough to draw that conclusion,” Vail said. “But it’s piqued my interest. There’s something there, but I’m not sure what. May be nothing, but it may lead to some answers. Keep thinking on Tait, the Russia
ns, Uglov, and the general. You come across anything, let us know immediately.”
“There was someone at Tait the general didn’t like. Guy was involved in something shady.”
“Shady?” Rusakov asked. “In what way?”
“Not sure. The general came back to the office after a meeting with him and said, ‘I really don’t like this guy.’ I sensed there was a history there, but I never pressed him about it. There were things he told me and things he didn’t want to discuss. And I could usually tell when it was something he didn’t want to discuss.”
“But you figured it out,” Vail said. “Didn’t you?”
Meyers drew her chin back. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m good at reading people.”
Meyers’s lips pursed in appreciation. “I think he was into something that the general disapproved of.”
Vail leaned forward. “Like what?”
“Like maybe he was an assassin, a hired gun for unsavory types. Dictators, strongmen, criminals, organized crime figures.”
“You think?” Rusakov said. “Or you’re pretty sure? Intuition?”
“More than intuition. I heard the general talking with someone.”
“And this guy’s name is?”
“Dirk Patrone.”
“You have a file on Patrone?” Rusakov asked.
Meyers hesitated. “I’d have to check. Maybe some informal notes.”
“Anything you give us would be helpful,” Vail said. “And an address on Patrone if you’ve got it. Contact info on Bill Tait too.”
“Give me a few minutes,” Meyers said as she pressed a button. The HP monitor rose out of the desk and came to rest facing her. She started pecking away at the keys and a few moments later the printer whirred behind her desk and several sheets emerged. “Here’s all we’ve got.”
Vail took the papers and thanked Cynthia.
“The general’s an American hero,” Meyers said. “One of a kind. Please find him. Alive.”
58
Taurus-Littrow Valley
What the fuck?”
DeSantos, Uzi, and Carson heard the expletive over the radio.
Dark Side of the Moon Page 31
