by Alex Lukeman
Valentina had been watching the building for over an hour and seen nothing unusual.
"What are we waiting for, Colonel?"
The speaker was Viktor Boroshenko. The other two men were Leonid Federov and Dmitri Lebedev. All three were hardened combat veterans of Russia's brutal war in Chechnya.
Valentina looked at her watch.
"You're right, Sergeant. It's been long enough. Let's go."
Federov started the car, pulled out and drove fast to the front of the building. It screeched to a stop. They piled out of the car, not bothering to conceal the weapons in their hands. People walking on the street saw something was happening and moved away. In seconds there was no one to be seen.
There was no need to say anything. The entrance smelled of urine and cheap tobacco. They climbed the stairs, Valentina in the lead. On the second floor someone started to come out of an apartment, took one look and ducked back inside.
On the third floor music drifted from behind one of the closed doors. The stairwell smelled of cooking, onions and potatoes, something pungent and spicy. Motes of dust danced in sunlight coming through dirty windows on the landings.
They reached the fifth floor. The apartment where the Tajiks were staying was in the rear, at the end of a narrow hall. They moved in single file down the side of the hall, weapons held in both hands and ready.
They came to the door of the Tajik apartment. Valentina nodded at Boroshenko. He stepped up to the door, paused, and then kicked it in. The roar of a shotgun drowned out the sound of the splintering wood. The charge took Boroshenko square in the chest and blew him back across the hall.
Der'mo! Valentina thought. Shit!
She crouched and leaned around the doorframe, firing at the same time. In a split instant she registered the image of a man with a shotgun, stumbling backward as her bullets hit home. Beyond was a kitchen and a short hall.
"Go!" she yelled. She stood and ran into the room.
Federov and Lebedev stormed in after her and spread out to either side of the room.
"Down the hall. Try to keep one alive."
There was no one in the kitchen. Down the hall there were three doors. One of them opened. A short, dark man came out firing a submachine gun. Valentina was ready for it and ducked into the kitchen. The deadly burst missed her but Federov was not quick enough. He went down as Valentina and Lebedev opened up on the shooter. Their rounds drove him backward, his weapon firing erratically into the floor. He fell and lay still.
Where is the third man?
Lebedev kicked open one of the remaining doors. It led to an empty bedroom.
"Clear," he yelled.
That left one more closed door.
"Ne strelyat! Ne strelyat'!"
A panicked voice came from behind the door.
Don't shoot!
Valentina and Lebedev exchanged a glance.
"Open the door, slowly," she yelled. "Stick your hands outside the door. Now!"
"All right. All right. I'm opening the door."
The door opened. The room was a small bathroom. A man sat on the toilet, his pants down around his ankles, his hands held out in front of him.
Lebedev grabbed the man's outstretched hands and pulled him off the toilet, onto the floor. He twisted the Tajik's arms behind his back and bound them tightly with a zip tie.
Lebedev made a face. "It stinks in here."
"He was taking a shit. Go check on the others," Valentina said.
She looked down at the man on the floor.
"Listen to me. We are going to ask you some questions. If you cooperate, it will be better for you. You understand?"
"Yes, yes. Don't hurt me. I will tell you what you want to know."
"Yes," Valentina said, "you will."
CHAPTER 14
The Burj Khalifa had been surpassed as the tallest building in the world, but anyone looking at it would be forgiven for thinking nothing higher could ever be erected. The building rose half a mile into the sky, a hundred and fifty-six stories of gleaming steel and glass. It was a prestigious address providing everything one could imagine for tenants, a mix of residential luxury and business extravagance.
The corporate headquarters of Phoenix Development was located on the hundred and twenty-fifth floor. The view from the offices was spectacular. On a clear day, someone standing on the terrace could see the shores of Iran in the distance. Far below, the sprawling city of Dubai stretched across the yellow sands of the desert.
The conference room where the directors of Phoenix were meeting was suitably impressive. The center of the room was taken up by a long, polished table of exotic African hardwood, flanked by padded leather chairs. The carpet was a thick, dark gray, blending quietly with the steel accents on the walls. The end wall of the room was composed of a floor-to-ceiling window looking out into space. The corporate logo of a soaring phoenix was mounted on one wall, sculpted from stainless steel. Underneath the logo was the company motto:
BUILDING ONE WORLD
The four men meeting in the conference room shared a common certainty of their superiority to others and their right to rule.
Hans Beck sat at the head of the table, a single paper with neatly typed entries laid out in front of him. Beck owned a powerful private bank in Hamburg. Behind the scenes, he made key decisions fronted by the European Common Bank. In effect, he controlled the value of European currency.
Sitting next to Beck was a fat man in an elegant silk suit. Bahar al Nazari was a Levantine banker, one of the twenty richest men in the world. He'd made a lot of money in legitimate commodities trading. Most people didn't know that he also profited from the illicit sex trade that plagued Europe and the Middle East.
Next at the table was Charles Morgan, an American. He managed a large hedge fund and was a millionaire many times over. Many of the world's wealthiest men were his clients, including most of America's political elite.
The last man at the table was Antonio Marelli. Marelli ran a construction empire out of his New York offices. Over the past several years, he had built underground shelters in key locations throughout the world, where those who had been chosen would retreat when the war began.
A fifth man was present by way of an encrypted video link from Vladivostok. Admiral Pyotr Petroff was key to unleashing the forces that would bring about the destruction of the old order and the beginning of the new. Petroff commanded the Russian Pacific Fleet.
Beck called the meeting to order. He was dressed in a typical European fashion expected of a respectable banker. He had a large stomach that stretched the vest of his three-piece dark suit, signaling his prosperity. His face was round and doughy, with a florid complexion offset by a shirt so brilliantly white and perfect that it instantly conveyed importance and wealth. It was only his eyes that gave a careful observer the idea he might be something even more dangerous than a banker.
"If we're all ready, gentlemen? Admiral, is the connection satisfactory?"
"All is very good, Herr Beck. Please proceed."
"As we deliberate today, let us remember our fallen comrade, Herr Nicklaus. He will be avenged."
"Nicklaus was careless," Morgan said. "His death could have been prevented."
"Recriminations are easy in hindsight," Beck said. "He was not the only one to underestimate our enemies. His death is a reminder that the commoners can be dangerous in spite of all our security. The Project is one of our agenda items today. Before we get to that, I think we should hear from Admiral Petroff. Admiral? Could you please bring us up to date?"
"Thank you, Herr Beck. I'm pleased to tell you that the device is ready for placement and activation on our command."
"Excellent."
"We have planted the seed for the American response. They will be certain to see the incident as an act of war sanctioned by my government."
Al-Nazari said, "How was this accomplished?"
"An official in the Ministry of Defense was allowed to see documents indicating the weapon was to b
e deployed," Petroff said. "We had been watching him for some time and knew he was a covert asset for the American CIA. We knew how he would respond when he discovered this information."
"Yes?"
"He defected, taking the information with him to his American Masters. I made sure word of his defection reached the right ears in Moscow. He was eliminated when he arrived in the West. The Western intelligence services will find the encoded information he was carrying and believe the Federation is going to deploy Status 6. When it is detonated, they will assume they have been attacked and respond accordingly."
"How can you be certain the information will be discovered?" Beck asked.
"Although it had escaped the attention of the French security services, the Americans sent a team from the Project. They are certain to discover the information."
"The Project again?" Morgan banged his fist on the table. "Hans, we must do something about them."
"Don't worry, my friend," Beck said. "All in good time. Does anyone have any questions for Admiral Petroff?"
There were none.
"Good. Then let's move on to the next item. The elevation of Reynolds to the presidency of the United States. Charles, that was well done."
"I didn't have that much to do with it," Morgan said. "It was Senator Palmer who handled many of the details. All I did was provide security and financing. Palmer is a real asset. He will join us in Argentina. We must make sure he survives. We'll need people like him after."
Morgan was a distinguished looking man with salt and pepper hair, tall and fit, sixty years old. He looked as though he could have stepped from the cover of a fashionable men's magazine. He spent most of his time on the West Coast, working out of offices in San Francisco or Los Angeles. He had a deep tan and an easy, American way about him that was deceptively inviting. Morgan was the kind of person who made people think he was their friend.
In reality, he was a cold and dispassionate man who cared not at all for people beyond their usefulness in achieving his goals. His personal hero was SS General Reinhard Heydrich, the "Butcher of Prague," a ruthless psychopath with a brilliant organizational mind. Heydrich had been the architect of the Nazi final solution that had resulted in the systematic killing of millions of people. Morgan was a great admirer of Heydrich's organizational efficiency. The Nazi would have appreciated Phoenix's plans for a new order.
"What is your opinion of Reynolds?"
"He'll do what he's told. For now, he's an effective puppet."
"Shall we take him with us to the lake?"
"We can decide that later," Beck said. "In the meantime, I think it's time to start escalating the fear levels. We need people worried, upset."
"Easy enough to do," Morgan said. "I suggest we start by shaking up the markets. There's nothing like a little financial uncertainty to get people worried."
The men around the table laughed.
"Between us, we control a very large amount of money," Beck said. "We could begin with the big funds. That will create unease. Charles, you could handle that."
"Not a problem."
"Then we are agreed? We begin with the markets?"
Nods all around. Beck glanced at his notes.
"Our final item today is Charles's favorite subject, the Project."
"Very funny, Hans," Morgan said.
"We need to make sure they have discovered the plan to deploy Status 6 before we take any action against them."
"It's easy enough to confirm," the admiral said. "As soon as they find the information, they will go to their president about it. When they do, we will have confirmation."
"And if they don't decode it?" Beck asked.
"Then we'll make sure the Americans learn of the weapon in some other way. But I'm confident it will be discovered."
"Very well. We wait until we are certain they have decrypted the information. Once that is done, we eliminate them."
"That didn't work out too well the last time we tried," Morgan said.
"Our mistake was attacking them on their home turf. We should have gone after each member individually, when they were away from their headquarters building."
"He's right," al-Nazari said. "It's easier to take out an individual than a group."
"I don't believe it's necessary to kill them all," Beck said. "Only Director Harker and her team leader, Carter. If we take them out, we rip the heart out of the Project. I can't see them being a problem after that."
"It will need to be carefully planned," Marelli said. "As soon as one is attacked, the others will be on their guard. A coordinated effort needs to be made."
"I'll handle it," Morgan said. "With pleasure."
Beck nodded. "Good. Any new business?"
"What about the terrorist groups we are sponsoring?" al-Nazari asked. "How shall we proceed at this point?"
"Let's increase supplies of weapons and explosives. Our terrorist friends will be happy to step up their efforts with a little incentive. Of course their usefulness will end once the weapon is detonated, but until then they provide a useful distraction. We'll keep one or two of the leaders alive who have demonstrated the required brutality. They could be useful afterward."
"That reminds me," Petroff said. "The Moscow market bombing was a good beginning. I would like to see another major event in the Federation and I have the perfect man in mind to do it. It will keep the FSB and SVR busy. What you call a 'red herring,' no? What do you think?"
"That's a good idea," Beck said.
The others made sounds of acknowledgment.
Beck looked around the table.
"Gentlemen, we are nearing the culmination of all our hard work. I propose that we move up our timetable. Are there any objections?"
No one objected.
"Large parts of the northern hemisphere will be uninhabitable for some time, but our location in Argentina will be quite safe. We should plan on being at the lake two weeks from today. From there we can initiate the final actions."
"At last," Morgan said.
"All in favor?"
Everyone raised their hands, including Petroff on the monitor.
"Excellent," von Beck said. "Meeting adjourned."
CHAPTER 15
Elizabeth waited with Clarence Hood in the White House green room by the Oval Office. This would be the first time either of them would meet with the new president face-to-face. Elizabeth wondered how the information they were bringing to Reynolds' attention would be received. There was nothing in the president's background, either as a senator or as vice president, to inspire confidence. She hoped her instinctive distrust of the man was wrong.
"Should be an interesting meeting," Hood said.
"You do have a gift for understatement. How do you think he'll respond?"
"To news the Russians are getting ready to attack us? Based on one source without confirmation? I don't think he'll act on it."
"Rice would have considered it as a serious threat."
"Yes, but it's not Rice sitting in there."
An aide came into the room.
"The president is ready for you. Please follow me."
They followed him a short distance and were ushered into the Oval Office. Elizabeth was surprised to see that Senator Palmer was present, sitting to the right of Reynolds. She distrusted Palmer. He had consistently used his powerful position in the Senate to advocate budget cuts that weakened the nation's security. When Rice had been president, he hadn't gotten what he wanted. Now that Reynolds was in charge, it looked as though Palmer's latest proposals to cut funding to the armed services had a good chance of passing.
"Directors," the president said. "Please sit down."
Reynolds waited for them to sit.
"I have a busy schedule," he said. "Perhaps you could get right to the point about why you felt this meeting was necessary."
You are one rude bastard, Elizabeth thought.
"Certainly, Mister President," Elizabeth said. "We have intelligence that the Russian Federation is ready
to deploy a weapon of mass destruction against us. We felt it was urgent to brief you about it."
"Come now, Director Harker," Senator Palmer said. His voice was condescending. "There's been no indication the Federation is planning to threaten us. What weapon? What is the source of this purported intelligence?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath to keep from saying something she would regret.
"I can answer that, Senator," Hood said. "We had a deep cover asset in the Russian Ministry of Defense. He discovered that Moscow is ready to deploy a weapon called Status 6 against us. He was attempting to defect when he was murdered by the Russians."
"Status 6?" Reynolds said. "What the hell is that?"
"It's a nuclear device with devastating force. Our best guess is that it's in the hundred megaton range, twice as powerful as the Tsar Bomba developed during the Soviet era. That weapon was the most powerful nuclear device ever built. It created the largest explosion ever recorded. Status 6 is a torpedo drone delivered by submarine, carried underneath the sub. It's not a conventional torpedo meant to sink a ship. Rather it's intended to explode on the ocean bed and create a tidal wave and earthquake. For example, if the weapon were detonated off the southern coast of California, Los Angeles and San Diego would be destroyed. Critical military infrastructure would be wiped out. If..."
Hood stopped as Reynolds held up his hand.
"This is all speculation, Director. Why are you giving credence to something like this? It sounds to me like something your asset dreamed up to give himself importance and get him out of Russia. Do you have supplementary confirmation of this report?"
Elizabeth watched Hood control his anger.
"With all due respect, sir, the Russians don't kill defectors unless they know something so important it can't be revealed."
"That sounds like you don't have anything to back it up," Palmer said. "I think it's highly irresponsible for you to raise the specter of war based on one report."
"Mister President," Harker said, "the information was encrypted in a sophisticated way designed to escape attention. No one goes to that much trouble without a good reason. I'm convinced there is a genuine possibility the Russians are set to deploy this weapon against us, possibly more than one."
