Pushing Brilliance

by Tim Tigner

  “Try the other doors,” Max suggested. “Maybe there’s a servant’s entrance.”

  I repeated the exercise three more times. Like a champion bull, I saw nothing but red. “Good idea, but no dice.”

  I pulled the sonic glass-shattering pick from my waist pack just to have something to fidget with while I thought things over. I loved tools. I could happily spend hours in a hardware store looking around. This one was a beauty. Shaped to resemble an ice pick, it delivered ultrasonic vibrations like a miniature jackhammer, and shattered glass the way its big brother did concrete. Unlike a jackhammer, however, it was quiet. Alas, the shattering glass was another, much louder story.

  The triangular frames probably held two panes of quarter-inch glass, separated by argon gas and electronically-opaquing film. Going through would certainly draw the attention of everyone in an adjacent room, and probably anyone in the pyramid.

  Testosterone was raging inside me like that bull who’d seen red as I imagined Katya suffering within, but thanks to years of training, I managed to retain control. Shakespeare’s Falstaff had been right — at times discretion was the better part of valor.

  “I can’t risk going in blind. I’ve got to wait until I can see what’s going on.”

  “That probably won’t be until morning,” Max said. “I mean, why would he open a window now?”

  “You’re right. He wouldn’t. We’re in for a long wait.”

  I weighed the options, and decided to wait at the apex, some seventy vertical feet above Grigori’s floor. I’d be in for some fancy footwork if the pane I was resting on suddenly went clear, but I was up for that. Come daylight, however, I would also be visible from the outside. “I’m going to switch into the glass-blue spandex suit.”

  While I was changing, Max came through on the headset. “I’ve been thinking about your earlier comment. The one about submarines and space shuttles not needing locks. I’m wondering if that applies to helicopters.”

  I felt like the slow kid in class. Inspecting the perimeter was basic operational protocol, and I’d let it slip right by. “Thanks, Max. Even without Brillyanc, you’re a genius.”

  Grigori’s Ansat helicopter wasn’t the sleekest design, but then neither was Marine One. The high-gloss black paint job went a long way toward making it a stylish toy, especially when viewed by moonlight.

  I didn’t plan to lie in wait inside, since I didn’t know if Grigori would be flying anytime soon. But contingency planning made it a wise move to get the lay of the land, and clear it of any weapons. Perhaps I’d even get lucky and find a clicker that opened the pyramid. “The helicopter’s doors have locks, but they’re not engaged.”

  I slid into the pilot’s seat and found a weapon the first place I looked, holstered to the front of the pilot’s chair. “I found another Glock 43. Grigori must buy them by the case. Nothing else of value up front. Time to check the back.”

  The rear salon was typical private-aircraft luxury. Black leather armchairs with brushed aluminum accents. No weapons back there, but welcome bottles of water and bags of pistachios. I’d failed to pack either food or drink.

  I moved to the back corner of the cabin to test viewing and firing angles. Now that I had two guns, I wanted to see if I could simultaneously cover all the doors.

  Something dug into my backside. I twisted to inspect it and felt my heart skip a beat. “I found Katya’s cell phone. It was wedged into her chair.”

  “On purpose, or by accident?” Max asked.

  “No way to tell. Maybe she had some reason to hide it. Maybe it slipped out. Maybe she was told to leave it. In any case, it helps explain her silence.”

  “What now?”

  “Good question.”

  “You should probably leave it there. In case it wasn’t an accident.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. I’m going to head back up the pyramid now, before first light.”

  “Roger that.”

  I put the cell phone back where I’d found it and began to leave, but stopped when an idea struck me. I pulled the pilot’s Glock from my pocket, ejected the clip, and removed all six bullets. Then I racked the slide to pop the seventh from the chamber, and slapped the empty clip back into place. Now nothing inside the Ansat would look amiss, unless Grigori was fastidious about his pistachio count.

  A thought struck me as I abandoned the helicopter in favor of the pyramid. I couldn’t even be certain that Katya was inside.

  Chapter 109

  Plan E

  DRESSED ONLY in a lacy bra and panties, Katya looked down at Grigori’s convulsing body, and wondered if she’d done something wrong. She thought she’d played it just right.

  As soon as they made it to his bedroom, all hot with lust and tipsy from champagne, she’d taken charge using her ‘Violet’ alter-ego. She issued commands in a firm but sexy voice, while moving seductively and stripping down to lingerie.

  Once she had Grigori where she wanted him, with his clothes on the floor and his guard dropped, Katya mimicked the moves of Vondreesen’s angel. She circled him with an index finger alternatively on her lower lip and the top of his shoulders, purring intermittently while his breathing became audible. Then whammo! She drove the end of her hair comb into the back of his neck.

  The hidden injector obviously delivered something. He dropped like a rock. But instead of slipping into sleep-like unconsciousness, he started flopping about like a landed fish.

  What had she done wrong?

  The answer struck her like a slap in the face. The antidote! She’d been so focused on knocking him out, that she’d forgotten part-two of Max’s procedure.

  But first the chloroform to keep him under.

  Katya dropped to her knees and removed the chloroform and M99 antidote from her bra. She found herself shaking as much as her victim, so she closed her eyes and pictured a beach with rolling waves and swaying palms until her hands were sufficiently steady.

  Now she needed something to absorb the chloroform. Her eyes landed on one of Grigori’s socks. Holding her breath, Katya poured half the contents of the tiny vial onto the black cotton, and placed it over Grigori’s nose. She wanted him inhaling the anesthetic while she administered the antidote.

  The naltrexone syringe had a long, thin needle. She pulled off the protective cap, took aim, and plunged it straight down into the thick muscle of Grigori’s right thigh without second thought or ceremony.

  His spasms ceased immediately.

  In fact, everything seemed to stop. He looked dead.

  Katya hadn’t known what to expect. No doubt Max had told her, but the memory had slipped. God, she hoped she hadn’t killed the pervert. The whole reason she’d gone through this humiliation was so that Achilles could learn how he planned to kill President Silver.

  She put her ear to Grigori’s hairy chest. His heartbeat seemed rapid for someone sleeping, more cha-cha than waltz, but it was steady.

  Enough already! Time for the ambulance.

  She threw her bra back on, but left the rest of her clothes on the floor, scattered amongst Grigori’s. The setting would be crucial to duping his guards.

  Where was her phone? It was supposed to be in the back pocket of her skinny jeans. She spent a frantic minute rummaging through discarded garments and around the bedroom, then another retracing every step they’d made since entering the door. There hadn’t been much prelude to the striptease. Not at two o’clock in the morning.

  Her phone simply wasn’t there.

  She couldn’t remember seeing it while removing her clothes. Maybe it had been stolen at the club.

  What did it matter? Achilles had made her memorize his number.

  She plucked Grigori’s cell from the front pocket of his pants — but couldn’t unlock it. The query screen didn’t want a fingerprint or a dot-connecting pattern. It just presented a keypad — and she didn’t have the code.

  Land line?

  She found none.

  She’d also have to use a guard’s ph
one. That would be tricky, but since she was impersonating a doctor, she could swing it. She’d have to remain clothed only in her underwear. That would underline the sense of urgency while providing some distraction. One more indignity for the cause.

  The elevator didn’t respond.

  She pressed and then pounded her palm against the reader, but got no response. No red light. No green light. No whirring motor. No chime. How could that be? Katya answered her own question. In the middle of the night, it was a sensible security precaution for a man waging geopolitical war.

  So what then?

  She could go out onto the terrace and try to catch Achilles’ attention. Surely he and Max would be watching.

  Neither of the doors responded either. Not the door to the terrace. Not the door to the office. Everything appeared to be locked down for the night. Grigori wasn’t messing around.

  Achilles had warned her that operations rarely went according to plan, but she hadn’t expected so many frustrations. Time for what, Plan C? Plan D? She’d lost count. In any case, it was time to make some noise.

  She retrieved a quart pot from the kitchen, and began hammering the steel base against the elevator’s brushed aluminum door. The noise was jarring to nerves already on edge, but she persisted. And persisted. At least she wouldn’t need to work at appearing hysterical over Grigori’s ‘heart attack’.

  Nobody responded.

  It seemed impossible that the guards didn’t hear — until she thought about it. She was thirty stories up a building made of rock and steel, and it was pouring rain outside.

  So what now? What was Plan E?

  She couldn’t do better than ‘Wait.’

  Wait for Achilles.

  He was probably no less frantic than she. No that wasn’t right. Achilles wasn’t the frantic type. No less concerned than she. Actually, he’d be more concerned. She knew she was safe.

  Waiting wouldn’t be easy. This wasn’t exactly a pass-the-time-watching-tv situation. As her new circumstances sank in, Katya realized that waiting was folly. She should be contingency planning. She should be setting the stage — in case Grigori awoke before Achilles arrived. Oh goodness, she didn’t want to think about that possibility.

  Chapter 110

  Transformations

  THE SUN PEEKED over the distant horizon at 4:31 a.m. Mid-May above the fifty-fifth parallel.

  Birds began chirping as I did a quick and quiet perimeter walk to confirm that all the windows were still opaque. They were. That was bad news. I was becoming visible faster than Grigori’s apartment.

  Since my presence at the peak would change the pyramid’s silhouette against the morning sky, I lay down with my head a foot below the crest. Max, can you see me?”

  “Negative.”

  “Let me know if that changes.”

  “Roger that.”

  The transformation began at 4:57, when the sun’s first rays touched the top of the pyramid like a golden crown. “I’ve got action. The triangles topping the northeast and southeast walls just turned clear. Ooh, there goes the next row, three more panes. They’re responding to the sun.”

  I looked down into Grigori’s lair, which had grown to mythical proportions in my mind. His enormous east wing office was decorated in what I’d call modern minimalist chic. Rich granite floors. Black leather seating. Dark wood tables polished to a diamond shine, and a glass kidney-shaped desk. There were rooms along the inside walls. A kitchenette and a bathroom.

  No lights were on.

  Nobody was present.

  I unclipped the tether and slid down a row, just as the windows beneath me transformed. I could see all the way through the pyramid now. That meant the top triangle on the residential walls had also cleared. Katya should be visible.

  I scampered around and lay with my head extending over a clear section. Cupping my hands to form a bridge between my forehead and the glass, I peered inside.

  The tones were lighter and warmer in the living quarters. Golden travertine floors, and honey-colored wood. “The residential half just opened. It’s split down the middle into two halves. I’m over the southwest section. It’s a great room, combining a living room with a kitchen. The kitchen looks fit for a Michelin-starred chef, complete with a full suite of stainless steel appliances and crowned with an island that boasts a Viking grill fit to handle an entire pig. Again no lights, no bodies.”

  “Katya’s got to be in the bedroom then,” Max said, echoing the words in my head.

  I circled around the empty office, and stretched my neck to peer through the corner of the bedroom’s top pane.

  “Well? What do you see?”

  “Not enough. The angle’s not right. All I see is the top of what I assume is either the bathroom or the closet. I’m going to scooch down and wait for the next level to clear.”

  “You’re killing me.”

  Max only had to suffer for a few seconds before the sun did its thing. The glass transformed, and there she was — looking right at me.

  She’d been waiting.

  My heart filled with joy.

  “Katya’s there. She looks fine. She’s lying in Grigori’s big white bed. She sees me. She’s smiling. She’s okay. She’s making the telephone sign with her hand and shaking her head. Now she’s pointing to Grigori, and making the sleeping sign.”

  I mimicked jabbing him with a hair comb.

  She nodded, then repeated the sleeping sign.

  “She knocked Grigori out, but apparently couldn’t call.”

  I looked a question at her.

  She smiled, pointed toward Grigori’s crotch, and shook her head.

  “He didn’t lay a hand on her.”

  I blew Katya a kiss.

  The next set of window panes cleared, pouring more light into the room.

  Grigori stirred, and opened his eyes.

  Chapter 111

  Disappearing Act

  AS GRIGORI SAT UP IN BED, I ducked my head back, slowly. Careful not to scrape anything that might make noise, I slid down another level and peeked back in. “They’re talking now. Katya is smiling at Grigori. He’s shaking his head. He looks like he’s got the century’s worst hangover. He’s getting up. Naked. Looks like he’s heading for the bathroom. Slow and wobbly.”

  Katya looked up and met my eye. She mimed a stabbing motion.

  I shook my head. Used my thumb to give her the get-out sign.

  She looked a question back at me. Was I sure?

  I gestured with my thumb again.

  Katya began pulling her clothes on.

  Good move.

  I brought Max up to speed.

  Katya looked back up once she was dressed.

  I mimicked, “Your phone’s in the helicopter,” and then pointed toward the bathroom.

  She gave me a thumbs up. She understood. Sending Grigori to get her phone was a good way to get his pants on.

  I considered dashing to the helicopter to lie in wait for Grigori to come to me, but tossed the idea. I wanted Katya safe before moving on him — and I had a better plan. One that wouldn’t put Katya’s safety on the line.

  Grigori reappeared still walking with deliberate moves. He spent some time on his tablet while talking with Katya, who played the role of starstruck guest. Clearly he and Vondreesen had synced on the technology thing, although I wasn’t sure who had led and who had followed. Another row of windows went clear, making it four of the ten.

  “What’s going on?” Max asked.

  “I’m not sure, but Katya’s dressed. Wait. She just left the room.”

  I made my way around the northern half of the pyramid, slow and flat so as not to capture the attention of anyone down on the street who happened to be looking up. “Katya’s at a breakfast table. A woman in a maid’s uniform is serving her tea. Another in a chef’s outfit is busy in the kitchen.”

  Watching was getting dangerous. I was only about forty feet up now, and the kitchen had two hostile sets of eyes.

  Then Grigori walked
in, and there were three.

  He was wearing black silk pajamas and fur-lined slippers. He had a coffee mug in one hand, and a phone in the other. He presented it to Katya, and they sat down to breakfast.

  The next half hour was tense and painful. My cover slipped away as they ate and the sun rose, drawing me ever closer. Meanwhile Grigori was regaining his wits and getting more time to study Katya’s face.

  I didn’t know if he’d seen the photos of her captured in the Santa Barbara courtroom, but the safe move was to assume that he had. Last night at Angels on Fire, wearing slutty makeup and silky lingerie, Katya had looked nothing like the meek mathematician who had presented herself to the Santa Barbara County Court. Even if she had, the context would have made it highly unlikely that an intoxicated, hormone-driven observer would manage to make the mental connection. But there, in the light of day, without sex on his mind and booze in his veins, the odds of Katya making it out the door were getting worse by the minute.

  I studied Grigori live for the first time. He struck me as dark, energetic, and mischievous. His sunken eyes and sharp features made me think of a badger, which coincidentally was the translation of his last name. One thing I hadn’t picked up on while studying pictures of him, was that his nose looked like it had been broken in a bar fight. I concluded that he hid it out of habit by turning his head for photographs.

  Another layer of windows gave way to clear just as a black suit entered the room. I scrambled to slip out of sight. By the time I readjusted my position and peered back in, Katya was gone.

  Chapter 112

  Change of Plans

  I GAVE GRIGORI’S great room a thorough visual inspection, reconfirming that Katya was gone. “Dammit!”

  “What?” Max asked, alarm in his voice. I’d heard him nervously drumming away on the steering wheel, but now he was all ears.

  “Katya’s gone. I think she left with a man in a black suit.”