“No, I’m fine. It’s just that there were a lot of details with Xi’s mission.”
“But everything went well?”
“Sure, but there are still some loose ends to tie up.”
Heidi tittered and kissed him hard. “I think you’re just saying that because you don’t want to have any more sex with me.”
He tensed and shook his head quickly. “No, how could you even think that?”
She didn’t answer but just looked at him. He sighed inwardly and kissed her passionately. He knew exactly what she wanted.
*
Half an hour later, Klaus gently got up from the bed and pulled on a robe. Heidi snorted heavily, and he shivered. He looked at the clock—half-past twelve. He collected his clothes and left the room hastily. He had to get hold of Xi now, right away. There was no time to lose, and there was too much at stake. Klaus had put everything on the line by planning and executing the hit against Novus. The decision hadn’t been sanctioned by the others on the board, but so far, Heidi had been behind him. He had known, of course, that she would back him on it. She was as greedy as he was, if not more so. That was the trait that had taken her to the top. Klaus had seen the possibilities and had therefore struggled to get to the position of Heidi’s assistant.
His phone vibrated.
“Yes?”
“It’s Xi.”
“Xi. What have you found?”
“Miguel and I have gone through most of what got from Novus.”
“And?” Klaus had to fight to keep his voice even.
“It looks like Markov’s Finland assistant is a woman named Aino Salo, and she’s key in the development of the treatment.”
Klaus frowned. He’d heard Salo’s name before but had thought she was just one of Markov’s regular assistants. “Is she more important than his other colleagues?” he asked Xi.
“Very. The documents we took say that she’s been invaluable in Markov’s success. And it looks like he’s given her both the antidote and the scanner used to find out if a person has been treated. I’m thinking he wanted to make sure everything was out of his hands if he were to be attacked.”
Klaus murmured, “Why are we only finding out about this now?”
“I cannot answer that.”
Klaus clasped his hands together as he thought. “Okay. Then we must adapt. After you get to Markov, you have to go to Helsinki and pick up this research partner of his, along with the antidote and scanner. I want everything. Is that clear?”
“Roger.”
A drop of sweat ran down Klaus’ forehead. He wiped it away. “Good. Call me when you’ve landed and are heading out to Markov’s place.”
“Okay.”
Klaus ended the call and looked out through the large windows and traffic below. Thick snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground, and the cars left thin tire tracks on the roads. He ran his fingers through his hair; he needed to think. There was so much at stake. He would get to the top at QuantumCorp no matter the cost—it had been his goal for so many years that this singular ambition had become part of his very soul. All the sacrifices, all the preparations he has taken, they had led him to this moment. That was the point.
He was jolted from his thoughts when he heard his name.
“Klaus?”
He turned and saw Heidi standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “I had to make an important call.”
She smiled and beckoned with her finger for him to come closer. “We’re not done yet,” she told him in a dreadful singsong voice.
Klaus smiled stiffly and walked toward her obediently.
*
Markov Tupolev sat heavily in the low, padded chair. The bowl he held in his hand slipped out of his fingers a moment too soon, slamming down onto the antique wood and spilling steaming onion soup onto the surface of the table.
“Damn!” he shouted as he grabbed a napkin to sop up the mess. When that one was saturated, he reached for another one to finish the job. Without looking up, he muttered, “Well, what do you think?”
The man already sitting at the table lifted two dark, bushy eyebrows. His face was weather-worn and frayed.
“What do I think about what?”
Markov belted out a laugh so loud that it echoed around the small dining room. “About what? You’re funny, Abram. So funny, ‘about what.’ About patient twelve, of course.”
Abram gave an uncommitted tilt of the head. “He looks promising, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice crackly from decades of cigarettes. “He’s survived and absorbed both injections. I look forward to seeing how he responds to the test this afternoon.”
Markov took a spoonful of what was left of the onion soup in his bowl as he listened. He replied, “As do I. Two hours left until we start the test. Is everything ready?”
Abram picked up the tablet that sat in the chair next to his and pulled up the notes on patient twelve. “All preparatory tests and checks are clear. He received the injections two hours ago, and according to the most recent tests, all his levels are within acceptable limits.”
Markov grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, revealing well-cared-for teeth except for one on the bottom that was chipped and discolored. “Good! Do one more check thirty minutes before start time. We have to be sure to get the results we want.”
Abram put the iPad back down, drank the last of the red compote in his glass, and chewed the small, red berries left over at the bottom before replying, “Of course.”
A drop of sweat ran down Markov’s back, and he suppressed a shiver. He had been fighting for a long time to get here. The sacrifices he’d made along the way were great, but now he would reap success. When he presented his discoveries to the leaders in Moscow, he would be recognized as a hero.
Admittedly, they had funded his research for years, but over the past year, he had seen a marked decrease in the amount he received. It didn’t make things any easier, but his luck would turn up. He just had to keep at it. If there was anything his father had taught him, it was to never give up. Markov opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.
He looked at Abram and said, “Be sure to check the patient again and complete the lab for the experiment. We’re starting in one hour.”
Abram nodded, then got up and took his dishes to the kitchen. Markov, left alone in the dining room, went over all the details one more time. Nothing must go wrong, not now that he was so close.
He finished his onion soup and cleared his place. Markov found himself alone in the kitchen, as well, and stared out the window over the sink. Something felt off, uneasy—probably just nerves, he figured. He turned his head at the sound of voices approaching. A moment later, two men in thick jackets came through the kitchen doorway. They fell silent when they saw Markov.
“Sorry, Dr. Tupolev.”
Markov nodded briefly and gestured. “It’s fine, Ilya. I’m heading down to the lab. You and Leonid can have some of this soup—it’ll warm you up. The chef prepared too much food again.” He pointed to the huge pot on the stove.
Ilya smiled. “Thank you, Doctor. That’s very kind of you.”
Markov returned the smile. “I’m the one who should thank you. You’re taking such good care of our little operation here.”
Both men tried to hide their surprise at the unexpectedly friendly response. They pulled off their jackets and residual snowflakes sprinkled down to the floor.
Markov motioned to the men. “Come.”
It was good to surprise the employees occasionally, he thought, and he was a master at it. Long ago, he’d learned how to manipulate his environment to get the best possible results. Ilya and Leonid each took a bowl, filled it with hot soup, and sat down at the dining room table.
Markov chuckled and said, “Enjoy, my lords. I’m heading down to the lab—my team and I will be busy for the next few hours, so make sure no one bothers us. Understood?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Ilya repli
ed.
Markov stepped to the dining room table and patted Ilya on the shoulder, then went into the hallway and threw a look in the large, gold-edged mirror. His reflection was not as slender as he remembered himself being in the days of his youth. His stomach buckled under the white lab coat, and sweaty strands of hair lay combed over the glossy dome of his head. A surge of disappointment rushed through him, but he shook it off. Now wasn’t the time to focus on the negative. Now was the time to win.
He stomped the floor, stretched, and approached the heavy metal door under the stairs. It had no doorknob or keyhole but was simply an imposing, but plain, slab of thick steel. A scanner was embedded in the wall beside it, and Markov placed his palm against the smooth glass. A lime-green line of light slid from top to bottom, and as the door opened, he was met by a familiar odor.
Markov stepped through the opening and followed the stairs down until he came to another door that had no knob. This one slid up as he approached, exposing a chamber that was oblong and quite deep. Four people were feverishly at work, but they looked up as Markov entered the room.
“How does it look?” he asked them.
Everyone answered in a chorus, “Everything looks good.”
Markov’s mouth tensed into a humorless smile. “Good. Keep on getting things ready. We will start,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “in ninety-two minutes.”
The workers returned to what they were doing. Behind Markov, the door slid up again and Abram entered the room.
“Do you have five minutes?” he rasped.
“Yes, what is it?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
Markov followed Abram into a smaller, nearby room with white walls, bare except for a man lying motionless on a stretcher. Abram approached him and raised his right arm.
“Here, you see?”
Markov came closer and saw what Abram was referring to. A thin, spiderweb-like pattern stretched down the forearm to the hand. Markov leaned in to inspect it more closely, then lifted his eyes to Abram.
“When did this show up?”
Abram shrugged. “It wasn’t there when I checked him last, and that was just an hour ago.”
Markov studied the unusual pattern, tracing it with his index finger. The lines looked like they’d been drawn with thousands of little red dots.
“It has to be a reaction to the nanobot injection,” Abram said. “We didn’t see anything on him after he got the quazepam.”
Markov nodded, standing. “I agree. Be sure to check and see if it spreads even more.” He put his hand on the sleeping man’s chest. “If we’re lucky, it’s just a minor reaction. His pulse is strong.”
The last part he said quietly to himself. There was so much at stake—what they’d achieved in his underground lab was nothing short of revolutionary. With this series of injections, one could compel a person to obey almost any command. For so many years, this kind of breakthrough had been the holy grail for the counter-espionage world: to be able to control any human being. And that was exactly what Markov had succeeded in doing with two injections, one consisting of nanobots that infiltrated the brain, and one that enabled the administrant to take control.
Markov stomped the floor with excitement and spun around. “Go through everything once more, Abram. Make sure we’re ready.”
11
“How are you feeling?”
Hugo turned around and looked at Sussie, sitting behind him.
“Okay,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“Anything you want to share?”
Hugo studied her. Sussie was quite short, with dark hair and eyes. She had a bounce in her step that made her look like she was hopping when she walked. He’d already taken a liking to her.
“Yeah, just thinking about Felix and when we were growing up. We’ve always been close, ever since we were little. Some twins have that kind of bond, you know—something deeper. I could always sense when Felix was hurt.”
Sussie frowned and held onto her armrests as the plane descended through one last bit of turbulence.
“Really?”
“Yeah. And that ability seemed to grow stronger as we got older. It wasn’t always good, of course.” He chuckled.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you know how it can be between brothers—everything becomes a competition. Even the smallest thing, like getting our dirty clothes from our rooms down to the laundry room in the basement. We almost drove our parents ballistic.”
Sussie laughed. “I can image you two pushing your parents to the limit.”
Hugo laughed too, then fell silent again. He knew that Felix was hovering between life and death. He could feel that deep, aching pain far down inside. It was deeper this time, more serious than he had ever felt, and he instinctively understood that Felix stood at the brink of death.
Sussie picked up on Hugo’s mood and laid her hand on his arm.
“He’ll do well. He’s strong. If anyone’s going to make it, it’s him.”
Hugo swallowed and looked gratefully at her. “Thanks.”
*
One hundred and seven kilometers to the east of the aircraft lay Pulkovo Airport outside St. Petersburg. A cell phone rang, and a rough, calloused hand pulled it out of a jacket pocket.
“Yes?”
“It’s Xi Liu.”
Silence. Then, finally, “Yes?”
“Am I talking to Vlado?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. I’m in an airplane heading for St. Petersburg and land in half an hour.”
“Yes?”
“Another airplane will be landing just before us. It’s carrying a small group of people that I need you to stop. I pay well.”
Vlado grinned. “Who gave you this number?”
“Janus. I need a triggerman and you’re the closest available.” Xi paused. “We pay in dollars.”
“Okay, I understand. No problem. Send over the information about which flight and who the people are we’re supposed to stop. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“I hope I wasn’t misinformed about your effectiveness,” said Xi. “After the job is completed, you’ll receive a standard payment of one million dollars.”
Vlado had heard enough. “It will be fine. Send the information and I’ll take care of the rest.” He ended the call and then dialed another number.
A hoarse, male voice answered. “Marat here.”
“Hey. Get hold of Makar—we have a job to do.”
Two minutes later, Vlado was approaching a closed door in a dusty office corridor. The whole department was under repair at the moment, which gave Vlado an excellent cover as a contractor. Few people—living ones, that was—knew he was one of the most effective assassins in the country. In recent years, he’d been responsible for the deaths of seven people.
He opened the door and headed to a row of metal cabinets. He spun the combination on the lock and opened it. The air in the cupboard smelled heavily of oil, grease, and dirt. Vlado grabbed two AK-74 rifles and placed them in a black cloth bag. In his line of work, you had to be prepared. He would make the attack look like a mafia-type hit that had gone awry. He’d used that tactic before and it had always worked.
His phone vibrated when he received the text messages about the job. Vlado pushed aside a pair of dirty overalls hanging in the closet, exposing another rifle, the newer AN-94. The slender assault weapon made his fingers twitch. He put it in his bag, closed it, and secured the metal cabinet. After this job, he would have to take a long vacation—maybe a year or two, until it all settled down. He’d felt a little worn down by the last one anyway, so it would be good to get some environmental change. He changed into some clean overalls, picked up his bag, and disappeared from the room.
*
The landing was hard, and the plane swerved right as the pilot stepped on the brake. The aircraft rolled and someone shouted, “Hold on!”
Hugo, deep in thought, barely noticed the commotion. He need
ed to call Lita, or at least text her. She must be sick with worry, he thought.
Mikko bumped his shoulder. “We’re here, buddy.”
Hugo shook his head to clear it. The four teammates took their bags from the luggage compartment above them, and when the attendant opened the door, they made their way to the stairs. Nearly half a dozen planes were parked around them, and the ground was covered with a thin layer of snow. Fat snowflakes swirled around Hugo’s face, and he shivered as a blast of cold air hit him in the face like a tight fist. His breath left his nose in small clouds as he began to descend.
An old, bulky truck swung around a plane parked fifty yards away and headed in their direction. Hugo assumed it was the supply truck at first, but when the heat of the first rounds hissed by them, it was clear that the rest of this day was not going to go as expected. Instinct took over and he pushed Mikko forward.
“Down! Now!”
Mikko threw the bags over the edge of the stairs and they vanished into the darkness. Then he jumped down the remaining stairs, landing in a snowdrift. Hugo prepared to jump after him; Sussie was next in line.
“There’s another one!” she shouted, pointing from the top of the stairs.
Another old beast of a truck was heading toward them fast. Its tall, thin tires cut deep grooves in the snow-covered ground. A man hung out of the passenger window holding an automatic rifle. He raised the weapon and fired a long burst, and ten rounds struck the side of the aircraft, busting three of its windows. The harsh, stinging sound reverberated loudly through the air, but Hugo knew the attackers had planned well for this. They were far from the main terminals, and in this weather, the snow would dampen the sound of gunfire. It would probably take a few minutes before the control tower understood what was happening.
Hugo threw himself over the edge of the stairway, thanking his lucky stars when he landed in a snowdrift. He rolled, got to his knees, and saw Mikko. He had gone around the stairs and now squatted behind them.
Revenge Page 6
