Mastermind- Rise of the Trojan Horse

by Tom Wheeler

  “And Microsoft built software, I know. I just don’t—”

  “. . . like it?” Jonah cut Adam off. “Except we need economies of scale, which the government can attain faster than we can. Believe me, this is good news. Well, unless you don’t want to become a billionaire.” Jonah smiled.

  “You think we will have access to Mason’s work?” Adam asked, apparently processing the information in a positive direction.

  “Jack bugged his computer,” said Jonah as Jack flashed an evil-looking sneer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Geez,” said Adam, turning around, hand on forehead as Jonah wore an avid look. “You can’t spend a billion dollars in prison.”

  “Mason needed a new computer. I knew that call from Hannah wasn’t social, so I installed Pegasus,” Jack supplied.

  “How the hell did you get ahold of Pegasus? That’s malware from—”

  “Spyware, Israel. Everything can be bought. You know that.”

  “Except he will use NASA’s computers,” said Adam.

  “Some very notable people have used devices that aren’t approved by the federal government,” replied Jonah. “Besides, they might not be ready for Mason, so allowing him to use his computer is more likely.”

  “Mason’s not a politician,” Adam said.

  “Don’t worry, Adam; his computer is more like a surveillance system than a computer.”

  “They’ll find it,” said Adam. “Crap, Mason will find it.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, gentlemen; I know what I’m doing,” said Jack. “My dad worked for Hoover. Besides, if they do find it, they won’t blame it on us, since nobody is supposed to have it but the feds. They’ll think some foreign government is involved.”

  “The Russians again?” Adam said, now standing by the window, looking out into the distance. “Or do you mean the Turks? I’d hate to be on your bad side, Jonah. Or should I say yours, Jack? What do you have on me?”

  “Besides the fact you can’t have a ‘social drink’?” said Jack.

  “When I drink, I drink. When I don’t . . . ,” said Adam defensively.

  “Except you black out, Adam, and you aren’t married to your sleeping partners. Like I said, we have to trust one another. Nobody else,” said Jonah as Jack’s gaze floated to his shoes and Adam’s face flushed.

  “Speaking of dirt, the investigator you asked me to hire hasn’t been able to track Roman Gagranovich or General Troyanskiy. Are you sure you have those names correct?” asked Jack, looking at Jonah as Adam sat down again and shoved his hand through his hair.

  “I thought so, but maybe not,” said Jonah, relieved that his own alias and contact were off the radar. It was his way of ensuring his own secrets, by asking someone to track them. It was risky, but effective. If they couldn’t track Roman Gagranovich, he was cleared to become the man without concern.

  “Who are they, anyway?” asked Jack.

  “Names I’ve heard. I’ll tell you later. I’m bringing Mason back into the room. Don’t wear a plastic smile, Adam; just tell him you understand. You hate it, but you know I’m right. You would do the same thing. Oh, and you would,” he said. “I’d keep that in mind.”

  “And the actuator?” asked Adam as he sat forward in his chair.

  Adam didn’t appear to like what he was hearing, but was in no position to do anything about it, Jonah thought to himself.

  “I’ll take care of that with Mason,” Jonah said.

  Adam took a deep breath.

  “Do you want to ask him why he went from being adamant about androids to noncommittal responses?”

  “No. We need to let him go. The less he thinks we care, know, or suspect, the better. We’re just nice bosses doing the right thing.”

  “Right. Nice bosses doing the right thing. I like that,” said Jack. “We are, aren’t we?”

  Jonah and Jack laughed as Adam pursed his lips. Jack opened the door. Mason entered.

  

  34

  New Start

  September 7

  Ahmadi’s Hidden Hangar

  Tehran, Iran

  “Am I dead?” Rihanna asked, opening her eyes. It hurt to breathe. She squinted, then squeezed her eyes shut, only to reopen them, touching her pounding head. Her entire body ached, although the pain coming from her upper arm, at her shoulder, distracted her from the other pain. She lay in her tight black garments, still stuck to her body except for the part around her shoulder that had been cut away.

  “Should be,” said her friend Tasha, now seated next to her. “What else is new?”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say?” responded Rihanna, still groggy, pushing herself up against the only desk in the hangar. She licked her lips as she scanned the area. Large. Empty. One long, barred window allowing bright light to enter the dungeonlike area, a bunch of hay on the floor under her, a desk, and the most state-of-the-art helicopter in the world sitting in the background.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” asked Tasha, looking at Rihanna wide-eyed.

  “When?” asked Rihanna, now looking at her friend. Tasha’s long black hair flopped across her stunningly attractive face, her brown eyes equally soft and intense. Her belly was flat, and her curvy figure was admirable, although the overall muscle disparity was clearly on the side of Rihanna.

  “When you were born. And all the decisions you have made since.”

  “Funny.”

  “Word on the street is someone broke into Ahmadi’s house.”

  “Really? Did they take anything?”

  “They aren’t saying. Listen, I know you did it—”

  “Me? I was on a date, please.”

  “Some date. You know, if you steal Ahmadi’s helicopter, you probably will be dead for real this time.”

  “I thought he was dead,” Rihanna told her, grimacing.

  “Americans blew him out of the sky.”

  “They admitted it?” Rihanna asked skeptically.

  “Duh, no. They’re denying it. You’re right. I’d steal it if I knew how to fly. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before all of Iran is a desert.”

  “If you truly believe that, come with me,” said Rihanna, now holding her forehead with her right hand as she covered her eyes to block the blinding light coming in from the sun.

  “I have three kids, remember? I can’t go with you.”

  “Right. Sorry. You know, former supreme leader Rouhani told me he thought he could populate the planet with Iranians in order to take over the world.”

  “He didn’t really say that!” retorted Tasha.

  “Told me to my face. He would have raped me for the same reason, had he not known I would break his neck or cut off his di—”

  “I get it,” Tasha interrupted, moving hay under her hand. “Anyway, all dictators want to populate the world with their people—you know, blond, blue-eyed babies.”

  “Or dark hair and slanted eyes,” said Rihanna, forcing a smile and attempting to move.

  “Where are you going?”

  Rihanna took a deep breath and winced as she sat up a bit.

  “What did you do?” asked Rihanna, looking at her shoulder. She ignored Tasha’s question and again touched her head.

  “Extracted the bullet and stitched your head. That’s what ER nurses do. You’re just lucky I stole the right medical equipment to actually fix your shoulder; I’m not sure if I did anything to help your head except put in stitches,” she said, smiling.

  “You’re a thief now?” Rihanna joked, examining the work her friend had performed.

  “Yeah, and you’re a bozo. How are your ribs?” Tasha inquired, standing up.

  “One of them hurts pretty bad. The others don’t bother me anymore.”

  “Where are you going, Rihanna?” Tasha repeated. “I’m worried about you.�
�

  “Aw, now you’re worried about me? France. Help me up.”

  “France?” Tasha put her hand under Rihanna’s arm.

  “Ouch! Not there!”

  “Where, then? Your ribs are cracked, shoulder’s got a bullet in it, head’s stitched, and the rest of your body is bruised. So, where can I touch you?”

  “You don’t pull people up by the head, Tash. I can do it,” answered Rihanna, grimacing while putting her hand on the face of the desk and slowly pushing herself straight up, stretching in pain.

  “They say France is the best place to hide. Besides, I’ve got a French passport,” she told Tasha, holding her rib cage. “Why? You have another idea?”

  “Who are ‘they’? You can’t just jump into a stolen helicopter and fly across the world. You know that, right?”

  “I googled it.”

  “How in the name of Allah could you possibly have a passport, let alone a French one?”

  Rihanna rolled her eyes. “A friend of Ahmadi’s.”

  “Who? Not that I—”

  “General Troy something. I wouldn’t have known to call him if Ahmadi hadn’t left a burner phone in the copter with the name written on a piece of paper. But anyone Ahmadi deals with has power. I just made assumptions and—”

  “Right, it’s Rihanna I’m talking to—always one step ahead. You outthink everyone. No wonder you’re still alive, although I think your luck has run out. It’s, what, 5,000 miles to France?”

  “Four,” said Rihanna. Tasha shook her head. “But I pick up my passport in Bandar Abbas, so five is about right.”

  “Why there? Never mind. You’ll be shot down en route.”

  “That’s where Troy sent me. I’ll have people watching my back, at least until I get out of the devil’s desert.”

  “What’s your new name?”

  “Can’t tell you. Sorry, Tasha. The only person who knows that name is Troy, since I needed it for the passport.”

  “Seriously? How do you know he isn’t going to kill you?”

  “Good point, I don’t. But I have no reason to think he wants me dead.”

  “He might when he finds out you stole that helicopter,” said Tasha, arms folded.

  “True. Can’t think about it now. As for not telling you, it’s for your own good. Anyway, I’m tired of running, tired of working for dictators, tired of living in a desert. I’m going to settle down.”

  “Mm-hmm. It’s hard to change, you know that?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m going straight.”

  “Sexually, financially, or criminally?” asked Tasha.

  “Funny. What’s that?” asked Rihanna, ignoring the comment, looking at a bottle Tasha had just pulled out of her pocket.

  “Pain medication. Or have you given that up, too?”

  Rihanna reached for the bottle.

  “Figured you may need it.”

  “You’re a saint. I really thought I was dead this time,” she said, tossing two pills into her mouth. “Water?” she requested.

  Tasha handed her a bottle of water as Rihanna grimaced.

  “Well, I don’t mean to continue my role as a naysayer, but you probably will be if you take this trip,” Tasha said as Rihanna took a long swig of water.

  “Perhaps,” said Rihanna, setting the bottle down on the table.

  Tasha paused, her demeanor changing. Her eyes showed intensity, and yet tears welled. “When are you leaving on this solo expedition?”

  “Well, I am assuming I have to go now. The more time that passes, the less time I have to take Ahmadi’s toy.”

  “Be careful, Rihanna. I don’t want to see your picture on the news.”

  “I doubt I’m newsworthy; not here, anyway. I’d just disappear like most. Oh, the car is yours,” said Rihanna, unwilling to ride the emotional roller coaster—at least not yet. “The title is in the glove compartment. It’s paid for. Here are the keys. There’s some cash for gas, too,” she added, smiling.

  “Oh, thanks. Crap, Ri, where’s the Porsche?” asked Tasha, sniffling hard with a slight smile.

  “Sorry, I sold it.”

  “I thought you said driving that car was the closest you could get to flying without lifting off the ground.”

  “Flying on wheels, that’s right. I needed the money, and who knows what’s to become of the world.”

  “Probably just as well. Someone would probably shoot me by mistake if I was in your car. No offense,” Tasha quipped, smiling.

  “Nobody knows about this place. Ahmadi saw to it. He kept it run-down so nobody would snoop. I doubt he wanted anyone knowing he had the fastest helicopter on the planet sitting inside this hangar.”

  “Where are you going?” Tasha inquired as Rihanna started to move.

  “I need my bag.”

  “I’ll get it,” Tasha said. Rihanna stripped off her black tights, her rear facing Tasha, who was now walking back.

  “Nice butt,” she said.

  “Can you just open the bag and hand me some real clothes?” Rihanna snarked, turning around. Tasha took a step toward her and lightly placed her hand on her chest. Her gaze followed Rihanna’s legs and torso, up to her eyes. Rihanna moved away.

  “Tash, we were drunk,” she said, slipping on her underwear. “It was just sex.” She felt like she finally owned her heart, not that she hadn’t thought she’d owned it before; she just hadn’t known the difference. Something had changed.

  “Can’t deny it was fun,” Tasha said, backing off as Rihanna slipped on jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Yeah, well, the government would kill you for less. Be discreet, Tash. Oh, Tash—one more thing?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “The Grand Book is in the car. Read it, okay?”

  “I’m a devout Muslim, Rihanna. You know that. I read the Qur’an. Besides, I don’t need another religion. They’ve already tried to put me in a box I don’t seem to fit.”

  “Like I do? Just give it a shot, okay?” Rihanna pleaded, understanding the not-so-favorable reaction. “Remember who you’re talking to,” she said, looking Tasha in the eyes.

  “How’d you even get a copy?”

  “The black market, my friend.”

  “Right.”

  “Tash, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. They gave me four months to live.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tasha asked, shocked.

  “Never mind. I was transporting a guy for Ahmadi who had enough drugs in him to keep him passed out for the duration of my trip. Somehow he woke up from his stupor and told me about Emmanuel before he passed out again. I was skeptical, too, but one thing got my attention. Besides the fact that he should have been unconscious . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “He wasn’t a demanding hypocrite like most religious people.”

  “Duh, you just said he was on drugs,” said Tasha, smiling.

  “I said he was drugged. This is serious, Tasha.”

  “Sorry, what got your attention?”

  “He asked me what evidence there would be at the end of my life to convict me of something if my life were on trial.”

  “What?” Tasha asked as her eyes narrowed. “Geez.”

  “His point was to be careful how I live my life, since one day it will be over. He said all this having no idea about my cancer.”

  “Deep. Are you talking about the American who was kidnapped a couple of months ago in Iran?”

  “Mm-hmm. Mason Thomas. He went on to suggest I pray for something that only the Almighty One could do for me. I don’t get scared very often, but cancer scared me. Life is different when you are faced with death. Sacrilegious discussions lose their appeal. Subsequently, I prayed for Emmanuel to heal me of my cancer.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Long story short, I ended up back in the ho
spital. For some reason my doctor had me retested for cancer while operating on me. The cancer was gone.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but they must have misdiagnosed you. I’m the nurse, remember?”

  “I figured you’d say that, so I wrote down his name and number. Dr. Noroozpur. He’s at Jam Hospital. Ask him,” she said, knowing Tasha would be dissatisfied with her appeal.

  “It’s illegal for him to tell me your medical history.”

  “Which is why I left your name on my paperwork, giving you access to my medical records. Please. Like you said, you’re a nurse. Talk to this doctor. He’ll tell you there’s no explanation for what happened to me. It literally disappeared,” Rihanna said, pausing. “Then read the Grand Book. Okay?”

  “No promises, Rihanna. If I told my family I was switching from Islam, they’d disown me. I’m not alone like . . . ,” she said, stopping, her face brooding.

  “I know . . . You’re not a loner like me. I’d be skeptical, too, Tasha, but don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m the least religious person you’ve ever met.”

  “True,” she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding.

  “I’m a new person, and it’s not because of Mohammed—not that I have anything against him, although some of his followers are a bit over the top. At least give it a shot,” said Rihanna, now leaning on the table. She embraced her friend. “Bye, Tasha,” Rihanna murmured as a tear fell from her eye. “I’m grateful for your friendship.”

  “Since when do you cry?” asked Tasha. Rihanna looked at her compassionately.

  “Exactly.” Rihanna held Tasha’s gaze for a moment.

  “Thank you, Tasha. I’ll try to let you know I’m alive when I get settled. But if you don’t hear from me, don’t worry. Regardless of what happens next, I’ve found the peace I’ve been searching for all my life,” she said as Tasha gently hugged her.

  “What about your family?”

  “I sent some money to Mom. I couldn’t tell her, but I’ll contact her when I get settled.”