The Emperor's Revenge

FOUR

With most of the city’s thirty-five thousand residents at the Grand Prix racecourse, the Boulevard de Belgique, only a few blocks away, was nearly deserted. On a normal Sunday, this Monte Carlo district, where Credit Condamine’s bank headquarters was located, would be teeming with tourists, but most of them were at the race. Sergey Golov was satisfied to see that they wouldn’t have to contend with many witnesses, just as they’d planned.

Henri Munier’s Tesla SUV stopped at the gate to the underground parking garage, and Golov slid Munier’s identity card into the reader. The hardened steel gate cranked up, and Golov steered the vehicle to the bank president’s private parking spot.

He switched off the SUV and nodded to Ivana Semova in the passenger seat. She connected her laptop to the car’s data port and began typing on the keyboard. Although she had introduced herself to Munier as Antonovich’s assistant, in reality she was the billionaire’s computer expert. The Kiev native had ditched her hacker lifestyle — breaking into American retail databases and designing viruses that could worm into secure financial systems — to help Antonovich protect his own companies from people just like her. Her work had been so stellar that he’d asked her to lead the team that designed the state-of-the-art digital control architecture on his yacht. He’d paid handsomely for her services, and she was worth every penny.

After a minute, she said, “Reprogramming complete.”

“That’s my girl,” Golov said. He turned in his seat to face Munier, who was sandwiched between O’Connor and Sirkal, Antonovich’s most trusted security operatives.

Rahul Sirkal had gained combat experience in the Indian military during the Kashmir conflict before joining the intelligence service, then retired five years ago to build a private security business. Though Antonovich was Russian, he had traveled the world extensively, so he didn’t limit himself to hiring from Russia alone. He’d come across Sirkal during a particularly troublesome negotiation with his Bangalore subsidiary and was so impressed that he hired the Indian to head up his own security team.

Seamus O’Connor, a florid Irishman and a veteran of the Irish Republican Army, was Sirkal’s weapons expert who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty when the need arose. He was the brawler to complement Sirkal’s technical approach.

Sitting between them, Munier looked decidedly apprehensive.

“I want to remind you that we will be watching and listening at all times,” Golov said to Munier.

Ivana turned the laptop’s screen toward him to show her and Golov, as seen from the wide-angle lapel camera on Munier’s jacket.

Munier nodded. “I understand.”

“If we lose the signal for more than three seconds, or we don’t see your hands in the frame for a similar amount of time, we will assume that you are attempting to reveal our involvement. Not only will we detonate the tiny explosive in the camera but your family will suffer before they die.”

“I said I understand.” Munier glanced around the parking lot. “And the guards inside? What are you going to do to them, once you’re in?”

“What do you think?”

“I… I can’t…”

“You can if you want your wife and children to live.”

Munier composed himself and nodded again.

“You have five minutes,” Golov said.

Munier got out and went to the elevator.

Ivana had the ultra-light laptop propped on her knees. The image coming from the lapel camera was clear, and they could distinctly hear Munier’s ragged breathing.

“Don’t hyperventilate,” Golov said into his microphone. “You’re supposed to look natural. Don’t leave the elevator until you compose yourself.”

“All right,” Munier replied, and his breathing slowed enough so that he no longer sounded like he was about to pass out from nervousness.

The elevator dinged, and Munier walked into the bank’s lobby. He was met by a uniformed guard, coming out of the security office.

The guard spoke to him in French. Ivana, who was fluent in four languages, translated for Golov.

“Munier called him André. He’s surprised to see Munier there.”

“He doesn’t look too happy about it, either,” Golov said.

“He was probably about to watch the race and is embarrassed he missed the arrival of Munier’s car in the garage. He doesn’t seem suspicious.”

Munier spoke again. The guard nodded and ducked into the security office next to the lobby.

“He went to get another guard named François. Munier told him that his driver was having a problem with the car and needed their help.”

Golov smiled. “He’s good at following a script.”

The plan was going exactly as he’d drawn it up. Golov’s command before Antonovich hired him to captain the Achilles was a Ukrainian frigate named the Poltava. He’d been trained by the Soviet Navy before the breakup of the USSR and then transferred to the newly christened navy of his native Ukraine. He’d become one of Ukraine’s preeminent naval strategists and was about to be recommended for a star in the admiralty. Then the Crimea crisis occurred. Russia annexed the entire peninsula and took over the Ukraine naval base at Sevastopol. Many of Ukraine’s best ships were seized, including the Poltava.

Golov had been reprimanded for letting his ship be confiscated, instead of sailing it out before the Russians could take it, and his career was effectively over.

An ex-pat Russian, Antonovich found a kindred spirit in Golov. Both of them despised the current leadership in Moscow. Antonovich had needed someone with Golov’s skills to command a yacht with the Achilles’s unique capabilities, so it had been a perfect match.

Now Golov was able to apply his planning skills to even more interesting work.

The two guards returned from the security office, never questioning the bank president’s request for them to leave their post and accompany him to the garage.

Golov and the three others exited the SUV and took positions on either side of the elevator. Sirkal and O’Connor had their Glock pistols leveled.

The elevator dinged when it arrived at garage level, and Munier led the guards out. When they were clear of the door, Golov said, “Bonjour.”

As the guards turned toward the voice, Sirkal shot André twice in the chest, then François.

Munier sobbed at the sight of them collapsing.

“Your family or them,” Golov reminded him.

O’Connor and Sirkal made sure the two guards were dead, then dragged their bodies to the back of the SUV and dumped them inside. Sirkal tossed the Glock in as well.

Golov nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

O’Connor shoved Munier into the elevator and they rode up to the lobby. The elevator camera had a good shot of all of them, but it wouldn’t matter now that the guards were no longer monitoring it.

Munier’s lavish office was at the rear of the marble lobby. Once they were inside, Ivana took a seat in his chair at the computer terminal.

“Thumb, please,” she said.

Munier sighed and put his thumb on the reader.

“Password.”

He typed it in, then leaned close to the desk. His right hand casually dropped to its surface.

“Don’t even think about pressing the silent alarm,” Golov said when he noticed Munier’s fingers edging under the desk. “Your family would be dead before the police could arrive.”

Munier snatched his hand away as if the desk were on fire.

“I wasn’t,” he said unconvincingly.

“I’m sure.”

With the computer system now wide open thanks to Munier’s biometric access, Sirkal and O’Connor pulled him back.

“This is pointless,” Munier said. “The vault is on a time lock until nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and that computer doesn’t even control it. I can’t open it no matter what you do to me or how much you threaten my family.”

“We don’t want your money,” Golov said.

Munier looked at him bewildered. “You don’t?” Comprehension dawned on him. “You’re going to transfer our depositors’ funds?”

“You are so very close. We needed a hard connection to your internal servers. After hackers repeatedly gained access to bank servers, security at every bank, including yours, was stepped up, and firewalls became impossible to breach from outside. But we’re not here to transfer money.”

“If you’re not stealing money, then why kill all these people and take such a big risk?”

Golov considered telling Munier the entire plan just to show how clever he was, but that would be bragging. Golov preferred to let his work speak for itself. Munier would never know the whole story, but the depositors would know soon enough.

“Your bank’s shareholders are going to have a very bad day tomorrow” was all he would say.

After ten minutes, Ivana announced, “The virus is uploaded and operating. It should be done in a few hours. I have to say it’s some of my best work.”

While humility was one of Golov’s traits, Ivana, like most hackers, was an incorrigible show-off.

“Excellent,” he said. “Then let’s take care of the cameras.”

She logged out, and they all went into the security guards’ observation room. She rapidly found the files she wanted and deleted everything except the segment showing Munier talking to André and then leading both guards to the garage.

With the videos edited, they went back to Munier’s office.

“Well, we’re almost done here,” Golov said, and turned to Ivana. “Are we ready?”

She nodded. “Everything is set up. The car is waiting outside.”

“I suppose this is when you kill me,” Munier said, sounding resigned to his fate.

“Not exactly,” Golov said. “We have other plans for you.”

“But you promised that my family—” Munier protested.

Golov put up his hands to calm him. “You’ve done what I asked and your family will remain unharmed. But it’s not going to be that easy for you, Mr. Munier. You have one more job to do.”

To Munier’s shock, Golov walked past him, reached under the desk, and pressed the button to trip the silent alarm.