The Emperor's Revenge

FIFTY-SIX

It wasn’t often that the entire crew of the Oregon assembled on deck, but no one was going to miss Mike Trono’s funeral. The notoriously vicious weather this area off the coast of Norway was known for had given way to a cloudless sky, allowing the ship to maintain its position on the placid sea. The peaks flanking a fjord in the distance lent the ceremony a majesty that complemented its solemn mood.

Before speaking, Juan took a moment to look at his people one by one. He caught the eye of some of them. Others couldn’t look at him for fear of breaking down. Some wore dark suits and dresses — even Murph had foregone his normal T-shirt for a formal suit and tie borrowed from Eric Stone. Many of the military veterans, including Linc, Linda, Eric, and MacD, were in their dress uniforms. Gretchen, who didn’t know Mike the way the rest of them did, respectfully stood in the back. Few of the eyes were dry, and every face choked back emotions at losing one of their own.

Mike’s body lay inside a metal casket atop a platform draped with an American flag. The death certificate and necessary permit for transporting his remains into Oslo had been created by Kevin Nixon in the Magic Shop.

Because they knew how dangerous this job was, every crew member had filed a last will and testament with the Corporation. Mike’s directive had been for Juan to notify his mother, father, and sister in Vermont, where they would arrange a memorial service. The conversation with his family had been just as heart-wrenching as Juan had anticipated. Mike’s final wish was for the Oregon crew to commit his body to the sea.

This wasn’t the first time that a member of the crew had been killed in action, but that didn’t make the occasion any easier to endure. In Mike’s sealed letter to Juan, he asked that remarks during his burial be brief. He’d rather the crew spend their time drinking and laughing as they remembered him. Juan did his best to grant that request.

“We’ve lost a great friend and co-worker in Michael James Trono,” he said, “but, more than that, we’ve lost a part of our family. Mike died the way he lived, putting his life on the line to ensure our success without ever thinking of himself. He was a man of action and honor, and he made the world a better place just by being in it.”

Juan cleared his throat and went on. “Mike wanted us to send him off with a celebration of his life. Sharing a drink. Sharing some laughs. Sharing war stories. And we’ll do all of that when we can. But he also would have wanted us to finish our mission first. There was no place Mike would rather be than on this ship and with this crew and he will be here as long as we remember him.”

Juan stepped aside for Julia Huxley, who worked hard to keep her voice steady as she read a prayer. Then Juan commanded, “Firing party, present arms!” Linc, Linda, and MacD stepped forward, weapons at the ready. The pallbearers tilted the platform holding the casket, sending it into the sea during a three-gun salute. There was no bugle on board, so Max started a playback of Taps over the Oregon’s external speakers. They stood rigid for the mournful dirge, while two of the pallbearers folded the flag and handed it to Juan. He would send it to Mike’s parents along with their son’s other effects.

Still in his suit, he went down to the conference room, where his senior staff gathered along with Gretchen.

“I’m sorry we have to get right back into this,” he said, “but I don’t think we have much time to act. Gretchen, before the funeral you told me that you got a tip about Antonovich’s upcoming whereabouts.”

“Yes, Interpol has been in contact with the two sons of Lars and Oskar Dijkstra, the brothers killed in the Gibraltar plane crash. We’ve been investigating it as a possible act of terrorism, and their family has given their full cooperation. They told us that their fathers had been scheduled to attend a private opening of the new European Continental Control Hub outside of Maastricht, the Netherlands, in a few days.”

Juan sat forward. “Is that related to the electrical grid?”

“Yes. Bliksem Raster, the Dijkstra-Antonovich joint venture, was responsible for a good portion of the control architecture. It came online last week, and the CEOs are scheduled to get a private tour of the facility.”

“When?”

“It was supposed to be day after tomorrow at four p.m.”

“I’ll bet Antonovich asked to move it up, didn’t he?”

Gretchen nodded. “He asked to shift it to tomorrow at the same time.”

“They’re pushing their time line forward because they’re jumpy about what happened in Vilnius. The question is, what’s their endgame?”

“Eric and I have an idea about that,” Murph said.

“The Control Hub was designed to manage all of the European grid’s transformer stations from one central location,” Eric said. “It would be the perfect spot to attack the power system.”

“You think they’re trying to take down the continent’s whole electrical grid?” Juan asked.

“We’re already past the ten days that was warned about in the message ShadowFoe left at Credit Condamine for us,” Murph said, “and there hasn’t been a financial meltdown, so the banks have breathed a sigh of relief, right? Well, what if that threat was empty? Maybe they never planned to take down the banking system. We suspect that the bank security code was compromised as a result of the Credit Condamine heist, so what if their plan all along was to hack into the banks for money?”

Gretchen shook her head. “But we’ve been monitoring the banks very carefully since then. There have been no large discrepancies in trading or deposits.”

Eric raised a finger. “They’d know you’d be watching. But what would happen if the trades were transacted right before a major power outage?”

Her face clouded at the implications of the question. “The banks would be scrambling just to get the system back online. Any extended disruption would cause a financial meltdown. Tracking any bogus trades would be a low priority until we got everything up and running again. In fact, it might be impossible to trace them even after the system was functional again.”

“I think ShadowFoe knows that,” Murph said. “They could get away with billions.”

Juan asked, “What does the transformer station at Zingst have to do with this?”

Eric answered, “The destruction of the Frankfurt transformer station has minimized the ways power can be redistributed. Suddenly, losing the Zingst station would be catastrophic.”

“We’re talking a continent-wide blackout,” Murph said. “Transportation would grind to a halt. Gas pumps wouldn’t work. Airports would shut down. Computers and communication networks would be inoperable. No phones. No Internet. The economy would go into a free fall.”

“How long would it take to get the power back up if most of Europe’s transformers went off-line?” Juan asked.

“Three months, if we’re lucky.”

“Three months?”

“When we say the transformers would melt down,” Eric said, “we mean that literally. They would be totally destroyed. And industrial-sized transformers aren’t exactly available at the local hardware store. They’d have to be built from scratch, transported, and installed after the damaged ones were ripped out.”

Murph added, “Without power, how do factories in Europe make new ones? They’d have to come from overseas, which would take even longer.”

“It would be complete anarchy,” Juan said with grim understanding. “Millions could be starving within weeks without food shipments.”

“I have to warn my superiors at Interpol,” Gretchen said. “Get them to stop the tour.”

“You can try. But based on what evidence? This is all a hunch, though it’s one I happen to believe.”

“Then postpone it at least.”

“Give it a shot,” Juan said. “But I’m not putting my eggs all in that basket. Billionaires are hard to say no to.”

“You want to stop them ourselves.”

“I’m not going to sit on my hands while Antonovich and Golov bring Europe to its knees. If there are two prongs to their attack on the electrical grid — the Control Hub and the transformer station — then we have to take on both prongs. Eddie, take Linc and Murph to the Netherlands and meet with the relatives of the Dijkstras. I want you on that tour with them in case ShadowFoe tries anything.”

“Sure,” Eddie said, “but how do we convince them to take us along?”

“I’m going to send them the video of the Achilles destroying the Narwhal. That should be enough to give them doubts about their fathers’ business partner.”

“Where will I be?” Gretchen asked.

“With me right here on the Oregon,” he said. “I don’t think a coastal transformer station was chosen randomly. I bet Golov is going to use Antonovich’s yacht to destroy it and I want you there with the full force of Interpol when we capture the Achilles.”