The Emperor's Revenge

Epilogue

This kind of view must be why tourists flock to the island, Juan thought as he stood alone on the aft deck of the Oregon. The late-afternoon sun perfectly framed the scenic rocky coastline of the Danish island, situated halfway between Sweden and Poland. Gossamer wisps of clouds daubed the azure sky, and a light breeze lifted a pleasant salty tang from the sea. A lone gull noiselessly hovering over the fantail was his only company.

Soon the sound of the waves crashing against the nearby shoreline was punctured by the throb of helicopter blades pulsing in the air. The seagull banked away, making room for the Oregon’s MD 520N helicopter as it flared out over the ship’s landing pad. Gomez Adams grinned at him as he smoothly landed the unusual chopper, with its rotorless tail. The skids had barely kissed the deck when he killed the engine.

Juan walked over and opened the helicopter’s passenger door. Gretchen greeted him with a warm smile.

“Nice of you to send this first-class ride for me,” she said as she gingerly climbed down with Juan’s assistance. “Breathing outdoor air is a nice change after being cooped up in a hospital room for a month.”

When she had both feet firmly planted on the deck, she removed a brass-tipped cane from beside the seat while Juan grabbed her small suitcase.

“No more walker for you, I see,” he said, holding her arm as she hobbled off with him.

“My first full day with a cane. I felt like an old lady riding in those courtesy carts at the airport on the way here, but they do get you around fast.”

“I like it. Very sophisticated.”

“Oh, I’m sure the rehab nurses at Bethesda thought the same thing when they taught me how to use it. By the way, I’m supposed to pass compliments on to Julia Huxley from the surgeons there. They commented several times on what an excellent job she did realigning my fractured pelvis.”

That was high praise coming from doctors at Bethesda Naval Hospital, one of the best in the world. Juan had taken Gretchen there personally after her injury and spent several days with her before returning to the Oregon.

“You can tell her yourself tonight over dinner,” Juan said. “Chef has put together a banquet fit for a queen.”

“I just wish I could have been there for Mike Trono’s wake. I imagine it was quite the party.”

“You will definitely hear stories about it. Ask MacD about his impromptu karaoke serenade.”

“Can’t wait. How are he and Eric doing?”

“Eric’s still in a cast, but he loves whizzing down the halls on his scooter. MacD’s shoulder didn’t sustain any structural damage, and he’s already bragged about showing off his nice new scar to the ladies.”

“As if he needs more help in that department.” Instead of going inside, Gretchen steered them toward the railing. “I want to take in this view.”

They leaned against the railing for a few silent moments. Gretchen’s eyes reflected the sunlight as she inhaled the sea breeze.

Maurice appeared seemingly out of nowhere, carrying a tray holding two glasses.

“A refreshment after your trip, Ms. Wagner. It’s an elderflower cordial, a local Danish concoction.”

“Thank you, Maurice.”

“I’ll take your luggage to your cabin.” The octogenarian steward retreated with her bag just as quietly as he had arrived.

“How does he do that?” she asked Juan as she sipped her drink.

“My theory is that he was trained by ninjas.” He paused to take a sip, then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t have stayed longer with you at the hospital.”

She waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it. I know you had a lot to do back here. The ship looks as awful as usual, by the way.”

Juan smiled. “Why, thank you. We do make an effort.”

“Did it take long to fix?”

“A couple of weeks in port after we returned the Jaffa Column to the Maltese Oceanic Museum. Of course, we couldn’t return to Vladivostok after what happened there, but we have a few other options around the world for repairs.”

“The less I know, the better.”

“It sounds like the Oregon isn’t in your future.”

“According to the doctors, fieldwork isn’t in my future after this.” She pointed at her hip. “But the CIA has given me a promotion, heading up a new financial analysis department. I start as soon as I get back.”

Juan clinked glasses with her. “I’m happy for you. But they didn’t give it to you. You earned it.”

Neither had brought up their night together in Lithuania, and Juan didn’t think there was any point now, despite how he felt about her. It was clear their paths had intersected only briefly and were now diverging again. Their time with each other would have to remain a wonderful memory.

To avoid the subject, Juan filled her in about the aftermath of the attack on the electrical grid and banking system. Although Gretchen had seen news updates from her hospital bed, she hadn’t yet heard some of the most important details.

Before Juan could tear Eric away from ShadowFoe’s computer, Eric had initiated an upload of all its contents to the Oregon’s servers. Most of the files were transferred before the Achilles was destroyed and they provided a wealth of knowledge about Ivana Semova’s hacking activities.

Using the data that Eric and Murph gleaned, they were able to unlock the Credit Condamine computer system and restore all of the funds, including the Corporation’s. In addition, they learned about ShadowFoe’s unusual coding technique, which had its roots in a radical mathematical concept previously hidden for two hundred years.

Maxim Antonovich — whose captivity and innocence in the entire affair had been confirmed by three crewmen who confessed after being saved from the wreckage of the Achilles—had purchased several rare documents, most of which had been in the yacht’s safe when it went down. But prior to that, they’d all been scanned into ShadowFoe’s computer. One of those documents was a centuries-old mathematical treatise by a Russian named Alexei Polichev, who was an instructor at Moscow State University at the time of Napoleon’s invasion. His revolutionary algorithms were lost during the war — or so it was thought. But two copies had survived, the one that Antonovich ended up buying and a second set whisked away by Napoleon’s soldiers, along with the rest of the treasure. That copy was damaged beyond repair when it went into the Neris River inside the trunk that Trono tried to save. ShadowFoe had based her unique computer viruses on Polichev’s formulas.

After reverse engineering Ivana’s programs, Eric and Murph consulted with the banks to recover the stolen funds, collecting a tidy reward in the process, enough to not only refit and rearm the Oregon but also to install a few upgrades. The Corporation then turned Polichev’s equations over to the CIA for use in the government’s various counter-cyberwarfare operations.

“In addition to electronic copies of the torn-out pages from Napoleon’s Diary, we also found an interesting letter on ShadowFoe’s computer,” Juan said. “Remember Pierre Delacroix?”

“You mean the naval lieutenant who wrote about kidnapping Napoleon from St. Helena?”

“That’s him. Antonovich never told us about a second letter Delacroix had written.”

He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Gretchen.

“It was addressed to a wealthy businessman named Jacques Aubuchon, although we don’t know if the letter actually made it to him. Aubuchon, apparently, funded the operation to kidnap Napoleon in the hopes of finding the treasure he stole from Moscow.”

She unfolded the printout and began to read.

Gretchen looked up from the letter in astonishment, first at Juan, then at the island next to them. He followed her gaze to a small outcropping of jumbled rocks near sea level. Several of them had been pushed aside to create an opening.

“Come on,” Juan said. “I want to show you something.”

He took her down to the boat garage, where he helped her into the RHIB. It took only a few minutes to motor over to the shore.

Several days of work had allowed the Oregon crew to carve out an entrance and clear a smooth path that Gretchen could navigate with her cane. Juan switched on a generator and light shined from within the previously dark opening in the cliff.

Juan took her hand and guided her inside. He watched her face as she entered the spacious cavern, which was well lit by powerful lamps. Just as Delacroix had described, it was a featureless chamber, smoothed by centuries of erosion by the sea. Half of the cave’s lower portion consisted of an uneven stone floor, while the other half had sunk below sea level, creating a natural inlet, before the opening was sealed by the falling rocks.

Gretchen gasped when she saw a strange-looking submarine beached on the rocky platform. Its bright copper cladding had transformed into a green patina, but otherwise the vessel was completely intact.

“We think it sailed in during an unusually high tide,” Juan said. “When the cave was sealed by the avalanche, the water might have seeped out or evaporated over the next two hundred years.”

As they ventured farther inside, they stepped around several skeletons. Little was left of the skeletons’ clothing except brass buttons and belt buckles.

“These had to be the crewmen who mutinied or the officers who fought against them. We’ve found bullet wounds and sword injuries on the bones.”

“This is incredible. What are you going to do about this discovery?”

“We haven’t decided yet, but we’ll probably let the Danish and French governments duke it out. It should be another epic battle, not only for the sub itself but because of what’s inside. We’ve spent hours debating why we found it this way, with the hatch closed, but I’m not convinced which theory is right. I’ll let the archaeologists figure out that one.”

Scaffolding had been constructed next to the sub. With Juan’s assistance, Gretchen managed to climb up until she could see inside the conning tower’s window.

Since the sub’s hatch was still closed, the air inside remained undisturbed. Juan shined a flashlight through the window so she could get a better look.

“Good Lord,” Gretchen whispered with reverent awe.

Sitting below them was a desiccated corpse, perfectly preserved by the submarine’s airtight seal. Even in death, the body sat upright, dignified and regal to the end, dressed in a majestic uniform adorned with medals.

Juan’s favorite detail was the right hand tucked inside the tunic, which left no doubt that they were privy to the final resting place of Napoleon Bonaparte.