Private Moscow

Chapter 101

I’d been trained to fly Sea Knights, and I hadn’t piloted a fixed wing for a long time, but our high-speed satellite connection put the Internet at my fingertips, and with it the sum of human knowledge. A combination of information gleaned from the aircraft’s flight manual and online tutorials enabled me to supplement my general flight skills with a specific understanding of the G650’s controls. Once I’d corrected course, and set the autopilot, I dragged Hudson and the pilot to the rear of the aircraft and put their bodies in the small baggage hold in the tail.

I said a quiet prayer for the men as I shut the door to the compartment. I had killed before, when there’d been no other option, but the taking of a life never got any easier. Hudson and the pilot had been a threat, but they’d been turned into my enemies by circumstance. In another world, we might have talked sport over beers. I harbored no ill will toward the fallen men. They’d done what they thought was necessary. Just like me.

“The FORCE System is run out of Naval Air Station Fallon, Nevada,” Dinara revealed as I returned to the main cabin.

“Bring your computer,” I said, picking up my machine and the satellite phone. “Let’s get set up in the cockpit.”

Dinara grabbed her laptop and followed me through the cabin.

“Fallon,” I remarked as I took the pilot’s seat and Dinara slid into the co-pilot’s chair. “That’s north of Vegas.”

I used my laptop to check the nearest civilian airport and discovered Fallon had a municipal field that was rated for the G650. I thought about attempting to land at NAS Fallon, but an unidentified civilian aircraft approaching a military base would almost certainly be shot down.

“We can land at the local airport,” I told Dinara, “but we’re going to need help.”

I picked up the phone and dialed one of many numbers I knew by heart.

“Private Vegas,” an operator answered.

“This is Jack Morgan,” I said.

“Mr. Morgan—” the operator began, but I cut him off.

“I know. Don’t believe everything you hear on the news. Put me through to Hector Lopez, and if anyone asks, you never heard from me.”

“Yes, sir,” the operator replied.

The line went silent; then there was a ringing tone and the call connected.

“Jack?” Hector Lopez said.

I could hear the disbelief in his tone. He was the new head of Private Vegas, and was a decent, honest man. The rumors and scandal wouldn’t have been easy for him.

“No names,” I said. “This isn’t a secure line. I’ve been framed by Russian intelligence. Whatever you’ve heard is a lie.”

“I never thought otherwise,” Hector replied.

“What’s the situation where you are?” I asked.

“Feds are freezing our assets and operations,” Hector informed me. “Part of a counter-espionage operation. My read is someone’s putting the squeeze on you.”

“You read it right,” I told Hector, relieved I’d hired this perceptive former FBI agent out of the Vegas field office. “I need you to meet me upstate. Municipal airfield. Name of a late-night talk-show host.”

If Salko, Veles or any of their SVR associates were listening in, they’d probably guess where we were heading, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on them.

“Got it. What’s your ETA?” Hector asked.

I performed a quick calculation. “Flight time of around twelve hours. We should touch down just before eleven.”

“I’ll be there,” Hector said.

“Come prepared,” I replied.

“Copy that,” he said, before hanging up.

“We’re going to be cutting it fine,” Dinara observed. “The system goes online at midday.”

“We’ll make it,” I replied, but in truth I wasn’t so sure.