The Armageddon Protocol

TWENTY-FIVE

Zalan Szabo glanced at the manila file with something approaching mild interest but then gently flipped the cover back and pushed it back on the desk toward György Tóth. He was sitting in the study of his Viennese mansion and placing a cigar in his mouth. He pulled a single-blade cutter from his drawer and sliced the end off the cigar. Reaching forward to pull a Cartier enamel and diamond lighter from the desk’s smooth surface, he began to speak with the cigar in his mouth. “So, he’s British Secret Service.”

“Former Secret Service,” Tóth said. “And before that a Pathfinder.”

Szabo fired up the Cohiba Behike and blew a cloud of pungent blue smoke toward the vaulted ceiling of his study. “Explain.”

“The Pathfinder Platoon is an elite reconnaissance unit in the British Army’s 16th Air Assault Brigade. They parachute deep behind the enemy’s lines and send back reconnaissance reports and set out drop zones for regiments like the SAS.”

Szabo nodded with appreciation. “All of that and James Bond as well. Quite the hero.”

“Except he’s a washout now, and spends his days gambling and blowing his family’s money.”

“Don’t underestimate a man like this,” the Hungarian said with experience. “Any man who can do these things is never really down and out. If you underestimate him he will bring us down.”

“Yes sir.”

“What about the others?”

“Serrano you know, and the chunky one is Niko Weber, a Swiss IT specialist and software developer from Zurich whose hobby is cracking security networks. The other woman is an American named Zoey Conway — a common thief from New York City. The older man is of course Andrej Liška, one of the lead scientists who worked with Ramirez on Project Perses.”

“Both traitors.”

“Yes sir.”

“These people are rabble, Tóth. Surely you’re not telling me they can get the better of you and your men. Steiner was a Jagdkommando.”

“Yes sir.”

“Who is in the field with Steiner?”

“Aleksi Karhu.”

Szabo nodded with the same degree of appreciation as if he were listening to a waiter reading a wine menu. “He is dangerous, indeed.”

“Yes.”

“But unpredictable.”

Tóth hesitated. “Yes.”

“And the insider?”

“In position. That is how we knew about Paris.”

“Good. The net tightens.”

“Yes.”

“I want that weapon back, Tóth, and the activation code.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And prepare my flight. We’re leaving Vienna.”

“At once.”

Szabo closed his eyes and nodded with the expectation that György Tóth would do what he was paid very well to do. That meant neutralize this annoying band of idiots who had risen like a fungus on the Ministry’s exquisite plans for the future of humanity and allow the next phase to proceed unhindered.

Exquisite plans that had a lot to live up to… Athens, Rome, the Silk Road, Cocoliztli, Calcutta, Kansas… and he had no intention of allowing these people to humiliate him in the Ministry’s eyes. Those eyes were everywhere, after all.