The Athena Project

CHAPTER 27

ISTANBUL

The swim did little to clear Armen Abressian’s mind. When he climbed out of the water, there was a message waiting for him on his phone. Thomas had called again.

“I’m here, Thomas,” he said, calling the younger man back.

“I thought you’d want to know that Viktor came by a half-hour ago. He was drunk and so were his men.”

This wasn’t good. “Tell me what happened,” said Abressian.

“I did just what you told me. I told Viktor that Professor Cahill was with me and that while I was sorry to hear about his girls disappearing, Cahill couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

“Did he believe you?”

Sanders laughed. “No. In fact, he told me to my face that I was a liar.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then he said he wanted to talk to you. I told him you were out of the country, but that I expected you back soon. I told him you were sorry to hear about his girls having gone missing, but that you’re also certain the professor had nothing to do with it.”

“And what did he say to that?” asked Abressian.

“He seemed a lot less prepared to call you a liar than he was me.”

Armen smiled. Mikhailov was no fool. “Was that it?”

“No. He wanted to see Cahill. He wanted to talk to him, himself.”

“You told him that wasn’t possible of course.”

“Of course I did. Had I produced Cahill, they would have shoved him in the trunk of Viktor’s Audi and we never would have seen him again.”

“Good work, Thomas. What about the extra security we discussed?”

“I’ve doubled the number of men.”

“Then everything is okay for now,” replied Abressian.

“There’s one other thing,” said Sanders.

“I’m listening.”

“I was hoping to get confirmation on that new assignment in Prague. The artifact the Amalgam wants recovered.”

“Yes,” said Abressian. “We were going to use the Czech.”

“Well, I heard from our man in Belgrade. Apparently, there was an incident at the hotel in Zbiroh tonight.”

“What kind of incident?”

“There were reports of gunfire on the property. Apparently, the police are involved now, but the details are still very sketchy.”

“What about our Czech?”

“Our man in Belgrade says he can’t reach him. He has talked with a couple of hotel employees who said he was there shortly before the shooting, but that no one has seen him since. Our man in Belgrade says the Czech’s entire network has gone dark. He can’t reach any of them.”

This was not good. First Nino Bianchi, now Radek Heger. It might be coincidental, but Abressian had learned not to believe in coincidences. Those who did, ended up dead.

“I think I am going to check out of my hotel,” said Abressian.

“Do you need me to make other arrangements?” asked Thomas.

“No, just keep focused on what I have asked you to do.”

“Okay, what about the job in Prague? Should I look for someone else to handle it?”

“Let’s put Prague on hold for right now,” replied Armen. “We need to finish our current job first.”

“Does that mean you’ll be putting Istanbul on hold then too?”

Abressian cast his eyes up toward the hotel and thought about the beautiful young woman in his bed. Finally, he replied. “Yes. I’ll let our clients here know that we’ll have to reschedule.”

“Should I send the plane for you?”

“Please.”

Armen spent the flight back to Croatia thinking about his problems. The one immediately at the forefront of his mind was Viktor Mikhailov.

Abressian’s initial reaction was to find someone to take the fall for the disappearance of Mikhailov’s women. He’d make it look like a murder/suicide and then burn the house down around them so that the bodies couldn’t be identified. At first blush, it seemed like the most expedient path. There was no way he was going to let that Russian mobster get his hands on Professor Cahill. It made no difference what insanity Cahill had committed, he was too valuable.

He was also all too human. If Mikhailov got his hands on him, Cahill would barter with anything he had to save his own skin. That would mean spilling everything he knew about the project.

The Amalgam wouldn’t like that. Abressian had been hired because of his almost supernatural ability to keep things quiet. There were no such things as leaks in his operations. He hired only the best people and he’d had a perfect record because of it. This modus operandi had begun to translate into some very good money. He had no desire to see that stop now.

What’s more, he knew how angry the members of the Amalgam could get. The punishment for failure would be worse than anything some Russian like Mikhailov could ever dream of dishing out.

As he sipped his Turkish coffee and stared out the plane’s window, he wondered if maybe his first impulse hadn’t exactly been the soundest. Perhaps rushing to stage a murder/suicide was the wrong play. Mikhailov was many things, but he wasn’t a fool. Underestimating him could be a big mistake. Abressian would have to tread carefully.

He had toyed with the idea of offering a cash settlement to compensate for the loss of the women, but that road was fraught with peril. It meant first and foremost admitting that Cahill was guilty. If Mikhailov got the bit between his teeth, there might not be any amount of money in the world that would satisfy him. He would be out for blood and that would cause a lot of problems. Buying him off was not the way to go.

Threatening him wasn’t the way to go either. Mikhailov was Russian mafia. He had been with the KGB and had risen through its ranks as it morphed into its current incarnation, the FSB. He’d been threatened countless times in his career. Inferior opponents had very likely threatened to harm, or like most bombastic Russian underworld figures, threatened to kill him repeatedly. If Mikhailov was half the man he was thought to be, he would laugh at threats of violence to his person.

Abressian reflected on what Mikhailov actually knew. Regardless of what his gut was telling him, all he knew was that his girls were missing and that Cahill was the last person to have been seen with them. He didn’t have any further evidence than that. He had no bodies. And if what Abressian and Thomas suspected was true, he never would. Those bodies were gone forever; never to be found.

But the fact that his girls were gone and Cahill was the last to have been seen with them would be enough for a man like Mikhailov to convict and pass sentence. And, as Abressian already knew, Cahill would admit to all of it as he offered anything and everything to the Russian to avoid his wrath.

Armen had been at this game long enough to know how men like Viktor Mikhailov operated. Last night he had shown up drunk and had gone away peaceably and without Cahill. They probably weren’t going to get off that easy again.

The only way they were going to get Mikhailov to stop pursuing the professor was to convince him that he had nothing to do with the women’s vanishing act.

As the words hung in his mind, Abressian shook his head. That was literally what they were looking at: a vanishing act. It was almost unfathomable that all of their success could be undone by the idiocy of someone as bright as George Cahill.

This was technology that was going to reshape the entire world. Governments, armies, fealty to the concept of the nation-state-all of it was about to change. Mankind was about to be reborn.

Granted, the birthing process was going to be painful. Many would die, but many more would survive. And those survivors would see a cleaner, more equitable, more peaceful world. At least that was what Abressian had been told by the members of the Amalgam. Personally, he very much doubted that.

The hegemonic, megalomaniacal aspirations of even the brightest, most well-intentioned elites had always ended the same way. Nevertheless, the Amalgam’s money was as green as anyone else’s. And suppose they were right?

Suppose this time history would be wrong and the members of this incredible cabal would be successful. Why not be on the winning side? After all, Armen Abressian was a free agent. The boutique organization of intelligence and special operations personnel that he had built was his business to run as he saw fit. He could make and reshape his allegiances as the times and his conscience dictated. There really was no downside for him.

That said, at present there appeared to be very little upside either. Not unless George Cahill finished his work. And Cahill couldn’t finish his work if Viktor Mikhailov was gunning for him.

Picking up the plane’s satellite phone, he depressed the speed-dial button assigned to Thomas. The man picked up on the second ring.

“Yes, Armen,” he said.

“Thomas, I have made up my mind.”

“What have you decided?”

“We need to take care of Mr. Mikhailov.”

“I agree,” replied Sanders. “But I don’t think right now is the time for us to go to war with the Bratva.”

“We’re not going to go to war.”

“Okay,” said Sanders. “Then what do you want to do?”

Abressian took another sip of his coffee. “First, I’m going to try to reason with him.”

“And if that doesn’t work.”

“Then we’ll just have to help him see the light.”

They discussed details before hanging up the phone. Nothing was to be done until Abressian was back. He would handle everything in person. It was the only way to secure Mikhailov’s full cooperation.

Having decided upon a course of action, Armen was then free to focus on his next most pressing matter-Bianchi.

It was said, especially in his world, that a healthy dose of paranoia was necessary for survival. While he was always vigilant, he never allowed himself to become paranoid. Under any other circumstances, he might have been willing to pin his deepening concern to paranoia, but not now. Not when Bianchi had been in the process of delivering their final shipment of merchandise.

Abressian had to assume the worst. The shipment probably wasn’t going to make it. And that meant the other targets the Amalgam had selected would have to wait. For now, Armen’s entire focus would be on stepping up the operation in Colorado. It was important that the first blow be the most devastating.