The Emperor's Revenge

FOURTEEN

Juan had the Oregon sail the minute they stepped on board in Palermo. Slowing only to pass through the Strait of Messina between Sicily and the Italian mainland, they pushed forty-five knots the entire way and made the three-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip to Albania in less than eight hours.

By the next morning, the Oregon was holding station in the Adriatic Sea ten miles from Vlorë Castle, which clung to the end of a rocky peninsula studded with low shrubs and wild olive trees. The terrain reminded Juan of the California chaparral near Santa Barbara. The castle had been built as a fortress, guarding the entrance to a natural harbor, where an Albanian Coast Guard station now stood five miles away on the other side of the peninsula from the Oregon. Vlorë had a commanding view from its perch on the rugged coast, its thick stone walls rising fifty feet above the water.

Openings in the rim were spaced to allow cannons and archers to fire from protected positions, both toward the sea and at the gravel road that led up to an iron gate sealing the entrance. Instead of a single structure, the castle was more like a wall surrounding a village of ten stone buildings scattered around a central yard. The broad wall had a walkway down the middle to allow for patrols of two or three men, side by side, who could look over the stone battlements at the ocean on one side and the central courtyard on the other. Round twin towers flanked the front gate, where the road ended.

Juan had a detailed view of the castle courtesy of a drone, circling far above and using its high-definition camera. He was watching the feed on his cabin’s wall screen while he poured coffee that Maurice had brought him. So far, the only movement he’d seen was four guards, who lazily patrolled the grounds.

He answered a knock at his cabin door. “Come in.”

Max Hanley entered with Gretchen, who was carrying her own cup of coffee.

“Good,” Juan said as he took a sip from his cup, “you found the mess hall.”

“More like five-star dining room,” she said in wonder. “Private work is treating you all well.”

Max regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Juan asked. “I know that look and it makes me worried.”

“Gretchen told me something very interesting on the walk from the mess hall,” he said with obvious enjoyment.

“I was telling him about our mission to Moscow,” she said. “No classified details, of course. Just that you and I were married for three weeks during the operation.”

“You left out that little bit,” Max said to Juan. “That it was for a mission.”

Gretchen looked from Max to Juan in surprise and then laughed. “You mean you thought the two of us were married for real?”

“Someone wasn’t very clear on that.”

Juan nonchalantly took another sip of coffee and with a smile said, “Did I forget to mention that part?”

“Yes, you did.”

“We were both married at the time to other people, but the operation called for a couple, so Juan and I were tapped for the job. Mr. Gabriel Jackson and his wife, Naomi.”

They had never worked together again until now, and Juan was still wary about how the past might affect the present mission.

“Just when you think you know a guy…” Max said with a sly grin.

“Maybe he’s had other wives that even I don’t know about,” Gretchen said.

Juan shook his head. “Just two.” To change the subject, he said, “Why don’t I show you the op center and get this show on the road.”

Gretchen held his eyes for a moment, then said, “Lead the way.”

They left Juan’s cabin and walked down the corridor to the Oregon’s Operations Center, the command hub buried deep in the ship’s center where it was protected by the armored hull. Gretchen gaped as she entered.

A giant view screen at the front of the room displayed the same overhead camera feed of Vlorë Castle that had been piped into Juan’s cabin. As opposed to the bright daylight of the morning sun outside, the charcoal-colored op center was bathed in a soft blue glow from the latest computer monitors that were at every workstation. With touch screen displays, slick control systems, and sound-deadening rubber floors, the high-tech facility would have been beyond the starship Enterprise.

Gretchen walked right over to the rotating chair that sat on a pedestal in the middle of the room.

“This must be your position,” she said to Juan.

“We call it the Kirk Chair,” Max said. “Controls in the armrests let Juan operate nearly every aspect of the Oregon, if needed, including driving the ship.”

“With the expert crew that I have,” Juan said, “that’s rarely necessary.”

He gave her a tour of the different stations, starting with Eric Stone at the helm and Mark Murphy at the weapons station. Linda controlled radar and sonar, and Max took up his position at engineering and propulsion.

“And this is Hali Kasim,” Juan said, introducing the slim Lebanese American wearing a headset. “He’s our communications officer. This is Gretchen Wagner, on loan from Interpol and the CIA.”

“Oh, do you speak Arabic?” she asked.

“Not a lick,” Hali said. “Born and raised in Philadelphia. My parents believed in immersing me in American culture. Sure would come in handy sometimes if I did.”

“I’d be happy to give you some lessons if we have time.”

“We might be a little busy for that if your intel pans out,” Juan said.

He moved on to the last workstation, where a strikingly handsome man wearing a generous mustache and a cowboy hat casually thumbed a pair of joysticks that were maneuvering the unmanned aerial vehicle above the castle.

“Here we have George Adams, our resident helicopter and UAV pilot,” Juan said. “Don’t bother telling him how good-looking he is. He already knows.”

He shook her hand. “Call me Gomez.”

“Gomez Adams?” Gretchen said. “As in the Addams Family?”

He grinned and winked at her. “That’s what I get for going out with a woman who looked like Morticia. She’s gone, but the nickname stuck.”

“What’s our status?” Juan asked him.

“The Wasps have about an hour on station before their batteries are drained,” Gomez said, referring to the foot-long drone that was circling above the castle. The gimballed camera on its underside had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of view. “I’m rotating them out every hour to recharge so that we have eyes on the castle at all times.”

“Any chance they’ve been seen?”

“I doubt it. I’ve got them flying about a mile above. No way they’re loud enough to be heard from that distance. I’m recording the whole time so that we can look back if we need to.”

Juan peered up at the screen. One of the buildings in the castle’s central yard had the long and narrow look of a barracks, with a satellite dish and microwave antennas mounted on the roof. Five large cars were parked near the gates, indicating that there could be twenty or more people in the compound.

“Any movement?” Juan had been watching for only the last ten minutes.

“About a half hour ago, we saw two men come out of that multistory main building with the smoke coming out of the chimney,” Gomez said, referring to the structure at the opposite end of the yard from the front gate. “They were carrying what looked like trays to that barracks-style building in the center with all of the electronic gear. They went inside, and, two minutes later, two different men came out with empty trays.”

“Changing of the guard?” Gretchen said.

“Could be. None of them matched the photos you provided of Erion Kula or Dalmat Simaku.” Gomez was referring to the hacker Whyvern and the Mafia boss. While the live feed continued, Gomez played back an earlier recording in a corner of the screen. It was footage of men walking to and from the barracks. All of them were in their twenties or thirties, dressed casually in light jackets and jeans. The full trays held food and drinks.

“I’d guess they’re low-level soldiers,” Juan said.

Gretchen edged toward the screen. “Yeah, but who were they bringing the meals to?”

“That might be where Whyvern is working.”

“Looks like there are at least a few more of them, by the amount of food they brought in.”

“Assuming we get confirmation that he’s there, let’s go over the plan for bringing him out.”

After calling in Linc and Eddie to join them in the op center, they spent the next three hours plotting out their strategy for abducting Whyvern, knowing that time was of the essence if the hacker’s threat was real. Juan was impressed to see that Gretchen hadn’t lost any of her tactical skill when she proposed some truly inspired wrinkles.

Gomez interrupted their discussion to note that three cars were approaching the front of the castle.

The gates were opened to allow a black Mercedes to drive into the castle interior, followed by two black SUVs. A pair of hulking bodyguards got out of the Mercedes and opened both rear doors while eight other men dismounted from the SUVs.

Two men stepped out of the Mercedes’s rear, one older and one younger.

“Zoom in,” Juan said.

The older man was dressed in a two-piece silk suit that softly reflected the afternoon sun. He was wearing sunglasses and had long, wispy gray hair.

“Can we bring up the picture of Simaku?” Gretchen asked.

Juan nodded and instantly a picture of the same man appeared, this one taken by a long lens on a city street.

“That’s him,” she said.

The younger man was shoved forward by the bodyguard and stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. He was dressed in a T-shirt and dungarees, his hair was tied in a ponytail, and he had a scraggly beard.

Before anyone asked, a picture of Erion Kula appeared on the screen. In the photo, he was clean-shaven, and his hair drooped down to the shoulders, but it was clearly the same person being manhandled in the castle.

“Seems like Whyvern isn’t there voluntarily,” Juan said.

“Maybe Credit Condamine wasn’t enough for him,” Murph said. “Could be that he stole the Mafia’s money, too.”

Max shook his head in amazement at the thought. “That’s never a smart move.”

The hacker was practically dragged to the barracks and pushed inside. Simaku talked to the bodyguards for a few moments and then walked with the rest of the soldiers to the main building. The bodyguards disappeared inside the barracks.

“We need to capture Erion Kula before Simaku does anything to him,” Juan said. “At midnight, we go in and get Whyvern.”