The Emperor's Revenge

FIFTY-FIVE

It wasn’t until the next morning that Golov and Sirkal were able to rendezvous with the Achilles. They weighted O’Connor’s body with some of the expensive sensing equipment on board the Sea Ray and unceremoniously dumped it overboard in a more remote section of the Neris River before abandoning the boat. They stole a car to drive to the Lithuanian border, where they used false passports to cross into Belarus. During the entire flight from Minsk to Copenhagen on Antonovich’s private jet, Golov fumed at the near-total failure of the operation in Vilnius.

He went straight to Ivana’s cabin when he boarded the yacht, sending Sirkal to get his arm sutured properly to replace Golov’s makeshift sewing job. When Sirkal was done, he’d revise his upcoming mission, since they were now down three men.

“How are your plans coming?” Golov said abruptly when he opened her door and quickly closed it behind him.

Ivana’s quarters weren’t quite as spacious as Antonovich’s suite, but they were far larger than all but the most lavish accommodations aboard a cruise ship. Most of the space was taken up by a vast array of computer equipment whose purpose Golov had no interest in understanding. Half a dozen monitors displayed software code or videos in small windows. European electropop blared from huge floor speakers. It was all connected to the yacht’s high-speed satellite Internet feed.

Unlike the disgusting hives of hackers Golov had seen on TV shows and in movies, Ivana’s desk was tidy and clean. All of her empty protein bar wrappers and Red Bull cans had found their appropriate place in her wastebasket, and the only papers on the desk were piled in a stack as if aligned by a T square.

She was startled by the sudden entrance. When she saw who it was, she muted the music and tossed a plastic bag away as she shoved the last couple of almonds into her mouth. She leaped to her feet and gave her father a big hug.

“I’m so glad you made it back in one piece.” She inspected his bandaged nose and fingers, which Sirkal taped up after snapping them back into place.

“O’Connor didn’t,” Golov said. “And neither did Monroe and Jablonski. Even worse, the Russians will now get their hands on everything Napoleon stole from Moscow.”

There was nonstop television coverage about the bizarre and violent discovery of “Napoleon’s treasure,” as all the news outlets were now calling it. Reports of the trove’s immensity were coming to light in slow drips as the investigators and bomb removal experts inspected the uncovered vault, but it was already being compared to King Tut’s tomb in intrinsic and historical value. The consensus was that although the treasure had been found in Lithuania, the government there would ultimately return the items to Russia, either by virtue of a lawsuit or as a goodwill gesture.

The thought of the Russians celebrating their good luck turned Golov’s stomach. But soon they would forget all about that when they were blamed for one of the world’s greatest man-made disasters.

Ivana nodded. “The news from Vilnius has been on every network. They found five bodies in the cathedral, including our guys, Kulpa, and the two policemen.”

“No mention of anyone else?”

“They did mention a shoot-out at the river. They’ve sent divers into the water, looking for bodies. No one is attempting to recover the van or its contents yet. Do you think there’s anything in Lithuania that can lead back to us?”

“No, there’s no record of Monroe or Jablonski being in Antonovich’s employ, and they won’t find O’Connor for a long time. At least we were able to destroy Polichev’s work. Even if they recover the trunk now, it’ll take them weeks or months to properly dry and separate the papers. Depending on the extent of the water damage, they may never find out what’s in them.”

“By then, we’ll be home free,” Ivana said.

“Except we weren’t able to eliminate the Oregon crew. I saw O’Connor hit one of them, but not their captain.”

“You think they’re still a threat?”

“I don’t think their captain is the type who gives up when he’s been smacked in the face. He’ll come back at us even harder now. That’s why I’m moving up our time line.”

“To when?”

“The weather should be favorable for the next few days,” Golov said. “I’ll check to see when Sirkal can be ready. Which leads back to my original question. How are your plans coming?”

She nodded at her computer setup. “The banking code is all ready to go, thanks to Alexei Polichev. So is the circuit breaker virus.”

Golov’s chest expanded with pride at his daughter’s ingenuity. Her latest masterpiece was a virus that would close all of the transformer circuit breakers designed by Antonovich and Dijkstra’s joint venture. These were the critical components of the grid’s industrial-sized substations. The vulnerability she’d be exploiting was actually built into the system to allow for centralized management of the power grid. When the breakers were closed and locked, there would be no way to keep a power surge from frying the entire grid. All it would take would be a single event to cause a cascading failure.

“After I activate the banking virus,” Ivana continued, “it will take about five minutes to transmit and verify the receipt of thirty billion euros in the accounts we’ve set up in the Caymans, Panama, Singapore, and the Seychelles. Once the transfer is complete, I’ll upload my other virus to the power grid and I’ll shut down the circuit breakers. Then it’s up to you to give the electrical system its push over the edge. After that, there will be no way to track the funds.”

“And Antonovich?”

“He understands his part. He still thinks he’ll live through this.”

“He will,” Golov said. “For a little while.”

Once the transfers were complete and Europe was in chaos, the Achilles would make its way to Brazil, where it would be sunk in sight of the coast and plenty of witnesses, seemingly with all hands on board. Any remnants of their trail would go cold in a fiery cataclysm.

And if the Oregon made its way into their path, so much the better. They would blow it out of the water as well.

Ivana smiled at him.

“What?”

“I thought of one benefit of your trip to Vilnius.”

Golov frowned at her. “Which is?”

“With O’Connor dead, we have another seven and a half billion euros to split between us and Sirkal.”

Golov returned her smile and shook his head at the naïveté she still hung on to in spite of her brilliance. Her took her hands in his and said, “My dear, we were never going to give that money to him.”

She furrowed her brow and said, “And Sirkal?”

Golov shook his head. “Did you really think I was going to share thirty billion euros with anyone but you?”