The Emperor's Revenge

FIFTY-EIGHT

Sergey Golov watched the Achilles’s Russian flag whipping in the brisk wind and thought the morning couldn’t be more perfect. Although the sun was shining, the Baltic Sea was churned into frothy whitecaps by the steady breeze that caused the windmills in the far distance to spin at a furious pace. Over two hundred of the propellers, broader than the wingspan of a 747, fed their awesome power to the sprawling transformer station perched on the German coast.

The Achilles was actually closer to Denmark than Germany, which would aid in its escape once the transformers were destroyed. The yacht would simply disappear into the maze of islands that made up a good portion of the Danish land area. Then they’d swing around into the North Sea and rendezvous with Ivana’s helicopter near Rotterdam before setting flank speed for Brazilian waters.

The sunny day helped as well. Solar power was making up a larger and larger portion of Europe’s electricity supply, and because it was difficult to ratchet back solar cells during the daytime, the constant output made power regulation a challenge. The grid would be struggling to juggle the distribution from its maxed-out wind and solar farms while modulating the traditional gas, coal, and nuclear capacity. All it needed now was a nudge to throw it off balance and the system would collapse completely.

Golov was happy to see that traffic on the sea was relatively light today in these often heavily traveled waters. A containership had passed a few minutes before, and was nearly out of sight around the headlands of Falster Island, while a massive white cruise ship approached from the east, likely on a Scandinavian tour coming from Helsinki or Stockholm.

“Any other ships on the scope?” Golov asked the radar operator.

“No, sir, but I’m reading a small contact bearing three five zero.”

Something was coming at them from the north, almost directly behind them, over the island.

The XO, Kravchuk, went over to the radar and leaned over the operator’s shoulder. “Speed?”

“Eighty knots. It’s in the air.”

“Range?”

“Ten kilometers and closing.”

Golov sat straighter in his chair. The Oregon. It had to be. “Is it a helicopter?”

“No,” the radar operator replied. “Too small. It must be a drone. Probably not much larger than three meters wide.”

“What are you up to?” Golov said under his breath. He eyed Kravchuk and ordered, “All hands to battle stations. Bring the laser and railgun online.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO replied, and the klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

Both the laser and railgun rose out of their hidden compartments.

The Oregon had to be out of sight somewhere, concealed by Falster Island’s mass.

Golov called Ivana.

She answered on the first ring. “We’re just landing outside the Control Hub.”

“Good,” he said. “I need you to send me a number.”

Juan was inside the op center aboard the Oregon. Eric guided the ship through the narrow channels separating the islands in this part of the chain, a position that made her undetectable to the Achilles. The yacht was exactly where he thought it would be to give Golov a clear shot at Zingst’s transformer station.

The image of the Achilles on the main view screen came courtesy of an observation drone operated by Gomez Adams. The size of an albatross, it flew in a circular pattern above the island far enough from the yacht that it wouldn’t be recognized for what it was. Gomez’s expert flying skills were being put to the test by keeping multiple drones on course.

At the same time, the large supply drone was now on a collision course with the Achilles. Golov had seen it by now, which was the reason that Juan could see the menacing railgun and telescope-like laser system rise from the yacht’s deck.

“They’re getting ready to shoot it down,” Gomez said.

“I’d say it’s a small price to pay,” Juan replied. He turned to Max. “I’m sorry we’re going to lose your baby.”

“Hey, it was my idea to use it. I just wish we could shove it down Golov’s throat.”

“Linda, are you ready?” Juan asked her. She was sitting at Murph’s normal position on weapons control.

She gave him a smile. “I’ve been ready for days.”

“Chairman, I’ve got a call for you,” Hali said. He was holding a cell phone. “It came in on Marie Marceau’s phone. I’ve been monitoring the traffic on it. The caller says it’s Sergey Golov.”

“Put it on speaker.” Hali nodded, and Juan said, “Why didn’t you stick around in Vilnius, Golov? I had more to say to you.”

“Why do you think I’m calling now? I’ve always enjoyed our interactions. And given how close we’ve become over the last week, don’t you think I should know your real name, Captain?”

“I’m happy to let you know who beat you. My name is Juan Cabrillo.”

“Captain Cabrillo, a pleasure to meet a challenger who’s up to the task. But you have to know that an aerial attack against me is futile. You were threatening an admiral in Vladivostok during our two ships’ last engagement, but I’m sure you heard what happened. And don’t bother trying to disengage our weapons again. We’ve taken care of that issue.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Juan said. The supply drone was now only two miles from the Achilles. “By the way, thanks for leading us to Napoleon’s treasure. You’ve made the Russians very happy.”

He knew Golov’s military history. The dig had to sting just a little.

“Yes, you got me there,” Golov said. “But you won’t get me here. Watch.”

The supply drone began to glow red. In a few seconds, its lithium-ion batteries overheated and exploded, ripping the drone apart and sending it fluttering in pieces into the sea below.

Golov came back on the line. He was laughing.

“By all means, keep them coming, Captain Cabrillo. We could use the target practice. I’m enjoying it so much, I could do this all day.”

“Actually,” Juan said, “I don’t think you can.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Watch.” Juan nodded at Gomez, who was flying a third drone, a quadcopter called a Wasp. It approached the Achilles from an angle perpendicular to the supply drone’s route. Because it was no larger than a gull, the radar signature was too small for it to be detected as it skimmed the waves under Gomez’s sure-handed piloting skills.

At that moment, the Wasp hovered next to the Achilles’s white hull. The supply drone had been a decoy to get Golov to expose the laser, bringing it out of its protective covering. The Wasp rose until it was even with the yacht’s deck. The laser’s highly polished lens was the target.

Gomez flew the Wasp up to the laser as it madly spun, searching for a new target. He lowered the drone until it was only inches from the lens. When it was in position, he detonated the two pounds of C-4 it carried.

The Wasp’s video feed went dark, but shouts Juan could hear over the phone told him all he needed to know. The drone had done its job.

“Having problems with your laser, Golov?” Juan casually asked. That brought a few smiles from his crew.

Golov came back on the line, fury in his voice. “Cabrillo, I will hunt you down and make sure that disgraceful pile of rusting metal you call a ship is reduced to fragments scattered across the bottom of the ocean.”

“I think you’d better worry about your own ship, Golov. Linda, fire one.”

“With pleasure, Chairman,” Linda said.

With the press of a button, an Exocet anti-ship missile blasted from its launcher and rocketed toward the Achilles.