The Emperor's Revenge

SIXTY

Ivana got a good look at the Continental Control Hub as the Airbus Eurocopter circled high above it before touching down. Just as she’d seen in satellite photos, it was designed with a distinctive lightning bolt shape as an homage to its purpose. The silver exterior sparkled in the sun.

Antonovich sat across from her, watching her with glazed eyes. He’d been given a mild sedative to keep him compliant while still being able to function.

Sirkal sat beside him, holding a large professional video camera. Behind him were five mercenaries that made up his assault force. Two of them were dressed in suits like Sirkal and Antonovich, while the rest wore black windbreakers and pants.

As the chopper began its descent, Ivana’s phone rang. It was her father.

“We are almost there,” she answered.

“Good,” Golov said. “Because we’ve had trouble up here.” He gave her a brief recap of the attack by the Oregon. “They’ll be here in nine minutes. How long until you can get the virus uploaded?”

“It’ll be operational a few minutes after we are able to secure the command center.”

“And the transactions?”

“I’ll start them right now.” She tapped on her phone and the downloads began. Banks across Europe would start noticing unusual activity in just a few minutes, but it would take them some time to realize the extent of the problem. By then, the financial system would be frozen, along with the rest of the continent.

“I’ve started the downloads,” she said. “Remember, don’t take down the transformer station until I’ve confirmed the virus is active.”

“I know. We’ll be ready.”

“Be careful, Father. Don’t trust that man.”

“I don’t. Right now, he has no choice but to do as I say.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too, dear. The next time we see each other, we’ll be billionaires.”

“See you in Rotterdam.” She hung up and turned to Antonovich.

“We’re not going to have any trouble with you, are we?”

Antonovich shook his head in defeat. The assertive businessman of the past was long gone. He was now a shell of his former self, transformed by paranoia, drugs, and almost a year of captivity.

“I’m glad to know that,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to have Sirkal kill you just before you earned your freedom.”

They landed on an empty part of the parking lot outside the Control Hub and were met by a stocky woman in her late thirties, dressed in a skirt and jacket. With her dark hair pinned up in a bun and frameless glasses, she carried herself with authority. She stood between two men, both of whom looked like they were part of the security team.

When the helicopter’s main rotor had spun down sufficiently, Ivana exited, holding her briefcase, while Sirkal helped Antonovich out. Two of the other men in suits carried the camera and microphone. The three wearing windbreakers got out but stayed by the helicopter.

Ivana took Antonovich by the arm as if he were unsteady on his feet and led him to the waiting woman, who gave them a bright smile.

“Mr. Antonovich,” she said in English, “it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Beatrix Dräger, manager of the Continental Control Hub.”

As they shook hands, Ivana translated for Antonovich, who asked Dräger hopefully, “Do you speak Russian?”

Dräger kept on smiling, waiting for the translation.

Ivana said in Russian, “No one here speaks Russian, and you don’t speak English, Mr. Antonovich, so remember to do what I say.”

She returned Dräger’s smile and said, “Mr. Antonovich is delighted to be here and see the fruits of his joint venture. He doesn’t speak English, so I will be his interpreter during the tour. My name is Ivana Semova.”

“And your companions?”

“Mr. Sirkal is documenting Mr. Antonovich’s visit, if that’s all right. We’d also like to do an interview with you when the tour is over.”

“Of course,” Dräger said. “I’d be happy to do a short interview. The only place where you are not allowed to film is in the command center. For security reasons. I’m sure you understand.”

“Certainly. These other men are Mr. Antonovich’s assistants, and the three gentlemen by the helicopter are part of Mr. Antonovich’s security team. They will remain outside with the helicopter.”

“By all means.”

“Shall we begin the tour?” Ivana asked, trying not to sound too anxious. “Mr. Antonovich is particularly eager to see the command center.”

“We can start there, if you’d like,” Dräger said as she began to walk around the building to the Control Hub’s main entrance. On the way, Ivana noted an emergency exit that opened into the parking lot not far from the helicopter.

“Thank you,” Ivana said. “That would be wonderful. Will the Dijkstras be joining us?”

“We heard from Gustaaf Dijkstra that he’s on his way. Would you like to wait for him?”

“That won’t be possible. Unfortunately, Mr. Antonovich has other engagements today, so we can’t stay very long. We appreciate you moving the tour up at the last minute.”

“Not at all,” Dräger said. “We’re very proud of the facility, so we’re thrilled to show it off.”

While they walked, Dräger rattled off statistics about the building and its role in controlling the flow of electricity for over three hundred million people. Ivana dutifully interpreted the information while observing the security measures. The grounds were surrounded by a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence topped with spikes. A ditch inside the fence line was meant to stop trucks carrying explosives, as were the thick metal columns at the front gate that had to be lowered below grade by the armed guards to allow cars to enter.

They went through metal detectors at the entrance, and their bags and equipment were searched, but there was no X-ray machine, just as they expected.

They walked down the sleek tiled halls to the rear of the building, where the command center was located. As they went, Sirkal backpedaled while he focused the camera on Antonovich, who didn’t crack a smile or speak. Dräger’s patter continued nonstop.

When they reached the door to the command center, Dräger asked Sirkal to turn the camera off and he complied. At the same time, he subtly opened the camera’s body, while the two other men removed stilettos from the audio equipment they were carrying.

After Dräger scanned her palm on the reader and typed in a passcode, the door buzzed open.

There was a marked contrast between the silence outside the door and the bustling noise and activity inside the command center as they stepped in. Over thirty analysts and technicians were stationed at three tiers of computer desks facing a giant wall of screens with all sorts of maps and status displays showing the current state of the continent’s electricity grid. A row of glass-enclosed offices lined one side of the room. The only other door was the emergency exit at the far side of the room.

Sirkal nodded at his companions and they plunged their stilettos into the necks of the two security men, who collapsed in a gush of blood. Beatrix Dräger shrank back against the nearest console, dumbstruck with horror.

Before anyone else had a chance to react, Sirkal handed out pistol magazines he had hidden within the camera body to Ivana and the two mercenaries. They all loaded them into small semiautomatics they had tucked into the back of their belts.

Steel pistols would have set off the metal detectors, which they had known would be in place. Instead, they’d fashioned non-metallic pistols based on firearm designs found on the Internet that were meant to be used with 3-D printers. The black bodies of the guns were constructed out of polymer, the springs plastic, and the barrels a high-strength ceramic. They looked just like ordinary pistols.

The downside of the homemade pistols was that their life span was very short. They could fire the entire ten-round magazine of .22 caliber ammunition, but the barrels would crack and become useless after that.

Ivana racked the slide and fired a single bullet into the ceiling. The crack of the gunshot made everyone inside the command center turn in unison.

Shouts and screams erupted from the workers when they saw the men bleeding out on the carpet.

Ivana leveled the pistol at the workers while keeping one hand on Antonovich. If he made any move to escape or resist, she would have no problem killing him, although that would ruin the illusion that he was behind the whole attack.

“Everyone put your hands up now or die,” she demanded.

Half the room’s occupants raised their arms in the air, but the other half were either confused or hesitant. Ivana picked the nearest non-compliant person and put a bullet through his head.

“Now!”

All of the other hands shot up.

“Now, stand up. My friends here will come around and empty your pockets of phones. If I see anyone make an attempt to call or text someone, that person will be the next to die.”

Phones were quickly collected without incident.

“What we do now,” she said in as pompous a voice as she could muster, “we do for our Mother Russia. No longer will our country be subjugated to the whims of Europe’s illegal and immoral sanctions. It’s your turn to suffer.”

After the offices’ landline phones, computers, and panic buttons were disabled, all of the workers, including Dräger, were herded into them and locked inside.

Ivana attached her laptop to an Ethernet cable connected to the command center’s network. In a few minutes, the entire network was infected and she could now control all of the remote circuit breakers from the application on her laptop.

She instructed all of the breakers to lock in the closed position. One by one, the lights on the big board turned red to indicate the dangerous condition each location had been put in.

When the whole continent was a beautiful scarlet, Ivana checked the sum of the accounts where the money had been transferred. The number of zeroes blew her away. The total read just over thirty billion euros. She grinned and texted her father.

Golov replied seconds later.

Ivana smiled at that. Soon, whole nations would go dark, and she’d get to see it happen from the air. She detached her laptop and put it back in the briefcase.

“Time to get back to the Achilles and pop some bubbly,” she said to Sirkal.

The Indian didn’t smile, but he gave her a satisfied nod. The other men whooped in excitement at becoming multimillionaires.

“What about me?” Antonovich pleaded.

“What about you?” Ivana shot back.

“Do I go free now?”

“Not until we get to Rotterdam. Let’s go.”

She wanted to make sure they were in the air before any other Control Hub security guards realized something was wrong. As she shoved the visibly dispirited Antonovich toward the emergency exit, she called the helicopter pilot.

“Spin up the engine,” she said. “We’re leaving.”