The Tesla Secret

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

General Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky ran Department S, one of eight specialized departments within the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service. Department S included the Special Operations Group called Zaslon, a group that did not officially exist.

Foreign Minister Ogorov had been playing SVR and FSB against each other and Alexei was determined to find out why. The Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti handled all internal security. The struggle for power between internal and foreign security dated back to when they had been directorates of the old KGB. Now they were separate organizations. The rivalry was worse than ever.

Ever since Vysotsky had found a way to eliminate the criminal Gelashvili, FSB had been in what the Americans called a snit. Vysotsky loved American slang. It was almost as good as Russian slang, except for the insults. No foreigner would ever match the essence or subtlety of the Russian insult.

Alexei had survived purges, plots and the transition to the new so-called democracy. He'd kept his deepest ambitions concealed, which was one reason he held his position of power. Few things took him by surprise anymore. Even so, he was surprised when his encrypted satellite phone signaled a call from Elizabeth Harker.

This will be interesting. What could she possibly want?

Vysotsky opened a drawer and activated an unapproved and unofficial security system that blanketed his office from every kind of electronic surveillance. He assumed the room was bugged in ways he had not discovered. It wasn't personal, he knew, just the nature of the business. Especially in Russia. Whatever Harker had to say, he didn't want anyone else to hear it.

Alliance with her in the past had resulted in the end of a threat to the Motherland and confusion to the CIA. A satisfactory conclusion, but Alexei was wary of pressing his luck. Cooperation with Americans could easily be seen as treason. He didn't trust Harker. But he had to admit he enjoyed and appreciated her sharp decisiveness.

"Vysotsky."

"General. This is Director Harker." Her voice was clear over the satellite link. He pictured her in his mind. Probably dressed in black and white. Every picture he'd seen of her showed her in black and white.

"Director. How delightful to hear from you."

"General, there is something I would like to discuss with you."

"Please do."

"It might be better if we met in person."

Alexei was intrigued. Major Korov had given him a detailed briefing about Harker. Vysotsky's files on her were extensive. Briefings and files were a poor substitute for direct impressions.

Harker was a serious woman. Vysotsky respected seriousness. She kept her word. She was unafraid to do what needed to be done. They'd crossed boundaries together, but they were not allies. He smiled to himself. This woman had balls. What was so important it could not be discussed over a secure line?

"What could require us to meet?" he said.

"It concerns Foreign Minister Ogorov."

When she said that, Alexei knew he would have to meet with her. Ogorov. Why would she want to talk about Ogorov? He waited.

"I realize a trip to Washington might not be in your best interest. I suggest someplace nearer to Moscow. Copenhagen, perhaps?"

In the West, but not far away. A short flight for him, a long journey for her. Neutral ground, but he was vulnerable there. She was more vulnerable than he was, that close to Russian territory.

If he were in her place he would want to maintain the working status between them. Any unfortunate incident at their level within the intelligence world would lead to serious repercussions. She had nothing to gain by setting a trap.

"Copenhagen is acceptable. When do you suggest this meeting take place?"

"As soon as possible."

"I can be there in two days." He heard something tapping in the background on her end.

"Tivoli Gardens, then. Say morning? 9:00 A.M.?"

"Agreed. The veranda in front of the Nimb Hotel."

"Good. Until then." She ended the call.

Ogorov, he thought, what have you done?

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The large monitor on the wall behind Harker's desk was blank.

It ought to have a screen saver, Nick thought, one of those aquariums with dolphins swimming around. Or sharks.

Harker finished reading Selena's report on the Mafra Codex and set it aside. She looked up.

"You're sure about this, Selena?"

"I'm sure."

"This reads like a documentary about ancient aliens. Something dreamed up for one of those UFO shows."

Selena nodded. "It goes against everything we think we know about those pyramids. Aliens might be as good an explanation as any."

"How about letting us in on the secret, Director?" Ronnie said.

"If you tell me where you got that shirt."

Ronnie smiled. "You like it?" He looked down at his shirt.

Noble Hawaiian chiefs stood heroically in outrigger canoes, gazing toward the most hallucinogenic island Elizabeth had ever seen. The scene was repeated several times over. The waters of the Pacific were a poisonous blue, the sky streaked with what were supposed to be the rays of a sunrise. Harker thought they looked more like streaks of blood.

Elizabeth sighed. "I was kidding, Ronnie. Selena, explain it, please."

Selena wore black casual slacks and a silk lavender blouse that brought out the color of her eyes. Gold earrings with sapphire accents caught the overhead lights. Nick thought she looked beautiful.

"The Codex is a detailed construction record of a pyramid in the Yucatan."

"What's unusual about that?" Nick asked.

"Everything. No one knows how any of them were built. Mostly it's informed speculation. Slaves dragging stones, that sort of thing. Archeology says they were used for religious sacrifices. That's correct, as far as it goes."

"Why do I hear a 'but' in there?"

"The Codex says it was an electrical power source."

Nick looked at her in disbelief.

"Power? The ancient Mayans had electricity? Come on."

She shrugged. "They didn't call it electricity, but there's no other possibility. The Codex describes a series of engineered channels that carried water under the pyramid. Rods of metal were extended down into the earth and the inner chamber was lined like an insulator. It was like a giant battery. Nikola Tesla designed something similar back in the last century."

Something tugged at Elizabeth's intuition.

Nick said, "It's a pile of stone. How does it get to be a battery?"

"It used Telluric currents."

Lamont said, "What's a Telluric current?"

"It's a geomagnetic phenomenon."

"Oh, yeah, of course." He smacked his forehead with his palm. "How could I forget about Telluric currents?"

Selena laughed. "Telluric currents are waves of very low frequency electrical energy caused by the earth's magnetic field. We can measure their intensity, predict their flow, map their locations. Do you remember I mentioned Tesla? He started to build a tower at the beginning of the last century that would have broadcast free electricity in every direction. It tapped into Telluric currents."

"I guess it didn't work," Nick said. "You look at your electric bill lately?"

"It would have worked except for J.P. Morgan. He and his cronies financed the project. Morgan pulled the plug when he saw he couldn't make money from free electricity. It was never finished. The plans disappeared."

"Figures," Nick said. "Not much changes. But how does that tie into the pyramid?"

"Telluric currents travel in predictable patterns. There are points along the earth's surface where they're especially strong. Hotspots of power. The Yucatan is one of those places."

"What would Mayans do with electricity?"

"Mayan TVs," Lamont said. "Ancient toasters."

"Lamont…" Harker's voice carried a warning note.

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry.

Selena continued. "The Codex describes a kind of lighthouse. There was something in it that focused the stored energy and emitted a beam of light. That's the closest I could come with the translation. It might not be right. But definitely a light of some kind, right at the top. I think the Mayans were trying to send a message to their gods."

"Is that it?" Nick asked.

"There are warnings about the light. Basically, stay away or the gods will punish you. The Codex isn't complete. It doesn't say what, but there was something at the top of the pyramid that made the light. There aren't any details."

"You said it's in the Yucatan. Where?"

"Southeast of Mérida, a few hours from Chichen Itza. It's in the jungle and completely overgrown. Smaller than Chichen Itza and older."

Nick had been to Chichen Itza. The main attractions were a gigantic, stepped pyramid and an impressive stone ball court where the Mayans had played an early and brutal form of soccer.

"Why hasn't it been excavated?"

"There are a lot of archeological sites in Mexico. The government has enough problems maintaining the ones they've opened up. This one is out of sight, out of mind. We pinned it down with SBIRS. Infrared sees right through the jungle canopy."

Elizabeth thought about the satellite pictures from Russia. She thought about a full out firefight in the Mafra Palace over bark pages 1500 years old. She thought about AEON and a dead museum clerk with designs by Nikola Tesla.

"I want to show you something," she said.

She touched a key on her desk console. The big screen lit up on the wall. She tapped another key and a satellite photo of the Russian pyramid appeared on the monitor.

"This is something I've been looking at in Russia. You see the square shape that shows up under infrared?"

"Okay."

"Now look at this shot of the pyramid mentioned in the Codex." She brought it up next to the first photo.

"They look similar." Nick rubbed a hand across dark stubble on his chin.

"They are similar. Someone is building a pyramid in Russia. It's too much of a coincidence, the Codex, the coded messages. It has to be AEON. Ogorov has enough clout to pull it off."

"Why would they do that? AEON isn't sending messages to the gods."

"I haven't any idea, but they wanted the Codex for something. We beat them to it."

"Too bad for them."

"If you were trying to get information about that pyramid and you couldn't get the Codex, what would you do?"

"That's a no-brainer," Nick said. "I'd go to the source and see what I could find out." He could sense where this was going.

Elizabeth picked up her pen, tapped her desk. "Selena, you said this pyramid is hidden in the jungle, unexcavated. That means no one has seen it yet."

"That's right."

"Then I think it's time someone took a look."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The airport at Mérida sparkled in the aftermath of morning rain. The sun threw shimmering storm light across the wet pavement. Dark thunderheads towered overhead with the promise of more rain to come. The Project team stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of their Gulfstream into the torrid humidity of late summer in the Yucatan. It was like stepping into a steam bath.

A black, four wheel drive Suburban waited for them. The man standing beside it wore aviator sunglasses, tan Dockers, an open shirt and an unbuttoned tan sport jacket. There was a bulge under his coat. He introduced himself as John Madison. Nick guessed him to be in his late 20s.

"You guys must have some pull," he said. He shook hands with Nick and handed him a business card identifying him as a second assistant cultural attaché.

"The Consulate sent me over. I'm supposed to give you the keys to the vehicle. After that, you're on your own."

He looked at Nick. "Say, I know you. You're Carter." His face lit with recognition. It made him look even younger. It made Nick feel old. "You were with the President in Jerusalem. Sir, I'd like to shake your hand."

Selena knew Nick was embarrassed. Strangers still came up to him months after the Jerusalem bomb.

"We need to get moving," she said.

Madison said, "You speak Spanish?"

"Yes."

"It's spoken a little differently around here, but you shouldn't have too much trouble. You'll need a map. There's one in the glove compartment."

"Gas?" Nick asked.

"A full tank. You've got a spare 20 gallons in back. Best advice I can give you is fill up anytime you see a Pemex station. Bring the vehicle back here to the airport when you're done. It's brand new, so try not to beat it up too much. The Consul waited a year to get it, it's his pride and joy."

"We'll be careful," Selena said. "Thanks."

"I don't know why you're here, but good luck." Madison shook Nick's hand again. He walked over to a white sedan idling nearby and drove away. They watched him go.

"Second assistant attaché," Nick said. "With a nine under his jacket."

"Maybe he's worried about bandits," Lamont said.

"Means Langley knows we're here." Nick looked at the Suburban. "Why are these government rides always black? They might as well paint a target on them."

They loaded aluminum cases into the back. The cases held their weapons and everything they'd need in the jungle.

"This is weird," Nick lifted a case into the truck.

"Sure is," Ronnie said.

Selena said, "What are you two talking about?"

"Nick and I have been in the jungle before." Ronnie picked up another case. "It was a lot different. We'd be dropped in somewhere with our pack and weapons. Spend a month or two. Crawl around in the muck, live off the land, eat whatever we could find or kill. This is luxury."

He waved at the cases, the Suburban. "Kind of like a camping vacation."

"Yeah, a vacation," Nick said. "I'd rather be at the beach."

Jungles triggered bad memories. Nick hated the insects. Every jungle had it's own, nasty variety. Poisonous centipedes that could make your arm or your leg blow up like a balloon. Vipers that hid unseen in the green leaves, with a bite that killed before you took a dozen steps. Venomous spiders crawling over you as you slept. Big mosquitoes that swarmed in millions.

The Yucatan wasn't as bad as South America. It had big spiders, but none that were poisonous. The worst problem would be the moscas, the mosquitoes. Then there were black scorpions, Las Alacránes. Evil looking with a bad sting, but not lethal. Or fire ants. Those would crawl up your pants and show you how they got their name, if you were unlucky enough to step on a nest. Army ants, that ate everything in their path. They'd eat your boots and you too, if you let them.

Much as he didn't like insects, he wasn't worried about them. He was more concerned about the snakes. The coral snake, the rattlesnake and the Cantil all lived in the Yucatan. The Cantil was like a cottonmouth, close enough. The coral was deadly. All three species lived right where they were going.

They got in the Suburban. Selena sat in front, Nick drove. Ronnie and Lamont sat in the back. Selena took out the map and unfolded it.

"First we head to Pisté. It's a straight shot on route 180. It looks like a good road," she said. "I think about two hours."

She turned on her GPS. The unit was programmed to show their position relative to the objective. She could switch to satellite view of the area with an infrared option. Harker had a geostationary satellite tasked on their target, giving them real time images. At the moment, the view was unhampered by cloud cover and showed nothing unusual. The ruins were invisible under the dense canopy.

"From Pisté there's a secondary road." She traced the route with her finger and compared it to her GPS. "We jog a little, then go south. The road heads into the jungle. The map shows it ending past a small village."

"What's the name of that town?"

"You'll just confuse your tongue, don't worry about it. I probably can't get it right, anyway. It's in Mayan. It will take a few hours more from Pisté."

"Do we get to see Chichen Itza?" Lamont asked.

"No, that's on the other side of Pisté."

"I've seen it," Nick said. "It's impressive. Big pyramid, with lots of steps. Also something called the Ball Court. They used to play a kind of soccer there."

"Soccer?" Ronnie said.

"It was a lot rougher then. The court is paved with stone and lined with stone walls. They put two stone hoops sticking out of the walls, high up. The idea was to get the ball through a hoop without touching it with your hands. No holds barred."

"What happened if you won? The king give you a trophy or something?"

"You were a hero, lots of feasting. Gifts from the king. The games were religious."

"And if you lost?"

"You got sacrificed to the gods. It made for pretty spirited competition."

"I'll bet there's some coaches in the NFL who wish they could do that. Talk about motivation, that would do it."

They gassed up at Pisté and turned south. The road was in poor shape. They turned east for twenty minutes, then south again at a cluster of shacks. The road became a rutted, muddy track, barely wide enough for the vehicle. The jungle closed in on either side. They drove in an eerie green tunnel filled with shifting shadows.

Nick kept the truck in four wheel drive as they bumped along.

Selena looked at her GPS. "Almost there," she said.

The dirt track broke out of the jungle into a wide clearing with a half dozen huts. The walls of the huts were of mud and cinder blocks. The roofs were thatched with jungle fronds and grasses that hung down around the eves. Children in ragged clothes stared at them and ran inside. Scrawny chickens scattered out of the way. A one-eyed goat watched them from a patch by one of the houses.

Two women chatted by a circular stone well. They looked up in astonishment as the truck rolled slowly past. Beyond the village, the track disappeared into the green.

"I don't think they get many visitors," Ronnie said.

"Wonder what happens on a Saturday night?" Lamont watched the women staring after them. Then they were past and back in the jungle.

"Not much," Nick said. "Selena, how much farther?"

"Not far. The road ends a half mile ahead."

Ten minutes later the road petered out in an overgrown clearing. The jungle was already taking it back.

Nick stopped and turned off the ignition. A glint of chrome shone through the greenery from something hidden in the dense growth. A blue Toyota SUV.

They got out. Nick took out his pistol and listened. The sounds around him were the endless sounds of the jungle, birds, rustlings in the thick undergrowth. The ticking of the engine in the Suburban was the only thing out of place.

He put the pistol away and walked over to the concealed truck, touched the hood. Cold. A narrow trail had been hacked out through the greenery, leading away from the truck.

Ronnie came up beside him and knelt down. Nick was quiet, waiting for Ronnie to do his thing. In Recon, he was legendary for his tracking skills. After a minute he stood.

"Five men. One big man. They're all carrying gear. Looks like they're headed where we are. Not today. Yesterday or the day before."

Nick looked at the makeshift path.

"Let's get the gear out."

"Complicates things."

Nick gestured at the narrow trail chopped into the growth. "But they saved us a lot of work."

They opened the aluminum cases. There were four packs with rations, extra ammo, a med kit, shelter halves. A water filter that could suck clean water out of a cesspool. It took a lot of hand pumping, but it worked.

"Where are the vests?" Ronnie said.

"What do you mean?"

Nick looked at the open cases. No vests. Then he felt a headache begin. He knew where they were.

Back in Virginia.

He'd screwed up. He'd been about to get the vests out of the equipment room in the Project when he'd gotten a call from his sister in California.

"Nick, you have to come home."

Shelley always thought of Palo Alto as home, where they'd been brought up. It sure as hell hadn't been much of a home for him.

"I can't come to California. What's the matter?"

"You're never around when you should be. It's Mom. She's had a stroke. I'm at the hospital. If you'd listened to me and let us put her in a home this wouldn't have happened."

Shelley was always on him about their mother, how he didn't do enough, how she had to take care of everything. In reality, she didn't have to do anything. His mother had Alzheimer's. He'd arranged for full time, live-in care for her. It let her stay at home. As long as there was someone to look after her, she was better off at home, where she still remembered a few familiar things. But she usually didn't know who he was when he called.

Shelley was mad at him for blocking her attempt to put their mother in a home and sell off her house. She was mad at him for being angry at their father. She refused to understand it. It had always been Nick and his mom who bore the brunt of his father's drunken rages, not Shelley. Shelley was Daddy's Little Girl. She still defended the son of a bitch.

Now she was telling him it was his fault his mom had a stroke. He felt his blood pressure rising, a tight band across his forehead.

"Shelley, drop the martyr act and the accusations and tell me how she is."

"That's just like you," his sister had said. "You can't take any responsibility for her, you just want to keep George and me from getting our share. You won't even come out when your mother needs you."

That was when he'd lost it. "Goddamn it, Shelley!" He'd shouted into the phone. "Just tell me how she is! You think you can do that?"

His sister's voice was cold over the phone. "She's alive. I suppose that's all you need to know." She'd hung up.

Nick had wanted to hurl the phone across the room. For a short time after Jerusalem, Shelley had been a little more understanding, a touch more willing to see him as her brother instead of an obstacle in her path. It hadn't lasted long.

He'd put the phone away. He'd been so angry he'd forgotten about the vests.

"The damn vests are back in Virginia."

Ronnie looked at the cases. "Not much we can do about it. We probably won't need them. Plenty of times, we didn't have 'em."

"Yeah." It didn't make him feel any better.

They still wore the light civilian clothes they'd had on the plane. They changed for the jungle into heavy boots and camouflaged outfits that would blend into the greenery. Selena stripped with the others. No one except Nick paid attention. She was wearing red underwear. He remembered the dream of Selena wearing a red bikini.

Don't go there, he thought. It doesn't mean anything.

"Let's get the paint on," Nick said. They took turns covering their faces and hands with green and black and brown.

Ronnie looked at Selena. "Now you look right."

"Ready for Vogue," she said.

No helmets, only soft brimmed covers. Aside from their packs, each carried a knife, an H-K pistol and an MP-5N. Both guns were chambered for the .40 S&W round.

"Weapons check. Lock and load."

The clacking sound of the weapons sent a flurry of birds into the air.

He looked them over. His team. His family.

"We'll stay with the trail at first," Nick said. "There might be traps, so pay attention. Ronnie, you take point, then me, then Selena. Lamont, you bring up our six."

They headed into the jungle.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Nimb Hotel was an architect's elaborate misconception of a Moorish palace, a five star monument to the craze for historical architecture that had swept the European continent at the turn of the twentieth century. The hotel featured an ornate facade of high Moorish arches fronting a covered veranda. Arched windows repeated the theme on the second story. An onion shaped dome topped with the crescent of Islam towered over the entry way. Six smaller towers suggested minarets.

A broad, flat terrace extended away from the front of the building. A flight of steps led from the terrace to a landscaped garden area, where a large, circular fountain shot jets of water into the air. The water made a constant, soothing murmur in the background.

Elizabeth walked out of the entrance to the hotel and scanned the area. She wore a long black coat and carried two manila folders in her left hand. Vysotsky sat in the sun at a table on the far side of the terrace, reading a newspaper and sipping espresso. He wore a medium length outdoor jacket, open to the fading summer warmth. He looked exactly like a tourist.

Alexei Vysotsky was handsome in a European way. No one would ever mistake him for an American. He was not a big man, nor was he small. His eyes were black and penetrating as he watched her approach. He wore steel-rimmed tinted glasses that reminded her of movies about WWII. He was hatless. His hair was black, showing streaks of white. High cheekbones and the shape of his face hinted at an ancestor from the Mongolian steppes. He stood to greet her.

"Director. You are even better looking than your picture."

Elizabeth found herself smiling. A charmer. "As are you, General."

Vysotsky held a chair for her. She sat down and laid the folders on the table, away from Vysotsky. He looked amused. A waiter appeared and took Elizabeth's order. Cappuccino, pastry. Vysotsky ordered another espresso.

They waited in almost comfortable silence and watched the fountain bubble until the order came and the waiter left. Vysotsky took a sip.

"I remember in the old days, in Berlin, how our two sides would sometimes have a quiet meeting to ensure there were no, ah, misunderstandings. There hasn't been much of that since then."

"It's a tradition you and I might revive," Elizabeth said. "Things are more dangerous now than ever. Conversation is always preferable to the alternatives. It's refreshing to bypass the usual obstacles."

"Let us be candid, Director. You would not have called me if you didn't need my cooperation. I admit, my curiosity is aroused. You mentioned Ogorov. What is it about him that requires this meeting?"

"You are aware Ogorov is part of AEON's leadership."

"I have only your word for that."

"I have no reason to mislead you. If you are unwilling to take my word, coming here was a mistake."

"You are talking about one of my government's leaders."

"I'm talking about a man who is part of an organization that respects no government. Not yours. Not mine. Ogorov has been creating problems for you with the FSB. If you didn't think something was suspicious you would not have come."

I surprised him with that. Good. Let him wonder how I know.

"You are well informed. Is this what you wish to talk about? Something in those folders, perhaps?"

"I believe AEON is doing something on Russian soil that may threaten both our nations. If they are, Ogorov is involved."

She slid the first folder across to him. He opened it and looked at the satellite picture on top. The resolution of their satellites is better than ours. He filed the thought away for future consideration.

"Your infrared spy satellites have been busy."

"Always, General. As are yours."

Vysotsky looked at the notation on the photograph.

"Irtysh? There's nothing there but an old air base."

"There is now. Look at the next sequence."

He turned the page. After a few seconds he frowned. Elizabeth watched him. Did he already know about Irtysh? Vysotsky turned to the next picture and the next. His face set into hard lines. He looked up.

"This is obviously an official project. Why do you believe AEON is involved?"

"Because someone is building a pyramid."

"A pyramid?"

"Look near the river. You can see a canal has been cut from the river to a square shape picked up by the infrared. That is the base of a pyramid. It's well camouflaged and hidden from direct view."

"Certainly there is something there. Why do you say it is a pyramid?"

"I've included pictures of several pyramids buried in the sands of Egypt. Notice the shape. The Irtysh image is identical, don't you think?"

He shuffled through the pictures. "How does this involve Ogorov?"

She gave him the second folder. "It will save time if you read this. It will take a few minutes."

The folder contained a copy of Selena's research on the Codex and a detailed action report about Mafra. Harker was taking a huge gamble. If Vysotsky was in some way involved, she had just handed her enemies everything they needed.

She was unable to do anything about such a large and secret project located in the heart of Russia. But Vysotsky could. She needed him, just as he had needed her to operate in America not long before. The game was on his turf.

Vysotsky read the brief. When he looked up, his face was expressionless.

"Director. This assessment of the Mexican pyramid strains belief."

She nodded. "Yes. However, the scientific principles are well understood. If someone could harness and amplify the Telluric energies, it would provide a source of inexhaustible power. Power that could be put to many uses. I believe that is what Ogorov is doing."

"Your accusation of Ogorov is based on identification of him as a member of AEON's leadership. That information was provided by an anonymous source."

"That's true. Do I need to point out that the source was accurate regarding the Demeter and Black Harvest plan to attack the Federation?"

"Minister Ogorov is a strong voice for our place in the world."

"Minister Ogorov is a man who has a higher priority than the welfare of Russia."

"So you say." Vysotsky emptied his coffee. He signaled the waiter over. "Vodka. Bring the bottle, your best quality."

He looked at Harker. "Two glasses."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Selena had learned a lot since she'd joined the Project. She wasn't a rookie any more. But walking in the Yucatan jungle with three former Special Forces veterans was a new experience. It showed her how little she knew. It made her feel like she was starting all over again.

For one thing, they were silent. More than once, she stepped on something that made noise, only to get a look of disapproval from Lamont or Nick. Ronnie was on the point. He didn't bother looking back.

She tried to imitate the way the others walked. They moved in single file, slowly, lifting each foot into the air and carefully setting it down again. They were aware of every twig, every stone, every leaf, every possible thing that could trip them or make noise as they passed. Their bodies were loose, yet tense. Their eyes never stopped moving. They scanned the canopy above, the jungle to the sides of the trail, the trail itself.

After a bit she got better at it. Her legs ached from the unnatural effort. She was soaked in sweat. Swarms of mosquitoes had found them. Nick looked back and smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up.

It's like he's on a stroll, she thought, a nature hike with weapons. He's enjoying this. The thought was like ice water on her body. He's enjoying this. It's what he lives for, the danger, the edge. He'll never change.

With the thought, a wave of sadness rushed over her. He'll never change. It's what he knows how to do, what he wants to do. But is it what I want to do?

No one talked. Ahead, Ronnie held up his hand. He pointed down at the side of the trail, moved to the side and forward again. She saw a brightly colored coral snake curled in a spot where sunlight filtered through the canopy. It ignored her.

After about an hour Ronnie held up his hand again and waited for the others to come up to him. Here, the trail widened a bit. They stood close together. Selena drank some water.

"We're close," Ronnie said. "Doesn't look like anyone's come back this way, yet."

Selena became acutely aware of the sounds all around them, a constant murmur of life that never ceased. The jungle had it's own voice. Chattering birds. Sounds she couldn't identify. Insects. The hum of mosquitoes grew louder. She wiped sweat away. Her hand came away smeared with green camouflage paint. She drank some more water.

"All right," Nick said. "Whoever is here has to be hostile."

He looked at Selena. She still needs looking out for. "We'll get close and scout the area and play it by ear," he said to her. "Follow our lead, you'll be fine. Watch your back."

She nodded.

"Let's go."

Ronnie led them down the trail. After another ten minutes, he signaled. Ahead, the dark mass of the pyramid rose through the trees.

"That's it," Nick said. His voice was very quiet. "Get off the trail. Selena, watch the noise."

They moved off the trail and crept through the foliage. Selena saw a tiny frog jump from a broad leaf. A brown spider as big as her fist scuttled away underfoot. She shuddered. They came to the edge of what had been a wide plaza in front of the Mayan ruin. She peered out through the leaves. The uneven pavement of the plaza was twisted and broken where trees had pushed up through the stones.

The pyramid rose high into the canopy overhead. The passage of time had not been kind. The stones were stained dark by the rains of centuries. Tall trees pushed up against it. Carvings of faces and serpents peered out from behind the jungle growth. Tangled vines with thick trunks and deep green leaves blurred the outlines of crumbling stone ledges. A steep set of steps ran up the center of the ruin from the plaza to a stone altar and a square-shaped temple on the peak.

At the foot of the steps were two tents. Two men stood by one of them, talking and laughing. They were dressed in dull green. Not an official uniform. Not civilian clothes. They were armed.

"They're carrying AN-94s," Ronnie said. "How the hell do they get those?"

The AN-94 was Russia's newest assault rifle, a highly advanced weapon. 5.45 mm, with a radical design that fired two rounds at a time and minimized recoil. The shooter had trigger selection to control the rate of fire, from 600 to 1800 rounds per minute. Production problems and a Kremlin hard up for cash meant only elite forces had access to them. Their presence in the Yucatan proved high level government involvement.

"I don't think those guys are archeologists," Lamont said.

Selena listened. "They're speaking Russian."

"What are they saying?"

"Something about a woman called Nadia." She listened. Her face tightened. "They're pigs. They raped her. They're laughing about it."

A radio squawked. One of the men spoke into a shoulder microphone.

"They've found something," Selena said. "Whatever they were looking for."

Three men emerged from the doorway at the top of the ruin. One held something wrapped in cloth up over his head, grinning. He shouted something. The three started down the steps leading to the plaza.

"How you want to do it?" Lamont brushed a mosquito away. The men had reached the half way point in their descent.

"Wait until they're almost at the bottom," Nick said. "Then hit them."

Selena rubbed her nose.

"Try to keep one alive," he said.

Then Selena sneezed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Malcolm Foxworth's villa in Tuscany was built on terraces cut into the steep slope of a rugged promontory jutting out into the Arno River. A narrow road wound down the side of a small mountain and ended at a set of formidable iron gates. Twelve foot high walls topped with glass shards surrounded three sides of the property.

The river side was dominated by a massive stone landing. Behind it was a channel leading from the river to a boat house under the villa. Entry to the boat house was blocked by steel gates. Two neo-classical statues of Roman gods stood guard on the ends of the pier. An elegant stone railing followed a long flight of steps and landings leading up from the river to the main house.

The villa was old. It was large, four stories high. Two narrow, pointed towers flanked one end, commanding a view of the river. Above the main building more steps rose to a second building and then to the level of the landside entry, where there was a large paved courtyard and another three story structure that housed the guards and the villa staff.

The walls glowed yellow in the welcoming Tuscan sunlight. The villa with its red tile roofs by the river looked like a vacation dream of Italy. No one could have guessed the kinds of dreams that took place within those picture perfect walls.

Doctor Morel put the syringe back in his case and closed it. Foxworth felt the pain ease. Lately the headaches were much worse. More frequent.

"Send Healy in," he said.

"Of course, Malcolm."

Morel picked up his case and left. A moment later Foxworth's chief of security came into the room. He looked calm, but Foxworth was a master at reading people. He knew Healy was nervous. As he should be.

"You fucked up again, Healy."

"The team in Mafra were good. It should have been enough."

Foxworth waited. He drew the silence out, let Healy sweat. Finally he said, "All right. Harker's people are damn good. But there better not be any more problems. Give me a progress report."

"There's a sealed room at the top of the pyramid. They're working to get into it. If there's anything there, that's where it will be. Aside from that, it's just another pile of stone."

"How are Ogorov's men performing?"

Healy shrugged. "They follow orders. It was Ogorov's people that got it in Portugal. You give me the men I want, we'll be better off."

"No. There are too many leaks in the mercenary groups. Too many ears. Besides, I tried it your way in California and Washington. Ogorov's men are trained and they're not on the radar."

"Whatever you say, sir."

"That's right. Whatever I say. Keep me informed." Healy turned to go.

"Find Mandy and send her in."

"Yes, sir."

He watched Healy shut the door behind him and thought about Mandy.

Damn the woman. It had been a long time since he'd let a woman get under his skin. She was like a drug, like one of Morel's concoctions. It wasn't just the sex, though Mandy was inventive and enthusiastic. She was smart. She did her job well in her official capacity as his assistant. She was brilliant at sensing when someone was lying, an extremely useful asset. Probably because she was such a good liar herself.

She was having an affair with Healy. Foxworth was almost ready to do something about it. Healy had been making mistakes. Mandy was one mistake too many.

Foxworth didn't love Mandy. He wasn't sure what love meant. But he needed her, he was sure about that. As long as he kept her satisfied with the trinkets his fortune could buy and gave her freedom for the occasional affair, she'd stay. But Healy was too close to home. He couldn't allow it to go on much longer.

As Healy went to find Mandy he thought about Foxworth. The arrogant son of a bitch. He wouldn't last a second in a firefight. He walked through the villa looking for her and found her on the garden terrace. She sat at a table, sipping something red with ice in it.

"He wants you," Healy said.

Mandy Atherton wore a designer dress of pale blue silk that highlighted her unusual beauty. Anyone could see why she had graced the covers of every important fashion magazine in the world. Around her throat was a chased gold choker of diamonds and sapphires. The sapphires and the dress picked up the color of her eyes. The hard white gleam of the diamonds went with something unseen inside her.

A light breeze from the river sent ripples through her long black hair. It shone with highlights in the Tuscan sun. Healy felt himself stiffen.

Damn, he wanted her.

Mandy saw the bulge in his trousers and laughed. "Better hadn't let Malcolm see that."

"He doesn't produce the same effect."

She stood. "We have to be careful for a while. I think he's getting suspicious."

"One day I'm going to kill the bastard."

"Kill the golden goose? I don't think so." She fingered the jeweled choker. "At least not until you can provide the same benefits. And we both know that isn't going to happen, don't we?"

"You're a greedy bitch, Mandy."

"No, darling. Just practical. Be grateful for what I can give you." She gave him a peck on the cheek. He wanted to choke her.

"I'll go see what the great man wants."

Healy watched the movement of her body under the dress as she walked away. He'd never had a woman tie up his mind like Mandy did. One of these days he would do something about Malcolm.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Selena's sneeze echoed across the plaza. Birds flew shrieking into the air. The figures on the steps froze. One of the men near the tents shouted something and swept his rifle up and began firing blindly in their direction. A storm of bullets ripped through the leaves over their heads with a sound like the world tearing apart.

To Selena, everything happened at once. Ronnie, Lamont and Nick opened fire. The men near the tent shot into the jungle. The others scrambled down the last steps. Two of them unslung their rifles and fired. Selena brought her MP-5 up, felt herself pull the trigger, watched one of the figures by the tent fly backwards from the impact of her rounds. The men on the steps reached the ground and scattered to both sides. The man carrying the bundle ran around the corner of the ruin. Chips flew from the stones behind him. He disappeared into the trees.

She felt the recoil of her gun. Some piece of her noted the empty shells flying into the air. The bolt of her MP-5 clacked on an empty chamber. She reached for a magazine.

Something hit her hard, low on the right side. The blow spun her around and knocked her onto the moist jungle floor, face down in the dirt and leaves. For a second she felt nothing, then deep, frightening pain that cut through her. She gasped, unable to call out. There was liquid warmth under her clothes.

She was vaguely aware the noise of the guns had stopped. Nick knelt over her. He was saying something. His voice faded in and out.

"Selena," he was saying. "Selena, stay with me."

She tried to speak. Then the world went black.

Nick fought down his panic. He held his hand against the wound and looked at Ronnie. Blood welled between his fingers.

"She's hit bad. Get a kit. Lamont, call Harker. Get a chopper."

"They can't make it in here. We'll have to go back to the truck."

"No time. Tell them to home in on our beacon and drop a litter and a medic through the canopy. We don't get her to a hospital fast, she'll die."

I forgot the fucking vests. This is my fault. My fault. One fucking round.

Selena was unconscious. Nick reached around her back and felt for an exit wound. The high-velocity round had gone through and come out the other side. He pressed his hands against the wounds. The flow of blood through his fingers was a steady trickle.

"God damn it, Ronnie, hurry up."

Ronnie cut her shirt away. The 5.4mm round had made a small, red hole in her abdomen, then ripped out through her back. Blood flowed from the wounds.

Ronnie applied pressure bandages. Neither man spoke. She wouldn't live if the bullet had clipped an artery. She might live if they got her to a hospital in time. They'd both seen wounds like this before. They both knew she might not make it.

"The bleeding's slowed," Ronnie said. "Nothing to do but wait for the bird."

"Chopper's on the way," Lamont said. "Twenty minutes."

"We didn't get them all," Ronnie said. "The guy carrying something got away."

Nick cradled Selena's head in his bloody hands. He made an effort to focus.

"He's here somewhere. Watch out in case he thinks he's a hero. Search the bodies. See if there's anything that will help us ID them. Grab one of those AN-94s. Once Selena's safe, we'll figure out what they were doing here. "

He looked up at the indifferent green canopy above.

"I hate jungles," he said.

Selena's face was an unnatural white, her eyes slightly open. Her breasts rose and fell in labored gasps.

Christ, I'm losing her.

"Don't give up," he whispered. "You can do it, help's coming. You'll be all right. Don't give up."

You forgot the vests. He waited for the sound of the helicopter, his mind black with guilt.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The atmosphere in Harker's office was depressing.

"After we got her out." Nick stopped, began again. "After the chopper left, we climbed the steps. There was a temple at the top and a second room inside, sealed up a long time ago. Maybe when the Spaniards were coming. The bad guys broke it open. It took them a while. The walls were three feet thick, solid stone."

Harker began tapping, impatient.

"We found an altar in there, made of jade and inlaid with turquoise and gold. A round shaft goes right through the middle and down into the pyramid. I dropped a rock into it and never heard it hit bottom. There was a hole in the roof over the platform, same size, circular. Perfectly lined up with the shaft."

"Go on."

"Everything was black with mold and stained from the rains, but you could see where there'd been something on the altar, right over that shaft. One of the bad guys got away. He took whatever it was with him. There was a lot of gold, but they didn't bother with it."

"I wonder what was more important than gold?"

Ronnie said, "We got back to the truck and found it shot up. You're going to hear about it. The Consul wasn't happy."

Harker's pen beat a nervous tattoo on her desk. Time to deal with the elephant in the room.

"About Selena," she said. "She's stable, but the round clipped a vertebra. A bone fragment is pressing against the spinal cord. It has to be removed. She's been airlifted to Bethesda."

"She's here?" Nick said.

"Yes. They're going to operate today." She paused. "It's risky. The doctors say she could end up paralyzed from the waist down. They won't know until after the surgery."

Nick felt something clench in his gut. "It's my fault."

Ronnie shook his head. "Come on, Nick. She sneezed. They heard it." He shrugged. "Like they say, shit happens."

"That doesn't help. I fucked up. I forgot to pack the vests. She'd been wearing one, she'd be all right."

Harker's pen stopped moving. "Nick. I need to know you've got your head on straight."

He took a deep breath. "Don't worry. I can handle it. I want to get the bastard behind this. Foxworth. And his Russian buddy, Ogorov. Who else could have provided those weapons?"

"That's what I want to talk about today. You might get your chance. I met with General Vysotsky while you were in Mexico. We're considering a joint operation."

"In Russia?"

"Not yet. He has to be careful about moving against Ogorov."

"If we don't have to go to Russia, why do we need Vysotsky?"

"He needs evidence Ogorov is a traitor. Vysotsky still isn't convinced Ogorov is part of AEON."

"What does he have in mind?"

"Foxworth is in Italy. He always spends a month there this time of year. Vysotsky wants us to raid Foxworth's villa and he wants Major Korov to go with you. He's looking for proof. If Korov is with you, he'll trust whatever you find."

Nick smiled for the first time since Selena had been shot. "Korov? That would work."

Korov was part of Zaslon, under Vysotsky's command. Nick respected and liked him, even if he was technically an enemy. In Texas, he'd helped carry Ronnie out under heavy fire.

"This isn't just another raid," Elizabeth said. "I should go to the President with it. Foxworth is too important, too powerful. It could backfire."

"If you go to Rice he'll say no." Nick tugged on his ear. He thought of Selena. "He doesn't need to know about this. We can make Foxworth talk."

The coldness in his voice made them all look at him.

"What are you staring at? You know I'm right."

They waited for Harker to think it over. After a moment she said, "All right, we'll do it. I'll set it up. Everyone go home and get some rest."

"What are the rules of engagement?" Nick asked. "With Foxworth?"

"We can't kill him. I'm warning you, Nick. This isn't about vengeance."

"What if he resists? With deadly force?"

"That's different."

Nick smiled for the second time that day.

CHAPTER FORTY

Major Arkady Korov was dressed in civilian clothes, but he would have been recognized as a professional soldier anywhere in the world. Korov's life had been spent in the military. He was just over six feet tall. His eyes were blue like arctic sky, his short hair blonde. His face was square, with a trace of reddish shadow on his jaw. He had a small, crescent shaped scar on his chin.

Korov had been summoned to Vysotsky's office. He stood at attention in front of the General's wide desk.

"You are going to Italy, Arkady." Vysotsky opened a drawer, took out a bottle of Vodka and two glasses. "Sit." He gestured at a chair.

"Sir." Korov sat. Vysotsky poured, handed him a glass.

"Na Zdrov'nya."

"Na Zdrov'nya."

They emptied the glasses. Vysotsky poured another and sat back. "You will work with the Americans again."

"The Project?"

"Yes. This is a mission of highest secrecy. There must be no hint of your involvement."

Arkady noticed the choice of words. Your involvement. Your, not our. It meant he was on his own if anything happened.

"I understand. What are my orders?"

"You will meet Harker's team in Florence. They will provide weapons and logistical support. The target is a man called Foxworth. Harker says he is the leader of AEON, the group that was behind the CIA conspiracy against us. She says Ogorov acts on Foxworth's orders."

"Why is she telling you this?"

"She's worried. She showed me proof something secret is happening here and she thinks AEON is behind it. It is as before, there is a threat to both our nations. Or so Harker believes. I have looked for myself. There is a significant project, but I find no official authorization, no records. Harker says it is Ogorov. Your orders are to try and confirm his association with Foxworth and AEON."

Korov lifted his glass and considered his vodka. "Minister Ogorov has been interfering with our operations."

Vysotsky nodded. "Just so. Ogorov has the ear of our President. If he is plotting against the Motherland I must have proof of treason before I go after him."

"And this man, Foxworth. You want him questioned about Ogorov?"

"Exactly. That is Harker's intention. I am impressed by her determination. She risks everything by working with us. I don't think her President knows about it."

"That would be consistent," Korov said. "She doesn't strike me as someone who is bound by the rules."

"That makes her a valuable ally and a dangerous enemy," Vysotsky said. "Go to Italy. Find out which she is."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Selena walked with her dog on the beach near her childhood home in California. Her older brother was there, except he was much younger than she was, only three or four years old, making a sand castle on the beach with a red plastic bucket. Her dog had been gone a long time. She knew that, yet there he was.

She watched a black cloud grow large on the horizon. She looked around for her brother, but he was gone. She looked for her dog, but he was gone, too. The beach was empty. She was alone.

A moment before it had been bright and sunny, but now it was cold. Dark. She looked again at the ocean. The cloud was huge, closer. Bolts of lightning flashed inside it, great crackling streaks of electricity that hurled themselves into the waters.

A harsh, biting wind whipped grains of sand around her. She was cold and afraid. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm. She tried to call out, but no sound came from her mouth.

The cloud was almost upon her. Beneath it, a towering, dark wave rushed toward her, twenty, thirty, forty feet high, foam curling and boiling on the top. It terrified her. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move. She couldn't feel her feet. She opened her mouth to scream. The wall of water crashed over her. She couldn't breathe…

Selena gasped and opened her eyes. It took a moment to understand where she was. She was lying in a bed. A hospital bed. The ceiling above her was cream colored. The sheets under her were crisp. She turned her head to one side. A tier of machines stood by the bed. Green blips moved in a constant line across a screen. Digital numbers monitored her life signs. A plastic bag of fluid hung on a rack with a tube running down to her arm.

She couldn't feel her legs. She had a headache. There was something wrong, but she didn't know what it was. She turned her head the other way.

Nick was asleep in a chair by her bed. He was unshaven, his jacket off, showing the .45 he wore in a shoulder holster. He looked ten years older, his face drawn and tired.

She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here, wherever here was. The last thing she remembered was the jungle. They'd been in a firefight, she'd shot someone.

I was hit. I didn't have a vest. I'm in a hospital.

She couldn't feel her hips. She couldn't move her legs.

Probably drugs, pain killers. That's why I can't feel much. Why can't I move my legs?

Her throat was dry. "Nick," she rasped.

He came awake, startled. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red.

"Selena. You had me worried." His smile didn't quite come off.

"Water," she said. "Please."

He took a cup with a bending straw from a table by the bed and held it to her mouth.

"Not too much."

The water was like nectar. She swallowed and coughed.

"Where am I?"

"Bethesda. You needed an operation." He looked at her. "You've been out for five days."

"Five days?"

"You were hit bad. You went into shock. The doctors kept you sedated."

"I can't feel my legs." She watched his face pale.

Oh, shit, she thought. What's wrong?

"It's the drugs," he said. He talked quickly. "You're loaded up with pain killers. You'll be feeling plenty in a day or so." He smiled.

"How bad?"

"How bad, what?"

"How bad was I hit?"

"You took one through the gut and out the back. It nicked the liver. It missed the hepatic artery, or we wouldn't be talking. You're going to have a couple of scars to compete with me."

"What else? There's more, I can tell."

He looked down at the floor, then back up at her. "The bullet nicked a vertebra on your spine. They had to operate to clean out the fragments. They got them all."

"Nick, I can't feel my legs. Tell me I'm not paralyzed. Tell me."

She felt panic hovering. Fear. If she couldn't walk, what would she do? How would she function? Her passion for life was built around action, athletics, movement. Movement. Something she'd always taken for granted, never thought about.

"Your spinal cord wasn't hit, but it's bruised. That causes temporary paralysis."

"Temporary? This will go away?"

"Yes. They're optimistic." He paused. "For the short term, you can't walk. But it will heal. You have to believe that."

"How long? How long until I find out if it's permanent?"

"A month. Maybe less. As it heals, you'll get feeling back. You're in for some tough rehab, but it should all come back."

"If it heals."

"Yes."

"You forgot the vests." As she said it, she wished she could take the words back.

He looked down at the floor again.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I did."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Ronnie, Nick and Lamont met Korov at the airport terminal in Florence. From there they would drive southwest toward Pisa and Foxworth's villa on the Arno. Ronnie watched Korov coming toward them across the terminal floor. The Russian wore a brown jacket, dark brown pants and shoes, a white shirt open at the collar. The collar on his shirt had wide points. He carried a cheap blue airline bag.

"Reminds me a lot of you," Ronnie said to Nick. "We could have used him, back in the day."

"Back in the day, he was probably helping people shoot at us."

"Yeah. Times change."

Korov came up to them. "So. We are a team again." He shook hands all around. "It is good to see you. Selena is not with you?"

Nick was tight lipped. "Hello, Arkady. Not this time. Let's get going."

Korov looked a question at Ronnie. He made a slight don't ask gesture with his head. They followed Nick out to the parking lot and their rented Alfa.

"I still say we should have got the Ferrari," Lamont said. "Always wanted to drive one of those."

"We would have needed three of them."

"Christ, Nick. Lighten up."

They tossed their bags in the trunk and got in the car. Lamont followed signs out of the airport and got on the E76 toward Pisa. Nick and Korov sat in back. Nick opened a folder with satellite photos of the villa and a road map of the region. Outside, the peaceful countryside rolled past.

Tuscany, one of the world's great destinations, the birthplace of the Italian Renaissance and some of the greatest art, literature, architecture and music in the world. It had been the home of the Medicis, of dukes and popes and kings. It was a land of good wine, good food, passion and beauty. It was also a land drenched in treachery and blood.

"We stay on this road until Pisa." Nick traced the route on the map. "At Pisa we go south toward the coast. Foxworth's place is right on the Arno, here, upriver from where it empties into the Ligurian Sea." He handed the photographs to Korov.

Korov studied the pictures. "Only one road in. Fortified. What's his security?"

"Foxworth has a dozen guards. Most of them are concentrated up top. They've got Uzis. The way the villa is built in tiers means we'd have to fight through them and down three levels. I want to come in from the river."

Nick showed him another set of photographs, taken from the river.

"This big stone landing is the river access. Behind it, there's a boathouse." He placed his finger on the photo. "We can either go up those steps on the outside or through the boathouse to get into the main building. We do it quiet, the guards up top won't know we're there. We grab Foxworth, get out and take him someplace where we won't be interrupted."

"The steps are exposed," Korov said. "They can fire from above. We wouldn't make it."

"That's why I'm thinking the boathouse is the best bet. There has to be an inside entrance to the villa."

"What about the gate to the boathouse?"

"Lamont will handle that. He'll go underwater and open it."

Lamont wove in and out through the traffic. The speedometer on the Alfa held at a steady 130kph, about 80 mph. Traffic was heavy and rules absent. The Italians all drove as if they were in the Grand Prix. Lamont passed a truck and dodged a battered red Fiat. The driver raised his finger in a universal sign.

"There must be alarms. Sensors." Korov shuffled the pictures.

"That's a problem," Nick said. "We don't have enough intel. We have to play it by ear."

"By ear?" Korov had a puzzled expression.

"An idiom, Arkady. Means we improvise. "

"You have a boat ready?"

"Waiting for us at Tyrrhenia, on the coast."

Harker had arranged everything. Someone was coming after dark and bringing the weapons and gear they'd need.

"And when we have the target?"

"We make like Napoleon." Nick smiled. "We head for the island of Elba. An isolated house. No one will be looking for us there, not at first. It will give us time. To talk."

Less than an hour later they reached the outskirts of Pisa and turned south. After a short while they turned off on a road to the shore. A house on the beach waited for them. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living area with a sofa. Nick planned to hit the villa around three in the morning, when the guards would be bored and least alert.

"Better get some sleep," he said. "It's going to be a long night." He went into one of the bedrooms and closed the door.

Korov looked at the closed door, then at Ronnie and Lamont.

"What is wrong? Nick is not the same. Is there trouble?"

Ronnie told him about Mexico. "He thinks it's his fault about Selena. Problem is, he's partly right. It's eating him up inside."

"And he thinks this man Foxworth is responsible."

"Right."

"I don't think I would want to be this man," Korov said.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

It wasn't much fun, lying awake at three in the morning. The floor outside Selena's room was quiet. She'd asked the duty nurse to leave the door open. The open door was just enough to keep the demons at bay. It was quiet, this early in the morning. Sometimes someone passed outside. Sometimes she could hear voices from the nurse's station down the corridor, or a call over the hospital speakers for a doctor.

She didn't need to feel isolated and alone on top of everything else. It was bad enough that a catheter drained her body waste, bad enough that she still had no feeling in her legs.

The pain killers kept her awake. Her mind turned things over in a drugged half sleep. She couldn't get out of the bed by herself. Lying there with a night light throwing shadows on the pale walls, she had nothing to look at but the monitors and the steady spikes of her heart beating across the screen in digital green.

She'd demanded they cut back on the drugs. She hated the fuzzy feeling that came from the morphine or whatever they'd been pumping into her. She could push a button for a hit, if the pain got bad, but she kept her finger away. It was too easy to let herself drift in a monotonous, monochrome sea of disturbing thoughts and images.

The pain told her she was alive. She thought she'd felt a twinge in her foot, an hour or so ago. She might have imagined it.

She fought the thoughts, the fear she would never walk again. Never run. Never swim. Never jump from an airplane or go shopping without a wheelchair or just go to the damned bathroom like a human being.

Never feel the adrenaline rush that came when her finger was pressed against the trigger and people were trying to kill her. She didn't like the killing, but she couldn't lie to herself. She'd come to crave the adventure, the danger, the sense of being on the edge.

The edge had caught up with her. More than caught up, she'd fallen off it.

She tried to think about anything except the possibility she'd be crippled for life. She remembered good days spent with her brother and parents, before the accident took them from her. She remembered her uncle laughing as he took her around Paris and showed her the glories of the Louvre, introduced her to her first taste of good wine and French cooking.

The City of Light, he'd said, a beacon of culture in a barbaric world.

She remembered the first time she'd seen Nick in Harker's office and the look of surprise he couldn't quite hide.

She smiled. He'd been expecting someone else, probably a dried up academic. She remembered the first time they'd made love, in his cabin. They were good memories. In every one of them she'd been standing on her own two feet. Well, except for making love. Sometimes even then.

She had no feeling below the waist. If she was paralyzed, her relationship with Nick was over. She would never allow him to stay with her, even if he swore he wanted to.

She pushed back tears.

Pain from the surgery was a steady fire in her abdomen. They were feeding her intravenously, to give her intestines time to heal. She was losing weight. When she got out of here she'd look like one of those anorexic models on supermarket magazine covers.

When she got out of here.

What would she do?

She felt a wave of self pity lurking and shut it down. She was going to beat this. She thought about Master Kim, her martial arts teacher and friend. What would he do? He would never surrender, never give up. Neither would she.

She closed her eyes and took a breath and began the meditation on the warrior's way.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

"Cool," Lamont said.

Their boat was docked in a private marina in a secluded cove. It was 46 feet long, shaped like a bullet and painted black. It looked sleek and fast and sinister.

"Nice boat," Korov said.

"Nice? This is more than nice. This is a Ferrari of boats, the best. It's a rich man's boat. I know about these. It's a Rough Rider XP, top of the line. Two Mercury engines, turbo charged. I'll bet it's got a hell of a stereo."

"How much power?" Ronnie asked.

"A lot. 2700 horse or more. This is one fast son of a bitch. I wonder who Harker knows? We'd better take good care of it."

"2700 horsepower for a fiberglass sport boat?" Nick said. "You have got to be kidding."

"I told you, rich man's boat, built for racing. Something like this costs three quarters of a million dollars. I never thought I'd get to drive one."

"Who said you're driving?"

"I'm the water guy, remember? We had cigarette boats in the Seals. They're kind of touchy. You don't want to make a mistake."

"Cigarette boat?" Korov had that puzzled look again. "It doesn't look like a cigarette."

Lamont and Ronnie laughed. "They call them that because smugglers used them to run cigarettes past the Coast Guard. Nobody does that anymore, now it's drugs. Too fast to catch. Before that they were called rum runners."

"Enough with the history," Nick said. "Saddle up."

They stowed the gear in a small cabin in front of the cockpit. The boat sat six. There would be room to strap Foxworth in. Korov ran his fingers over the smooth tan leather of the seats.

Lamont started the engines. The sound at idle was subdued, a gentle rumble in the night.

"Cast off," Lamont said.

The boat came free of the dock. He eased the throttle forward. They moved away toward open water. The grumble of the twin Mercurys was steady, soothing.

The line of instruments on the dash threw a soft, green glow across the cockpit.

"Boat's got it all," Lamont said. "GPS. Livorsi instruments, touch screen navigation, radio if we need it. Probably plays Jimmie Hendrix in mood light LEDs if you want." He eyed the stereo.

"Don't even think about it," Nick said.

The night was black except for the radiance of the stars. Lamont headed a little way offshore and turned in the direction of the Arno River. He opened the throttle a bit more. The bow lifted and the boat surged ahead. With their low profile and black paint they were an arrow-like phantom on the water. The air smelled of salt and seaweed and the shore passing on their left. There was a steady, cool breeze.

In twenty minutes they came to the mouth of the Arno. Lamont steered into the river and headed upstream. He looked at the GPS.

"Getting close."

"Check your gear," Nick said.

Vests. MP-5s. Flash bangs. Pistols. If this went wrong, every cop in Europe would be looking for them. They'd be in the middle of an international shit storm. The world saw Foxworth as a rich and successful businessman, a philanthropist, a man to be emulated and admired. The world had no idea who he was behind the public mask.

Foxworth's villa appeared ahead on their left. Lamont throttled down and stayed in the middle of the river. The engines made low burbling noises. Nick watched the house though night vision lenses as they idled past.

"One man on the garden terrace, smoking a cigarette. One headed topside on the steps coming up from the pier. His weapon is slung and he's looking at his watch. Bored."

Then they were past and around a long bend in the river. Lamont continued up river for a short distance, then throttled down and brought the boat around. The engines idled. They drifted with the sluggish current downstream, toward the villa.

"All right. We get around the end of the pier and up to the boathouse. Ronnie, someone spots us, be ready to take him out."

Ronnie nodded.

"Let's do it."

Lamont touched the throttle. They came back down around the bend. The promontory and their target lay ahead. Most of the villa was dark. Dim lights showed behind tall French windows on the ground floor. The courtyard by the main gate was lit. The boathouse was shrouded in darkness.

"Coming down the steps," Korov said in a low voice.

A single guard started down the long flight of stairs from the villa to the pier. Ronnie had his MP-5 up against his cheek, tracking the unsuspecting man through the night scope. The gun was suppressed, but a silenced weapon wasn't all that silent. If he fired, the noise could be enough to alert others. Better if they didn't have to shoot. Lamont applied just enough power to keep headway and guided the boat toward the landing.

Nick watched the guard. Once we reach the end we'll be hidden. Unless he comes to the edge and looks down.

Lamont killed the engines. The boat glided silently into the dark channel of water leading to the closed boathouse gates. Momentum carried them forward. Lamont cut the helm over. They turned sideways and bumped up against the gates with a soft, scraping sound. Korov reached for the steel bars and held the boat steady. They waited.

The guard's footsteps sounded on the landing above and stopped. A sudden stream of liquid splashed down into the water, ten yards from where they waited. They heard the man sigh, the sound of a zipper. The footsteps started again and receded.

Nick felt a headache beginning. He unclenched tight fingers from his MP-5.

The gates were made of stainless steel and opened in the middle. They didn't move when Nick pushed against them. They weren't chained or locked. There had to be a controlling mechanism somewhere inside. Like a garage door, operated by a remote when coming in from the river.

Lamont stripped down to his shorts, rinsed out a pair of goggles and put them on. He lowered himself over the side, took a deep breath, another, then submerged into the black-green water.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Lamont kicked downward until he found the bottom of the gate. He swam under it and came up on the other side.

"You look like a drowned rat," Nick said.

"Called camouflage."

Nick handed him a flashlight through the bars.

"Find that control."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

The boathouse was long and high, a cavern of moldering brick and moss-covered stone. A wide stone landing ran along one side. White boat fenders hung down at regular intervals. Steps cut into the landing led down to the water and disappeared below the surface. A cabin cruiser was docked at the far end. Polished brass gleamed in the light from the flash.

Lamont swam to the steps and climbed up on the platform. A switch box was mounted on the wall. Next to the box, a narrow flight of steps led to the villa above. His feet left wet prints on the rough stone as he walked to the box. It contained two switches labeled in Italian, one marked LAMPADAS, the other PORTA. Lights and gate.

Lamont flicked the PORTA switch down and the two sides of the gate swung inward. He went along the platform to the open gates, caught a rope from Nick and pulled the boat stern first into the cavern and up against the bumpers. The others scrambled onto the platform. Lamont dressed and picked up his MP-5. They pulled black balaclavas over their heads.

Nick said, "Korov, you stick close to me."

"What if Foxworth is not here?"

"He's here. I can feel it."

Nick's ear tingled, his sixth sense, the one that had failed him back in Mexico. Back when Selena was shot. He shook off the thought.

They went up the stairs single file. The steps ended at a closed wooden door.

"This feels too easy," Ronnie said.

"Uh huh," Lamont said. "That's what I was thinking."

"There could be alarms," Korov said.

Nick shone his light around the closed door, looking for anything to show the door was wired.

"I don't see anything. But something doesn't feel right."

"I had a place like this, I'd have an alarm on the gate." Lamont spoke softly.

"And someone on the other side of that door," Korov said.

Nick flicked the selector on his MP-5 to three round bursts. He thought about Selena, paralyzed in a hospital bed because of the man somewhere in this house. As far as he was concerned, everyone here had forfeited the right to presumed innocence. This early in the morning they weren't going to run into the cleaning lady.

Nick put his hand on the latch and felt the adrenaline begin. He mouthed the count.

One. Two. Three.

He opened the door. Nothing happened.

They stepped into a hallway lit by a single bulb. To the right, the passage ended in a brick wall. To the left, there was a window at the far end and another set of steps.

The soft rubber soles of their shoes made no noise. The hall floor was paved with large marble tiles in black and white. They moved down the hall, past a side passage to another set of stairs. Looking up, Nick saw a high, plaster ceiling, dimly lit. He climbed, quiet and careful. The others came behind.

The stairs led to a room big enough for an embassy reception. A second story balcony lined with a railing ran along three sides. More stairs led up to the balcony at each end.

Brocaded sofas and chairs and antique end tables were scattered about in ordered groupings. Four elaborate crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling forty feet overhead. The floor was tiled with white marble. Museum lights illuminated oil paintings in gilded frames on the walls, pastoral country scenes and portraits of medieval nobles with malevolent eyes and sharp noses and floppy hats. There were no religious paintings.

A large white marble fireplace dominated one end of the room. Over the mantle, a single light shone on a larger than life-sized portrait of a hard faced man in a blue pinstripe suit and lavender tie. The man sat in a carved wooden chair that could have been a throne. The artist had caught a gleam of light on the arm of the chair where the man rested his hand. It looked as though he held a butcher knife.

Foxworth.

Nick pointed at Ronnie and Lamont, signaled for them to clear the rooms on the left. He pointed at himself and Korov, indicated the right. The first room Nick entered was a dimly lit conservatory with high ceilings and tall French windows, filled with plants of every description. He stepped back out. Across the way Ronnie and Lamont emerged from a doorway and shook their heads.

They came together at the last room. It was a study and library, rich with leather and wood and soft rugs underfoot. The windows faced out toward the river below. The room was on the far side of the house, away from the boat.

Nick went to the desk. It was a modern piece, out of place in the library's atmosphere of classic European elegance. He started opening drawers.

Papers. A bound stack of purple Euro notes. A Walther pistol. Two British passports. Nick glanced at them. One for Foxworth. One for someone named Mandy Atherton. The bottom drawer was locked. Nick used his knife to pry it open. Inside was a brown, tissue-thin envelope with blue writing on it. Nick took it out and opened it. It was a list of names. One of the names was Ogorov's. He showed the paper to Korov.

"Take a look." His voice was quiet.

The Russian read the list. "Ogorov. So, he is involved. A traitor." His expression was grim. "This one, Maupassant. That's the name of the French Finance Minister."

"Yeah. I think we've got what we need."

Nick heard the scrape of a boot somewhere outside the library. His ear began to throb. He tucked the envelope inside his shirt and signaled. The four men moved silently to the door.

From where he stood, Nick couldn't see anyone in the main room or on the balcony to the sides. There could be someone on the balcony above the library. He spoke in a whisper.

"Someone's out there."

"Guards?" Ronnie said.

"Maybe. Time to leave."

"What about Foxworth?"

Nick patted the paper under his shirt. "We've got proof he's mixed up with Ogorov. Forget Foxworth. We have to get back to the boat."

"It's a long way across that room." Ronnie pointed with his MP-5 at the ceiling. "If someone's on that balcony, we're sitting ducks."

"Ducks?" Korov said.

Nick shook his head. "I'll explain later."

"There is another set of steps down," Korov said. "To the right as we go out. Not far, maybe five or six meters."

"I saw that. They have to lead back to the lower level. I don't want to cross that room again." He looked at the others. "All right. We go for those stairs."

They stepped out of the library. The chandeliers erupted in a blaze of light. The adrenaline hit him, the aliveness, the fear. The rush.

"Drop your weapons!"

The voice came from above.

"Go!" Nick yelled. They ran for the stairwell opening. Nick lifted his MP-5 and fired blindly up at the balcony as he ran. The room filled with the sound of guns. Bullets ricocheted and whined away off the stone floor, leaving puffs of white dust where they hit.

One of the men on the balcony fell over the railing and plunged to the floor below. It sounded like someone had dropped a large watermelon onto the marble. Korov went down. He cursed in Russian. Ronnie and Nick kept up heavy covering fire and Lamont helped him to his feet. They reached the steps and started down.

The steps ended in a short hall. They ran to the end and found themselves in the long passage leading to the boathouse. Lamont fired a burst at someone who'd made it down the stairs. They reached the boathouse door, slammed it shut behind them and ran down the steps and out onto the platform. The boat was still there. The engines fired with the touch of a button. Ahead, the gates began to close. Someone had triggered them from inside the house.

Lamont grabbed the throttles and the boat leapt forward. The gates scraped along the fiberglass hull as they cleared the boathouse. An Uzi sounded nearby and the back row of seats shredded in bits of foam and leather. Nick lifted his gun and shot a man firing from the steps. He tumbled down the stairs onto the landing and lay motionless in a crumpled heap.

They cleared the end of the landing. Lamont put the helm over and opened the throttles. The cigarette lifted up and shot down the river toward the sea. The villa disappeared behind them.

They were moving too fast. Lamont throttled back.

"How's the boat?" Nick asked.

"I think we're cool. He blew the hell out of the seats but missed the engines. I don't think we're taking water. Lucky."

"Foxworth will have everyone after us. Head south down the coast. I'll get hold of Harker and call for extraction."

They reached the open water. Lamont increased power and turned south. The cigarette was a black arrow skimming over the waves. A wide, foaming wake trailed behind, phosphorescent in the Tuscan night.

Nick turned to Korov. "You were hit?"

"Yes. But your vests are good. I have soreness, no more."

Nick nodded. Korov was right, they were good, the latest model. 30 layers of Kevlar, the best gear America made. It would stop a .308. Heavy, but effective. The thought reminded Nick of Selena.

What if she can't ever walk again? It was your fault. Your fault. How could you forget?

There had been plenty of missions in the old days without vests or with vests that were a joke, that would barely stop a .22. But the new ones would have stopped the round that hit her. The ones he'd forgotten to pack.

He knew he'd never forgive himself if she was paralyzed.

I fucked up. His mood turned dark.

"Nick." Ronnie's voice brought him back. "Hadn't you better call Harker?"

"Yeah." Nick took out the satellite phone, punched in the code. Two rings.

"Yes, Nick."

"We have a problem." He briefed her.

"All right. I've got you on screen."

In Virginia, Elizabeth watched the marker from Nick's GPS moving south along the coast.

"You're passing Livorno," she said. "You should see it on your left."

"I see it."

The lights of Livorno were already falling behind as they sped over the water.

"The next town along the coast is called Rosignano. It's about 20 kilometers from where you are. There's a big castle there, built on a hill overlooking the coast. You'll see it coming. Get ashore there and I'll have someone meet you. Stay out of sight until I can set up extraction."

"Roger that." He paused. "How's Selena?"

"She's out of danger. Call me when you make shore." Elizabeth broke the connection. She wasn't about to tell Nick it looked like Selena might be paralyzed for the rest of her life.

Nick put the phone away. He told them what Harker had said.

"Be light soon," Ronnie said.

"We'll be ashore by then."

Nick settled back in one of the comfortable seats. The adrenaline rush was gone. His back was on fire and clamping up. He felt every old wound, every one of his years. Not for the first time, he thought about quitting. But what would he do if he quit? Like every other time he'd thought about it, he had no answer.

He gave in to the tiredness and was dozing when the big Mercury engines burst into full throated roar and the craft leapt forward. They began smacking the low wave tops in a constant up and down motion that turned his stomach over.

Lamont said, "We've got company." He handed Nick the night vision binoculars and pointed out to sea. An Italian patrol boat was headed toward them. Water curled high around the bow. They were coming at flank speed.

"Can't you go any faster? Nick asked.

Lamont answered in an indignant Scottish accent. "I'm givin' her all she's got, Captain. Any more, and she'll blow."

Nick smiled in spite of himself. The boat flew across the surface. He lifted his binoculars. The smile disappeared. He handed the lenses to Korov.

"They are still far away," Korov said. He gave the binoculars back.

Nick trained the lenses on the boat. "It looks like a Dicotti class," he said. "It'll have a 76mm gun, remote controlled. They've got us on their radar, for sure. They get a little closer, they can hit us."

"They'll want to talk before they start shooting," Lamont said. "Board us."

Nick scanned the shore. The shadowy bulk of the castle marking the medieval town of Rosignano loomed on a high hill ahead. A distant boom came from the darkness out at sea. A white fountain of water erupted several hundred yards away from them.

"Guess they don't want to talk," Lamont said.

"They're still out of range, but not for long. Head for shore. Look for somewhere we can ditch this."

"It's all beach. We can run right up to it." He turned the boat toward shore.

The beach was visible in the predawn, a smooth white band against the dark of the mainland. Another muffled boom sounded from the Italian patrol boat. This time the shell landed 200 yards behind them.

"Take us close. Ditch the weapons and the rest of the gear except the pistols." They threw everything over the side. Nick kept his GPS. They were still a hundred yards off shore.

"They can't make us out in this light," Nick said, "but they've got us on their radar." There was another report from the cannon. The shell landed twenty yards away. Water sprayed over the boat.

"We're out of time. Lamont, turn parallel to the shore. We'll go over the side and swim in. Set the throttle and get your ass in after us."

"Roger that."

Lamont slowed a little, put the helm over and tied off the wheel. The others went over the side. Lamont balanced himself on the edge of the cockpit and pulled the throttles wide open and dove off. The big Mercury engines and 2700 horses kicked in. The needle bow lifted high in the air. The empty boat screamed away.

The sound of the cannon echoed in the distance. They heard the shell whistle through the air. The boat vanished in a blossom of orange flame. Debris and water cascaded down on them. They swam hard for shore. They reached the beach and ran across the pristine sands and into a forest of pines.

Nick felt cold water draining down into his pants. He pulled out the envelope he'd taken from the villa. The paper inside was a soggy mass, useless, the blue writing nothing more than a blur. He wadded it up and threw it down in disgust on the sand, then took out his phone and called Harker.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The morning after the raid, Foxworth summoned Mandy, Morel and Healy to the library. Morel had never seen Foxworth in a rage like this. He paced back and forth across the room, shouting. Spittle flew from his mouth. They stood shocked and silent, unmoving while he ranted.

It's a tumor, I know it is, Morel thought. It's getting worse. He's losing control.

The security chief was stone-faced. In the SAS he'd seen enraged officers dress down subordinates. He'd seen men go berserk in the stress of battle. He thought he'd seen it all. But he'd never seen anything like this.

He's gone bonkers. Stark, raving looney. The room was suddenly quiet. Foxworth walked over and stood in front of Healy. His eyes narrowed. His face was chalk white.

"You screwed up again." After the shouting, his voice was hoarse, quiet. The calmness was strange after the rage. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Sir, we kept them away from you. It's what you hired me for."

"No, Healy, it isn't."

Foxworth's eyes glittered. The pupils were huge.

Those drugs Morel gives you, Healy thought. They're not working, mate.

Foxworth said, "I hired you to make sure no one even got close to me. I hired you to take care of things. You haven't been doing that very well, have you? I think you should resign."

Healy was done. He'd had enough, working for this arrogant asshole.

"Sir, you have my resignation."

"Good. I'm glad you agree."

Foxworth took out a Walther PPK and shot Healy in the face. The body flew backwards and fell to the floor. Blood sprayed over Mandy's elegant silk dress. Foxworth stepped forward and fired three more rounds into Healy's twitching body. He put the gun back under his jacket and straightened his tie. He turned to Mandy. Her mouth was half open, her face drained of color. Morel didn't dare move.

"Mandy, my dear. I am so sorry about your dress. Tomorrow we'll go to Florence and shop for a new one. Why don't you change and we'll breakfast on the terrace."

She swallowed. "Yes, Malcolm. Right away." She glanced down at Healy's corpse and walked quickly from the room.

Three guards ran into the room, guns drawn. They looked at the body, then at Foxworth. One of the men was broad shouldered and dark faced. Foxworth knew who he was. He knew all the life details of everyone who worked for him.

"Sir, we heard shots. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Dragonov, you are now chief of security." He gestured at Healy's body. "Take that out of here and get rid of it."

"Yes, sir." Dragonov and the other two picked up the dead weight and hurried from the room.

"Morel. I have a headache. Take care of it."

Soon Foxworth was relaxed and out of pain. He dismissed Morel. He opened the library windows and stepped onto the balcony and looked out toward the river. The day was beautiful, the kind of day travel agents sold and vacationers dreamed of. Birds sang in the trees under brilliant blue sky that had inspired the greatest painters of the Renaissance.

Foxworth took a deep breath of the warm Italian air. After breakfast he would indulge himself with Mandy. She would be insatiable after the morning's events. He was certain violence turned women on.

The drugs coursed through his body. Yes, life was good.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Yuri Malenkov and Anatoly Ogorov contemplated the object recovered from the Yucatan ruins. A frigid blast of wind rattled the windows of Malenkov's laboratory at Irtysh, a warning of approaching winter.

Yuri's voice betrayed his excitement. "This could not have been produced in a pre-technological civilization."

"It's a crystal," Ogorov said. "What is so different about it?"

The crystal was about a foot and a half tall, polished and transparent. It had a flat base and a perfect, tapered point. Yuri concealed his frustration at Ogorov's question.

"I subjected it to electron microscopy and X-ray crystallography. It was shaped by some process I don't understand. There are no tooling marks of any kind. That alone makes it different."

He took the crystal in both hands and placed it on a pedestal in the middle of the room.

"The crystal is impossibly flawless," he said. "It acts to focus and direct energy. I've arranged a demonstration for you. If you look up you'll see a sheet of fire resistant material on the ceiling."

Ogorov looked up.

"Watch this, but stay away from the crystal."

Ogorov stepped back. Yuri took a laser pointer from his shirt pocket, the kind lecturers used everywhere. He aimed and turned it on. The crystal turned deep, blood red. An intense beam of light shot straight upward and struck the asbestos sheet above. It began to glow with heat. Ogorov heard a low humming, a faint resonance through the soles of his shoes.

Yuri switched off the laser. The humming stopped. The asbestos smoldered.

"That was an ordinary pointer, a harmless laser. Imagine what it will do with Tesla's ray. This is what he lacked. An amplifier, a way to increase the power of his device. This solves that problem. With this, we can reach the moon." He looked up, as if he could see the universe through the roof of the building. "We will command space."

"Why did you not think of crystal before?" Ogorov asked.

"I did. But this is not ordinary crystal. I am not even sure it is from this planet."

Ogorov raised his eyebrows. "'You can't be serious."

"There is no crystal on earth anything like it. The arrangement of the atoms is unique."

"Can you make more of these?"

"No. Not with our current technology. There will only be one weapon. We must protect it."

"That is underway. What remains to be done for deployment?"

"The pyramid is complete. I'm moving everything over there. Construction is almost finished on the Tesla machine. I'll need to test the power outputs and make adjustments. I'm adapting our existing missile guidance technology for the aiming device. Once everything is functioning properly and the crystal is mounted, we are ready."

"How long?"

"I think three months. Perhaps two."

"Have it completed in two," Ogorov said. "I have a perfect test in mind."

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Selena was in a rotten mood on her first day of rehab. Feeling had come back to her legs, an agony of pins and needles. She couldn't stand upright without help. She couldn't feel the floor. Her back hurt like hell. She felt like an old woman, a very old woman. It didn't help that she had to be pushed around in a wheelchair.

At least she wouldn't be paralyzed. She would beat it. The doctors were cautiously optimistic. Would she get full use back? Probably, they said. Would her legs be as strong as they had been? Very likely, they said, but we don't know. We can't guarantee it. We'll know better after a few months. It all depends.

Their opinions were about as useful as a first class stateroom on the Titanic.

An orderly brought her into the rehab center and left. A woman in nurse's uniform came over to her. She had silky smooth skin the color of honey. She was attractive and young, cheerful and perky and strong. Selena hated her on the spot.

"Hi, I'm Arlene. I'm going to be your rehab person today."

"Can you just tell me what the specials are?"

Arlene gave her a cool look.

"Never mind," Selena said. "Bad joke."

"Let me ask you something. You want to walk again?"

"What do you mean? Of course I do."

"Then lose the attitude. There's no miracle here. This is going to hurt. You have to get your mind around it. Okay?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"Good. Let's get started."

For an hour Arlene pushed Selena through the exercises. Selena clenched her teeth and took it. At the end, she was exhausted, but sore was better than numb. Aches were better than nothing. Then Arlene wheeled her back to her room.

When she got there, Nick was waiting. He'd brought flowers. Birds of paradise, something green, white baby's breath.

He looked terrible, like he hadn't slept for a week.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." She hated having him see her like this.

Arlene helped her into bed. "See you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry if I gave you a hard time," Selena said.

"That's okay. I'm used to it. Everyone hates rehab. You did great." She arranged the flowers on the bedside table. "Just take it one day at a time."

As she left she smiled at Nick.

He said, "How are you?"

"Good. I'm good." She paused. "No I'm not. But I will be. Good, I mean."

She'd had time to think, lying in her bed. Time to consider how she'd gotten here. Time to replay the fight in the jungle over and over, the shock of the bullet hitting her, tearing through her body because she wasn't wearing a vest. She didn't want to blame him but she did. It didn't matter what she told herself.

"Selena, I'm sorry."

Suddenly she was angry. "Goddamn it, don't say you're sorry. Sorry doesn't help. You forgot the vests. I stood up. No one's to blame. But don't say you're sorry."

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

She looked at the flowers and took a deep breath. "It's all part of what we do. If you say you're sorry, you make it your fault. Don't say you're sorry. I knew what I was getting into. It's my life. You're not responsible for what happens in it."

"I was in charge."

"You weren't in charge of the men who shot at us. You're not in charge of me, in the field or anywhere else. So get off it. You're feeling sorry for yourself."

He flushed. "That's not fair."

"So? Who said life was fair?"

"Maybe I should go."

"Maybe you should."

Nick looked at her. He laid the flowers on her bedside table. Then he turned and left.

"Thanks for the flowers," she said to the empty room.

Then she cried.

CHAPTER FIFTY

The nights were turning crisp and cool. The election was a few weeks away. Nick had been to California and moved his mother to a private nursing home after her stroke. She hadn't recognized him. His sister was nagging him about putting the house on the market.

His father was dead, which was fine by Nick. His sister was an annoying thorn in his side. His mother didn't know who he was. More and more, he thought of the Project team as his real family, the only people he could rely on. The only ones he cared about.

He and Selena weren't talking much. He was drinking more than usual. Running helped him keep it together.

Nick stepped out for his usual evening run. A black armored Cadillac limo waited at the curb, idling. The driver wore a black suit, dark sunglasses, a white earpiece and a pistol under his jacket. He opened the rear door and waited for Nick to get in.

Shit, Nick thought, here we go again. What now?

The man riding in the back of that car called himself Adam. Nick didn't know who he was or what he looked like or if Adam was his real name. He hadn't been able to find out where he came from or where he went. All he knew was that Adam was a serious player. Adam had told him about the existence of AEON and warned him about the Demeter threat. Whatever the man was about to tell him, Nick was sure it would complicate his life. Nick got in. The driver closed the door. The lock clicked.

The inside of the car was a luxury cocoon of top grain leather and soft halo lighting. The windows were completely blacked out. A partition of opaque, black glass divided the rear compartment down the middle. A speaker was set in the glass. A slot in the partition allowed for something to be passed through. The driver was invisible behind another barrier of black glass.

The Cadillac pulled smoothly away into the unseen traffic. It was very quiet and comfortable inside the car.

"Good evening, Nick."

Even though he knew it was coming, the words startled him. The voice was masked by electronics. There was no way to identify the speaker.

"Adam."

"You must go to Russia."

Adam wasn't much for idle conversation.

"I think you're about to tell me why."

The electronic voice chuckled. It sounded like it was underwater. "A little over three years ago, a clerk cataloging documents in the Nikola Tesla Museum in Belgrade discovered secret plans hidden by Tesla. He sold them on the black market and was killed right after. You met his killer."

"I remember. The one in Prague who came after us. He said his first job for whoever had hired him was a museum clerk."

"It was Foxworth who hired him." The electronic voice continued. "The plans are for a particle beam weapon. Tesla talked about it and even demonstrated a small device that operated in a vacuum. The tabloids of the time called it a death ray. Tesla said he'd overcome problems that prevented the weapon from working in the atmosphere. He also said he hadn't written down the plans. He was lying. Now AEON has them."

"Adam, what the hell is a particle beam weapon?"

"It fires a focused proton beam of high intensity. The beam destabilizes the atomic structure of the target. Picture a building or a tank or a plane suddenly deprived of the atomic glue that holds it together. It would literally disintegrate."

"That sounds like science fiction."

Nick could almost sense Adam nodding in agreement behind the partition.

"Yes. However, it is possible. The theoretical physics are well understood. The United States, Russia, and China have been trying to build one for years. Experimental prototypes exist, but no one has succeeded in constructing a practical application. Not yet. The beam requires enormous power to be effective."

"I take it Tesla wasn't crazy."

"AEON is building it in Russia."

Nick considered that. "Why? They just tried to bring Russia down a few months ago."

"AEON is opportunistic, always operating on many levels. A project like this needs equipment, serious funding, research, secrecy. Only a government can provide that. This weapon will provide a unique strategic advantage. Like the atomic bomb."

"They intend to give this to the Russians?"

"No. The Kremlin is unaware of AEON's real motive."

"What is their motive?"

"Dominance and control. Tesla's weapon will be turned against us and the Russians and anyone else who stands in their way. They have been preparing for years, since they got their hands on Tesla's secret. They've put up a satellite relay system. Once the beam is operational, it can be directed at any target on earth. They found what they needed in Mexico to maximize the power levels. The weapon is in the final stages of construction."

Mexico, again. The ripples of his failure kept spreading.

Adam continued. "My best intelligence says it will be completed soon."

"We're not welcome in Russia."

"General Vysotsky will smooth the way."

"Vysotsky? But he's SVR. He'd as soon lock us up or shoot us if we set foot on Russian territory."

"Vysotsky is a nationalist. Director Harker briefed him. He knows that Ogorov is not acting in the interest of the Federation. He has worked with you before. He respects Harker. He will help you."

"You sound sure."

"I am sure. Ogorov has gained control of the FSB through General Kaminsky. He wants to reestablish the old KGB with Kaminsky as Director. SVR would be reduced in importance. If Vysotsky reveals Ogorov and Kaminsky as traitors, it could gain him the Director's slot at SVR."

"You want to throw us into the middle of an internal power struggle between Russia's security agencies? Christ, Adam."

"Vysotsky only controls Department S. SVR is riddled with informers and political enemies. He can't use his own people except for a few like Major Korov. He needs you and your team."

"Even if we succeed in finding this weapon and stopping AEON, what's to prevent Vysotsky from taking control of it himself?"

"Well, Nick. I rely on you to solve that problem. You must destroy the installation."

"What about Foxworth?"

Distorted laughter came from the other side of the partition.

"You ruined his vacation, Nick. He was quite upset about it. Foxworth will not be a problem much longer. It's Ogorov we have to watch."

"Why won't he be a problem?"

"Foxworth has an inoperable brain tumor, but he doesn't know it. He refused to have the tests that could have saved his life and now it's too late. His judgement is becoming erratic and he's making mistakes. He'll be dead in a year. Sooner, if the rest of AEON discovers the truth."

Nick wondered how Adam knew these things. It didn't matter, if he was right. He'd been right before.

Adam continued. "His instability makes him extremely dangerous. Foxworth is unable to see consequences that don't fit with rewarding his ego. If he uses this weapon against us it will mean war with Russia. Some of the others in AEON's leadership group are getting nervous. They may eliminate him, but not before he does something stupid."

The Cadillac came to a quiet stop. A silver tray bearing a slim, manila envelope came through the slot in the partition.

"Everything is in the envelope," Adam said.

Nick picked up the envelope. The tray slid back into the partition.

The lock on the rear door clicked open.

"Goodbye, Nick."

Nick got out and closed the door. He was back in front of his apartment building. He watched the car pull away and merge smoothly into the Washington traffic.

He wondered who Adam was. He looked at the envelope in his hand and opened it and began to read.

He went inside to call Harker.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The first two weeks of rehab had been difficult. The next two were hell. Arlene knew Selena needed to push herself. She let her do it without passing the limit of what her body could endure while it healed. The two women had become friends.

Her spine was healing. The bruising was less serious than feared, but her feet still didn't feel right. Her legs were weak. It would be months before the damage was fully repaired. If it could be. It was too soon to tell.

Once, Arlene had asked how she'd been shot. Selena had made up a story about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She knew Arlene didn't believe her, but the nurse didn't bring it up again. Nick, though, was a different subject.

"He's good looking, in a kind of scary way," Arlene said. Selena was walking on a narrow moving strip, holding on to two long parallel bars.

"I suppose so," Selena said. She didn't want to talk about Nick.

The walkway slowed and stopped. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her legs trembled. She stumbled as she stepped off the walkway. Arlene reached out and steadied her.

"Goddamn it." There were tears of frustration in her eyes.

"You're doing good. You're way ahead of where you should be. The doctors are all talking about it. Don't let it get to you."

She walked Selena over to the hot tub and helped her in. The warm, bubbling water was soothing. The jets felt good on her sore back.

Arlene leaned over and began massaging Selena's shoulders. Her touch was strong, nurturing. Suddenly Selena began crying. Arlene continued kneading and working the knots of muscle under the skin.

"It's okay. Let it out." Arlene's voice was soft. Selena put her hands over her face and sobbed, deep, racking cries that shook her body. After a while, she managed to stop.

"It's him, isn't it?" Arlene said.

Selena nodded. She still had her face covered with her hands. Arlene stopped rubbing her shoulders and reached for a hand towel.

"Here. Use this." Selena took the towel and blew her nose twice. She folded the towel over and wiped her face. Arlene took the towel and set it aside.

"You want to talk about it?"

"I can't. I mean, I can't tell you what happened."

"I can guess. It's got something to do with how you got shot."

Selena nodded again. "But it's not that. What we do…" She stopped. "I don't know if I can keep doing it. But Nick will never change. He'll do it until it kills him."

Arlene helped her out of the tub and handed her a clean towel.

"He loves you. Anyone can see that, the way he looks at you. You quit what you're doing, you think you'll lose him?"

Selena said, "It's more than that. He relies on me. They all do." She was saying too much, but she didn't care. "If I quit, I let them down. I put them all at risk."

They began the slow walk back to Selena's room.

"You think you're responsible for Nick? For his safety, and, uh, the others, whoever they are?"

"Yes. No, I know better. But I can't get over what happened. It was Nick's fault."

As soon as she said it, she started crying again. Arlene looked distressed.

"Oh my. Girl, you do have a problem. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"You talk with him about it yet?"

"No. I pushed him away. He didn't come back for a week." Selena got control of herself. "Since then everything's been wrong between us. Like we're strangers."

"Then I guess you better start talking. Looks like you're going to get your chance."

Selena saw Nick coming from the other direction. He had a dozen red flowers in one hand. She brushed tears away from her face with the back of her hand.

"Anyone who brings you roses can't be all bad, " Arlene said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Elizabeth called Alexei Vysotsky in Moscow.

"Director. We seem fated to work together."

"I take it Adam has contacted you."

"Yes. A package by way of UPS, if you can believe it. He seems determined on detente between our two organizations. He suggests a joint operation, not unlike what you and I did before."

"How much did he tell you?"

"Enough."

Elizabeth picked up her silver pen. "We have to act, Alexei."

She could feel him hesitate, thousands of miles away.

"How well do you understand what is happening here?"

How much should she say? Vysotsky was referring to the internal power struggle he was waging with Ogorov and the FSB. He was losing. There was no tactical advantage in concealing her knowledge.

"I am aware you are in a difficult situation and cannot trust many of your own people. Ogorov seems bent on getting control of your security services. Of course, it is AEON directing him."

"I've been watching him closely since our meeting in Denmark. He has been using state funds, materials, deploying troops. All without anyone in the Kremlin seeming to notice."

"How could that be possible?" Elizabeth asked.

"It isn't possible. That is what worries me. Were it not for his attempts to subvert my organization, or his membership in AEON, I would applaud him for building this weapon. As it is…"

Vysotsky left the sentence unfinished.

It was a game of world chess with consequences far more important than the toppling of a wooden king. Vysotsky wanted to take Ogorov off the board. In that, she was his ally. But then he would want to keep the weapon for Russia. In that, they were opponents.

Elizabeth had no illusions. Vysotsky was a nationalist, a right-wing patriot. He was ambitious. He would try and get control of the weapon. It would give him a very big stick, perhaps big enough to propel him into the Kremlin without the trouble of another sham election. Russians were always looking for a strong leader. She had to make him see that if the Federation possessed Tesla's secret there would be war. The United States would not permit it. She had to make him see reason. Whether he did or not, the weapon would still have to be destroyed.

The objective was deep inside Russia and well guarded. Her team would never get close without his cooperation. Maybe she could play to his male ego.

"What do you suggest, Alexei?"

She put just a hint of uncertainty in her voice, a woman asking for the superior judgement of a powerful man.

Vysotsky laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Very good, Elizabeth. But I know you better than that. You mustn't try to use your considerable charm on me."

In Moscow, Vysotsky couldn't see her smile. "It was worth a try."

"I would have been surprised if you had not."

Choose your words with care. "Alexei, I will be frank. In your place I would want to eliminate Ogorov and keep the weapon intact. But it must be destroyed."

"Oh?"

"If Russia gets this weapon it will have bad results."

"If we had told you there would be bad results, would that have made a difference when you built your atomic bomb?" She could hear annoyance in his voice.

"Of course not, but that was a different time. There is no defense against this weapon. It will destabilize everything. There are people here who will see it as an unacceptable threat. I am certain it will lead to war if we do not act together, a war neither of us can win. Both our nations will be destroyed."

She waited. When he spoke again, there was resignation in his voice.

"There are elements here as well that would not hesitate to use such a device."

"So far, no one knows Ogorov has built this thing. I believe Adam wants us to work together because it is the only way my government can be certain the threat is eliminated."

"You mean your President."

"I have to tell Rice what Ogorov is planning. I know the President. He doesn't want another war, certainly not with Russia. He will not act against you if there is another way to ensure our security. I need your assurances. If I tell him my team is going in and will verify destruction of the weapon, he will wait and take no counter measures. He will prepare them, but he will not use them."

"You are putting me in a difficult position, Director."

"Once this weapon is operational, the entire world is hostage. Adam has told me that AEON sent up twelve satellites in the last year that can relay the beam back to earth. They form a targeting grid that covers the globe. Neither the White House or the Kremlin is safe."

"If Adam, whoever he is, is correct. What if this is disinformation?"

"The satellites are there, I have verified it. As can you. I remind you that Adam prevented a disaster for the Federation. Why would he mislead us?"

"There are always hidden agendas."

"Neither one of us is comfortable with him, I admit. But my gut says we have to trust him on this. We know Ogorov is part of AEON. The pyramid is there. It all adds up. Plus there's more."

"More?"

Elizabeth told him about the Mafra Library. She told him about Mexico. She told him about Tesla's experiments with Telluric currents.

"All of that confirms Adam's information. Ogorov is building a design that uses the unlimited power of the earth's magnetic field. We believe he found something in Mexico to help him amplify that power and make Tesla's design work."

"What was it?"

"In Mexico? I don't know."

"Ogorov has powerful friends. I cannot move openly against him."

"Then we must move secretly. A small strike team, experienced. My people and yours. Nick and Korov work well together. What do you think?"

Rice was waiting to hear the outcome of this conversation. If Vysotsky didn't agree, things were going to get complicated in short order. Complicated and dangerous.

"All right," Vysotsky said. "But Korov will command the mission."

"Agreed."

They talked until they had the outlines of an operational plan. The team would leave for Russia as soon as Vysotsky had made his preparations. They agreed on communication protocols between them and ended the conversation.

The team. She thought about Selena. No one else on the team spoke Russian. Damn it, why did she have to get herself shot?

Elizabeth felt guilty for the thought. It looked like Selena would recover. Her body would heal, but what about her mind? She'd almost died. How would she come back from that? And then there was Nick. Since Mexico he'd been even more taciturn than usual. Moody. Trouble between him and Selena could affect his judgement. Affect the team. How would he resolve it? How would Selena?

Elizabeth didn't know. If she could have read Selena's mind at that moment, she would have realized that Selena didn't know either.