The Tesla Secret

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Korov looked inside the small box Vysotsky handed him. It contained shoulder boards with the two stars of a Lieutenant Colonel, a significant promotion, difficult to gain.

"Thank you, sir."

"You earned it, Arkady. You've done well with the Americans. They will be part of a new mission and you will be in command."

Vysotsky passed several photographs across his desk. They were taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. The pictures showed a large, distinctive shape, camouflaged to fool aerial observers.

"This is what the traitor Ogorov has been constructing. It is located on the Siberian plain, near Irtysh."

"A pyramid? Why?"

"It is a design of Nikola Tesla. You know who Tesla was?"

Korov nodded. "Of course."

"The pyramid powers one of Tesla's inventions, a weapon that projects an unstoppable, destructive beam."

"Why here? There is nothing here, only a village and an old base."

"Tesla's design draws upon the earth for its power. The pyramid is near the juncture of the Ob and the Irtysh rivers. It has been explained to me that there are strong earth currents at this location. It is isolated, difficult to attack except with missiles. There are anti-aircraft defenses. Bombers would be intercepted long before they reached their target."

"It could be attacked on the ground."

"Exactly. But that would require an invasion or an internal force."

Korov saw what was coming. "You want me to penetrate this installation. With the Americans."

Vysotsky opened his desk drawer and took out the vodka and glasses he always kept there.

"Yes."

"We could be shot for treason."

"We could." Vysotsky poured the drinks. "But we will not be shot. Not if you succeed."

He watched Korov closely. It was one thing to send him on a mission with the Americans to Texas or Italy. It was another to attack an objective within his own country. He poured the vodka.

"Na Zdrov'nya," he said. They downed the liquor. Vysotsky poured another.

"You will remember that AEON was behind the Demeter operation."

Korov knew all about AEON.

"Ogorov is not working for the Motherland. He is working for AEON and his own advancement. He is very close to using this weapon. If he succeeds, it will draw us into war with the United States."

"He can't believe we could beat them!" Korov was shocked. "What is the target?"

"The Americans are about to launch a new spy satellite, more advanced than the others they have. It is a major upgrade to their systems. I think that is the target."

"This weapon could reach it? It does not use missiles?"

"It could reach it." Korov shrugged. "Perhaps Ogorov thinks the United States will not know how their satellite was destroyed. There is no hope of that. We must stop Ogorov and gain this weapon for the Motherland. Then Russia will have a powerful bargaining tool with the West. It will be like the end of the Great Patriotic War, when atomic weapons made them supreme. Now it is our turn."

Korov finished his vodka. "You do not wish to destroy it."

"Of course not. I wish to control it."

"The American Project team may not agree."

"That is a problem you will solve, if it arises."

He poured another drink. They raised their glasses.

"To the Motherland," Vysotsky said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Nick sat by Selena's bed in Bethesda. The doctors were ready to discharge her for outpatient treatment. The numbness was almost gone, but she couldn't begin workouts any time soon. The surgery was healing. The doctors said there was a possibility of permanent damage, but the prognosis was good. She'd be almost normal in a year, they said. She was determined to make it sooner.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Yes. We do."

"Harker is sending the team to Russia. We're going to take a look at what AEON is building over there."

"That's what you want to talk about?"

"No, but it's relevant." He looked out the window. The sky was dirty gray. Rain was coming. "I have a bad feeling about it."

She felt something twist in her gut. His sixth sense. It wasn't like him to worry about a mission. Then she understood.

"You think you might not come back."

His silence told her the answer. He'd never said anything like that before.

"Why do you keep doing this, Nick? We could leave, make a life together. Where we don't have to look over our shoulder all the time. Where no one is shooting at us."

He said, "I don't know if I can explain."

"Try me."

"You're a civilian." She started to say something. He held up his hand. "I know, that's not exactly right anymore. You've proved yourself. But you've never been in the military. You don't understand why I think the way I do."

She could feel herself getting angry. "Don't you dare patronize me. What's the military got to do with it?"

"I'm not trying to patronize you. When I say civilians don't understand, it's the truth. It's not possible if you haven't been in the service. Think about how you felt before you came into the Project. Can you say you understood what it was like to have people try their damndest to kill you, or what it felt like to kill someone? Any idea of what was necessary to stay alive?"

Selena remembered the Chinese soldier she'd shot. The first man she'd killed. She would never forget his face, the neat pattern of bloody holes across his chest. Holes she'd put there. His death had changed her.

"No."

"I was trained from day one to understand that. You never had that training. Civilians never have that training. Civilians call people like me murderers and go home and sleep in nice warm beds because people like me keep the wolves from the door."

He paused. "You asked why I keep doing it. There are a lot of wolves out there. Our enemies aren't going away any time soon. That's why."

She looked at him for a long moment. Where anger had been she felt only sadness.

"I need to know where you stand," he said. "I know it's hard for you. I don't fault you for blaming me, but we have to get past it."

"I don't blame you." She plucked at her blanket, turned away and looked out the window. "I did at first. It wasn't your fault. I should have been more savvy." She turned back to face him.

"You've been pushing me away." He paused. "Selena, I can't deal with that. It's messing up my head. I need to know if we're good or not."

He looked resigned. She'd never seen him look like that, ever.

"Something changed when I got hit," she said.

He waited.

"It scared the hell out of me. I thought I'd never walk again. I'm not sure I can keep doing this. Or if I want to."

He nodded. "I understand that. The first time I got hit, I was near the end of my tour. I almost quit. I'm glad I didn't. Hell, I wouldn't have met you."

"You'll never quit. Will you?"

"It's what I do. At least while I'm still fit enough to do it."

"And if I don't do it with you?"

"As long as I have you to come back to, it wouldn't matter. You could still work with Harker. You'd be safe. You don't have to go in the field."

And I can wait and see if you come back alive or in a box.

She said, "They're letting me out of here tomorrow."

"That's great."

"Elizabeth is putting me on a desk until I'm all the way back physically."

"See? Like I said." He smiled.

She saw that smile and she wanted to take him in her arms. But something held her back. She couldn't forget that his mistake had almost gotten her killed. She'd had faith Nick would always get it right, always be able to give her a fighting chance just by his presence, his experience. That faith was shattered.

"Give me some time."

"Selena…"

She stopped him. "It's the best I can do. Can you handle that?"

He nodded. "I guess I have to."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Ronnie, Nick and Lamont looked at the latest satellite pictures of the objective. Banks of missile and anti-aircraft batteries were scattered around the site. They stood out in stark contrast against ground covered with snow.

"Ogorov's been busy," Nick said.

Elizabeth was tight lipped. "Vysotsky says the installation is complete. He thinks Ogorov wants to use it against ODIN. I think he's right."

"What's ODIN?" Lamont asked.

"Our latest secret spy satellite, set to launch tomorrow. It's the most sophisticated surveillance technology on the planet."

"How does Vysotsky know about that?"

"I don't know, Nick. But he's a spy, after all. It's hard to keep a project that big under wraps. Once ODIN is operational, it will make ECHELON obsolete."

ECHELON was NSA's extensive system for capturing digital and wireless communications all over the world. It was one of the technological cornerstones of America's security, critical in a world where terrorism was the business of people with cell phones and fax machines. If ODIN was good enough to relegate ECHELON to second tier status, it could be a game changer.

"A single eye that sees everything," Nick said. "Just like the Norse god."

"That's right." Elizabeth picked up her pen. "If they knock down that satellite it will start a war."

"Don't Ogorov and the others realize that?" Ronnie asked. "Are they really that stupid?"

"It appears that they are. You don't build a weapon like that and then sit on it. Remember, AEON is behind this. If they knock out ODIN they will have demonstrated that they have a weapon no one else can match. Like the A-Bomb after Hiroshima. They must think they can exert enough pressure to stop a war before it gets going."

"Why do our enemies always underestimate us?" Ronnie asked.

"Because our politicians give them good reason to," Nick said.

"Rice won't wait," Elizabeth said, "and he won't negotiate. I can guarantee that. I've briefed him. If we don't destroy this weapon, he will. That means a pre-emptive strike against Russia and that almost certainly means nuclear war. No one wins."

Not again, Nick thought.

Harker touched a key. The picture on the monitor changed.

"Vysotsky was able to get pictures of the installation."

The pyramid was large, made out of stone, and shaped like the pyramids at Giza in Egypt. A gleam of metal shrouded the peak.

"There's only one direct way in." She changed the picture and pointed at a road leading to the pyramid. "Right down that road, through three armed checkpoints and the main gate."

"So what do we do, drive up and ask for a tour?"

"Very funny, Ronnie. Even Vysotsky can't get us in that way."

"You said one direct way." Nick tugged on his scarred ear. "Does that mean there's an indirect one?"

"Yes." She put a new photo on the screen. "They've brought in water from the river and built a shaft where it drops out of sight. Vysotsky says it meets up with a network of channels underneath the pyramid."

"What are they for?" Lamont wondered.

"It's something to do with how Tesla's device is powered."

"You want us to go in through there?"

"It's the only way."

"Do we have plans of the interior?"

"No. But Vysotsky is sure there is access. They have to be able to maintain the system. Look."

She zoomed in on the shaft. Ladder rungs were visible on one side of the shaft. Water from the river plunged over the edge. It would be like climbing down by a waterfall, but it could be done.

"Vysotsky will handle operational details once you're on his turf. Korov will meet you in Turkey and bring you across the border on a plane with the right transponder codes for the Russian air defenses. From Turkey you're going to Chelyabinsk. Vysotsky will get you and Korov's team to the target."

"What's our plan for extraction?"

"We can't get you out by air from the objective. Vysotsky will have a fast boat on the river. He wants to get Korov back and that's the best guarantee for your safety I can think of. If you have to run, get south to Kazakhstan."

"That's a long way."

"Yes."

"No backup from here."

"No."

"Deniable?" That meant if something happened the US would have no official knowledge of them and would do nothing to aid them.

"Yes."

Ronnie and Lamont didn't look happy. Nick just shook his head.

"Korov will have Russian uniforms and weapons for you."

"None of us speak enough Russian to understand what's going on."

"I have a solution for that. Selena will be here with me. You'll wear a two-way satellite uplink. We'll be able to hear everything and you can talk to us. She and I will listen in real time and keep you aware of what's said. Korov knows English. We have to trust Vysotsky."

"That's a lot of trust."

"I haven't gotten to the hard part yet."

Lamont sighed.

Harker said, "The purpose of this mission is to destroy the installation. Once Vysotsky is in control he may want to change his mind. You have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"That would mean going up against Korov and his Spetsnaz buddies," Nick said. He thought about the night they'd all gotten drunk together in Washington. Nick liked Korov, they all did. "You're putting us in a bad situation."

"We cannot permit Russia to have this weapon." Harker's voice was hard. She began beating a tattoo on her desk with her pen. "Not under any circumstances. If you have to go up against Korov, you do it. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "We're clear.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

The flight to Ankara was uneventful. The terminal at Esenboğa International Airport was a long, sleek stretch of white laid out on the Turkish plains. Sweeping curves rose to a roof high above stone floors polished to a glass-like shine. It reminded Nick of DIA in Denver. There were even mountains outside in the distance. But it was a long way from Colorado.

Korov met them as they came off the plane. They shook hands all around.

"There is no need to clear customs," he said. "We will not leave the airport except on our plane."

They followed Korov to the far end of the terminal. Guards took one look at Korov's papers and passed them outside to a restricted area. A car waited to take them to the General Aviation building.

Their plane was a Dassault Falcon 20, a French jet with a range of about 2000 miles. The Dassault was much favored by the power elite of Europe. Like the American Gulfstream, it was an efficient, luxury business plane available with many options. Twenty minutes after they boarded, they were in the air.

They changed into Russian uniforms.

"It is about four hours to Chelyabinsk, " Korov said.

Ronnie had a small leather pouch in his hand.

"What is that you are holding?" Korov asked.

"This? This is a jish. I always have it with me."

The jish was Ronnie's personal medicine bundle. He only took it out when he was nervous about a mission. Ronnie had told Nick that the jish was like a living person. It had to be cared for, interacted with, respected. Otherwise it became no more than superstition, a good luck charm.

"What is in the bag?".

"Oh, a few things. Corn pollen. A pinch of earth from each of the four sacred mountains. A few other things."

Ronnie had never told Nick or anyone else exactly what was inside. It was bad medicine to talk much about it. He slipped the jish back in his pocket.

Nick changed the subject. "How do we get from Chelyabinsk to the objective?"

"We fly and we jump," Korov said. "You are all qualified. It will be a low altitude night jump. The anti-aircraft batteries will be informed of a training exercise. We will have the proper codes. They will not see us leave the plane."

They settled in for the flight. Nick fell into a half sleep, his mind filled with vague images. He woke to the monotone drone of the engines and looked at his watch. He'd been asleep for an hour and a half. He rubbed his eyes. Korov came over and sat down next to him.

"You were uneasy in your sleep," he said. "You are all right?"

"Yeah, fine. What happens when we get to Chelyabinsk?"

"My team will meet us. They will have weapons for you."

"How do they feel about working with Americans?"

"They will follow orders." He paused. "Nick, I am in command here. We are clear on this?"

"We are. It's your operation."

"Good." Korov checked his watch. "We are less than two hours from Chelyabinsk. We will be in the air soon after that. Let's go over the plan now."

For the next hour they reviewed the satellite photos. They discussed the defenses and possible complications. Both men knew there were things about this mission that could get them killed. Both had years of experience. Except for the bizarre nature of the target and their unlikely alliance, it was just another assignment. The uncertainties went with the job. Neither of them expected everything to go smoothly. The best they could do was anticipate problems and prepare mentally for every possibility they could think of. Training was a given. Preparation was what kept you alive.

Professionals, getting ready for another day at the office in Special Ops.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Selena came into Harker's office, using a cane. Stephanie jumped up and hugged her. Selena winced.

"I'm so glad to see you. We were so worried about you."

"I'm fine. Six months and I'll be up to speed."

Selena was pale. She sank into a chair and let out deep breath.

"Maybe longer," she said.

"There's no rush." Elizabeth handed her a headset and a control. "The team is about to land in Chelyabinsk. You'll be able to hear everything. I want you to monitor the Russians. Just in case."

"I understand. Nick can hear us?"

"Yes. The others can't. Just press that button to transmit. When you press it twice, it will alert him so he won't show surprise. Then you can talk."

Selena donned the headset, adjusted the volume. She could hear the engines and the sounds of men talking in Russian in the cabin. The engine noise made it difficult.

"Do the Russians know we can listen?"

"No."

"I'm going to test it out." She pressed the button twice. "Nick, this is a test. If you can hear me okay, just cough. Like you're clearing your throat."

She heard him cough, once.

"Okay, you're five by five." She paused. "For the record I thought about it, what you said. We're good."

Cough, cough.

"We'll talk when you get back."

Cough.

It felt like a weight off her chest. She'd thought about it every day. Every long night. The job. Nick. She hadn't thought about much else. Whatever happened between them in the future, she didn't want him out where he could get killed thinking she wasn't behind him.

"What was that," Elizabeth said.

"Like I said, a test."

Elizabeth and Stephanie looked at each other.

"Good," Elizabeth said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

The Russians were all Special Forces, hard men. Captain Ilya Zhukov was second in command after Korov. Senior Sergeant Bukharin was recognizable in any army as a career non com. Sergeant Ivanesky was the third man. Korov made the introductions. Ivanesky gave Nick a hard look and walked away with a few words to Korov. Selena's voice sounded in Nick's ear.

"Someone is unhappy with you. He says he will do his job but he doesn't have to like any of you. He said he's going to check on the chutes."

Nick coughed.

"You must excuse Sergeant Ivanesky," Korov said. "His father was a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. One of your stinger missiles killed him."

"He doesn't like us. Can we trust him?"

Korov bristled. "He is Spetsnaz. He will obey orders without question. Ivanesky is one of my best men."

The Americans were dressed as the others, in gray and black and white camouflage uniforms and black jump boots and berets. Nick wore the rank markings of a Major. Anyone looking at the group would have seen nothing out of order. A small group of soldiers going somewhere. Ronnie could have been from the Siberian steppes. The only thing unusual was Lamont's skin color. People would guess he was from one of the former Soviet Republics in the south. Unusual, but not unknown.

Korov had provided AK-47 carbines for their primary weapon.

"I thought about the new AN-94," he said, as he handed Nick a rifle. "It's accurate, but trouble in the field."

"How so? I thought the 94 was replacing the AKs."

"They're supposed to. But they're too complicated. Expensive. Very good for accurate, high rate of fire but difficult to maintain. They jam, they catch on your clothes. I don't like them. We stick with these. Besides, you are familiar with them."

"Half the world is familiar with them," Nick said. Half the world was, usually the half that hated America.

Their ride was an Antonov AN-72, nicknamed the Cheburashka by the Russians after a popular cartoon character. The name came from the unusual engine configuration, two huge jets mounted forward on the tops of the wings like giant ears. The plane had been in production since the 80s. A large cargo door in the rear made it ideal for their purpose. Thinking about a jump at low altitude at night made Nick's back ache in anticipation.

The air crew ignored the Americans, assuming they were Russian, though they'd given Lamont odd looks. As long as everyone kept their mouth shut, they'd be all right. They all knew a few Russian phrases and words. An airman brought Nick a cup of steaming black tea and he thanked him in Russian. The man nodded and returned forward.

Each man had a small pack in addition to his parachute. The Russian parachutes were their newest stealth model, almost invisible from the ground, similar to the American design. Korov had gone over the differences with them. Still the same procedure. Jump. Pull cord. Land. Assuming the chute opened. They almost always did.

Ronnie, Nick and Lamont sat on one side. The fuselage was lined with strap benches, just like in the states. When you came down to it, the military forces of the world were much the same everywhere. What was different was the degree of professionalism. The Russian elite forces had that in spades.

Korov and his men sat on the opposite side of the plane. Nick was too wired to doze off. Ronnie turned his jish over in his fingers, reciting a Navajo prayer to himself. His lips moved silently. Lamont sat with his eyes half closed. Sergeant Ivanesky stared at them. When Ivanseky saw Nick notice him, he looked away.

"We'd better keep an eye on that one," Nick said to Lamont.

"Yeah. I noticed. He doesn't like us much."

"Selena said one of our missiles got his father. In Afghanistan."

"Explains it. I wouldn't like us much either."

Korov spoke into his headset, listened. He got up and came over to Nick.

"We are ten minutes away. Get ready. We jump together. I will lead, you come last."

"Got it."

"There is little wind. Snow on the ground, it will show tracks. We are coming in at 2000 feet."

The cargo door dropped open and the engines slowed. The plane lost altitude and speed. The inside of the cabin turned freezing cold as the wind sucked all the heat into the Russian night. They formed up. The engines maintained a steady beat. The light over the open door changed from red to green.

"Go," Korov yelled in Russian. He leapt into the darkness. The others followed close behind.

Nick didn't like low altitude jumps. That close to the ground, there was no room for error. He kept his knees bent tight together and his stomach taut. The chute opened with a familiar jolt that grabbed him in the groin. The night sky was cloud covered. There was no light. The air smelled of coming snow.

The landing zone was flat, free of boulders or trees. The ground came up in seconds, a white blur emerging from the darkness. The snow cover wasn't enough to cushion the shock. Nick hit hard and rolled. Warning stabs of pain shot up his spine.

He was last man down. He pulled in his chute and ignored the pain. The others had gathered around something. Nick walked over and looked down at the body of Captain Zhukov. He lay shattered on the ground, his chute tangled about him. The bones of his legs stuck out through his bloody uniform. It was a bad way to begin.

Korov was stone faced. "Leave the chutes over him."

They covered the body.

"The river canal is that way," Korov said. "We go there and follow it in."

He set off at a fast trot. The snow crunched under their boots. Someone's equipment creaked. The pyramid loomed on their right. They ran until they came to the canal and followed it to the shaft. Water from the Irtysh River plummeted down over the edge and out of sight. Freezing spray drifted over the opening. Steel rungs covered with a thin coating of ice descended at precise intervals along the side of the shaft.

Korov gestured. "Nick, take the point. I will come last."

Nick slung his AK muzzle down and began the long climb to whatever lay below.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

If there had been a window in Elizabeth's office, she could have looked out on a warm Indian Summer afternoon. There was no window. She had a satellite display on the wall monitor instead.

They had infrared visual on the objective. Selena, Stephanie and Elizabeth had been listening to the mission unfold. The jump. The death of the Russian captain. They watched the luminous heat signatures of the men run toward the river canal, turn, and reach the black hole of the water shaft. They heard Korov tell Nick to start down.

The shaft was visible only as a dim heat gradient. Selena watched one of the green figures detach itself from the others.

She clicked her microphone button twice. "We can see you and hear you, Nick. We might lose you under ground." She stopped. What should she say? She didn't want to distract him. "I'm with you. We're watching."

Cough.

Then he was gone. The others followed down the ladder. The three women watched until all that remained on the screen was darkness.

"This is the part I hate," Steph said.

"What do you mean?" Selena rubbed the surgical scar on her abdomen, still fresh. It itched.

"The waiting. To see how it turns out."

To see if they come back. The unspoken thought.

"It can't be that bad," Selena said. "How about some coffee?"

"Oh, oh," Elizabeth said.

On screen, the infrared image flared. A large heat source moved into view.

"What's that?" Selena asked.

"A helicopter coming in."

"What's it doing there that early in the morning?"

"Good question. That's not normal." Elizabeth swore under her breath. "It's trouble. Selena, get Nick."

She pressed her transmitter button twice.

"He's not responding."

"See what I mean about the waiting?" Stephanie said.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Ogorov ducked under the whirling blades of his helicopter and walked toward the pyramid. Tonight they would use the weapon for the first time. He'd gotten word the site had been penetrated and radioed ahead to warn Kaminsky.

General Kaminsky waited by the entrance to the pyramid. Ogorov was climbing the hierarchy of power. Kaminsky intended to climb with him. He was Ogorov's man.

"Minister." He clicked the heels of his shiny, high topped boots together.

"What is the situation regarding the intruders?" Ogorov's breath formed clouds of condensation in the cold air.

"I thought it wise to use our special detachment, rather than troops from the base. They're ten minutes behind you. Whoever they are, they will be killed or captured."

Ogorov said, "One of our people is with them. He informs me there are three Americans in the group."

"Americans? What are they doing here?"

"Probably CIA. It doesn't matter. Try not to kill them. I want to question them."

"That may not be possible."

The two men went inside and got into an elevator. It rose in seconds to the control room below the peak of the pyramid. The doors opened with a soft, pneumatic hiss. The room was brightly lit. Several technicians sat in front of instruments monitoring the status of Tesla's device. A digital clock centered on one wall counted down minutes and seconds and tenths of a second in large, red numbers. It showed just under fifteen minutes. The room smelled of tension and stale sweat.

Yuri Malenkov sat in front of the master control panel. A row of six digital gauges measured fluctuating power levels from Tesla's weapon. A screen above the gauges displayed a changing stream of numbers and coordinates. Yuri rose from his seat as Ogorov and Kaminsky came into the room.

"What is our status?" Ogorov asked.

"We are on schedule, Minister." He gestured at the screen. "I am about to activate the targeting sequence."

He flipped back a safety cover and pressed a red button. Gears whined beneath their feet. Outside, the metal walls of the peak above the control room folded back like the petals of a deadly plant. Yuri pressed another button. A blank monitor came alive with a live video stream from the peak. It showed the crystal amplifier and the targeting array.

"We can watch the beam discharge from here. Our sensors will lock on to ODIN and adjust the direction of the beam. Once we fire, the American satellite will be destroyed instantly."

"Good," Ogorov said. "Good."

They waited for ODIN to come within range.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

The rungs of the ladder were slippery with ice, hard to grasp. Korov gave the order for lights as they descended. The roar of the falling water from the river made it difficult to hear. Each man wore a light on the side of his helmet. The lights illuminated concrete walls dark with moisture. They climbed down the ladder.

Nick was soaked with spray. He shivered. "We're nearing bottom," he called. "I see light."

His arms and back ached from the strain. The AK felt heavy on his shoulder. Getting a little old for this stuff. He pushed the thought aside. Keep moving. You'll be all right, just keep moving.

He reached a platform built out from the wall. The ladder continued on into darkness below. The platform opened onto a passageway. The passage ran straight and true for fifty yards or more. The walls were lined with white ceramic material and lit with strips that gave off bluish-white light.

Nick stepped away from the ladder and onto the platform. He took a deep breath, unslung his AK and took a few steps into the passage. He heard a faint buzzing sound. The air was warm. He sniffed.

Ozone.

The smell triggered a memory. Years back he'd been caught in a violent thunderstorm in the high mountains of Colorado. A bolt of lightning had struck the ground, not a hundred yards from where he'd crouched under a rocky overhang. The air had smelled just like this before it hit. Like electricity.

Korov joined him.

"Nick, take the point."

"Ronnie, Lamont, let's go."

They set out along the passage, close to the walls. There was no cover. The corridor was a shooting gallery. Nick had a pounding headache to go with the stiffness in his back.

"I don't like having that guy behind us," Ronnie said. "Ivanesky. This isn't like Texas."

"Yeah." The buzzing noise was louder. "There's a door up there, set back in the wall."

Korov caught up with them. "Nick, come ahead with me. Leave the others." He said something in Russian to his men.

"Wait here," Nick said to Ronnie and Lamont. He walked part way down the passage with Korov.

"We have a problem."

"What problem?"

"Captain Zhukov's chute was sabotaged."

Nick took that in. "You're sure?"

"Yes. Someone killed him." Korov was angry. "It had to be one of my men, or someone in the aircraft crew. I could not tell you before."

"Then we're compromised. What do you want to do?"

"We have two choices. We can abort, or we can continue."

Nick thought about what to say.

"Arkady," he said. "My mission is to destroy this installation. What's yours?"

Korov's face showed his tension. "I will be honest. My orders are to secure the installation, not destroy it. This makes a problem between us, I think."

"AEON knows we're here or Captain Zhukov would still be alive. What do you think they'll do with this after they knock down our satellite? Do you think Russia is safe? The Chinese have launched a network of satellites that can deflect the beam from this device back to earth. Anywhere on earth, including Moscow."

Korov raised his eyebrows. "I did not know that." China had long been a traditional enemy. It still was, in spite of trade alliances and public assertions of friendship.

"You can bet Vysotsky does. Once it's operational, whoever has this can target anyone, anywhere. Do you think he's just going to hand it over to the Kremlin? All that power?"

Korov remembered something Vysotsky had once said. They'd been in the General's office. Vysotsky had been drinking.

"We are patriots, Arkady, you and I. We believe in the destiny of our nation."

Korov had nodded agreement. General Vysotsky often confided in him when he'd been drinking. Vysotsky had mentored him, even treated him as a friend, but Arkady knew better. He was Vysotsky's subordinate, not his friend, in a system built on rigid obedience to orders.

Vysotsky emptied his glass, filled it again. "Our leaders are fools. I thought we had a strong leader again, but I was wrong. We need someone who is not afraid to act. Someone who will not be cowed by the American hegemony. Someone who understands our power. These men, they have no balls. If I was in charge, things would be different."

He waved his glass in the direction of the Kremlin. Vodka spilled onto his desk.

"No balls," he said again.

The weapon would give Vysotsky the power he longed for. Why hadn't he mentioned the targeting satellites? It came together in Korov's mind. Vysotsky hadn't sent him here because he wanted to hand the weapon over to Russia. Seizing control wasn't for the good of the Motherland, it was for the good of Vysotsky. The realization shook him to the core. It was a betrayal.

Nick was right. Vysotsky was using him.

"Arkady." Nick spoke with quiet urgency. "I know the President. He won't back off. This thing can start the next World War. We have to destroy it. If Zhukov was murdered, AEON knows we're here. There's no way we can get control, much less keep it."

The Russians and the Americans watched Korov and Nick talking. Lamont and Ronnie stood apart from the others. Ivanesky watched them with a cold stare.

"Looks like a serious discussion," Lamont said.

"Yeah. Let's hope it's not an argument."

"Korov is a pretty good guy."

"He's a Russian," Ronnie said, "good guy or not. The question is, what kind of Russian?"

"We're about to find out." Nick and Korov were coming back.

"There is a door ahead," Korov said. "It should lead inside. Bukharin, take the point. Ivanesky, behind him. Once through the door, we will carry out our orders and destroy this thing."

He was speaking English. Nick nodded to himself. He'd been certain all along that the Russians spoke English. They were Spetsnaz, after all. Foreign languages, especially English, were a requirement for all Russian Special Forces. When Korov said they would destroy the pyramid, Nick watched for a reaction. Ivanesky showed a flicker of surprise before his face returned to a mask.

"Yes, sir," Bukharin said. The two moved down the hall. The others followed.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

The door was made of the same ceramic material as the walls. Bukharin pulled it open a crack and peered through. The buzzing sound got louder, like the sound of a thousand bees. He opened the door wide. They went through the door and spread out to the sides, weapons ready.

The base of the pyramid was a vast, square chamber. A wide walkway of concrete went around the four sides. Light strips on the walls gave off the same glow that lit the hall. The walls sloped upward for a hundred feet or more to a flat ceiling high overhead. Like the hallway, the walls were lined with white ceramic material.

Nick looked out over what seemed to be a bottomless pit, trying to make sense of what he saw. In the exact center of the chamber was a flat concrete platform surrounded by a low railing. Bridge-like walkways crossed to it from each side of the perimeter. Four massive columns of copper rose from the pit to support the corners of the platform and continued upward, halfway to the ceiling. A constant, crackling discharge of blue-white lightning danced from column to column. Four thick rods of copper projected from the ceiling above the columns. Electricity flowed in four continuous streams between the columns and the rods.

In the middle of the platform was a machine. The buzzing sound came from six giant wheels made of smooth, circular bands of metal. Each was an odd golden color. Each was at least twenty feet high. They turned in a steady blur.

Impossible, Nick thought.

The wheels weren't attached to anything. They floated in the air without visible support, spinning above a curved cradle of silvery metal placed between two large, free-standing flat sheets of metal bolted to the concrete. A faint, blue haze shimmered over everything.

The air stank with the scent of ozone. The metal of his AK felt warm and gave little shocks to the touch. Static sparks jumped from Nick's clothes as he moved. His hair stirred in restless movement.

On the far side of the pyramid was a door. A thick ledge extended out over the pit, supporting an elevator shaft. The shaft rose to the ceiling and whatever was above. The wall on the right side of the pit had a closed set of double doors.

Lamont stared at the impossible wheels. "It looks like something out of a sci-fi movie."

"The Matrix," Ronnie said, "or Stargate."

"Listen up," Nick said.

"The control room will be up there." Korov pointed toward the ceiling. "This is the heart of it. We take this out. Nick, you and I will plant charges. Ronnie, Lamont, you cover the elevator and the doors. Bukharin, Ivanesky, stay here and cover the passageway."

Korov and Nick walked to the machine. Nick went to the cradle under the spinning wheels. His body tingled with electricity. He knelt on one knee and placed charges at the base of the cradle. He inserted detonators and hoped the random electricity didn't set them off. Then he went to one of the flat metal sheets and began there. Nothing on the platform would survive. Korov was busy at the copper columns.

Nick heard two clicks in his tiny earpiece, then Selena's voice.

"Nick, can you hear me?" The transmission crackled with static.

He coughed.

"Twenty minutes ago a helicopter brought someone in. A second one just landed. It's a troop transport."

In Virginia, Selena watched glowing green figures emerge from the aircraft like a stream of ants. The stream formed up into three orderly lines.

"30 men. They're getting ready to go inside."

"Shit," Nick said.

"What?" Korov looked up from where he was placing a detonator in a block of Semtex next to one of the columns.

"Assault troops, outside. We're about to have company." He stood and spoke into his headset. "Ronnie, Lamont. Get back over here."

Korov didn't ask how Nick knew. He reached for a timer.

"Stop what you are doing, Colonel. You, American. Tell your men to drop their weapons."

The voice came from behind them. They turned. Bukharin had his AK-47 leveled at them. Nick saw Ivanesky's body lying on the floor by the hall entry. Across the way, Ronnie and Lamont froze.

Korov's voice was calm, but his face betrayed his anger.

"Traitor. You killed Zhukov, didn't you? I wasn't sure. I thought perhaps one of the airmen."

Bukharin's face was expressionless. "The Lubyanka is a good place to consider treachery. You will…"

He never finished whatever he was going to say. A shot from across the way stopped him mid-sentence. Nick felt the burn of the bullet passing his cheek. The round took Bukharin in the throat. Blood gushed from his mouth. He stumbled backward against the platform railing and over it. The body fell away into the pit. Across the way, Lamont lowered his rifle.

Nick looked at him. "Nice shot. Kind of close, though."

"Didn't hit you, did I? You Jarheads aren't the only ones who can shoot."

"Time to leave. You'd better get over here." Nick turned to Korov. "I thought it would be Ivanesky."

Korov shook his head. "Bukharin was smarter than Ivanesky." He knelt down again. "Set the timers for eight minutes."

"Not much time," Nick said.

"Eight minutes."

They set the timers. Korov stood. "We boogie now, yes?".

"Da, now we boogie."

They hurried to the passage entrance. Ronnie and Lamont were already waiting. They stepped through the door.

The entry doors burst open. Troops in black uniforms with red patches on their shoulders began firing across the pit. Bullets chipped pieces from the wall. Nick slammed the door shut. Rounds hammered the other side.

"Those aren't our soldiers," Korov said. "I don't recognize those uniforms."

They ran down the passage. The door flew open behind them. Nick had a grenade out and ready. He turned and hurled it with everything he had and ran after the others.

The explosion slapped at his eardrums. He was outside the kill zone, but the men coming through the door hadn't been that lucky. Someone was screaming. Nick didn't look back.

He reached the shaft leading to the surface. Lamont and Ronnie had already started up the rungs. Korov stood to the side and fired down the corridor.

"Go on," he said.

Nick began climbing. He felt like he had the strength of lions. When those charges blew, he wanted to be as far from the pyramid if possible. He climbed as if demons were behind him.

It was a long way back to the surface. Going down had been hard. Going up was worse. He focused on a steady rhythm. Reach, step, reach, step, over and over. One rung at a time, one after the other. In his mind, eight minutes was counting down. Then he was at the top. Ronnie grabbed his hand and boosted him up and out into the night. Korov tumbled out of the shaft after him. It had started to snow. They ran for the river, where their escape boat waited.

In Virginia, Elizabeth and Selena and Stephanie watched the scene unfold.

"Don't talk to them," Elizabeth said to Selena. "They're a little busy at the moment."

In the control room on top of the pyramid, Yuri watched his readouts. The words TARGET ACQUIRED appeared in red on his screen. Then, LOCKED.

"One minute," he said.

Ogorov and Kaminsky watched the video feed from the peak, waiting for the moment the proton beam would rip into space and vaporize the American satellite. The crystal glowed with blue light.

The floor vibrated. The power meters for the device jumped into the red. Malenkov's face turned white. He had just enough time to think about reaching for his switches.

Nick and the others were almost to the river when the charges detonated. The air rushed away and for an instant there was total silence. Then the top of the pyramid vanished in a burst of blue light. An enormous ball of electric blue energy blossomed and turned the night into day.

The shock wave lifted Nick from his feet and hurled him through the air. He struck hard and felt something give in his shoulder. The sound was unlike anything he'd ever heard, like thunder and lightning and high explosive all combined.

Debris hurtled past. Afterimages of light danced behind his eyelids. A dense cloud of purple, red and white columned into the air and hung like a leprous rose in the air.

Nick raised his head. Where the pyramid had been was nothing. Nothing at all. Only a glowing, cavernous opening in the ground.

"Maybe you used a little too much Semtex," Ronnie said.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

The blast had knocked all of them down. They got to their feet. Nick felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His earpiece was filled with static. He pulled it out.

"There's a pier on the river," Korov said. "The boat should be there."

The ground was flat for another hundred yards before it sloped down to the river. There was a gate in the fence and a guard house. A soldier stood outside, staring openmouthed at the glowing cloud behind them. He called out and brought his rifle up. Korov shouted something.

The guard was young, little more than a boy. He hesitated. Korov came up to him, shouting at him in Russian. The youth snapped to attention. When he was close enough, Korov swung his AK and slammed the guard in the side of his head. The boy went down.

"You kill him?" Lamont asked.

"No. He's just a soldier doing his duty. But he will have a very bad headache later."

They went through the gate and hurried down a set of steps to the pier. A boat waited there, a gray shape in the darkness, diesels idling. The snow fell faster. The wooden pier was slippery under their feet.

The boat was a Svetljak class, a hundred and fifty feet of serious business. A forest of antennas and masts rose from the superstructure. 30mm guns were mounted fore and aft. A gangway extended from the deck to the pier.

An officer watched them approach. They went up the gangway and Korov began talking with him. There were crewmen on deck. Nick hoped no one asked him any questions.

The crew took in the gangway. The deck throbbed and the boat pulled away from the pier.

Ronnie said, "That doesn't look good."

He pointed through the falling snow at a second boat coming from the south. Water foamed around the bow as the vessel sped toward them. It was another Svetljak class, with a single 30mm gun aft and a heavier 76mm forward. The boat was still some distance away. A squad of soldiers on deck wore the same black uniforms and red patches as the men AEON had sent against them at the pyramid.

"I thought this was too easy," Lamont said. Now what?"

"It's up to Korov now," Nick said.

Korov saw the boat and said something to the officer. They ran to a door. Nick heard their feet pounding up metal stairs, heading for the bridge.

A warning shot from the 76mm passed overhead. Klaxons sounded and a harsh voice in Russian came through the ship's speakers. The crew ran to their stations. The gun turrets rotated toward the oncoming ship.

The Ob River was wide like the Mississippi, with plenty of room to maneuver. The engines went to full power. The boat heeled over to port and headed for the middle of the river. Nick grabbed the rail to keep his balance. Another round whistled past. The ship's guns fired. Then the boat swung back and headed straight at the other ship.

Nick had never been in a naval battle. He'd never wanted to be in one. He felt helpless, at the mercy of the unseen Captain. He ran forward and watched as the two ships drew near on what looked like a collision course.

Ronnie and Lamont came up beside him.

"Jesus," Lamont said. "Like playing chicken with the Iranians in the Gulf."

Svetljak class boats mounted two torpedo tubes. Two white trails shot from the bow of their ship and bored in a straight line toward the other ship as it began to turn. The 76mm gun boomed. The shell struck behind them on the superstructure. The blast knocked the three of them down. Something tore into Nick's back. Their ship veered away.

The torpedoes ripped into the hull of the attacking boat and detonated in a burst of flame and light. A gigantic spout of water rose in the air. The vessel shuddered and slowed and began to go down by the bow as water poured into the breach.

Nick had time to realize he'd been hit before he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Three days later they were back in Virginia.

Shrapnel had torn a chunk out of Nick's back by his right shoulder. Six inches to the left and it would have taken his head off. A Russian naval doctor had stitched him up. Vysotsky had gotten them to Chelyabinsk and out of Russia.

Nick's arm was in a sling to discourage him from using it. He'd need some rehab once the stitches healed, but aside from a new scar, he'd been lucky. He was on painkillers. He liked the relief. He didn't like the side effects.

"I wonder how Korov will deal with Vysotsky." Nick tried to get comfortable in the chair. "You were right about him."

"I'm sure the Major will think of something," Harker said.

"He's been promoted to Colonel."

"Oh? That's smart on Vysotsky's part."

"I've said it before. It's too bad Korov isn't one of ours."

"What are we going to do about Foxworth?" Ronnie asked. "We still have him to deal with."

"Where is Foxworth now?" Nick asked her. He rubbed his face. The pills made it feel numb.

"Holed up in London. He's gotten paranoid since you hit him in Italy. When he comes out he's surrounded by bodyguards. He's got a new chief of security who used to work for the Bulgarian secret police."

"Guess we made him nervous," Ronnie said.

"Do we have any idea what he's planning?" Selena asked.

She's looking better, Nick thought. She's recovering. A small piece of his guilt dissolved.

"No. I want everyone to stay alert in case he comes after us again. He'll piece together what happened in Russia. Foxworth seems to take these things personally."

"We have to take him out," Nick said.

"You can't just kill him."

"Why not?"

"You know why not." Harker looked at him.

"No, I don't. Because it's not politically correct?"

"Because we don't assassinate people. Not since the 70s."

"You don't believe that."

"I have to believe that. For the most part, it's true. The Project acts outside the bounds all the time, but we have the evidence we need to act. Rules of engagement. We have to draw a line somewhere, otherwise we're just like Foxworth."

"Foxworth is an evil son of a bitch and he has to be stopped."

"There's a burden of proof we have to meet."

"You don't think Foxworth meets that? As I recall, the burden of proof is that someone has to have taken violent action against us or represent a 'continuing and persistent, imminent threat' to the country. Foxworth is persistent as hell."

Harker said nothing.

"Director, I don't think legality is the issue anymore. He built a super weapon that could have targeted the White House. He was going to attack us. You didn't see that thing in the pyramid. It was beyond belief. He doesn't seem to care if he starts the next world war and he's going crazy with a brain tumor. What more do you need? He's a direct threat. Talk to Rice. Convince him."

"I already talked to him. Rice agrees with you. He thinks Foxworth is worse than Bin Laden. But it's not the same kind of situation. We're talking about a respected public figure. There's no outward knowledge of what he's done. Rice can't make an official finding. Unofficially, the White House would be happy if Foxworth was no longer an issue."

Nick's ear itched. He scratched it. "So do we go for him or not?"

She tapped her pen on her desk. "We do. Everyone is vulnerable, even people like him. But if anything goes wrong, there's no extraction, no backup. We'll be on our own."

"What else is new?" Ronnie said.

That evening Nick and Selena went to a restaurant near DuPont Circle. His eyes swept the room as they sat down, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The bulge under the jacket. The drink left untouched. Sunglasses in the middle of the night. Someone looking quickly away. The unguarded stare.

That took care of the amateurs. Professionals were harder to spot, but everyone made a mistake sooner or later. Harker had said everyone was vulnerable and that included himself and Selena. It wasn't like the movies. If you made a mistake, someone died.

He wasn't over feeling guilty about Mexico. He felt awkward with her. The food came. Selena toyed with her silverware.

"I was thinking about the meeting this morning. Do you think it's right?" she said.

"What?"

"That we can decide someone is so much of a threat that we act as judge and jury. Execute him. Without a trial."

No one was within earshot. "You mean our British friend. You know what I think."

"Even Charles Manson got a trial."

"Manson didn't have the power to buy judges and prosecutors or have control over what the public reads in the paper."

"But it just brings us down to his level."

Nick set his fork down. "Where are you going with this? You know what he represents. If this was 1933 and you had a chance to kill Hitler, would you take it?"

Selena took a bite of her steak.

"Foxworth is the enemy. Not just our enemy, everyone's. He's a psychopath. He'll do anything to get what he wants."

"Still."

"We can debate the morality of it but Foxworth isn't concerned with the morality of what he does."

"That's exactly what I mean. If we act in a way that's immoral it makes us no better than he is."

"I think morality is on our side. We have a moral duty to protect ourselves and our country."

"Someone else will take his place."

"Yes. But it will take AEON time to recover. They'll be in confusion, their plans disrupted. People will live who would otherwise die. I think it's justifiable. Putting down Foxworth might give us time to break up AEON for good."

"You talk about him as if he's a dangerous animal."

"He is. Though that's a little rough on the animals."

"Is everything so black and white for you?"

"Damn it, Selena. You know me better than that. What's bugging you?"

She took her time answering. She drank some wine and set the glass down before she spoke.

"Honestly? I guess it's my own morality I'm questioning."

"You feel bad about what you do? What we do?"

"I'd be lying if I said no. I thought I'd come to terms with it, but this has brought it all up again. It's not like I think about it all the time. I know it's necessary, that people like Foxworth have to be eliminated. I just wish we weren't the ones who had to do it."

"Somebody has to. We're part of the immune system for the human race. We try and stop the cancers out there. Foxworth is a cancer."

Selena looked down at her steak, blood red on her plate.

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore." She looked at him. "You could have been killed."

"Yeah. But I wasn't."

"But you could have been." She pushed the plate away. "I think we need to back off a little."

A headache started.

"What do you mean?"

"I have to think about it, where this is going. I need some distance. After everything that's happened the last few months." She stopped. "After I got shot. Then you almost get killed."

She drank some wine. "I have to think about it," she said again.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

The face of AEON's representative from Brazil filled the teleconference screen in Foxworth's London office. Don Julio Silva was apologetic. His voice oozed with false sincerity. Foxworth listened and controlled his rage. He knew what was coming. The pack had turned on its leader.

"Malcolm, most unfortunately these last adventures have failed, at great expense to the organization. It has brought unwanted attention." Don Julio paused. "We are appreciative of the guidance you have provided these past years. However, we all feel it best if you step down from the Chair."

"All of you?"

Don Julio's face hardened, "Yes, Malcolm. All of us. Out of respect, it has been decided to tell you of our decision rather than simply terminate your position."

Transitions of leadership within AEON were always terminal, but the illusion of civility had to be maintained. There was tradition to be considered. Don Julio was giving him time to set his affairs in order and make his arrangements. Perhaps even arrange his own death in a comfortable manner of his choosing. Socrates and his cup. Otherwise, death was likely to be neither comfortable nor convenient.

"I see," Foxworth said. His face betrayed nothing.

"I knew you'd understand," Don Julio said. "For what it is worth, Malcolm, I truly regret the necessity of this decision. And now I am afraid I must say goodbye."

The screen went blank. Foxworth stared at it for a few seconds, then picked up a heavy cut crystal ashtray and threw it at the monitor. It exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.

He understood, all right. Weak, ambitious minions grasping for power. People without his vision, his sense of destiny. Cautious, small minds unwilling to take risks and speed the day of AEON's supremacy. They were about to find out what a mistake they had made. If they could be swayed to betrayal by a few setbacks, they deserved to die. Malcolm had prepared for this day. His head throbbed with sudden pain. His hand began trembling. He stuffed it in his pocket.

He activated the intercom on his desk.

"Mandy, get Dragonov in here. After him, Morel."

A few minutes later Foxworth's new chief of security knocked on the door frame. Foxworth beckoned him in.

"You sent for me, sir?"

"Increase security to level one immediately. There will be attempts on my life."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a difficult assignment for you. It will require you to make use of your old contacts and I want you to handle it personally. There is a high element of risk involved."

Valentin Dragonov had been a senior sergeant in the Bulgarian secret police before he'd been recruited. He was intelligent and totally ruthless. His contacts included the faceless men who still ran the interrogation cells of Eastern Europe and the old Soviet Union. Dragonov liked women. He liked money. Foxworth had provided both, in generous amounts. The Bulgarian was perfect for what Foxworth had in mind.

Foxworth took a folder from his desk and handed it across. It contained the photographs, names and locations of the other members of AEON's inner circle. With Ogorov gone, there were seven.

"Open the folder."

Dragonov did as he was told. The first page showed a picture of Don Julio Silva and listed his locations, habits and vulnerabilities.

"These men are to be eliminated. I understand you will need to make plans, but time is critical. Do it quickly. Each will be alert and each one will be heavily guarded. Plan accordingly. Do you understand?"

Dragonov said. "These are very high profile targets. I will need to recruit. I will need ordnance. All this will be expensive."

"Get what you need. You have a blank check. Hire who you want. Make sure there are no trails back here."

Foxworth took several banded packets of purple 500 Euro notes from a drawer and pushed them across his desk. Dragonov eyed the money.

"This is pocket money for personal expenses. If you need more, tell me. With each success I will give you 200,000 Euros. When all seven assignments have been completed, you will receive an additional 1,000,000 Euros in a Swiss account. I trust this will be satisfactory?"

The large man nodded.

"Good. Don't let me down."

He didn't need to say more. Dragonov had carried his predecessor's body from the library in Italy.

The Bulgarian picked up the money. "I won't fail."

"That's all."

Dragonov left the room. With Silva and the others handled, Foxworth considered what to do about Elizabeth Harker and the Project. She had to be removed, permanently. He considered possibilities, complications. The Project wasn't Langley or NSA, but their security was still formidable.

He'd been saving a unique asset for something special. Foxworth decided this was the time to use it. With the right spin there would be few consequences. No one would trace it back to him. He pictured the result, watched it happen in his mind's eye. It could be done. He smiled to himself.

Morel entered the office with his briefcase full of magic.

It was turning into a good day.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

A freighter flying the Panamanian flag churned across choppy waters fourteen miles off the Virginia coast. The Consuela had been stopped once by the US Coast Guard, a routine inspection that yielded nothing. Her papers were in order. She was bound from Vera Cruz to Norfolk with shipping containers full of furniture consigned to an American chain that specialized in items from third world countries.

The Coast Guard had opened two of the containers and brought on the drug sniffing dogs. The captain of the freighter had given them a friendly wave as they went back to their patrol boat and turned south.

Captain Krushenko was one of Foxworth's finds. Before he'd left the Russian navy he had commanded an Ovod class small missile ship. The Ovod class fielded six P-15 Termit cruise missiles, unreliable weapons with barometric altimeters and erratic guidance systems. The Termits were subsonic, reaching speeds of about 600 MPH.

Krushenko didn't have any of those. He had only one missile, a Chinese CJ-10. Unlike the Termit, the CJ-10 was supersonic, capable of traveling at two and a half times the speed of sound. It lay flat in one of the long cargo containers, surrounded by boxes of wooden trays and salad bowls.

The CJ-10 could be armed with either a nuclear warhead or conventional explosive. This one carried a generous payload of a new high energy explosive more than twice as powerful as the older types. The missile used an accurate inertial guidance system and was difficult to detect. It skimmed above the terrain at 1900 MPH until it reached and destroyed its target. Once launched, the CJ-10 was a lethal, single purpose, suicidal robot.

The distance from the Consuela to the target was approximately a hundred and seventy miles. Krushenko estimated time elapsed between launch and impact at less than twelve minutes. By the time coastal defenses could react it would be too late. That was the beauty of a cruise missile. It hugged the terrain and flew under the radar, with a low profile and high speed. Anti-missile defenses like the American AEGIS system required sufficient notice to be effective. The missile would already be over land before they detected it. There wouldn't be enough time to intercept.

Krushenko didn't know why this particular target had been chosen, but he wasn't curious. He was just doing a job. He figured he had a better than 50–50 chance of getting to shore once the missile was launched. The risk made the game more exciting. He was being paid accordingly, an extravagant sum.

The sides and top of a false cargo container had been removed, exposing the missile and launcher and a camouflage of boxes around it. Krushenko used a remote control to activate the launcher. The missile lifted into firing position.

The missile employed a cold launch system. Cold launch used pressurized nitrogen to send the missile airborne, eliminating the complex venting systems necessary for a conventional, hot launch. It was the reason the CJ-10 could be concealed in a container and fired from the deck. Once free of the carrier, the solid fuel engine would ignite and send the missile on its way. The electronic brain inside already contained the coordinates for the target.

Krushenko walked in a leisurely way to the side of the freighter and descended a sea ladder to a fast motor launch that would take him to shore and safety. His skeleton crew waited in the boat. The launch pulled away. Krushenko watched the abandoned ship sail steadily on toward Norfolk. When he judged it was far enough away, he took out his remote and triggered one of two switches.

The pressurized nitrogen released with a deadly hiss and sent the missile away from the ship. It rose into the air like an ancient, mythic sea monster. The engine ignited. The missile accelerated, broke through the sound barrier with a crack like thunder and vanished over the horizon.

Krushenko flipped the second switch. Explosions blew out the bottom of the Consuela. The ship lifted out of the water, then settled straight down, all buoyancy gone. The ocean poured over her deck. A moment later the only sign she had ever existed was a frenzied boiling of sea froth and foam on the surface.

The missile was gone. The ship was gone. The target would soon be gone. The motor launch headed for shore. Krushenko lit a cigarette and entered a number on his satellite phone.

In London, Foxworth said, "Yes."

"It's done."

"Good. Captain Krushenko, are you a religious man?"

Krushenko looked at the phone. What kind of question was that? It gave him a bad feeling.

"No. Why are you asking this?"

"Just wondering." Foxworth pressed a button. The signal went to the same satellite that carried Krushenko's encrypted transmission, then relayed down to another phone hidden in the hold of the motor launch and wired into three blocks of Semtex. A second later the launch disintegrated in an eruption of flame and debris. The sound of the explosion rolled across the waters.

Foxworth listened to the sudden silence and turned off his phone. He remembered something Benjamin Franklin had said. Three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead. Foxworth thought Franklin a wise man.

It hadn't been easy to arrange everything. But with enough money, anything was possible.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

It was an Indian Summer day, warm for early November. Elizabeth, Selena and Stephanie were eating lunch outside in the sheltered garden at the rear of the Project. They sat in the sun in the far corner, away from the building. A group of six analysts sat talking and laughing at one of the tables by the doors leading into the building.

The garden was two hundred feet long, surrounded by high concrete walls painted in desert earth tones. On the back wall was an exit door with an emergency bar on it. No one had ever needed to use it. The walls caught and held the warmth of the sun in the winter and provided seclusion and shade in summer. It was popular with everyone who worked at the Project, a favorite spot for a quick cigarette or a coffee break. Graveled walks meandered through decorative beds of flowers and under tall shade trees. This late in the year the leaves were down. The flowers were gone except for a few purple mums.

The paths intersected in the middle at a low fountain shaped like a smooth, gray boulder. Water flowed over artfully placed rocks, murmuring like a mountain stream. The sound made Elizabeth think of other places, other times. If she closed her eyes she could imagine the sound of the creek that ran behind her childhood home in Colorado.

Nick and Ronnie came out with trays and headed toward them. Nick had abandoned the sling but he had to be careful about the stitches. He looked at Selena and felt something close down.

Lamont was at a hospital in the city. His mom was ill again.

Ronnie and Nick were almost across the garden when something screamed out of the sky and exploded in the front of the building. The blast picked them up and tossed them aside. The air filled with flying debris. Blocks of concrete slammed into the earth and smashed against the garden walls. Pieces of the building rained from the sky.

In the aftermath, it seemed as if time had frozen and sound had ceased to exist.

Nick couldn't understand what had happened. He was lying on gravel. The stones dug into his face. The stitches in his back were torn open and bleeding. He couldn't hear anything. He tried to comprehend what he was doing there. Ronnie lay twenty feet away, not moving. A thick cloud of white dust drifted down on everything.

Hearing began to return. It brought the crackling of flames and the sound of things falling inside the building. Nick started to get to his knees and hit something with his head. A jagged spear of steel had embedded itself in a tree next to him. He saw Selena on her knees, bent over someone on the ground. The side of her face was covered in blood. Director Harker lay on her side, her back against the garden wall. Her black skirt was pushed up above her knees.

Nick struggled to his feet and looked back at Project headquarters. Black smoke and orange flame rose over the building, climbing into the blue Virginia sky. The rear wall was rubble. The roof was gone. He remembered that people had been talking and eating near the building entrance. They were buried under the remains of the wall. He could see a woman's leg sticking out from under concrete and twisted rebar.

He stumbled over to where Ronnie lay unconscious. The back of his head was covered with blood. Nick turned him over and lifted an eyelid, then the other. One pupil was large, the other small. A bad concussion, or worse. He pulled off his jacket and wadded it up into a pillow.

He looked again at the devastation. He wiped his forehead and his hand came away bloody. He had a headache. Ronnie's eyes fluttered and opened.

"What…"

"Easy, amigo. You're all right. Don't move." Gently, he put the makeshift pillow under Ronnie's head.

"Got a headache."

"Yeah."

"What happened?" His voice slurred.

"A bomb. Lie still. I'm going to look at the others."

Ronnie closed his eyes.

Nick went to where Selena knelt over Stephanie. Selena's clothes were ripped and covered in dirt and dust. She had a gash on her scalp that had bled down over her face.

"You all right?"

"Yes. Steph isn't."

"Shit." White bone stuck out of Steph's lower arm. There was a lot of blood.

"She's unconscious. Nick, what do we do?"

"Be ready to hold her still in case she wakes up. Give me your jacket."

Selena had a light weight suit jacket of silk. She pulled it off. He saw her wince.

"You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, just bruised. Here." She handed him the jacket.

He tore off a long strip of silk.

"Hold her head."

Nick lifted Steph up while Selena held her head off the ground. He wrapped the strip of silk around her body and pulled the upper arm tight against her chest. She moaned.

"She's waking up. Hold her."

Elizabeth knelt down next to them. "I'll help." She coughed, hard, rasping coughs.

He wrapped another piece below Steph's elbow and pulled it tight. The bleeding slowed to a trickle. The flames made a steady roaring sound, sucking in air around them. Heat from the fire was intense.

"Let's carry her out of here. Each of you take a leg."

The three of them carried Stephanie out through the door in the back wall and set her down.

"Stay with her. I'll get Ronnie. There's no one else we can help."

What was left of the Project building was an inferno. Nick got Ronnie to his feet. He half walked, half dragged him to where Harker held open the emergency door. Sirens sounded in the distance. He lay Ronnie down next to Stephanie and started toward the parking lot where the rescue trucks would be.

Then the rage began.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

They met at Selena's that evening. Stephanie and Ronnie were in Bethesda. Selena had been treated for the deep cut on her scalp. It had taken four stitches to close the cut on Nick's forehead and more to sew up his shoulder again. His arm was back in the sling. Elizabeth had multiple cuts and cracked ribs.

They sat at the granite counter dividing the living area from the kitchen, drinking coffee. Selena had set out a tray with pieces of dark chocolate.

"Chocolate?" Nick said.

"It helps," she said. "Go ahead. Try it." She took a piece.

"Everyone was killed," Elizabeth said. "Everyone."

They were silent. Then she said, "It was a cruise missile. The Pentagon thinks it came from a freighter off the coast."

"A freighter? How do you fire a missile from a freighter?" Nick held a cup of coffee in his left hand. Hot. Black. It helped him think.

"It was probably concealed in a cargo container. The satellites wouldn't have spotted it. If they used cold launch technology, they wouldn't need a vented platform. The missile was supersonic. By the time our people saw it, it was too close. They couldn't get something up in time to stop it. There's been no further indication of a threat. Rice has gone to DEFCON III, just in case."

"Cold launch and supersonic. That's government ordnance. Any claims of responsibility?"

"Several. Everyone is going crazy over at Langley and the Pentagon trying to figure out who did it."

"How is the White House going to spin it? You can't hide something like this. It's bound to leak that a missile got through our defenses."

"As far as the outside world knows, our building was a high-tech engineering research firm. The story will be that it's a terrorist attack gone wrong, with a missile targeted at the White House going astray and landing in Virginia by accident. A case of targeting error. The only upside is that it will probably clinch Rice's re-election."

"Why us? Why didn't someone put a missile on the White House?"

"The White House has AEGIS protection, but you're right, they might have gotten one through. So that's the right question. With targets like the White House or Capitol Hill or the Pentagon, why us?"

"Let's start making assumptions," Selena said. "It usually works, though I'm not sure why."

"Okay," Nick said. "Let's start with a fact. Someone sent a cruise missile and targeted it on our building. It can't be an accident it hit us. Something that advanced would have internal programming to put it right on the money."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Then assumption number one is that someone is out to get us. What's assumption number two? Aside from the fact that we've pissed someone off?"

"Number two is that whoever it is has a lot of money and powerful contacts," Elizabeth said. "Missiles are expensive and you can't order one out of a catalog. At least you can't unless you're a government."

"It can't be a government," Selena said. "We aren't important enough to risk a war with the US by sending a missile at us. This is real overkill. It's an insane thing to do."

"So we've got someone who is pissed off at us, has money and connections and is insane. Sound like anyone we know?" Lamont rubbed his nose with a knuckle.

"Foxworth," Elizabeth said. "Adam said he has a brain tumor."

"That son of a bitch." Nick's voice was flat. "It has to be him. Have they found the freighter? The captain can tell us something."

"That's another thing. There was a seismic anomaly registered by underwater sensors off the coast right about where that missile could have come from. An explosion of some kind. The Coast Guard is looking for a ship. They haven't found anything in the area except oil slick and flotsam."

"They sank it. It's at the bottom of the ocean."

"That's what I'd do," Elizabeth said. "I think there's something more going on here. You remember, a few months ago Adam told us Henri de Maupassant was part of AEON?"

"The French Minister of Finance? He was on that list in Foxworth's villa."

"Maupassant had a heart attack last night at a restaurant he frequented in Paris. He's dead. A waiter said someone brushed against him as he came in. He collapsed a minute later."

"That sounds like the KGB," Lamont said. "They were good at things like that. Remember that guy they poisoned with plutonium?"

"The KGB is gone."

"Gone but not forgotten. There are a lot of ex members of the sword and shield out there looking for work."

"Why kill Maupassant?" Nick asked.

Elizabeth picked up her coffee cup and set it down again. She took a piece of chocolate. "I think it's a power struggle inside AEON. There was another death two days ago. Julio Silva, in Brazil. He owned one of the largest energy corporations in the world. A big player."

"You think Silva was part of AEON?" Selena reached up and touched the bandage on her head. The stitches itched.

"I think he was. Silva was assassinated. A sniper got him as he was getting into his armored limo. The bodyguards and car didn't do him much good."

"Foxworth is going after his enemies. Including us." Nick got up and poured more coffee. Lamont held out his cup. Nick reached out with the pot and felt something spasm in his back. The coffee spilled.

"Damn."

"You okay, Nick?"

"Yeah." He set the pot down. "Just a glitch. I'll work it out in the gym. It'll go away."

"Are we in agreement, then?" Elizabeth said. "We assume Foxworth is behind this?"

"Yes," Nick said. Lamont and Selena nodded.

"We'll get him. Our first priority is a temporary place to work. DCI Hood has offered space at Langley if we want it. Rice has suggested the Pentagon."

"Can we access the NSA and CIA mainframes securely with remote access?" Selena asked.

"Yes."

"Then why not work here? Steph will be back tomorrow. There's plenty of room, a place to sleep if someone needs it, good security. There are two big screen TVs we can use for monitors. We can bring in anything we need. It keeps us out of sight."

For a moment Elizabeth was quiet. Then she said, "That's a good idea."

They were up and running.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Valentin Dragonov was pleased with the way things were going. Two down. The Frenchman had been child's play. Sometimes the old ways were best. A simple pin prick, a fast acting poison and a problem was solved.

Silva had been more difficult, but people always had routines that were their undoing. Silva had been smart enough to vary them. Dragonov had to admit it would have been enough to stop most enemies, but he wasn't like most enemies. Silva's downfall had been through a low level employee with a grudge and a need for money. He'd been happy to provide Silva's itinerary.

As promised, Foxworth had transferred two bonus payments of 200,000 Euros each to a numbered account in Zurich. Valentin considered his next target, a banker in Hong Kong with close ties to Beijing. The logistics were difficult.

Dragonov had taken a suite at the luxurious Upper House Hotel, looking out over Victoria Harbor. The service was the best in Hong Kong and the food in the hotel restaurant excellent in a city known for its culinary offerings. The suite was $900 a day. Dragonov saw no reason to try and save his employer any money.

The girls he'd ordered from the escort service would be here soon. Dragonov looked forward to a night of many and varied pleasures. A discreet knock sounded on his door. Dragonov glanced at his watch. Right on time. He went across the room and opened the door.

Two large Chinese men moved in so quickly that Dragonov had no time to react. They were strong, with a grip like iron. The gun jammed into his ribs made struggle pointless.

"Sit," one man said. He pushed Dragonov down on a couch.

A third man entered the room and closed the door behind him. Dragonov recognized his next target.

I'm fucked, he thought.

The man was slim and not very tall. He had streaks of gray in his hair. He wore a gold Rolex on his left wrist. He wore a suit of dark blue Hong Kong silk and a red tie. Heavy lidded eyes looked at Dragonov through glasses with tinted lenses. He gestured and one of the large men brought a chair and placed it directly in front of the Bulgarian. The Chinese man sat down.

"You know who I am," he said. It wasn't a question.

Dragonov licked his lips, suddenly dry. It would do no good to deny it. "Yes."

"Good. Then you know I am a serious man."

Dragonov said nothing.

"Is that right, Mister Dragonov? Am I a serious man?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"My colleagues believe you should be eliminated. You wouldn't like that."

He waited expectantly for Dragonov's response.

"No, sir, I wouldn't."

"How much did Foxworth pay you?"

Dragonov told him.

The man smiled. "It is always good to know what you are worth in the eyes of another. How much are you worth, Mister Dragonov?"

"I don't understand. Sir."

"I have a proposition for you. You have proven most resourceful. It is, after all, business. You will work for me. If you accept my proposition, you will be allowed to live. Your contract will be completely fulfilled with one more assignment and you will be paid the full amount offered before. Can you guess what your new assignment might be?"

Dragonov allowed himself to breathe. For the first time, he thought he might survive this meeting. "Yes, sir. Malcolm Foxworth."

"Good. I see I have not misjudged you. And can you guess what will happen if you do something foolish? Tell Malcolm about this meeting, for example?"

Dragonov nodded. "Yes, sir."

"No, you can't. You can't even imagine it. You understand, don't you?"

Valentin Dragonov knew many ways pain could be applied to the human body. He understood how the body could endure excruciating suffering for days before it died. Dragonov also understood fear. Looking into the Chinese man's eyes, he felt fear he had never known.

The man saw it and smiled. "Good. You understand." He patted his new employee on the knee and stood. "You have made a good decision. I will be watching for news, Mister Dragonov. Don't be long about it."

He moved toward the door. His two men were there before him, one holding the door open. At the door, the Chinese man turned.

"The women will be here soon," he said. "Perhaps you should change your clothes."

The door closed behind them. Dragonov looked down at the stain spreading on his pants.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

Mandy Atherton wore a tailored gray business suit of Italian silk that set off her perfect features and slim body. A gold bracelet studded with sapphires circled her left wrist. Mandy liked sapphires. She looked up as Foxworth's Chief of Security came into the room.

"He's not expecting you," she said. "I thought you were out of town."

She considered the man. Rough around the edges, though Healey had been no jewel himself. She missed the sex, the thrill of sneaking behind Foxworth's back. Looking at Dragonov, she felt the beginnings of arousal. He had big hands, a massive build. She wondered if the rest of him matched. Besides, she'd never had a Bulgarian. At least she didn't think so.

"You don't have to announce me," he said. He walked over to her, bent down and smelled her hair. "What is that perfume you're wearing?"

"You like it?"

"Very much." He laid his large hand on her neck and put hard fingers around her throat. She shivered. For a moment she felt frightened. There was something about Dragonov, a kind of feral danger that radiated like heat from his body. She felt moisture between her legs. He paused as if considering something, then gently withdrew his hand.

"Don't announce me, okay?"

"Okay."

"We'll go out when I'm done here."

"Okay."

Mandy had never felt anything like this. She wasn't the kind of woman who took it well when a man told her what to do. Somehow Dragonov was different.

"Malcolm wants me to go to an event with him tonight."

"That won't be a problem."

"All right."

"Why don't you go have a cigarette? Come back in ten minutes."

She watched him go into the inner office. She heard Foxworth's voice raised in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

The door was thick and soundproof. Dragonov closed it behind him. Mandy took a cigarette and lighter from her purse and hurried from the room.

Foxworth looked up from his desk, annoyed. His head was throbbing. Morel was late. His hand trembled as he reached for a glass of water.

"Well? What is it? I thought you were in Hong Kong."

"I was."

"Is he dead?"

"No." Dragonov drew a pistol from under his jacket.

"Ah. I see," Foxworth said. "What did he offer you?"

"More than you," Dragonov said.

"I'm disappointed, Dragonov. Money is no object. Here, I have another 50,000 for you."

He reached in his desk drawer and took out his Walther and fired, just as Dragonov shot him between the eyes. Foxworth's head snapped back. He tumbled from his chair. Dragonov clutched at his chest and took his hand away, covered with blood.

He shot me. The bastard shot me.

The strength went from his legs and he fell to the floor. Blood gushed between his fingers.

He shot me.

Darkness descended.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Nick put down the phone. Selena watched him.

"That was Harker. Foxworth's dead."

"How?"

"His security chief shot him. Foxworth's assistant went out for a smoke break and when she came back they were both dead."

"Both of them?"

"Foxworth killed him. It looks like they both fired at the same time."

They were in Nick's apartment. Miles Davis played in the background. He took down a bottle of Jameson from a cabinet over the wet bar and a glass.

"Get me one," Selena said.

He got another glass and brought the bottle and glasses over to the counter where she sat.

"I love this album," Nick said. "Kind of Blue. Davis, Cannonball Adderly, John Coltrane. Bill Evans. There's no one like them around anymore."

"It's a different world now." She drank. "What do you think Elizabeth is going to do?"

"You mean about the Project?"

"Yes. Where will the new headquarters be?"

"She's not happy with all the publicity. Maybe somewhere away from the city."

"I never thought it would be like this."

"Yeah." He looked at her. "What are you going to do? About the Project? About us? No one would blame you if you stayed out of the field after what happened in Mexico. Or if you left."

He looked down at his drink as he said it.

"I won't be ready for the field for months." She considered her words. "Would anyone blame you if you got shot and left?"

"What do you mean?'

"It sounds like you think there are different rules for me than there are for you."

"That's not what I meant at all."

"You didn't answer my question. Would anyone blame you?"

"It's different for me."

"See? That's how you and Ronnie and Lamont think." She poured herself another drink.

Nick could feel tension settling on his shoulders. What she'd said was true. He did think it was different for her.

Selena said, "It's important. Do you think getting wounded makes any difference? Excuses me if I quit?"

He looked at the ice melting in his glass. "I don't know."

She took a breath. "We're a team. If I quit, I'd be letting you and Ronnie and Lamont down. And I resent the fact that you think I might do that."

He was silent. She toyed with her glass, turning it on the smooth stone countertop.

"I admit, getting hurt like that scared the hell out of me. More than Pakistan. But I'm not quitting."

"You almost died."

"I didn't. Because you saved me. Just like I'd do for you." She looked at him. Her voice betrayed her emotion. "The team is important to me. It's not just what we do. It's everything. We depend on each other. We're a family. How could I give that up? You think I don't understand after what we've all been through in the past year?"

Nick reached out and took her hand. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"All right, then. So shut up about not going back in the field." She took her hand away.

"You didn't answer my second question. About us.

He waited. She was working up to saying something.

"I'm not sure about us right now. How do you think I'd feel if you were killed? Did you ever think of that?"

The words stunned him.

"No. I never thought of that."

"Well, I do. I pushed it away, before. Mexico changed that. It's made me look at my fears in a different way. Not only about me, about you dying. Then you almost don't come back from Russia."

"But I did."

"This time. What about the next?"

"It's the risk we take."

"Yes, it is. That doesn't make it easier."

She stood.

"I think I should go now."

"Why don't you stay," he said.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I can't, right now. Give me a little more time to work it through."

The door closed behind her.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Three days later Harker called an evening meeting at Selena's. Nick was ten minutes late. He got out of the elevator and went to Selena's door. Since the night they'd talked he'd only seen her at the meetings. He used his key and went in.

The door opened onto a wide hall that led to the great room on the right. He walked to the end of the hall and turned the corner.

"Surprise!"

Selena, Elizabeth, Ronnie, Stephanie and Lamont stood in a group under a wide red banner that shouted Happy Birthday! The room was festive with balloons. The dining table was loaded with food. A cake with candles waited.

He stood speechless.

"Happy Birthday, Nick." Selena came forward and kissed him. She whispered in his ear. "I love you," she said. "It's all right. I'm not going anywhere." She kissed him again.

Lamont said, "Gotcha, man. Surprised you. Happy birthday."

"One more gone," Ronnie said.

"Just like a Scorpio." It was Stephanie. "Late to your own party."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good thing you were. We couldn't get all the food out in time."

They were all smiling at him. The team. His family.

"You guys…" He stopped.

In the end, this was what mattered. This was what he fought for. Not just flag or country, but for the people in his life. That was what was important.

He looked at Selena. Suddenly, life felt good again.