Park Skarda-April Force: Emerald Part 26

FORTY-NINE.

Ft. Meade RACHEL sat down in front of Sanctuary's desk, crossing her legs, waiting for her boss to acknowledge her presence. She knew this wasn't a power play on his part-he was just a methodical man who preferred to accomplish one task at a time. So she waited patiently for him to lift his face from his monitor screen.

Finally he nodded his usual wordless greeting, his graphite-colored eyes regarding her without any sort of emotion.

"I've been running down leads regarding the purchase of the icebreakers through the Danish s.h.i.+pyards," she said. "It's a maze of corporations and corporate sh.e.l.ls. But I think I've got a name: Jonathan Belisarius."

"Who is he?"

"Good question. American. He seems to have arrived out of nowhere with plenty of money. Millions. Owns a castle in the Bavarian Alps."

"False ident.i.ty?"

"Has to be. But the trail is cold. I'll keep digging, though."

Sanctuary nodded, his warm gray eyes growing cold. "If he's the one behind this Arctic thing, we're going to have to stop him before he does it again."

FIFTY.

Lubyanka Prison, Moscow FROM across a battered steel desk General Fyodor Saltykov glanced up from the laptop screen and eyed Belisarius with cool suspicion.

"How do I know this hasn't been faked?" he asked. He was inspecting the footage Jaz shot of the isomer bars in the hold of the Polar Circle. "I don't know what one of these bars looks like."

Belisarius gave him a sour smile. This man was trying to jerk him around and it p.i.s.sed him off. "We both know you've already done your homework, General. That icebreaker was hijacked and sunk."

The general lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "This metal needs a laser beam to activate it?"

"Correct."

"And just how do you expect me to do that? Why should we pay your price for something we might not be able to use?"

Hot blood rose in Belisarius' veins. He wanted to reach out and strangle this man. Instead, he kept his face calm and leaned forward. "Are you expecting me to believe the Russians don't have s.p.a.ce-based laser weapons?"

For a few long moments the other man stared at him, his eyes immobile. Then he gave a curt nod. "Give me the exact coordinates of the sunken s.h.i.+p and I will authorize the money transfer to your account." He stood. "But remember, Mr. Belisarius, Lubyanka might not be a working prison anymore, but there are dungeons below the surface of the street which are kept locked away from public view. I can a.s.sure you, you never want to visit them."

___.

Down in the square, Belisarius climbed into the rear of the limo, leaning back with pleasure against the soft leather cus.h.i.+ons while the chauffeur hurried around to the driver's door.

A greedy smile pulled back his lips.To hedge his bets, he'd given the general false coordinates. But what the arrogant Russian didn't know was that in a little more than twenty-four hours he would be dead. But by that time the money would have been deposited in his account.

He felt the limousine surge forward. Opening the intercom link, he instructed the driver to take him the address where the dominatrix lived.

FIFTY-ONE.

Odessa IT took them a little over two hours to make it to Lanzheron Beach, hanging onto the makes.h.i.+ft raft and kicking and paddling towards sh.o.r.e against the current. An hour later Skarda sat on the balcony of the Hotel Otrada, watching the early evening traffic on Uyutnaya Street while he waited for April to finish in the shower.

Since the Stealth had been lost with the dive s.h.i.+p, he'd replaced it with a new one, and over a plate of vinaigrette salad with shredded beets, sauerkraut, and potatoes, and varenyky dumplings stuffed with mashed potatoes and cheese, he tried to text Candy Man. But here in Crimea he'd been required to switch to satellite reception and the call kept dropping out.

Pouring a gla.s.s of wine for April, he looked up, seeing her enter. Her long dark hair was still damp and she was dressed in jeans and a red sweats.h.i.+rt ordered from the hotel boutique. She looked as refreshed as if she'd just awakened from an eight-hour sleep.

He pushed a plate towards her as she sat. "Here. I got you some sausages and roast pork."

With gusto she attacked the food, pausing to take a sip of wine. "Good," she said, and went back to eating.

He held up the Stealth. "No reception on the satellite."

She nodded, not looking up. "Try outside."

Opening the balcony door, he stepped out onto the terrace. On the first try the signal wavered, but then the call connected. He wrote: "Can you hack into DRO satellites?"

Half a minute later the answer came back: "dro doesn't exist-ha! can do but need time. tough pa.s.sword to crack."

"I need you to hack in and stop laser firing sequences. Lasers set to fire in thirty-one hours, thirteen minutes."

"need time. need to crack firing codes."

"That time is all we have."

"no prob."

Skarda broke the connection.

Accessing the countdown timer app on the Stealth, he entered the deadline and watched the seconds start to tick away.

Then he walked back into the suite to see April waiting for him, her black eyes all business. "We get Flinders first, then the fortress," she said.

He nodded his agreement, thinking about Candy Man's response. "'no prob'."

On those two words hung the fate of the entire human race.

FIFTY-TWO.

Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

RACHEL pushed open the door to Tomilin's office to find him standing behind his desk, shoving a Makarov PM 9mm pistol into his briefcase.

She stopped short. For some reason the sight of the weapon surprised her. "I didn't know you owned a gun," she said.

His lips curled in a condescending smile. "I'm a Republican from Texas."

Something in his voice chilled her to the bone. Instantly she decided not to sit. In fact, her every impulse was to run.

But she stayed.

"I'm reporting directly to you, as you requested," she said, struggling to keep any trace of emotion from her voice. "I've been running down leads on the purchase of the icebreakers. Everything points to a man named Jonathan Belisarius. But the trail isn't clear-he's insulated by layers and layers of corporate ent.i.ties."

For a moment, Tomilin hesitated, then lowered himself behind the desk, fixing her with his steely stare. She had the distinct impression that she had interrupted something important.

"If this isn't a good time for you-" she started.

He waved the apology away. "No. Go on."

Suddenly she was feeling very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. Something was lurking in the depths of his unflinching stare, something that was giving her the creeps. She had the unshakeable impression that he was probing under her clothing, mentally undressing her...

Shaking the feeling off, she went on. "Unfortunately, the name is all I have to go on. But I'm looking into this man's background."

Tomilin's face changed. Abruptly he shot to his feet, evidently dismissing her. "I want you to drop the whole thing for now," he commanded.

"What-?"

His smile was thin. "You know how it is. I have to take my orders, too." He charged around the desk to stand in front of her.

Too close, she thought. She could feel his warm breath on her face.

"No one is to know about this. Do you understand? No one."

Rachel took a step back. "Except Sanctuary."

Tomilin froze. His eyes grew cold and accusing. "You told him? I specifically instructed you to tell no one about this matter."

Rachel found herself stammering. "He's my boss! He has to know!"

Tomilin glared. "Get out of here. Go home and wait there. I'll contact you later with instructions."

___.

Darting in and out between cars on the Baltimore-Was.h.i.+ngton Parkway, Rachel gunned her engine, cutting off a Mercedes as she jumped onto the exit marked "NSA Employees Only". The blare of a horn dopplered away.

Parking, she raced for the Visitor Control Center, mentally cursing the phalanx of security stops she had to pa.s.s through before reaching her office suite. Her feet tapping on the polished floor, she cleared the way into OPS 1, then swiped her card to open the lock of 2W 105.

She needed to warn Sanctuary about Tomilin, about his anger that she had shared the information about the icebreaker sales. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. She could feel it, sense it, like a wild animal picking up the subliminal scents of a stalking predator. Her heart hammered in her throat.

Pa.s.sing the iris scan, she opened Sanctuary's door, entering the windowless room. On the wall, the big monitor flashed images, its sound turned off.

Then she let out a m.u.f.fled scream.

Sanctuary lay with his head on his desk, the hard edge of his laptop poking a harsh crease into the skin of his cheek. Blood ran down the side of his face from a bullet hole in his temple.

Clenched in his right hand was a pistol.

A Makarov PM.

She ran.

FIFTY-THREE.

Gulf of Mexico CANDY MAN hadn't changed his s.h.i.+rt in 8.4 days. But he didn't care. He was at the point where he couldn't smell himself anymore.

Using a backdoor he'd set up by piggybacking onto a former North Korean DoS attack against U. S. government computer systems, he entered the NSA's exaflop supercomputer at Fort Meade. On this he had the DRO's tacit blessing. None of the alphabet soup agencies shared information or trusted each other, so clandestine access was in the agency's best interests.

He shoved the end of a Milky Way into his mouth. From the NSA he could gain access into the DRO satellites. It was going to take a bit of work to hack the pa.s.swords and codes, even with the cracking program he'd designed himself.

Ripping off the wrapper of another Milky Way, he set to work.

FIFTY-FOUR.

Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

SWEAT drenched Rachel's armpits. Fear clawed at her stomach like a living thing, tearing her apart with its sharp talons. What had happened? There was no way Sanctuary had killed himself. It was Tomilin. It had to be. Or he'd sent some kind of a.s.sa.s.sin and planted the gun in his hand.

Her eyes darted around the bedroom of her condo. It wasn't safe here. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to run. Opening her closet door, she yanked down a suitcase and spread it open on the bed, crossing to her dresser to jam it full of clothes. Her plan was to cash out her bank account, jump in her car, and start driving.