“So you’re just a hired thug?” Noble asked. “You sold out for money?”
“Please, don’t insult me, Jake,” Lucas said. “This isn't about money. It isn't even about power. It’s about a corrupt system that needs to be overhauled. America has failed. Capitalism is a tool of oppression, Jake. You of all people should know what I’m talking about. You fought for your country. What did it get you? You got fired. Hung out to dry. They should have pinned a medal on your chest. Instead, you live all alone on that boat of yours, trying to scrape together enough money to keep your mom in a nursing home. Meanwhile, the politicians who sent us out to fight are busy lining their pockets with tax-payer money. The free market is a lie. Democratic Socialism is the only way forward.”
While Lucas was talking, Cermákova moved to the windows and parted the moth-eaten curtains for a peek at the street.
“You used to fight for freedom,” Noble said, still trying to make sense of it all.
“I still am,” Lucas told him. “The United States is the only thing standing in the way of a one-world democratic government. It took me a long time, but I’ve finally realized America is the problem, not the solution. Well, in a few days, all of that is going to change. We're going to hit the reset button. When the dollar collapses, America will be forced to join a coalition of nations directed by a global government. Think of it, Jake: no more countries, no more borders, no more wars. Just one government. One world.”
“With you at the helm?” Jake guessed.
Lucas shook his head. “Not me. Somebody much smarter than me. He showed me the way.”
“He sold you a bill of goods,” Noble fired back. “I’ve heard this idea before. Hitler tried to sell Germany on the same thing. That didn’t turn out so well.”
“Don’t lump us in with the Fascists,” Lucas said. “They thought some people were better than others by way of birth. We believe all people are equal. It’s the politicians who are the problem. We want to put the power back in the hands of the individual.”
“You killed a Secret Service agent for God's sake. An innocent man.”
Lucas frowned. “Regrettable but necessary. The world can’t go on like this, Jake. Nation against nation, every country trying to get rich at the expense of all the others. You’ve got trade wars. Race riots. Migrant crises all over Europe. Famine. Disease. The world is coming apart at the seams. We have to do something before it all goes to hell.”
“And you think a Socialist regime is the answer?” Noble asked. “Crack a history book, Luke. The Socialists killed a hundred and fifty million of their own people.”
Lucas dismissed that with a snort. “They got it wrong. They allowed the bureaucrats to run the politburo. It was doomed from the start. We aren’t going to make the same mistake. We’re going to do it right this time. In a few days, the American economy is going to crumble and we’re going to reshape the world from the ashes.”
“You’re causing an international crisis so you can rebuild the world you think is best for everybody?” Noble said. “Nobody else gets a vote? And you think you're the hero?”
“I know I am. A hundred years from now, people will say the United Front saved the world from ruin. That we ushered in unparalleled peace and prosperity.”
“A hundred years from now no one will even remember your name,” Noble told him. “I'm going to make sure of that.”
Lucas shook his head. “You know I thought about bringing you on board? But you were always so damned righteous. I knew you'd never see the big picture.”
“You want the big picture?” Noble asked. “I’m going to find you and I’m going to stop you. That’s the only picture I see.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucas said. He panned the camera so they could see over his shoulder. Eliška’s father was sitting on the floor with one hand chained to a radiator. The old man didn’t look good. Both of his eyes were swollen shut and his mouth was a bloody gash. One of Lucas’s men stood over him with a Makarov pistol pressed to the back of his head. Lucas said, “I’ve got Papa Cermákova here. He’s got a lot of grit. They don’t build ‘em like that anymore.”
Eliška spit a stream of curses in Czech. “I’m going to rip your guts out! You hear me?”
Noble pushed her back and said, “Let him go, Luke. He’s not a part of this.”
“Not until I finish what I started,” said Lucas. “We’re here at your friend Miklos’s cabin. Eliška knows the address. It’s a nice place. Secluded. Plenty of privacy. You and Eliška are going to come here—unarmed—and turn yourself over to my men. I promise we’ll treat you with respect. We’ll hold all three of you until our mission is complete. We’ll even bandage up the old man and make him comfortable. When this is all over, we’ll let you go.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Eric here will put a bullet in the back of Daddy’s head,” Lucas said.
Noble said, “Don’t do this, Luke.”
The call ended. Noble felt like hurling the phone across the room. He said, “Is that your contact?”
Eliška nodded. “That’s him. You know him?”
“He’s a former frogman,” Noble told her. “United States Special Forces.”
Eliška paced the small apartment like a caged lion. She said, “What are we going to do?”
“We can’t turn ourselves over,” Noble said. “That’s for sure. Lucas will kill us …”
Eliška snagged the CZ pistol from his belt and pressed the barrel against his neck.
“Don’t try anything, Jakob. I like you, but I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Noble froze, one hand still gripping the cellphone. “I can help you save your father, but you have to trust me.”
“I don’t need your help,” Eliška told him. “And I’m not going to end up at CIA black site either.”
She put her free hand over his shoulder. “Keys.”
Noble dug the keys from his pocket and dropped them into her open palm.
“Now the pistol.”
Once she had all the guns, there was nothing to stop her from executing him. He hesitated and Eliška pressed the muzzle hard into his neck.
“Don’t force my hand.”
He could hold on to the gun and get shot in the back of the neck, or give it up and hope she didn’t kill him anyway. It was an effort to keep his hands from shaking. She had killed P. Arthur Fellows in cold blood. Noble had to believe she would kill him too. Either way was a gamble. He passed the weapon butt-first over his shoulder.
She snagged it out of his grip and moved backward to the open door of the apartment, never taking the pistol off him. “Goodbye, Jakob. It was nice to make your acquaintance. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”
Chapter Forty-Six
It was nearly six o’clock in the evening. Ezra and Gwen hadn’t been idle. The mission was scrubbed, but neither analyst could go home until Noble was located and the assassin delivered to the nearest CIA station chief in Berlin. While they waited for Noble to make contact, they continued their investigation into the intaglio parts. They calculated a rough total of counterfeit currency possibly in circulation. The sums they came up with were astronomical. Assuming the print had been completed and in operation for five months, they estimated just over 1.1 trillion dollars. They had each fantasied about what they would do with that kind of money. Gwen was going to solve the world’s hunger problem, while Ezra was going to beat SpaceX to Mars. When that conversation ran its course, they talked about what they planned to do as soon as Noble was on a plane back to the United States.
“I’m going to take a long, hot bath,” Gwen said, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. She had a smile on her face as if she could already feel the luxurious warmth of the water enveloping her body.
Ezra turned pink at the thought and, worried Gwen might somehow intuit what he was picturing, he filled the silence with, “I’m going to order pizza.”
“Pepperoni?”
“Hawaiian,” Ezra told
her. “I’m going to get an extra-large pie and eat the whole thing by myself. Unless, of course, you want to come over and share.”
Gwen was caught completely off guard. She tried to rationalize it by telling herself it wasn’t a date, not really—just two friends having pizza. But Ezra would read into it. That was the real danger. Gwen tried to think of an excuse and was saved by a telephone call coming through on the secure line. She snatched up the receiver and answered with the cover line about Goodman Associates.
“It’s me,” Noble told her. “I had to pick up a new phone. Mine got wet.”
“Going secure.”
She waited to hear the clicks. The encryption wouldn’t do anything to Noble’s end, but it would scramble Gwen’s side of the conversation. Anyone listening in would only hear Noble’s voice. Halfway secure was better than nothing at all. Gwen said, “Are you okay?”
“A little cold, but I’m alright,” Noble told her. “What do you know about an organization called the United Front.”
“Hang on a second.” Gwen plugged the information into her computer.
“The United Front,” she read from her screen. “They’re a small, well-organized outfit that popped up a few years ago. They’ve pulled off a dozen high-profile terror attacks on seemingly random targets. They bombed a bank in Switzerland, kidnapped a French politician in Lyon, and poisoned a water supply in the Sudan. They don’t even claim responsibility for their actions, which is odd for a terror group. Everything we have comes from third-party sources.”
“What about their leader?” Noble asked. “Anything on him?”
“Nothing on the top guy,” said Gwen. “You think they’re involved?”
“The United Front hired Cermákova to kill Fellows,” Noble said. “They’re behind the counterfeiting operation as well.”
Gwen was busy feeding this new information into the computer. “What else can you tell me?”
“See what you can dig up on a guy named Lucas Randall. He’s a former Frogman. He did some work for the Company back when I was running a Special Operations Group.”
Gwen turned to Ezra and whispered, “Frogman?”
“Navy SEAL,” Ezra said. He picked up a set of headphones and spoke into the mic. “Are you suggesting one of our own might be involved?”
“I’m not suggesting it.”
Gwen brought up his Company profile. “Lucas Randall left the agency shortly after you were …”
“Fired,” Noble filled in for her.
“He spent less than a year working for an outfit called Global Security Solutions headquartered in Bern, Switzerland. After that, he dropped off the radar. No one has heard from him since.”
“He’s working for the United Front,” Noble said.
She scrolled through information on her screen. “Nothing in his file to indicate ties with a terror organization. You think he’s working with the United Front? Why?”
“I know he is,” Noble said. “He told me so. I’ve got good intel on his location. I need you to look up an address for me. A Czech military intelligence specialist was found dead on top of Charles Bridge Tower this afternoon. His first name is Miklos. I don’t have the last name. He owns a cabin in the mountains outside Prague. Work some magic and find me an address.”
“Er … ” Gwen said. “There’s been a slight change in plans.”
“Meaning?”
“Armstrong is pulling the plug,” Gwen told him.
“Say again?”
“Armstrong found out about Wizard’s op. She’s shutting us down,” Gwen said.
“What about the counterfeits?”
“She’s turning our information over to the Secret Service. She says it’s their bailiwick.”
“And Cermákova?” Noble asked.
“We laid-in the pipeline for an extraction. Your orders are to deliver Cermákova to the Chief of Station in Berlin.”
“Yeah, well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem,” Noble told her.
“Why’s that?”
“Cermákova’s in the wind.”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story,” Noble told her. “Get me the address for Miklos and I’ll call you back when I have her in custody.”
Gwen hesitated.
“Problem?” Noble asked.
Gwen said, “Armstrong is breathing fire. She wants this tied off.”
Noble was quiet for several seconds and then said, “What time is it there?”
Gwen checked her watch. “Six thirty-five in the p.m.”
“Is Armstrong still in her office?”
“No, but—”
“Then we’ve got all night.”
“Noble, I can’t authorize this.”
“I’m not asking you,” Noble said. “I’m telling you. Get me the address on Miklos.”
“Noble, this mission is over. You’re disobeying a direct order. You could get fired.”
“I’ve been fired before.”
“I could get fired,” Gwen said. It came out a plaintive whine.
“Give me until morning,” Noble said. “If I haven’t got the assassin by then, we’ll pull the plug.”
“Okay but, just for the record, I was against this.”
“Duly noted.”
Gwen and Ezra spent the next hour combing through Czech law enforcement systems and collating reports from Charles Bridge. They finally found the last name of the victim. Five minutes later, they had two addresses—one in Prague, the other in the countryside. Gwen called Noble back and read them both off. She by asking, “What do we tell Armstrong if she calls?”
“Tell her you haven’t heard from me. For all she knows, I still don’t have a phone.”
“So you want us to add lying on top of insubordination.”
“Let me worry about Armstrong,” Noble told her.
Gwen said, “Fine, but call me as soon as you’ve got the assassin.”
Noble had already hung up.
Gwen blew out her cheeks.
Ezra gave an exasperated sigh. “Every time with this guy.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Eliška steered the Škoda along gravel roads that switch backed up the mountainside. Headlamps picked out the slender bodies of towering pines. Everything else was blackness. She glanced in the rearview every few minutes, checking for a tail. It was a long shot, but a healthy dose of paranoia had saved her life in South Africa. She piloted the SUV through hairpin turns up the side of the mountain and parked a mile out. The engine died and an oppressive silence crowded Eliška. She checked the CZ pistol and then got out and climbed the hillside, going the rest of the way on foot. The sound of a car engine can carry a long way in the quiet of the mountains. She crept up the wooded incline, going slow, using thick evergreens for cover. She was thinking of Papa. Every step filled her with regret. He might be dead, and the last words she had spoken to him were in anger. She didn’t want to think about her father dying. It was too big of an idea to wrap her head around. No matter how bad her life had been, no matter the mistakes she had made, Papa was the one constant in her world. The one thing that never changed. All these years, he had been her anchor, something she could hold on to. It didn’t matter if he was halfway around the globe or that they hadn’t spoken in years. He was there, and that was enough.
Now he might be gone and it was her fault.
A crisp wind blew down from the north. Eliška’s breath steamed up in front of her face. She shivered against the last vestiges of winter. The leather jacket and Rolling Stones T-shirt had mostly dried out during the drive, but did little to protect her from the cold. She scrambled through the dark, taking care not to twist an ankle, until she spotted a log cabin perched on a rocky outcropping. A Jeep parked out front. All the lights were on and smoke piped up from the chimney, filling the air with the pleasant aroma of burning pine.
Eliška flitted from tree to tree until she was crouched behind the rear bumper of the Jeep. She watched the front of the cabin for seve
ral minutes. Nobody came or went. Her heart was drumming gently inside her chest, like a thoroughbred nervously prancing before a race. She knew it was a trap. She knew they were waiting for her, but love for her father compelled her forward. She circled the cabin to the back porch, put her shoulder to the door jamb, and slowly turned the knob. It was unlocked. Her heart pounded beneath her breast and her hands shook. She entered with the pistol up.
The American—Noble had called him Lucas—sat in a leather recliner. A cigarette was clamped in his lips. He had a Sig pistol in one hand and the TV remote in the other. On the television, a pack of lions were ripping apart a gazelle. Lucas said, “Come on in, Ms. Cermákova. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Anger welled up at the sight of him. Eliška raised the weapon in both hands and sighted on his chest.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lucas said. He used the TV remote to motion over his shoulder. “Shoot me, and Daddy gets a bullet to the head.”
Eliška edged to her left until she could see deeper into the spacious living room. Her father was chained to the radiator with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. His eyes were swollen shut and blood caked the front of his shirt. One of Lucas’s henchmen stood over him with a gun.
“Drop the gun and come on inside,” Lucas said.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll die where you stand,” he told her.
Eliška heard the porch creak and, before she could turn around, felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the back of her head.
“Put it down,” Lucas told her.
An icy fist gripped her guts. Eliška felt like she would vomit. She was used to being in charge of a situation. Now she was completely at the mercy of Lucas and his men. She handed the CZ over her shoulder. The blond goon from Charles Bridge snatched it from her and then patted her down. Rough hands rammed into her armpits, under her breasts, and between her legs. He found the silenced .22, took that as well, and gave her a hard shove.
“You should have stayed dead.” Lucas said.
Her nostrils flared. “I should have killed you outside Café Organica. I was there. I saw you walking away. I could have put a bullet in you.”
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