The message had been simple. A single image of the cabin of an executive jet, clearly showing a number of bodies. The image had been accompanied by a single question, delivered verbally by the envoy, in the words given to him by the US representative who had personally met him to relay the message.
Where is Ambassador George Sendor?
“What do they mean where is the ambassador?” one of Rostovtsev’s few trusted advisers asked, perplexed. “He is dead.”
“They claim that his body was not on that plane. That they don’t have him,” the intelligence officer stammered, then took another step back when the minister turned his eyes to him.
“They are lying!” The adviser nearly shouted in disbelief. “They must have removed him before that photo was taken. It is disinformation, to throw us off track.”
“We can analyze the image,” another adviser, a younger man selected precisely for his technological savvy, said. “See if they doctored it, if there was another body there, one that had been removed.”
“Nonsense. We cannot believe them. They are trying to undermine our success, to find a way to save themselves—”
“Enough!” Rostovtsev’s voice and an even louder crash of his fist on the table had everyone in the room cowering. He stood silent, his dark eyes on his own warped reflection, even now every black hair in place—he didn’t mind the gray ones, he thought they added dignity—his expression hardened by years of stubborn resolve, and by the unwelcome turn of events. It could not be. It simply could not, must not be.
Finally, he spoke. “I want to see him.” He raised his head. “I want proof that he is dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
Donovan’s call to Lara, as the sun disappeared over the horizon, was answered by Aiden, who promised to relay his message to Ms. Holsworth as soon as she came out of Mission Command. Ending the call, Donovan stared at the phone, frowning. Another mission. The one Scholes had talked about, he figured. Two missions that he knew of and now the trouble in Europe, too, since the harsh incident she herself had been the center of, tense days that had been packed with events that threatened her directly. She had been attacked, injured, and the need for her to be actively involved in her own defense had taken its toll, and yet the missions never stopped.
It was unavoidable, he could understand that. She was, after all, the one and only Oracle. But what she’d been through with him just two days before, thinking he’d been killed, that had taken a toll on her too. He worried that she would exhaust herself. There had hardly been time for her to recuperate, none at all, really.
At least she had him and what was finally happening between them. He could already see something new in her, as though this, them, was giving her new life, as it was giving him.
He found himself smiling at the thought of her and marveled at that. He had every intention of taking her away as soon as it was possible for them both. Just the two of them, for a break they both needed. That first date, the one he’d asked her on but hadn’t had a chance to do anything about, that could be so much more than he had originally intended now that they were together, that she was his. He already had it all planned.
Turning his thoughts back to the investigation, he turned back to his desk screen and accessed available information regarding groups that opposed the United States, the Internationals or the alliance. He then narrowed down his search to those that were not affiliated with specific countries, skimming over them quickly before focusing his attention on Yahna, and on the information he’d already asked for and had received from the liaison assigned to him by IDSD Missions in his previous case working with them, Lieutenant Commander Nathan Walker, who was only too happy to help.
Donovan had fleetingly heard about Yahna, but he never had a reason to give it a closer look. Yahna—originally an acronym of the names of its five founders—was an independent group, quite a large one, comprising citizens of multiple countries, the United States included. They had substantial financial backing and a say in parliaments and business communities worldwide, some of its members being former politicians and powerful business people, others seasoned lobbyists.
Yahna had been a vocal opponent of the Internationals and, as a result, of the alliance they had created. But it never operated against the United States, other than to voice anger at its close cooperation with the Internationals and at its decision to join the alliance and play an active role in its activities. And the same was true for the group’s members in other alliance countries, none of them had gone against their own governments.
The group had been founded immediately after the Internationals were first granted their unique global status by the international court. It had voiced its objections with increasing vehemence as the world got used to the existence—and benefits—of the new nation, and as the Internationals became increasingly active in the global arena and began pushing for the formation of the alliance.
Yahna’s concerns were mainly the disappearance of political borders and with them the identities of countries—a world order they did not agree with—and the idea around which the alliance evolved, of eventually reaching a global state of equal opportunity life. The fact that the borders remained and that the Internationals had actually encouraged a sense of identity and had never gone against people’s sense of nationality, of belonging to a homeland they could always return to, if that’s what they wanted, and had instead brought about beside such identity a sense of humanity, of caring for the world beyond their own home, never even slowed Yahna’s objection to their existence. The years that followed the Internationals’ inception, which showed marked societal and economic improvement in alliance countries, didn’t convince Yahna either. It seemed that Yahna was, quite simply, seeing everything Internationals as a betrayal of the ways of the past, despite the new hope the Internationals brought with them for the future.
As Donovan read on, his brow furrowed. He was looking for something else, something he wasn’t finding here. Whoever was behind the ambassador’s disappearance was acting behind the scenes and did not shy from violence. That didn’t sound like something Yahna would do. Back in its day it made sure it was heard, and it had never resorted to violence. All it did was try to convince people in positions of power in the dominant countries of the free world of its opinions, hoping to strike down all the Internationals’ initiatives. And in the past decade or so, it was barely even heard anymore, and its rhetoric seemed to have been substantially moderated. In fact, it seemed that Yahna had become nothing more than a feeble opponent of the Internationals, one that no longer drew much attention.
Nothing about Yahna fit here. So was Emero mistaken? Donovan doubted it. The seasoned IDSD agent would have for groups opposed to the Internationals the same feel Donovan had for those that could endanger the United States.
Deciding to stick with Yahna a little longer and figuring Emero might have known something the IDSD liaison didn’t think to send him, Donovan considered contacting him, but then reconsidered and instead used his SIRT authorization to go deeper into intelligence files and search for any extremism Yahna might have manifested. He didn’t have to dig for long before he hit pay dirt. Some years earlier, acts were committed by Yahna that were enough to turn more moderate members away from it and that increased the objection of alliance members and even nonalliance countries to it—a bomb placed under the car of an IDSD diplomat in Milan, which injured him and killed his wife, arson of an IDSD building under construction while the construction workers were in it, injuring many, instances of violence against Internationals worldwide that in four known cases resulted in death. As a result, everyone associated with Yahna was blacklisted so that business and political ties with them were prohibited, which damaged Yahna’s finances and its clout, and some of its members were tried in very public trials designed to deter a repeat of their acts.
This apparently didn’t fit in with Yahna’s survival agenda, and it ousted a number of its leaders and members, going so far as to publicly den
ounce these rogue elements, as it called them, subsequently becoming the more carefully subdued organization it was nowadays. Donovan read through some of the trial transcripts and checked the names in them against the information in the intelligence files. Every one of those involved, everyone who wasn’t still in prison, had gone off the radar since then. There was literally nothing about them, which was odd this day and age. It wasn’t easy to disappear.
The problem was that the actions that Yahna’s rogue members had chosen to take didn’t fit in with the patient, sophisticated, and critically damaging act of stealing a technology no one was even supposed to know about from a highly secure organization, completing its development and making it operational, and then using it to abduct an ambassador right out of the sky over Europe. And then using that to discredit two powerhouses—the Internationals and the United States, destroy an alliance that spanned half the world, and cause war in the middle of a continent on the way, destabilizing a third powerhouse, Joint Europe.
He needed to know more. He tried to contact Emero, but his IDSD counterpart wasn’t available. He leaned back, considering his best way to get what he needed. He could call US Global Intelligence’s director, Evans, for what he wanted, but realized he would face questions he didn’t want to face. Considering Emero’s reaction to his interest in ARPA’s director, he didn’t want this to come up again yet. Nor did he want to be pressured into providing answers about Berman just yet, not when he wasn’t at all sure the guy was guilty, while the general consensus seemed to be that he was. And anyway, for what he needed, the best way to go was with those who would know all there was to know about groups who were a threat to them.
He called Frank Scholes.
“Good, I was hoping you wouldn’t be in Mission Command,” he said when Scholes answered, sounding preoccupied.
“Going in and out throughout the day, we’re running the mission in there and Europe from the war room in the meantime. It’s wrapping up soon, by the way, the mission. Lara, how should I put it, took care of everything.” Scholes chuckled softly. “You know, until not that long ago, no one would have dared approve a mission with those levels of limitations and risk, and yet with her, we did, and success was never a doubt.”
“Is she okay?”
“Sure, she’s just watching over their departure now,” Scholes said. “She does that. She’s doing the debriefing immediately after the mission’s over, by the way, to clear her time for Europe. Since we’re overseeing all operations in the disputed region, and with the Russians on the move, unless an unexpected incident comes up that’s all she’ll be dealing with from now on.”
“Actually, it’s you I wanted to talk to,” Donovan said. “I need something. I’ve been looking at groups that are anti-Internationals, some anti-United States and anti-alliance. And I’ve been looking at Yahna.”
“Right,” was all the vice admiral said.
“Yes, I assumed you’d know all about it. Thing is, I need to know more than I have. Not about the original Yahna. I need to know the extremes.”
“You want the dry info or someone who can do some in-depth explaining, answer questions that are, I suppose, immediate to your investigation?”
“Both. And I’m thinking it would take more than an analyst. I need someone with hands-on knowledge. Current knowledge.”
Scholes didn’t hesitate. “I know exactly who can get you the right person to give you what you need. But you’ll have to talk to them on an IDSD secure line, and at maximum privacy mode. You could do that here, but since I can’t be sure when they’ll call, you might as well do it at Lara’s place.” IDSD’s upgrade of Lara’s home security following the change in her security status after she’d been targeted included also a more secure communication line.
Donovan agreed and ended the call, then glanced through the open door of his office. By now, the floor was nearly empty. Impatient and with nothing immediate to move on, he grabbed his jacket and headed to Lara’s place.
The man was sitting in the same couch again, although he had turned it to face the chair beside the desk, where Sendor was sitting. The ambassador had been writing. In an old-fashioned paper notepad, with a pen. They had given him no computer, not even a media screen. To prevent him from seeing what was happening in the outside world, to keep him completely isolated in this cage he was in. But he had asked for, and received, simple paper to write on. Will anyone ever see it, what he was writing? he wondered and then immediately chided himself. That was no way to think. His being alive was obviously of value to these people, whoever they were. And as long as he was alive, there was a chance. He had a chance.
The man, the same man as before, had come in while Sendor was deep in reverie. He had knocked on the door, oddly enough, before coming in. To give him a false sense of security? To taunt him? Sendor didn’t know, nor did it really matter. He was the man’s prisoner.
“Do you have everything you need?” the man asked now, his voice calm, pleasant, as it was before.
“Everything except for my freedom,” Sendor replied. And it was true. He had done his best to acclimate and had requested certain items he wished to have for his comfort. Such as a shaving kit, one such as he was accustomed to using. Or a kettle and some tea, so that he could choose when to prepare it himself. And they had given him all he had asked for. A silent man, elderly, had brought it all to this room, a man who did not meet his eyes and never said a word. They seemed to have been prepared. Down to his favorite tea, they even had that. How long had they been planning this? How long had they been watching him, learning?
The man nodded slightly. “I’m afraid freedom is the one thing you cannot have.”
“You will kill me,” Sendor said quietly.
“Will we?” The man raised his brow slightly, and Sendor thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“Otherwise you never would have let me see your face.”
“I could disappear, go into hiding. This is not a small world.”
“We have made it smaller. And we have allies everywhere. You will be found, and you will not be forgiven for this. Even if you change your face, they will find you.”
“When this is over, the Internationals and their blasted alliance will be fighting for their very existence. They will be powerless to do anything but scramble in panic.” Anger flashed in the man’s eyes for a mere second before he collected himself and leaned back in the couch again, crossing his legs in a facade of calmness.
“Then that is what this is all about. You are using me somehow to hurt the Internationals, the alliance.” Sendor contemplated his captor. The man sat quietly, clearly amused at the older man’s attempts to understand why this was happening to him. “I don’t understand how. How could my disappearance hurt them? It will not even stop the treaty. It is too far along, the two nations—”
“Are already blaming each other for trusting the Internationals, for not truly wanting the treaty, for standing in the way of peace by killing you, for collaborating with the Internationals, with the alliance, to conquer them. They are making up so many absurd allegations, and no one can do anything about it, simply because there is no proof to the contrary. They all think that you are dead, you know. The entire world does. Your two protégé nations, they will be at war soon enough. And Russia is already moving its forces to the borders. Oh, I have revealed too much,” the man added with mock innocence, clearly enjoying the shock and anguish on the ambassador’s face.
“No!” Sendor’s voice trembled with despair. “Why? Even if you are against who we are, what we do, what have these two nations ever done to you? Have they not suffered enough?”
“We have no interest in them, they are but an excellent means to an end, as you are. This war will last, it will bring destruction and change Europe, and the world will not forget soon the Internationals’ part in what happened. Even the alliance is already unsure what to think.”
“Who are you?” Sendor thought hard. His years in diplomatic se
rvice had given him valuable knowledge and good instincts. Surely, he thought, I can figure this out. He tried to bait the man. “You are one of those groups, those who oppose our existence. What we do.”
“Very good, George. You don’t mind if I call you George, do you, seeing as we are likely to be spending some time together? And to your question, yes. We were once a part of Yahna.” Sendor nodded his recognition of the name, and the man smiled. “In fact, we still are, in a way,” he said. “We have members who are still working within Yahna, using its resources and contacts. Which also helps us to keep an eye on it. See what it does, what it knows. Which is, of course, nothing. It is an anachronism.”
Sendor heard the arrogance in the man’s voice. Good, that will push him to talk. Sendor wanted so desperately to understand, to know more.
“But surely Yahna knows of your existence. It will stop you,” he said.
“It has no idea. It is too busy with its meek lobbying, too busy living the cushioned life of making endless backroom speeches to politicians who do not listen. It is outdated and has done nothing, nothing at all for far too long. We are what it should have been from the start, and we are smarter. We do not even have a name, intentionally so. Names have a way of coming out in documents, in communications. In conversations. We exist as a group of people with a common cause, a common purpose. Only we know who we are, who is with us and who is not. This way, we are hidden.”
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