Death and Treason

by Seeley James

  It caught up with me. I felt tears welling in my eyelids. No way would I let them see me cry. I turned away for a second. Bianca held a tissue out at a discreet level. I shook it off, took a deep breath, and turned back.

  “Alan Sabel was a young man who witnessed his neighbors’ murders and did not stand by. He did what no one else did. On the spot, he took responsibility for a child. Who among us has that kind of courage? We know the obligations, the sacrifices, the challenges—that’s why foster care is full of discarded children. That didn’t stop Alan Sabel. He stepped up and gave his home, his future, his life to a little girl.

  “Compare his act to the elite who emotionally abandon their own flesh and blood after a divorce. Or those rich people who never bother to have children because they haven’t the time. I’m sure the President-Elect has his reasons for his family situation. But who is he to judge a man like Alan Sabel?

  “The real issue here isn’t what Alan Sabel did. The real issue is: what would any responsible parent do? What would your father do if you were in trouble? What would you do for your son? Your daughter?”

  I looked each reporter in the eye, one more time.

  “What was Alan Sabel’s crime? Was he any less a man than any politician? No. He was much more. What crime did he commit? What Roche said today was nothing but an aporia. When Alan Sabel’s daughter was in danger, did he wait for the legal system to wend its way through a lengthy process? When a Russian general sent him this picture, did he wait for the State Department to file a complaint?”

  Holding Alan Sabel’s phone over my head for everyone to see, I wondered where the hell I’d found it. I glanced up at it. To my shock, the picture of Ms. Sabel, the one I know for a fact that I’d deleted, was in full view. Reporters squinted to see it and instantly recognized what it was. They began shouting for me to send them copies. I tossed the phone to Emily.

  “Or did Alan Sabel do what any father would do—move heaven and earth to save his child? The very child he plucked from drowning in the river of obscurity? Would you do any less for your child? Is it treason to pull your daughter from death’s door?”

  I took a deep breath.

  “For Alan Sabel, there was no border strong enough to hold him back. He saw no USA. He saw no Russia. No sovereign nation to be recognized—because certainly, no government is evil enough to shelter the criminals who attempted to murder his daughter. If there had been time, he knew Russia would’ve welcomed him; even helped him save her. But there was no time. He knew that Pia Sabel, this country’s Olympic heroine, was in mortal danger and that he could—and therefore should—save her.”

  That one silenced them for a second.

  “He was no rogue mercenary.” I gave them my soldier stare and lowered my voice an octave and roared. “In my experience, heroism isn’t something self-proclaimed, it’s self-evident. I was there. I saw Alan Sabel in action. I served by his side. I looked him in the eye, and I saw it in his soul: Alan Sabel was an American hero.”

  I paused once again. When I spoke again, my voice was softer, quieter. “Sorry, I’m just a soldier. When I joined the Army, I swore to protect truth, justice, and the American way. And I’ve come close to giving my life for that oath many times. You know what I say to any civilian who dares to call Alan Sabel a traitor? Rot in hell, coward.”

  I turned on my heel and walked away to the cacophony of reporters barking questions. Bianca trotted alongside me.

  Emily stayed behind to divvy up the photo of Ms. Sabel. Giving them that picture was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking. Ms. Sabel would fire me for that one. The last thing a woman would want is having photos of her beaten body shared all over the internet.

  “Do you know what aporia means?” Bianca asked as we paced across the driveway.

  “What? Sure. It means … um … something. Why?”

  “You used it back there.”

  “Oh.” I kept up my stride. “Did I say it wrong?”

  “No. It’s just. That speech. It didn’t sound like you. It sounded … more eloquent than I expected.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I—” She decided to quit while she was ahead. “You did great. Better than anything I could’ve thought up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mercury strode alongside me. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t beg for props.

  CHAPTER 44

  Yuri waited on the sidewalk of São Paulo’s airport with his back to the nearest surveillance camera. Babineau’s passport had served him well so far, but there was no reason to push his luck. Rain fell like a soft shower in the warm air, a welcome departure from Montréal’s frozen streets.

  When Roman arrived, it took Yuri a moment to recognize his friend. He opened the door, tossed his backpack in the back seat, and slid in. “What happened to you?”

  “I have taken an oath for SHaRC.” Roman scoffed. “Reconstructive surgery.”

  Yuri looked closely at his friend’s bandaged face. “Orbital sockets, nose, and chin. You saved the smile. Facial recognition will not identify you. You are a dedicated man, Roman.”

  Roman nodded. “I’ve spoken to the others. They have committed to the same.”

  “You’re taking on leadership responsibilities?” Yuri waited but Roman could find nothing to say. “You did well.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” A trace of contempt colored Roman’s words.

  Yuri regarded him for a long time. “Are you challenging me, Roman? Are you worried about my leadership?”

  Roman drove and bit the inside of his cheek and flexed his jaw. “We have discussed this and concluded that if we don’t need nations, we don’t need leaders.”

  They drove in silence for a few miles.

  “I have bad news about Vasili, I’m afraid.” Yuri took a deep breath. “He reported us to Strangelove. He gave the old man tracking information. Strangelove came close to having me killed in New York.”

  “He was Armenian. You can never trust them.” Roman squeezed the steering wheel.

  “He was from Novosibirsk.”

  “His great-grandfather was Armenian.” Roman glanced at Yuri. “What did you do about it?”

  “What would you have done?”

  Roman thought it over. Yuri watched as his mind worked through several scenarios. For a hacker, Roman was a tough guy, but he was no killer.

  “Eliminate the threat to SHaRC.” Roman looked self-satisfied with his answer but kept his gaze on the road ahead.

  “Roman, look at me.” Yuri waited until his friend glanced his way. “If you and the others agreed SHaRC should be leaderless, then I am a liability. I know networks and routers, but I am no match for you or Igor, Petr, Alexandr, any of the others. My expertise is my leadership. If you don’t need it, all that remains is a threat. I should be eliminated. You should stop right here and shoot me. Would you like a gun, Roman?”

  Yuri pulled his pistol and offered it, grip first, to his man.

  Roman worried the steering wheel, his gaze sliding to the weapon. Then he refocused on the highway.

  When the GRU conscripted his hackers, Yuri had wanted to put them through KSO training, the Russian equivalent of American SEALs. Strangelove shot it down. The result was Roman: a man so easily intimidated he couldn’t commit a simple murder when opportunity and need demanded.

  “I killed Vasili.” Yuri put his gun away. He turned in his seat to better face his driver. “I left his carcass in the streets of Stavanger. The lovely Norwegians were trying to revive him.”

  They drove on, a long and thoughtful silence settling on them.

  “Three years I worked with Vasili as my lieutenant,” Yuri said. “I’ve met his wife and children. I’ve spoken to his mother on the phone.” Yuri opened a packet of Cocada he’d picked up in the airport. He offered one of the coconut, egg, and sugar confections to Roman. His friend shook it off. “He betrayed us. Strangelove located me in New York thanks to Vasili.” He finished a cookie and lick
ed his fingers. “Tell me, Roman. Could you have done it? Could you kill Vasili? Could Petr? Igor?”

  Roman tried to find words to say. He started and stopped a couple times. Yuri gave him as much time as he needed. The miles flew by, but Roman had nothing.

  “I told you, plans need to be made.” Yuri stuffed in another bite. “Some of those plans include eliminating threats to your men. Sometimes it means eliminating your friends. It’s scary. It’s dangerous. It’s leadership.”

  “Like killine Andrine?” Roman glanced at the former major. “Would you kill me?”

  Quick as a snake, Yuri pulled his pistol, chambered a round, and held it to Roman’s temple. “If you threaten me, or my men, I will not hesitate. Even at 100 kph.”

  Beads of sweat formed on Roman’s forehead. His breathing became shallow and rapid. Yuri remained unmoved until fear permeated every fiber of Roman’s body.

  Then Yuri put his weapon away. “You are a good man with nothing to fear because you are going to explain things to the others.”

  “What things?” Roman’s voice cracked.

  “That you are a group of peers—which works well in good times. But peer groups cannot make command decisions under duress. Peers cannot develop strategy. You will explain to them why leadership is important. You will do this because you are my new lieutenant.” He waited a beat. “Don’t worry, I will teach you how to kill.”

  Roman gathered his courage. “There is one thing you will have to do. They will not listen to anyone who has not taken the oath and made the commitment.”

  He pointed to his bandaged face.

  Yuri shivered inside but nodded solemnly to Roman. “No one is more committed to SHaRC than I.”

  They drove for an hour before entering Santos, a beach town on São Paulo’s coast. They changed the subject and talked about family and friends, and the remaining members of SHaRC. They discussed plans to hack money from the Americans and anyone else as soon as possible. Then the conversation died down for a few miles.

  “I’ve been contacted by Brad,” Roman said. “He represents people who want to work with SHaRC.”

  “How did he find you?”

  “Message boards,” Roman answered quickly. “I swear. I did not compromise my brothers in SHaRC. You have to believe me.”

  Yuri observed him in silence. The trees and miles passed by. Then he said, “Who does Brad represent?”

  “He didn’t say. But he said Mikhail Yeschenko is involved—”

  “Brad works for a company called Santalum.” Yuri let his words sink in. “Viktor Popov was on the board until last year.”

  Roman snapped a glance at him. He returned his eyes to the road. They didn’t speak again until they reached the city limits.

  They arrived at Roman’s apartment in a twenty-story building overlooking the beach. A bottle of vodka waited for them on his thin balcony. Below the railing, a curved stretch of sand. A soft rain fell, and waves rolled up.

  “To SHaRC.” Yuri clinked his glass against Roman’s. “We will first need to rid the world of Viktor Popov if we want to succeed in our endeavors.”

  “The Americans are looking for us. They are our priority.”

  “This is why you need leadership,” Yuri slapped his man on the shoulder. “The Americans are more dangerous. But they have no idea who or where we are. Popov has all our records. If you or the others were not careful transferring your money, he will find us in a matter of hours.”

  Yuri finished his drink one sip at a time.

  “You win.” Roman smiled and sipped his vodka. “We need leadership.”

  Talk is cheap, and Roman said all the right things. But Yuri wanted more. He needed something deeper from his new lieutenant. Especially in light of Roman’s discussions with outsiders.

  “Will you be loyal to me, Roman?” Yuri fingered the bottle of VX-Y spray in his pocket. “I have endured Strangelove’s switchblade for you. Do you pledge your life to me?”

  Yuri didn’t want to kill any of his friends. Not any more than he already had. Not unless all other options had been exhausted.

  Roman turned slowly to consider his leader.

  Yuri could read the man’s thoughts as they flashed across his face: no more rules, no more countries—we do not need leaders. Yet Yuri made a strong argument for having one. He kept them organized, saved them from Strangelove, financed SHaRC from his own accounts. Roman relaxed as he made up his mind.

  The young man lowered his head. “I pledge my life to SHaRC.”

  “Not good enough, Roman. Do you pledge your life and your loyalty to me?”

  Roman raised his chin and met his gaze. “I pledge my life to you before the others, Yuri.”

  “Then we understand each other.” Yuri grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him.

  After they finished their vodkas, they joined a video discussion with the remaining members of SHaRC. They agreed on many things.

  They listened to Roman’s plea for leadership. They agreed they had to stick together or die facing Popov alone. They could make money together. They needed nothing but high-speed connectivity and their computer arrays. They liked Yuri’s plan to infiltrate the stock market for profit.

  Yuri promised to set up new offices in Brazil. The Stateless Hacktivist and Resistance Collective would open for business in a matter of days. In solemn tones, they pledged their loyalty to the collective. Yuri noted three who sounded uncertain. He would follow up with them later. It was best to make those determinations in person. He wrapped up the call on a lighter note, with a toast to their new world: SHaRC. Then they all clicked off.

  With another shot of vodka, he and Roman talked about their personal lives and ambitions. Igor called before they could get very far.

  “I have a friend in the FSB.” Igor took a deep breath. “He sent word to my anonymous drop box that Viktor Popov has declared us enemies of the state. The Foreign Minister plans to hand us over to the Americans. Watch your backs, my friends.”

  Yuri clicked off. He stared out the window at the gentle rain falling on the beach far below. For a moment, he considered running to the balcony and taking a leap. Then he remembered Andrine. He would kill them all to avenge her death. What were his former masters after? Did he care? Viktor Popov, the spy of spies, gave the orders. He would simply kill that tired old fuck. If Jacob Stearne could steal a dog from under his nose, Yuri could strangle the bastard. He began to laugh.

  Roman was pale. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “We have been ‘sacrificed at the whim of political powers far away,’ as Strangelove used to say.”

  “They sold us out.” Roman topped up their drinks. “You think that’s funny?”

  “Ironic, actually.” Yuri took his glass from his new lieutenant and slugged it back. “I met the man who shot Viktor Popov in the leg.”

  “Jacob Stearne?”

  “You’ve heard the story?”

  “Everyone’s heard the story.” Roman scoffed and refilled their drinks. “The Ghengis Khan of the SVR taken down by an American foot soldier. Rumor has it, Popov had the embassy’s security chief beheaded.”

  “Sabel Security didn’t attack Strangelove by accident.” Yuri waited for Roman’s gaze to meet his. “I met Stearne in New York. I was the one who gave him Strangelove’s address in Kaliningrad. He attacked and killed Strangelove. Popov has discovered this. That’s why he wants us killed.”

  “Impossible.” Roman couldn’t speak for several seconds. “You’ve declared war on the most powerful man in Russia. Are you mad?”

  “Trust me, Roman. I have a plan.” Yuri clinked glasses and downed his drink. “But before I take the first step, I will execute your plan.”

  Roman and Yuri shared a somber look. Then they rose. Roman retrieved a hammer. They took the elevator to the ground floor. They walked several blocks to a bad neighborhood. Yuri found an alley, dark and deserted. They took one more look at each other.

  Roman ran out of the alley at full speed. H
e shouted for help. “They’re killing him. Help!”

  Yuri took a long look at the hammer. He took a deep breath and decided which of the four critical areas would be his starting point. He brought the hammer up quickly, smashing it hard into his right orbital socket.

  CHAPTER 45

  A little after four in the morning, Pia fell into the chair at the breakfast table looking uncharacteristically disheveled. She dropped her swollen and bruised face in her hands. Chef set a cup of coffee in front of her. Pia mumbled thanks and warmed her hands on the sides while staring down into it.

  “Did you get any sleep?” Tania looked at her phone.

  Every minute since Dad’s murder, her mind exploded with hate and anger. Closing her eyes became an exercise in visualizing vengeance. Her jaw tightened. “Are they done chopping up Dad’s body?”

  “Later today.” Tania hesitated. “There’s something you should know.”

  Pia looked up from her cup.

  “David Watson came back from Russia. Jacob screwed up by taking him, and he screwed up by leaving him behind. Now Watson’s spreading lies on all the cable shows going on about Kaliningrad.”

  Pia dropped back against the seat and closed her good eye. She sat motionless for a long time. “What is he claiming?”

  “That you planned it. It was a calculated assault—just like Jacob’s embassy attack. Pre-meditated murder.”

  “Let me guess: he’s claiming inside knowledge because he was an employee of Sabel Security.”

  “Says you went crazy over Jacob’s dog.” Tania nodded. “That you’re an egomaniac with her own army. That you abandoned him in Kaliningrad because you don’t care about employees. Made himself a real victim.”

  Pia gripped her mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. “No one’s going to believe it.”

  “The President-Elect held a news conference about it. Named Watson to his transition team—which legitimizes the man. Everyone in the country will wake up to this story.”