Romanov oil refinery
Atar, Mauritania
Like an eagle circling on the warm air currents of the noonday sky, the gold-colored helicopter, bearing the Romanov logo of a white, two-headed eagle with a sword clutched between its claws, slowly began its descent onto the shimmering helipad. As soon as the wheels touched down, several armed guards dashed over, opened the rear doors, and held them open while the helicopter’s passengers climbed out.
Jen stepped out into the blistering heat and instantly started to sweat. The overpowering smell of oil combined with dusty sand assaulted her senses, as she fell into line behind Dmitry Romanov and several of his well-armed bodyguards. The refinery stretched as far as Jen could see. There must be thousands of people who work here day and night, Jen thought.
Corrine March held onto Jen’s hand for dear life; she had no idea what was going on, but knew that it was nothing good. Mrs. March tried to keep up, but Jen could tell that she was scared. With a tight squeeze of her mother’s hand, Jen tried to tell her that it was all right and that help would come.
Since arriving onboard the Imperator, Jen, and her mother had been inseparable. Mrs. March had been placed in Jen’s cabin, where they spent hours for the first time in years talking to one another. Jen was relieved when they stepped inside an air-conditioned building, and were handed a couple bottles of cool water. Jen gave one to her mother, and then opened her own. The cold liquid felt refreshing after the scorching dry heat outside.
The building was an enormous storage hangar, which looked to Jen like it could easily house a couple of 747 Jumbo Jets inside and still have plenty of room left over. The rhythmic sound of their feet hitting the concrete floor echoed throughout the expansive area.
Jen looked around and spotted the sea container that she had seen airlifted off the catamaran yesterday. Its hinged doors stood wide open. Inside, Jen saw what she took to be a couple of long white metal pods. A cordon of tough-looking and well-armed men stood around it, their weapons at the ready. They did not look like locals to Jen. She suspected that Romanov had a private army of ex-military personnel from all over the world in his employ.
At the sound of the approaching footsteps, a pair of twin women walked out from behind the container. Jen was astonished to see them dressed identically in loose-fitting cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts. The only difference was that one was dressed in tan and the other in charcoal black. Jen studied their faces and saw a cold and calculating look in their eyes—a look she had seen before. She knew that they were Romanov’s daughters.
“Ah, my dears, I am so happy to see you again,” said Romanov as he embraced his daughters.
Jen could tell that the one in tan was not as pleased to see her father as the one in black.
Romanov waved Jen and her mother over. “Ladies, I would like you to meet my daughters, Alexandra, and Nika.”
Jen felt like a piece of meat about to be sold at the auction, the way the twins eyed her up and down.
“So this is the woman who will provide you with the Romanov crown jewels,” said Nika.
Jen took an instant dislike to the one dressed in tan, the one called Nika.
“I have no doubt of that, and neither should you,” said Romanov, signaling that the conversation was over.
With a snap of his fingers, Jen and her mother were led away and given seats at the far end of the hangar, well out of earshot of Romanov and his daughters.
“Father, I have something to show you,” said Alexandra.
With a nod, Romanov stepped inside the sea container, his heart racing with anticipation. Right away, he saw, strapped securely onto a couple of industrial-grade steel tables, the instruments of Armageddon. Edging slowly forward, Romanov could barely breathe. He now held in his possession the means by which he was going to right history and forever change his family’s destiny. His plan was going flawlessly. Once he obtained the crown jewels, he would be able to seize control of a nation begging for a strong man—for a Romanov.
“Father, the Russian bomb expert will be here tomorrow to check the bombs over and ensure that they can be armed and remotely detonated,” explained Alexandra.
“Yes, very good,” said Romanov, as he tenderly ran his hand over the casing of one of the nuclear bombs, like he would a lover’s thigh.
“Once they are ready, I will have them immediately flown back to the Romanov Star for onward movement to Iceland. I don’t want anything to get in the way, so I will personally see to the final preparations,” said Alexandra.
“Of course, my dear,” said Romanov.
“What about the black woman?” said Nika. “When will she provide you with the location of the Goliath?”
“I have that already. Madame Yusuf and I spoke for hours last night, and I know precisely where to look. Miss March is here to provide us with the jewels,” explained Romanov, looking over at Jen and her mother at the far end of the hangar. “You have my word that we will soon have what is rightfully ours.”
“Father, all I need are the coordinates, and I can be there with a crew to commence digging in a matter of hours,” boasted Nika.
“Patience, Nika,” said Romanov. “I will give you what you need tomorrow morning. Now, I must call Madame Yusuf and talk about my plans for Iceland,” said Romanov, as he turned his back on the container and strode away, leaving his daughters alone to contemplate the next day’s events.
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