by Tim Tigner
Max said, “I agree.”
Achilles pulled up a special app on his phone and dialed in a ten-digit code. The result was the picture of a big button. It glowed red, indicating a connection. Achilles had learned his lesson with the lions in Switzerland and gone with a detonation frequency at the high end of the military spectrum, well beyond what would normally be jammed.
When he pressed the button, the EMP secreted in the medical bag would come to life. Once powered up, it would emit a powerful electromagnetic pulse encompassing the entire DC-to-daylight frequency range. Quick as a lightning strike, it would fry every bit of electronic circuitry within a four meter radius.
Destroying any modern vehicle’s computer system is like cutting off its head. When the vehicle is a helicopter, the beheading is catastrophic. With nothing sending signals to the turbine, the rotors stop turning. And with nothing relaying commands, the levers and sticks and switches stop responding. The absence of flight controls and vertical lift transforms the $10 million instrument into the aeronautical equivalent of a catapulted rock.
That was exactly what Korovin’s copter would look like as its rotor stopped and its trajectory shifted and the downward plunge began. At their altitude, it would take about thirty seconds to reach the waves. It wasn’t hard for Achilles to imagine what those thirty seconds would be like for the two conscious souls aboard. Achilles felt for the doctor and the pilot, but better them than the lives of the tens of thousands of American civilians their boss had planned on murdering.
He knew that the presidential helicopter wouldn’t plunge into the sea, but rather onto it. With a forward velocity of 260 kilometers per hour and a downward velocity in the same ballpark, Korovin’s ride wouldn’t slip beneath the surface like a coin tossed into a fountain. It would burst apart on impact like a toy hit by a train.
Max said, “Do it. Do it now.”
Achilles said, “Here’s to a better tomorrow,” and he pressed the button.
Chapter 108
The End
Black Sea Coast, Russia
PRESIDENT KOROVIN’S EYELIDS RETRACTED as if released by springs. He’d been roused by a jolt of panic that welled up from deep within. His subconscious mind had sensed something terribly wrong.
As he gained focus, he saw that he wasn’t in his study, but rather was aboard his helicopter. It wasn’t his pounding headache creating the background noise, but rather the rumbling rotor.
He sat up, gritting his teeth against the explosive pain throbbing between his ears, while his doctor looked on with grave concern in his eyes. “What happened? Why are we in the helicopter? What’s going on?”
Dr. Dedov reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You had a stroke, Mr. President. We’re rushing you to the hospital in Sochi.”
“A stroke? No, no. I was attacked, in my office, by the bankers. Bankers sent by President Silver.”
Dedov studied him with concern writ large across his face. “Strokes play tricks on the mind, Mr. President. Please, lay back down. It’s important that you remain calm.”
Korovin’s mind was racing. It didn’t feel impeded. He had a whale of a headache, but maintained clarity of thought. “Where’s Pushkin? I want to talk to him. Now!”
“He’s right behind us in another helicopter. I believe Ignaty is with him as well.”
Now Korovin was confused. Panic swept back over him, putting ice in his veins. “They know about this?”
“Yes, of course, they—” Dedov stopped speaking as the mighty turbine powering the helicopter suddenly turned silent, like a roaring lion shot in the head.
For a moment, Korovin enjoyed an almost magical feeling, soaring silently high above the waves. Then his stomach leapt up as the downward plunge began. “Erik, what’s going on?” Korovin yelled to his pilot, an unflappable veteran of the Afghan war.
The pilot didn’t reply, his focus obviously elsewhere.
“What’s going on!” Korovin demanded.
After a few seconds that felt more like centuries, Erik said, “We lost all systems, Mr. President. The bird may as well be a rock.” His voice was matter-of-fact in tone.
“How’s that possible? Surely there’s something you can do. Don’t rotors grab the wind even without power?”
“I have no control, Mr. President. Everything is dead. Goodbye, sir.”
Nyet nyet nyet. This couldn’t be. Not him. Not yet. He was Vladimir Korovin. President of Russia. The richest, most powerful man in the world. He was only sixty-four. He still had a third of his life to live. The best third. The third that would see Russian preeminence restored. He couldn’t possibly die now. Fate wouldn’t allow it.
And yet it was happening.
He only had seconds to live.
The physics were undeniable.
How had this happened? Who had beaten him? Silver wasn’t smart enough to mastermind this plan.
Was it Ignaty? No. He’d go down with the ship. People feared him, but they didn’t like him. Without presidential backup, Ignaty wouldn’t be feared any more. Old enemies would eat him alive.
As Korovin hurtled ever closer to the frigid white-capped waves, clarity struck him like the flash of blinding light that was about to follow. He knew who had done this to him. He could feel it in the depths of his soul. It was the man who had foiled his plan once before. The American spy. Korovin spit the name with his last breath, like Troy’s greatest warrior had 3,300 years before. “Achilles.”
PART 5: DIPLOMACY
Chapter 109
Underestimations
Seattle, Washington
KATYA HEARD ZOYA WINCE from two steps ahead. “Catch another thorn?”
“These things are unbelievable. A trek like this merits the Holy Grail, not a Chinese weasel. How long until the next ping?”
Katya looked at her watch. “Just two minutes. We’re cutting it close.”
Working almost as much by feel as by vision, they were trudging through the dark, wild woods that separated the location of the Bear’s last ping from the nearest road. The muddy forest floor sucked at their shoes while the undergrowth grabbed their bare ankles. Urban camouflage didn’t work so well in the jungle.
Judging by the satellite map, they expected to spot Wang’s boat from the road. Then they arrived to find a thick forest blocking their view of the water. A forest full of brambles.
“What are we going to do if he’s sailed on?” Zoya asked.
Good question, Katya thought, scrunching her toes to retain her shoe. “All we can do is race to the sight of the next ping.”
“What if it’s not close to shore?”
Katya didn’t want to think about that. If it weren’t after midnight, they could charter a boat with a knowledgeable captain. Perhaps even find one with diving gear so he could put the tracker on the hull. But at best it would be eight hours before that became a viable option. “We’ll think of something.”
Katya looked down toward the tops of her feet. She couldn’t see them clearly in the dark but was certain they were scratched up if not bloody, beginning from the point where her flats left off. She was starting to appreciate Achilles’ stubbornness when it came to footwear.
The woods went right up to the water’s edge, but faint moonlight reflecting off the water alerted them to its proximity. “Do you see a boat?” Katya whispered.
“No. Pass me the binoculars.”
As Katya was handing them over, the console in her pocket beeped. She pulled it out and turned her back to the water before pressing the button that brought the display to life. It showed a map with different color dots. A red one pinpointed the latest ping. The three prior pings were displayed in shades of orange and yellow. A green dot marked their location. To her great relief, all five dots were tightly grouped.
“According to this, he’s off to our left.”
They both strained against the darkness.
Zoya spoke first. “I see him. No running lights. Just a darker hole in the water.”
Wang’s tactic for extorting twenty million had been a brilliant one. With no means of contacting him, there was no way to negotiate or trick or trap. He’d created the ultimate take-it-or-leave-it situation. And he’d been right about the figures. No doubt Korovin would have paid a thousand times his asking price.
But Wang had underestimated them.
He’d been so focused on his own con with the circuitry, that he had missed theirs with the umbrella. She drew great satisfaction from that little coup. Alas, it wasn’t yet a victory. Wang could still slip away, still outwit them.
“Oh, no,” Zoya whispered. “The phone’s dead. No way to call for help in the morning.”
And the guys can’t call us, Katya thought.
“What should we do?” Zoya pressed.
Katya unzipped her fanny pack and removed everything but the tracking pellet and tube of waterproof epoxy. She handed the contents to Zoya as an unspoken answer.
“You can’t be serious?”
Katya looked out at the yacht, then down at the dark water. As she pulled her shirt up over her head, she wondered just how cold it was.
Chapter 110
Alternative Scenarios
Sochi, Russia
BOARDING THE JET with Max and Glick, Achilles reconfirmed Palm Beach, Florida as their destination. Palm Beach was where the former U.S. Ambassador to Russia had retired. Achilles knew Ambassador Jamison from the last time he’d run awry of a Korovin scheme — and more importantly, Ambassador Jamison already knew that Korovin had tried to kill Silver. Achilles could talk to him without betraying the president’s confidence.
Of course, he might not get the chance. Jamison might — and in fact was obligated to — arrest Achilles on sight.
Achilles had called the ambassador at his Palm Beach home while shuttling between the helicopter and the jet at Sochi International Airport. On the phone, he’d found Jamison’s tone to be cordial but clipped. In other words, ambiguous. Not that Achilles had expected much better. He was a wanted man, after all — wanted by none other than POTUS himself.
But Jamison had agreed to meet.
Assuming Achilles actually got the meeting, rather than an express train to jail, his plan was to tell the ambassador everything, then trust in Jamison’s ability to manage this exceptionally sensitive intelligence windfall with diplomatic aplomb. Between the Korovin assassination, the Filippov capture, the hidden billions, and Operation Sunset, Achilles would be dumping quite a load on the elder statesman’s shoulders. Still, he expected Jamison to welcome it. Retired or not, Jamison would always be like him — a man of action.
But their meeting wouldn’t be for many hours.
Sochi to Palm Beach was a 6,400-mile flight and had to include a refueling stop. He and Max would use the travel time to catch up with Katya and Zoya and to decide the fates of Severin Glick and Ignaty Filippov.
Assuming they ever got off the ground.
Although they didn’t speak of it, Max, Glick, and Achilles expected to find themselves surrounded by flashing lights and laser sights at any moment. Achilles pictured speeding police cars and special agents in battle gear. He envisioned handcuffs and jail cells and a long extradition battle.
But outside his mind’s eye, nothing unusual happened.
Once the pilot announced that they’d cleared Russian airspace, Glick took on the look of a kid who’d just survived his first ride on Disney’s Space Mountain: thrilled but discombobulated, shaken but giddy. Achilles used the moment to inform the banker of his options. “We’ve got an offer for you. One we think you’re going to like.”
Glick’s expression lost some of its luster, but remained ebullient. “You have my full attention.”
So Glick listened. And as he listened, the lost luster returned — even as his eyes grew wider. Once Achilles finished, he said, “Tell me again.”
Achilles was happy to indulge the banker. He’d played his part, albeit unknowingly, and for that Achilles was grateful. So he summarized: “You know better than anyone that Korovin was paranoid about his money. Beyond his secret bankers, the other people like you, nobody knows where Korovin kept his billions. Even if one of his heirs does, they can’t go after it. It’s all stolen. You lead us to it, all of it, and you get to retire.”
“Retire as in — I run off with nobody knowing I’ve got a billion of Korovin’s dollars in the bank?”
“Not quite nobody,” Max said. “We know.”
“And not a billion in the bank,” Achilles added. “That’s a bit extreme. So let’s agree that in exchange for identifying the other bankers holding Korovin’s money, you’ll keep a hundred million. The rest, you’ll donate to legitimate charities. Anonymously, of course.”
Glick pursed his lips, but Achilles could read the excitement in his eyes. Apparently the prospect of a $100 million payday was enough to crack even a polished Swiss banker’s veneer. “I don’t actually know the identities of the other bankers holding Korovin’s money. I only suspect.”
“And your suspicions are based on?”
Glick gave up the fight and smiled. “There aren’t that many people managing tens of billions of anonymous dollars. Among those that are, most are easy to rule out as Korovin’s bankers. Korovin’s not interested in vanity purchases like sports teams or movie studios or Picassos, so I know the people looking at those aren’t working for him. He’s also got different investment directives from Saudi princes and Chinese tycoons. So when I vet the few remaining opportunities suitable for Korovin’s portfolio, I find myself repeatedly bumping into the same small group. It’s basic deduction from there.”
“Your instinct and logic are good enough for me,” said Achilles. “Max?”
“I agree.”
Achilles turned back to Glick. “Do you think you can live with our proposal? Forever? No second thoughts?” He put some stick into his tone, rather than getting explicit about the other option.
Glick’s slow nod grew faster as he processed the angles and implications. He understood that the alternative would be far less pleasant. “Yes. That’s most agreeable. Anonymously donating $900 million in a responsible manner will take some time, but I shall apply myself whole heartedly, with diligence and deference.”
“Good.”
“Might I ask a question?”
Achilles locked his eyes on Glick’s. “As long as you never ask another.”
Glick blinked once, then said, “I was going to ask what you did with the nine billion you transferred last week. But on second thought, I’m quite certain I don’t care.”
“That’s the attitude! On that note, we’ve got two options regarding your next steps. Option A is taking you with us to meet with the U.S. authorities, so you can explain what happened. Of course, then the retirement plan we just discussed will become contingent upon their figuring out how to permit it, while respecting national security requirements.”
Glick closed his eyes for a calming moment. “And Option B?”
Achilles put a hand on Glick’s shoulder so that a thumb rested in the hollow of his neck. “You swear on your life to never breathe a word, not one word, of the last week’s events to anyone. Ever. You do that, and we let you off in the Azores when we stop to refuel.”
Glick didn’t hesitate. “If there’s one thing Swiss bankers are known for, it’s our ability to keep a secret. Not as well known but no less true is our love of tropical islands. Option B will suit me just fine.”
“I thought it might,” Achilles replied, already planning a few future reminders to keep Glick from getting too comfortable and forgetting his vow.
Glick held out his hand, and shook with both spies.
Achilles turned to Max. “What do you say, shall we go deal with our friend in the back?”
“Let’s try the ladies again, first.”
They’d tried calling Katya and Zoya as soon
as the jet was wheels up, but the call had gone to voicemail. It was a maddening situation because the dead phone could signify everything, or nothing at all. Achilles had been fighting panic by remaining busy. Now that they had a natural break, he felt the walls closing in.
He ran his hand over his smooth scalp, while Max grabbed the phone off the Gulfstream’s bulkhead and hit redial. Achilles had worn his hair short for most of his life, but Mila had given him his first skinhead. He couldn’t stop touching it as the bristly hair began growing back in.
“They’re still not answering,” Max reported, maintaining a brave face. “Probably forgot to recharge it last night.”
Achilles felt his heart drop, yet again. What a yo-yo of a day this had been. But he’d vowed to remain optimistic. “Yeah, Katya’s like that. Leave a message. Have them fly to Palm Beach, check in at The Breakers, and wait for us.”
Max left the message and cradled the phone.
Achilles gestured toward the cargo hold. “Let’s go talk to Ignaty. I think he’s had sufficient time to soak up his situation.”
Max nodded, stone-faced. “Will you let me be the one to deliver the big news?”
Achilles didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I know the two of you have a history.”
Chapter 111
Oversight
Seattle, Washington
KATYA BEGAN TO SHIVER as she swam up behind the Winsome Whisper. The water was deadly calm and dangerously cold. She had hoped for better from September.
Back on the bank with Zoya, she had almost jumped right back out when the frigid river first bit her toes. But once in the water she thought of Achilles and Max and all they were going through. She didn’t dare let them down over a bit of discomfort. What circumstances were they suffering at that very moment?