For the thousandth time Altmann questioned his decision to live at his La Paz compound as opposed to this lovely spot with its ideal, year-round temperatures. Inhaling the clean air, Altmann shook his head. There was a price to be paid for staying close to the country’s political epicenter. Bolivia’s government demanded the frequent and intimate touch of his deft hand. Nevertheless, it was nice to get away, if only for an afternoon.
“Show me to our guest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Although not as large as his La Paz house, the five-thousand-square-foot, single-story home was elegant in its simplicity. Passing through the twelve-foot iron and glass doors held open by a pair of the household staff, Altmann found the open, tiled spaces inviting. Two more men joined Renaldo as he ushered Altmann into the narrow stairwell that led to the basement and then down to the old dungeon. By the time Altmann stepped off the last of the steps, he had entered a different world.
This dungeon had originally lain below the two-hundred-year-old manor house that Altmann had torn down in order to build his compound atop this spot. But he’d fallen in love with these musty tunnels, with their old iron and stone cells, their lingering smell of ancient blood, sweat, and death, so Altmann had incorporated it into the new plans. Down here, he’d avoided all but the essential renovation required to restore structural integrity and to route electrical power for a new generation of torture devices and a line of naked ceiling bulbs that illuminated the main tunnel. To do more would have been to violate the spirit of this sacred place.
In recent years, these cells had been freshened with new blood, with screams that echoed through these tunnels, never finding their way to the surface. Today, the gift of new screams would feed this edifice, and Tupac Inti would be the giver.
Stopping in front of the fourth cell on his right, Renaldo removed a key ring from his pocket and fitted a large skeleton key into the keyhole. The clank and rattle that followed sent an electric and chemical thrill of anticipation through Altmann’s nervous system. When the door creaked open, he got yet another thrill when he saw the naked shaman chained to the far wall.
Two days without food or water and only the sleep he could manage while dangling by his cuffed wrists had already taken their toll on the big man. But Inti’s eyes didn’t show it.
Altmann nodded at Renaldo, and he motioned for his two assistants to get the apparatus Altmann would soon be needing. As they moved to comply, Altmann stepped up close to Inti and smiled.
“Hello, Tupac. Welcome to my Cochabamba estate.”
When Inti failed to respond, Altmann continued.
“Despite your peasant appearance, you’re an educated man. West Point. I suppose congratulations are in order on your early attempts to better yourself. Too bad it didn’t stick.”
Hearing the rumble of hard rubber wheels on the rough stone floor, Altmann turned to watch the two men wheel an apparatus that looked somewhat like a fully outfitted welding cart up beside him. Then, unwinding a long, thick extension cord, one of them walked out of the room to plug the other end into one of the electrical sockets that had been installed on this level.
The other man unrolled an inch-thick rubber mat and Altmann stepped aside to let him roll it out in front of Inti. Then, as Renaldo powered on the machine and began arranging its various attachments for easy access, Altmann pulled on a large pair of gun-metal-gray rubber gloves and turned to face Inti.
Most of the people who’d stood in Inti’s place were already begging by the time Altmann got this far in his setup. Not this man. Altmann had to admit that he was impressed. But it just added to the fun.
“Of course you have heard of the Marquis de Sade. He wisely said, ‘It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.’ My father showed me the truth of that, both in the giving and in the receiving.”
Like a surgeon expecting his nurse to hand him a scalpel, Altmann reached back to take the wire brush that trailed an electrical cord from its wooden handle. Altmann squeezed the device’s rubber trigger, heard the familiar crackle as thin blue lightning bolts crawled between its many bristles.
A hopeful glance at Inti’s dark eyes as Altmann extended the wire brush toward Inti’s chest failed to yield the hoped-for trace of fear.
“Behold the truth.”
As the wire bristles scraped into Tupac Inti’s skin, his body arched in agony so intense that it pulled a scream of pain and rage from the massive lungs. The pleasure that flooded Altmann’s soul was so intense it threatened to bring him to orgasm.
Then, with the sound of breaking iron and stone, the wall shackle binding Inti’s right hand gave way.
CHAPTER 29
Altmann reacted instinctively, throwing himself backward as a sliver of rock sliced his left cheek, just below the eye.
Seeing his men go for their guns, Altmann scrambled to block their line of fire.
“Don’t kill him, you idiots!”
Glancing back, Altmann saw Inti on his knees, head hanging, his left hand and feet still chained to the wall. As he watched, Renaldo stepped clear, aimed a tranquilizer gun, and fired a dart into Inti’s right thigh. As if in slow motion, Inti lifted his head, locking his gaze to Altmann’s. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor, his chained left arm raised high along the wall.
As Altmann stared down at Inti, feeling the blood run down his cheek from the inch-long cut, frustration burned him. Shit. The tranquilizer dart would put Tupac out for at least twelve hours. With critical meetings planned for tonight he couldn’t wait for the man to revive. And Inti was far too important to let someone else do the interrogation. The questioning would just have to wait until tomorrow.
Altmann turned to Renaldo.
“Clean him up, move him to a new cell, and chain him seated in a corner. When he comes to, give him food and water. It’ll make it that much harder when we take it away again.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Altmann turned and walked out of the cell, he gave one last order.
“And this time, Renaldo, use more chains.”
CHAPTER 30
If she had been at a high-end hotel, Janet would have expected an area like this for its business center, where guests could go to use hotel-owned computers to access the Internet to check e-mail or print boarding passes. But this loft area that overlooked the den was a courtesy where Conrad Altmann offered his guests the use of laptops that his security people could monitor and that were isolated from his private network. It was just one more security layer implemented by the ultra-paranoid neo-Nazi godfather. Janet approved of his efforts.
Altmann had returned to his La Paz compound a half hour ago, stepping off his helicopter into a cold late-afternoon drizzle. Janet had walked out with Dolf to meet him, but he’d been in a foul mood, pausing just long enough to tell her he wanted Gregory dead, and he’d pay the eight hundred thousand euros to the first person that got it done. Janet had noticed the butterfly bandage on his left cheekbone but had avoided commenting on it. Apparently someone had strapped on the huevos it took to strike Altmann in the face.
More important, she’d gotten a glance at the helicopter’s fuel gauge. The mental calculations that followed totaled up to a round-trip distance of approximately five hundred kilometers. Assuming he’d taken no side trips and hadn’t refueled at the far end, his destination had been approximately a hundred and fifty miles away. When she had some privacy, she’d take the time to identify all the cities that lay on that arc. Off the top of her head, she could only think of two of significance, Oruro and Cochabamba.
Finding herself alone in the guest computer loft, she chose the leftmost of four laptops, followed the Guest Log-in instructions, traversed to her dummy Gmail account, and began composing a message to Ammon Gianakos.
SUBJECT: Trip Report
As anticipated, primary mission on hold awaiting conclusion of your partner’s interest in this business opportunity. Have agreed, on a time and materials cost basis, to lend my exp
ertise to assist in overcoming competitors for this opportunity. Will be available for safe online access until tomorrow A.M. Out of office for several days after that.
JM
Janet reread the message, especially the code phrase that would trigger a critical NSA alert for Admiral Riles’s eyes only. Satisfied, she clicked “Send.” Logging off, Janet rose and walked back to her room to pack for tomorrow’s travel. In coming days she’d be needing all her playthings.
Assuming she didn’t get herself killed tonight.
CHAPTER 31
“Sir, we’ve received a high-priority alert from Janet Price, for your eyes only.”
Admiral Riles looked up to see Levi Elias standing in his door, an irate Frederica Barnes at his elbow.
“It’s alright, Fred, I’ll see him.”
Giving Levi a look that showed her displeasure, Riles’s gatekeeper returned to her desk. Levi stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
As Admiral Riles awoke his computer, he saw the alert that Levi had forwarded, entered the additional password the message required, and read Janet’s e-mail message. Although there was no likelihood that anyone other than himself would have recognized the trigger, Riles refused to take any chances that might endanger the operation.
There, toward the end of the e-mail message was the keyword phrase, safe online access, followed by a timeline, until tomorrow A.M.
Looking up, Admiral Riles met Levi’s expectant look and shook his head. As much as he trusted and relied upon his top analyst’s expertise, and despite the desire he could see in Levi’s face, Riles was determined to keep him out of this. If this went wrong, or possibly even if it went right, it could place everyone responsible for this operation in jeopardy.
“Thank you, Levi. I’ll take it from here.”
Riles noted the fleeting disappointment that crossed Levi’s face before the man masked it, nodded, and departed. When he had gone, Riles pressed the button that connected him to his admin.
“Fred, notify Dr. Kurtz and Dr. Jennings that I want to see them in Dr. Kurtz’s lab. Tell Kurtz to clear out any staff working in there.”
“Anything else?
“The classification is Top Secret and the need-to-know is restricted to the three of us. I’m on my way now.”
When Admiral Riles reached the computer lab, he found Dr. David Kurtz and Dr. Denise Jennings waiting for him, curiosity clearly etched on their faces. As the door closed behind him, Riles saw the wild-haired Dr. Kurtz push a button that locked the door and illuminated its “Classified Meeting in Progress” sign.
“Please sit,” Riles said. “I’ll make this as succinct as possible. First of all, Dr. Kurtz, I apologize for bringing you into this, but let me be clear. If, at any time, you feel uncomfortable about what I have to say, you are free to go, and I will not hold it against you. You may note that I make no such offer to Dr. Jennings since she first brought this matter to my attention three years ago.
“At that time, Big John identified an anomaly in communications between the top neo-Nazi figure in Bolivia, a man by the name of Conrad Altmann, and a number of research organizations. Over the course of several e-mails, some hitherto unknown Klaus Barbie writings came to light, papers in which he revealed the existence of a golden crown piece from an ancient Incan artifact known as the Sun Staff, purportedly the staff given by the gods to Manco Capac, the first Incan emperor.”
Admiral Riles paused to study Dr. Kurtz’s face before continuing.
“Centuries after Manco Capac’s death, as civil war ravaged the Incan Empire, Pizarro captured the new emperor, took the staff, and had him executed. The Sun Staff’s golden crown piece was separated from its silver shaft and sent back to Spain as tribute to the king. The shaft was then presented to the Incas’ newly installed puppet emperor as a symbol of Spanish good faith.
“Other than legend, there is no documentation that tells what subsequently happened to either the crown piece or its silver shaft. Not until the Barbie papers I just mentioned.
“As you know, you can find all sorts of craziness in old Nazi documents, and the reference in Klaus Barbie’s papers wouldn’t normally attract Big John’s attention. However, the papers contained a single photograph of Klaus Barbie holding the crown piece. Barbie’s age and the quality of the photograph indicate that the picture was taken in Bolivia not long before Barbie was extradited to France in 1983.”
Dr. Kurtz shook his head. “How is any of this relevant?”
“That was my question. The answer lies in the picture of the crown piece and in shaman lore passed down through the centuries, lore that includes detailed three-dimensional drawings of the silver staff.”
Admiral Riles nodded at Dr. Jennings. “Denise.”
The scientist turned to the nearest computer, logged in, and typed a sequence of commands that brought the far wall monitor to life, displaying a series of drawings showing a complex fractal pattern of symbols that weaved its way around the staff-like vines climbing a tall tree trunk.
Dr. Jennings spoke as she continued to manipulate the imagery. “As Admiral Riles mentioned, Big John first alerted me to the patterns in these shamanic drawings of the staff and their relationship to the image in the newly discovered Klaus Barbie documents. I then created a 3D model of the staff and a partial model of the spherical golden crown piece. I say partial because we only had a single picture of it, so I was unable to deduce what was on the other side.
“What I have been able to determine is that the symbology that snakes its way up the staff forms is an extremely complex mathematical algorithm, one that I haven’t yet been able to solve.”
Dr. Kurtz frowned. “How much computing power have you assigned to it?”
“I’ve had a number of our best systems working the problem.”
“For how long?”
“From the beginning.”
Dr. Kurtz’s features acquired a look of disbelief, the same feeling that Admiral Riles had experienced for the last three years whenever he and Dr. Jennings broached this subject.
“Perhaps the algorithm has no solutions.”
Dr. Jennings pursed her lips. “I’ve considered that, but based on the picture, we believe the answer lies in the crown piece.”
“We?”
“Big John does, and I agree.”
Admiral Riles interrupted. “Dr. Jennings, you know it distracts others when you refer to Big John like a person. Stay focused.”
Running her hand over her hair as if she wanted to undo the tight gray bun, Dr. Jennings took a breath and then continued.
“Look at this.”
The image on the wall changed to a tight zoom of the spherical crown piece.
“Note these perfectly straight horizontal cuts in the surface of the sphere. We . . .”—she glanced at Riles—“. . . um, I have determined that the globe is divided into circular rings, each containing symbols like those on the shaft. By twisting each ring independently, the symbols align with the topmost fractal patterns on the staff in ways that produce different variations in the equations.”
Dr. Kurtz nodded in understanding. “Like a Rubik’s Sphere.”
“Yes, but infinitely more complex.”
“Would you mind telling me how the ancient Incans were able to design something like that?”
Admiral Riles stepped up to the wall screen, pausing to stare at the image. “Now, David, you know what got my attention. More important, over the ensuing months, while Dr. Jennings was unable to solve the algorithm, we came to believe that if we attained pictures of all sides of the crown piece, our new, experimental computation system might be capable of cracking the code.”
Dr. Kurtz let out a low whistle. “Sir, you’re talking about using the quantum computer to solve this, delaying the critical tasks you’ve already assigned to it.”
“If we can get a complete set of pictures of the crown piece.”
Admiral Riles watched his top computer scientist lean all the way back in his Herman
Miller chair as he looked up at the ceiling. When Kurtz returned his gaze to the admiral’s face, all doubt had departed.
“I’m in.”
“Good.”
Riles smiled, feeling the relief that came from knowing Denise Jennings wouldn’t have to attempt this alone. As good as she was, David Kurtz was better, and Janet Price was about to put her life on the line.
“I need you and Dr. Jennings to remotely bypass an extremely sophisticated security system. And I need it done before midnight.”
“We’ll get on it.”
“One more thing,” Riles said. “The system is probably shielded and isolated from external networks.”
Dr. Kurtz grinned and turned to his keyboard. “If it’s plugged into an electrical outlet, it’s not isolated from us.”
CHAPTER 32
Stefan Rosenstein sat in the back of the sedan as his driver wound his way through the moonlit La Paz streets toward the outskirts of the city and home. It had been another cold, damp summer day, but what could he expect at twelve thousand feet above sea level? Tonight, although it had gotten colder, the clouds had cleared. As the sedan passed out of the city proper, Stefan saw the beautiful full moon illuminate the distant, snow-capped Mount Illimani. On the plus side, he had that view.
Considering how badly things had gone wrong two days ago, he’d better enjoy it while he could. It was only a matter of time until Conrad Altmann found out who had engineered Tupac Inti’s failed escape. That was the reason that Stefan was going home to an empty house. It was the reason he’d put his beloved Miriam and his two daughters on a plane bound for Israel yesterday. His family would keep them safe, and even the long arm of the neo-Nazis had limitations. The Israeli government made sure of that.
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