The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  The Carbon Cross

  Randy Dutton

  Copyright Randy Dutton 2015

  Published by Rainforest Press

  www.rainforestpress.com

  Rainforest Press Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is a review copy and licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Set in 12 pt. Times New Roman

  Cover Art by Scott Dutton

  Against a pure carbon matrix backdrop, Earth’s ocean currents swirl and flow, spreading mankind’s ill-conceived carbon trapping solution.

  What God giveth, mankind has targeted to taketh away.

  Dedication

  To Gail...my muse

  “The Carbon Cross held me spellbound. Linking the events of today within every chapter of the book, Randy Dutton has shown how the villains of the book are in our everyday life. Bringing in crucial issues as global warming from CO2, our massive debt to China, though they still owe us $800 billion in unpaid 1913 Gold Bonds, to the fragileness of our ecosystems from unknown bacteria's and laboratory accidents. This is one you will not want to miss.”

  Shelley Stepanek

  Entertainment Writer Las Vegas, Nevada”

  “CO2 is lower today than it has been through most of the history of life on Earth... At 150 ppm CO2 all plants would die, resulting in virtual end of life on Earth... Thank goodness we came along & reversed a 150 million-year trend of reduced CO2 levels in global atmosphere... Long live the humans!” – Greenpeace co-founder Dr. Patrick Moore

  Prologue

  August 5, 1300 hours

  D600 highway

  French Riviera near Monaco

  Acrid fumes intruded upon Jared’s wracked brain as his groggy mind struggled to clear from the trauma.

  Gasoline...why do I smell gasoline?

  Adrenalin quickened his pulse.

  The accident! I’ve got to escape!

  Willing his muscles to move – failed.

  How long have I been here?

  Recalling his survival training, Jared drooled to feel the spittle pathway.

  It’s running sideways across my face. Damn! I’m belted in upside-down and my body’s twisted. The roof must be crushed. Focus...what works, what doesn’t? The left side of my face hurts, everything else is numb.

  Salty tears stung his rapidly-blinking eyes.

  There’s a faint light...like a heavy fog. Well, at least I’m not blind.

  His lips rolled. Salt...blood. Mine? They parted to utter a cry for help but his vapor-irritated throat made only the slightest gasp.

  Unable to help himself, he focused on sound. The wreckage was eerily silent, except for the gasoline’s rhythmic dripping and his own rasping breath. With no detectable movement from the other men, he recounted what had happened.

  Jacques was driving. One moment we were approaching the sharp left curve, suddenly it went...weird. The right front brake locked while the SUV accelerated. How’s that possible? Is that why we flew through the guardrail? I remember...Jacques cursed a moment before the airbags deployed. What did that damn Corsican do wrong?

  His lips twisted. Or...was it something else?

  Jared dangled there, powerless, listening to the fuel drips, the plops slowing to a final stop.

  An approaching scuffing of shoes against rock broke the long silence and gave him a new focus.

  Someone’s here! And he’s coming closer. At last...a rescue! They’ll get me out. Then I can continue pursing that traitorous bitch! Did she cause this?

  He waited.

  Why aren’t they talking?

  The paralyzed man again tried to call out but his voice wouldn’t work. Suddenly, the rear lift door creaked as it was forced against bent hinges.

  He’s in the rear checking out our gear. Does he think we’re dead?

  Moments later, a shadow darkened his haze. Jared felt a gentle hand patting his clothes.

  A thief? You’re stealing from dead men? Why don’t you speak?

  That’s when something slid out of Jared’s suit jacket pocket, lifting the paralyzed man’s spirits.

  You’re taking my cell phone...maybe to call for help? For God’s sake, man, make it fast!

  But the hand continued probing his pockets.

  You’re still searching? Why aren’t you calling?

  Then something small slid into his suit pocket.

  What the hell’s that?

  A smooth, thin finger touched his carotid artery.

  Thank God. Now you’ll know I’m still alive and make the call.... Your hand, it’s wearing a glove. Why? There’s something about you – quiet, methodical, cautious....

  His eyebrows made a barely perceptible furrow as a whiff of citrus, rose and jasmine drifted through the broken window. His breathing increased and his heart pounded.

  I recognize your scent...Chanel!

  A warm breath brushed his ear. The feminine voice had a hard but emotional edge to it. “Damn you Jared for killing my dogs!”

  The last thing he felt was the glove over his nose and mouth.

  Chapter 1

  August 6, 2000 hours

  Onboard the Spider

  Monaco

  The gold coin flipped end-over-end. Arcing downward, a large hand snatched it just above the crystal table. With a bemused expression, the former CIA agent placed the Krugerrand on the reflective surface as the older man continued ranting.

  “She crossed me! Nobody does that and lives!” Alexis Swanson’s intensity caused his age-spotted, pasty complexion to flush. He pointed a smoldering Montecristo at his new hire, who looked crisp in a charcoal gray H. Huntsman suit. “Five million euros...but Gabriel, you have to bring Anna in alive! And you must end her threat against me! Then we dispose of her!”

  Swanson angrily rolled the cigar between his stained fingers before drawing in the fragrant smoke. Half closing his eyes, he held his breath a few heartbeats. With puckered lips, he exhaled towards the crystal chandelier. The earthy aroma of roasted spice, vanilla, and patchouli saturated the smoke-filled air.

  Gabriel slightly shifted his large thickset frame side-to-side while watching the annoying smoke billow around the sparkling fixture.

  “I accept the job.” Gabriel set his Heineken next to an open personnel file folder. As he removed his tailored jacket and placed it over a chair back, his penetrating brown eyes evaluated the megayacht’s glassed-in lounge that Swanson favored as an office. Hours earlier, when Gabriel had been summoned, he had made a quick security assessment prior to the negotiation. Now, while the man he had known for twenty years vented, Gabriel had time to envy the overall ambience of the third-level office that doubled as a corporate boardroom. Its dockside view of Monaco’s casino was unparalleled. Inside, the gold-plated fixtures and polished golden yellow moudui burl trim, over a custom-made blue Turkish carpet with the Snath corporate logo, were tasteful, almost opulent.

  Inwardly, Gabriel was excited about taking the Snath Group security job, but not about the bounty just placed on his protégé.

  Gabriel sat, re-engaging Sw
anson’s focus. “As a courtesy, I’ve started your computer techs in setting up a coordination office onboard,” Gabriel started. “They’ll be conducting a forensic protocol search.”

  Swanson’s brow narrowed. “What’s that?”

  “Cross-checking her aliases, financials, known associations, travel itineraries, and personal interests. They’ll find Anna and neutralize her leverage. Meanwhile, we have time. Let’s focus on rebuilding your security team.”

  The elderly man’s stressed voice had become raspy over the past few hours. “I don’t trust her not to reveal those files – they could destroy me!” He took another puff and laid the Cuban cigar on the crystal tray.

  Gabriel’s head shook in frustration. His eyes dropped to the file photo. “Au contraire. I think you do trust her. Alexis, remember, I’ve known you for a long time.” His voice stayed reassuring. “You’re distraught. Don’t you see? She had the upper hand...and didn’t use it. If she’s responsible...and that’s a big if...then she killed Jared and his team yesterday because they were hunting her. Jared was sloppy.”

  The billionaire financier’s eyes narrowed. “Jared was an excellent security chief!” He grabbed the iced vodka, swallowed, and then slammed the glass on the table. Clear liquid splashed over the edge and the wisp of cigar smoke twisted in the sudden breeze.

  “He was rigid and lacked finesse,” Gabriel’s retorted calmly. “Typical MI5...a stickler for rules, and unimaginative. He didn’t appreciate our girl’s flair for strategy and improvisation.”

  The Snath Group CEO paused. Like a panting dog, Swanson’s rapid breathing was shallow. His white-knuckled grip wrapped the barely-filled glass. Remembering a stress management tool one of his yacht stewardesses had taught him, he took a deep breath and balled his arthritic hands. Holding for a few seconds, he slowly exhaled, relaxed his fists and stretched the fingers. A slight grin formed, partly from its effectiveness, but mostly from the memory of the night he learned it and other more sensual relaxation techniques. That girl, nearly 60 years his junior, had become one of his favorite diversions.

  Swanson’s faded gray eyes narrowed and locked onto Gabriel’s. “You know, Jared resented that I offered the job to you first. He hated being...second.”

  “That was long ago. I had a young family I didn’t want to leave for long periods.”

  “So why are you taking the job now?” Swanson continued the relaxation exercises.

  Gabriel shrugged. “My family’s grown. I miss the game, and the salary you’re offering is...enticing.” His grin broadened. “Besides, having carte blanche is irresistible. You didn’t offer that last time.”

  “I still set the parameters,” Swanson voice was stern. “I want to know how she caused Jared’s car to go over the cliff.”

  “As do I.” Gabriel’s brow flashed.

  Swanson slammed his fist on Anna’s photo. “That traitorous woman also killed his top two lieutenants in that crash.” His deep voice rose. “I won’t suffer the same fate!”

  “Relax.... Right after you called me, I sent an investigator to go over the wreckage. I’ve convinced the Gendarmerie to cooperate – it’s in their investigative jurisdiction. The SUV’s torn up after plunging over the cliff. We’re lucky it didn’t burst into flames.... You’ll have a preliminary report tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  “Damn straight, you will!” The octogenarian downed the remaining vodka and slammed his glass on the table with a loud clack. A wispy thread of a greenish-gray plant that, moments before, had settled on the table, drifted away.

  Gabriel noticed a stewardess on the other side of an open door. Her eyes were wide in response to the sound of glass against glass. His raised index finger paused the conversation. She rushed in on long legs that were hardly covered by her skimpy uniform.

  A towel over her arm, she opened bottle of Putinka vodka propped in an ice-filled gold-plated bucket. She wiped the table and poured another glassful, placing it in Swanson’s outstretched hand.

  The back of Gabriel’s hand shooed her away.

  “I don’t know how Anna did it, but she as much as admitted causing the crash when she threatened me over his cell phone,” Swanson resumed.

  “We’re only speculating she caused it.” Gabriel’s voice was level. “She found the wreckage, took his cell phone, and left this in its place.” He picked up the Krugerrand and rolled it around his fingers. “If you’ll excuse me....”

  Gabriel unsnapped his briefcase and took out a computer. “My laptop’s on standby...it’s got a satellite connection using a pinhole frequency so our radio jammers won’t interfere.” He angled the global-image filled screen toward Swanson and then zoomed in on the US. The mouse cursor moved from dot to dot. “See those red dots scattered across the map?”

  “What about them?”

  “Those are the hackers to whom she gave nearly 300 Krugerrands.” For every dot the cursor passed over, an information box popped up.

  Swanson grunted. ”I remember. Operation Prion.... It was to initiate chaos throughout the fossil fuels industry.”

  Gabriel’s smile widened. “So you could profit off the stock plunge?”

  “Partly.”

  “Anna never told me the ‘why’, only the ‘how’,” Gabriel nodded with approval.

  “She set up a ‘Black Swan’ trading scheme. Her hacker team combined misinformation with the destruction of company information technology services to create extreme price swings.... Beyond that, she had the details.”

  “Repeated flash crashes caused by ultra-fast computer trading.... Clever girl.” Gabriel grinned. “She does love unusual tactics.”

  “Why are you so amused? That’s how it was supposed to work, but hardly any of it happened...instead”—his fist pounded the table—“I got attacked.... Damn hackers started hitting my companies!”

  Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “Just yours?”

  “Well, no.... They hit many of my associates.”

  “By chance...were they members of your Agenda-21 group?” His head tilted up, waiting.

  “As a matter of fact...yes,” the old man growled.

  “My God.” Gabriel shook his head. “This wasn’t just revenge against you. When did she become political? She was in it for the lifestyle, never the politics. Now she has an agenda...and apparently, it’s contrary to yours.”

  Swanson was breathing hard and glaring at the computer screen. “She’s screwing with my ability to profit off the UN Carbon Law!”

  “Economic profiteering. That’s why you hired her in the first place, wasn’t it?”

  “Ultimately,” he grumbled.

  “Well”—Gabriel tapped the screen—“It’s obvious she did something different. Every Krugerrand has a unique electronic tag, and my software reveals each coin’s tracking history. The data shows when it’s above or below 80 degrees Fahrenheit. That helps determine if it’s in a warm place, such as a pocket, or in storage. Warmer, it pings every hour. Cooler, it’s every day.”

  “I know that!” Swanson said brusquely.

  “That was the standard setting. Did she tell you the advanced setting?”

  The older man squinted. “No.”

  “Make a full turn on the dial and it pings stronger and every minute.”

  “Swanson grumbled, “More secrets. So?”

  “She sent you a message.” Gabriel’s grin expanded. “Did you know a green dot means the tracking coin is active...red means it’s off and the data box shows it’s last known position?”

  Swanson had a blank expression.

  “It lets us track her actions, too.” Gabriel grinned. “Every ping of every coin is recorded in a history file. The first dot to go red was in Washington D.C....at FBI Headquarters. The rest of the red dots are where the FBI captured the hackers, and turned off the coins.”

  The spy moved the cursor to a group of two red dots. A data box opened.

  Swanson raised a brow and pointed to the cursor. “What about that spot?”

/>   “This coin was active three times and in the advanced mode. It went dark twice...probably hidden because of her armory’s metal shielding. The second activity had one ping from inside the villa, probably when she briefly left her armory refuge to rescue her servant.

  “Why would she have used one?”

  “Good question.” Gabriel rubbed his chin while considering the options. “She likely was in league with someone who wanted to know her location. Doesn’t make sense. She hated working with other people.”

  “So this second red dot—”

  Gabriel chuckled. “Is Anna’s confederate. That coin turned on a few hundred meters away at the Templars Cemetery an hour after hers. From there she was tracked to the ambush point, then both returned to the cemetery. The coins were turned off while they drove away.”

  Swanson pointed to the green dot. “And this green dot?”

  “I’ll move the targeting.”

  Swanson cocked his head and squinted as Gabriel zoomed in to a single green dot over the 120-meter megayacht alongside a Monaco dock.

  Gabriel took a tool out of his briefcase. It had a small circular receiver in which he placed the small one-ounce coin. He oriented the coin and then pushed a small metal rod onto a small symbol above the head of Paul Kruger, the former South African president for which the Krugerrand was named, and rotated it.

  Swanson’s brow rose as the dot flashed and turned red. “What are you doing?”

  “Turning it off.” Gabriel slipped the coin into his pocket.

  The older man’s eyes widened, and his voice stammered, “You mean...she’s tracking me?!”

  “She’s smart. With this coin, she sent you a message. The coin’s signal showed her it was on your yacht. She knew you had gotten her message before she called you.... Now, with it off, she’ll get our message.”

  “And what is our message?!” His steely eyes locked onto him and the stern mouth was turned down.

  Gabriel put his hand on Swanson’s shoulder. “That I’m on your team. I made the coins for her and was the only other person who knew how to turn off the GPS signal. Apparently, now the FBI knows. The dot at the J. Edgar Hoover Building didn’t go active until it was in their hands and a couple hours later it went dark.”