Middleton stared at nothing, stunned by the news. The whole point of the Volunteers' mission was to find Sikari and bring the war criminal to justice. And yet even with the man gone, it seemed more horrifying events were now in motion.
"But you're responsible, Chernayev. You sold him the explosives."
"No! My companies sell explosives, yes. And I shipped some to the site of the dam, along with a lot of other materials. I'm a partner in the construction project."
"Thermobarics are military grade."
Chernayev gave a faint smile. "That's why I had to ship them in a, let's say, circuitous route. My engineers didn't want to use TNT. The foundation work takes forever. They wanted the real thing."
"Well, that real thing is going to be used to blow the Village to smithereens."
Chernayev grimaced. "You traced me through a company of ours in Tampa, right? Sindhu Power."
"That's right."
"Before we closed it up, we were robbed. Explosives were stolen."
That explained why Sikari was interested in the place. And why the thieves had left the bomb that killed Jean-Marc Lespasse.
"Still, you funded Sikari's education."
"Ah, the past . . . the past. How I wish we could change it. Yes, I recognized him as brilliant, one of the sharpest young men I've ever known. I wanted him to work for me, creating lower cost nuclear energy for developing countries. We had a falling out. I didn't like where he was going. He wasn't interested in peaceful use of heavy metal. He was interested in weapons. But would he listen? No. Like so many young idealists, he wanted to go back to his home country and fight for independence."
"And the technology that the Group is after?"
"What Sikari developed was based on the old Nazi copper-bracelet theory. But what he created was only partially successful. It wouldn't operate as a super-generator the way he wanted . . . Look, I'm a businessman, Colonel Middleton. I make more money off the living than the dead. If something happens to the American secretary of state, it's not just war in the Indian sub-continent we will need to worry about."
Harold Middleton wasn't sure he believed everything the Russian said, but it was true that if the secretary were assassinated the whole world would reel from the repercussions.
If this Archer Sikari were truly moving forward with his father's plan, then the arrival of the secretary of state would be too irresistible to pass up. One of the goals the secretary had laid out not long after being sworn in was to ease the tensions between India and Pakistan with an emphasis on the troubled region of Kashmir. This was undoubtedly the reason she was traveling to the area.
Middleton said, "We've got to contact the State Department immediately."
"Of course they've been notified. But they're in agreement that the visit should go on. Security is going to be very high--both State Department and my company, BlueWatch. In any case, we have no knowledge that Archer even knows about the visit."
"Why do you want me to go there?"
"It's not just me." The Russian handed Middleton a decoded communique from the State Department. He recognized the name of one of the deputy directors. It authorized Middleton and the Volunteers to locate Archer Sikari and coordinate with local authorities to arrest him. A final paragraph added that Tesla, Carson and Chang had been notified and had acknowledged receipt. That meant they were fine.
Middleton noticed the document didn't say anything about Charley.
"I have to contact my daughter."
"Encrypted emails only," Chernayev said. "My compound is constantly scanned for cell and text signals."
He wrote out a message for Charley. Chernayev gave it to a young man in a BlueWatch uniform. He hurried off to send it.
"Now, will you go to Kashmir?"
"Of course," Middleton said.
"One of my men will take you to a room where you can get some rest. Arrangements are being worked out now and as soon as everything is ready, you will be on your way." He held out his hand to Middleton. "I wish you a safe and successful journey."
Middleton looked at the Scorpion's hand, then reluctantly reached out and shook it.
As Archer knew he would, Sanam had called him to tell him that they were ready to carry out the plan. Archer had already set in motion the delivery of the explosives through his American subcontractors. Within 36 hours, Sanam's men had begun placing the charges in the pre-determined locations within the dam.
Archer felt extremely satisfied. The only thing left to be determined was where he was going to be at the time of the big event. The dam was located in a mountainous rural area, but there were plenty of places he could choose where he would be able to see the dam as it crumbled into a useless pile of cement, carrying the secretary of state to her death.
Most of the locations were only reachable by helicopter, but that wasn't a problem for him. With his father's fortune now at his disposal, he could purchase a fleet of helicopters if need be.
He could feel the power that was rippling just below his skin. It was an electrical force he could only dream about before. On all those nights when he and Harris shared a room, and after his brother had fallen asleep, Archer had let his mind imagine this very moment--this time when he would be in charge. When he would be the power.
If there was one thing that troubled him, it was Jana. She was his sword and his lover, but he hadn't heard her voice in over two days, not since before she had forwarded him the photographic proof that Charlotte Middleton was dead.
Too bad for that. He had hoped they would have been able to take Harold Middleton's daughter alive. But better dead than running free.
Jana sent a text that said she would come to him as soon as she could, but that a member of Harold Middleton's Volunteers was trailing her, so she would have to take care of that problem first.
He so wanted to call her, but refrained. Their procedure was to avoid voice contact. This had been Archer's idea. He wanted no one to know what his voice sounded like. Even with the absolute best encryption, there was always a chance that someone somewhere would be able to break it.
Archer's power would rest in his ability to remain a ghost, feared and unknown.
So until she arrived, he would have to content himself with the anticipation of having her at his side.
Something he was already practiced at doing.
"We have a problem," Umer whispered to Sanam.
They were sitting in a small restaurant in a village 20 kilometers from the Baglihar dam. The restaurant was really the front room of a dilapidated shack. The rest of the shack served as the home for the family that ran the place.
At the moment, Sanam and Umer were the only customers. The young boy who had been serving them had gone into the back to leave them in peace while they ate.
"What is it?" Sanam asked.
"The remote controls for the detonators."
"What about them?"
"They don't work."
Sanam froze for a moment, startled by his old friend's words. "They are defective?"
"Not exactly. When we put them inside the dam, there is too much concrete. The signal must not be getting through."
"But they work otherwise?"
"I had one of the men smuggle a remote back out and I tried it. Outside, it worked fine."
The idea of eating no longer appealed to Sanam. Everything they had been working toward, the years of infiltration and manual labor, all the pressure he'd put his men under for the last two days, it was all for nothing. And the opportunity they were going to squander, undone by something as simple as a blocked radio signal. How could this have even happened?
"The American," Umer said, "we shouldn't have trusted him. He's given us equipment he should have known would not work."
Sanam could see murder in his friend's eyes. "Calm down, Umer. There's still time. I'll talk to him and get remotes that will work."
"And if they are faulty too?"
"We will deal with that if it happens."
"I don't
like this," Umer said, his unhappiness still written on his face.
The sound of shuffling feet from the back of the restaurant announced the return of the serving boy. He approached their table to ask if they wanted anything else.
"Nothing more, thank you," Sanam said.
As soon as the boy had cleared the dishes and returned to the back, Umer said, "I tell you I don't like this."
"And I tell you that I understand," Sanam said. "I am not happy about this either. I will talk to the American and I will see what can be done."
Middleton's eyes flew open.
What the hell was that?
He'd been dead asleep, then something pulled him out of it so fast his heart raced. A dream? If it was, it would have been the most intense one he'd had in years. What then?
He reached over to the nightstand and checked his watch.
It was 4:09 a.m.
Middleton knew he should try to go back to sleep. Lying there awake would only drive him crazy. As he started to close his eyes he heard a muffled pop. Then another, and another.
Gunfire. It was coming from the front of the estate.
He pushed himself up instantly knowing there must have been an earlier shot, a shot that would have pulled him out of his sleep.
He threw his covers back, but before he could even push himself out of bed, he heard the rattle of a key. His door flew open.
"Quick! Get dressed. You must hurry!"
It was the guard who had brought him his dinner the evening before, but unlike last night, he was now carrying a machine gun. Behind him was another guard similarly equipped.
Middleton jumped out of bed and felt around for his clothes in the semi-darkness.
Outside the gunfire intensified. It was hard to tell how close it was, but the fact that there were two guards anxiously waiting for him to get dressed told Middleton all he needed to know.
As he pulled on his final shoe, the first guard said, "Come. Come."
He grabbed Middleton by the arm and shoved him into the hallway.
"That way!"
The guard pulled him forward and started to run. Middleton had no choice but to do the same. From elsewhere in the house, he could hear people yelling orders and feet racing down other hallways.
The guard whipped him around a corner then angled toward a wide stone stairway. Instinctively, Middleton veered for the flight leading down, but the guard yanked him to the left.
"No. Up. Up."
They took the stairs two at a time, racing upward, not stopping until they reached an open metal door. Beyond it, Middleton could see the night sky and the flat surface of the mansion's roof.
As they stepped through the door, the intensity of the gunfire increased.
"This is a dead end," Middleton said. "What are we doing--"
Suddenly another sound drowned out the sound of the bullets. It was loud, rhythmic and familiar. Middleton turned in time to see the helicopter rise up from the rear of the mansion just high enough to clear the lip of the roof. He realized it must have flown in low over the rear of Chernayev's estate, keeping out of sight of the attackers out front.
As soon as it touched down, the side door flew open.
Middleton didn't wait for instructions. He immediately began heading for the helicopter. As he climbed aboard, the pilot motioned for him to take the seat farthest from the door and strap in.
As soon as his safety harness was buckled, Middleton looked up, and gave the pilot a wave to let him know he was ready.
But the helicopter didn't move.
The runners remained firmly on the roof.
Then movement beyond the open door caught Middleton's attention. Someone else had come onto the roof. But this had barely registered on Middleton when the sky flared bright from a large explosion. The noise was deafening, even momentarily overpowering the sound of the rotors.
The moment the noise subsided, he leaned toward the pilot and yelled, "We've got to go!"
"Yes, Kiril. It's time."
Middleton turned toward the sound of the voice. Pulling himself through the doorway was Chernayev.
As soon as the Scorpion was seated, the helicopter took off. It left as it had arrived, flying low away from the firefight.
Once he felt reasonably sure they weren't going to get shot down, Middleton looked over at Chernayev. "What was that?"
"My apologies," Chernayev said. "Seems we didn't get all of them the other day."
"The Group?"
Chernayev shrugged. "Of course."
Middleton sat silently for several moments. "So where we going?" "Same destination I told you about. India. The only difference is that I've decided to come with you."
The doctor had asked no questions. He was used to the kind of patients that appeared at his back door with any number of injuries from broken ribs to third-degree burns to knife wounds. So when Tesla showed up with a gunshot wound to one shoulder and Charley Middleton propping her up by the other, he had not even flinched. He had merely quoted a price, then did what he could to repair the damage.
Afterward, the two women took a room in a small hotel near the Latin Quarter where they hid out, venturing into the streets only when it was necessary. Most trips were for food, but once they had appropriated a laptop. The owner, probably a student, had left it unattended in a cafe near the Sorbonne while he went to the toilet. Charley only agreed to help if Tesla promised they would later find the student and return it when they were done. She then kept watch while Tesla slipped it into an oversized bag and casually walked out to the street.
Back at the hotel, they reestablished contact with Wiki Chang.
"Any word?" she asked.
"Nothing. The boss's phones are both out of commission."
Tesla sighed. The two of them then worked to come up with a plan to track down the person who had sent the text to Jana's phone wanting to know what had happened with Charley.
Tesla had a pretty good idea of who it might be. Ian Barrett-Bone had said that Sikari was killed by his son and that Jana was in on it. Tesla guessed the person was either the son or someone working for him.
The sender wanted to know when Jana would arrive. Where, he didn't say. But Tesla gathered from the tone of the messages that there was more than a business relationship between Jana and the sender. This made her guess that it had to be the son. And if it was, it was even more important that they get a fix on his location.
"Hey, this isn't exactly easy," Chang said. He had been at it for several hours.
His image was in a box that filled the upper right corner of the laptop.
"You say that every time, then you figure it out," Tesla said.
"Yeah, well . . . "
"You're not going to tell me the sender's phone doesn't have GPS on it, are you?" Tesla said.
"I'm sure it does, but every time I get a lock on it, it moves from Belize to Japan to Mali to Denmark to wherever. He's using software that's bouncing his location all over the place and making it impossible to get a fix on him. Locking in on his transmission signal isn't giving me any better results. He's only sending text messages as far as I can tell. That usually shouldn't be a problem, but the origin of the messages is being immediately obscured the moment they're sent."
"So there's no way we can get a lock on his location?" Tesla asked.
"I didn't say that," Wiki said.
Tesla couldn't tell, but it almost looked like Wiki was smiling.
"What have you got?"
"Well, if we can't follow a message out, then I thought we'd just have to follow a message in. I've rigged it so I can send a text to Archer directly from my computer that he'll think is coming from the phone you have there. It'll be carrying a tracer packet to follow that'll send me back a location just as it arrives."
Tesla's eyes widened. "So why haven't you texted him already?"
"Do you really want me to write the text to him? I mean, what would I say?"
Tesla started to laugh, but stopped abruptly as
her shoulder started to bark in pain. Instead she gave Chang a smile, then told him what to send.
Archer had been expecting a text from Sanam for almost 24 hours. It was almost a disappointment that it had taken the Pakistani so long to figure out there was a problem. But no matter, the contact had been made, the meeting set.
Archer chose a remote spot a kilometer and a half north of an old Hindu shrine that had fallen into neglect.
While Sanam would be traveling by car, Archer would be arriving via helicopter. This would give him the opportunity to scan the area around the meeting point for any heat signatures that might indicate a possible trap.
It wasn't that he thought Sanam would try to pull something. The Pakistani was blinded by the belief they were working toward the same goal, but it was just a good practice to be cautious. As his father had taught him, there was no such thing as paranoia in their world.
As he had expected, the only heat signature within a kilometer of the location was that of Sanam. He was standing near his car, exactly where Archer had told him to be.
Satisfied, Archer gave the pilot permission to set them down.
As soon as the runners touched the ground, the side doors flew open and out jumped four of Archer's men--men who had only recently served his father. Each was armed with a Mini Uzi obtained from a diverted shipment meant for the Sri Lankan army. They were all Hindi, but had had plenty of practice under Sikari on how to pretend to be Muslim.
Archer waited an additional 30 seconds, then he moved into the doorway and stepped down onto the grass.
Per instructions, two of his men moved over to walk just behind him, while the other two stayed near the helicopter, pretending to cover his flank.
It was a show, of course, all aimed at Sanam. Now, more than ever, Archer wanted to reinforce with the Pakistani just how powerful he was.
"As-Sal mu 'Alaykum," Archer said, stopping two feet from Sanam.
"wa 'Alaykum As-Salaam," Sanam said. His eyes strayed to the gunmen standing behind Archer. "You face no threat from me."
"Of course not. It is not you I am worried about. But we are in territory controlled by our enemy. And if they knew I was here, they would do everything they could to stop me."
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