by Brad Thor
She weaved the bike from side to side at incredibly dangerous angles, almost laying it down.
Cooper felt one of the rounds slap against her helmet. It was all she could do not to lose her vision for all the stars she suddenly saw.
Two more rounds connected with the motorcycle itself and this time they did damage, serious damage. While she didn’t know what exactly had been struck, there was a distinct change in the whine of the motorcycle’s engine and she could feel it gumming up on her.
She also noticed that the Range Rover was pulling away. She was going to lose Heger. Already once tonight, when his men had gotten the jump on her at Zbiroh, she felt that she had let her team down. She wasn’t going to let them down again.
Downshifting the Ninja, Cooper gave it more gas and felt it lurch forward. She began closing the distance with the SUV and as she did, she reached over her shoulder and pulled the second shotgun from her backpack.
The man in the cargo area fired two more shots from each of his weapons and then his slides locked back. He was empty. Cooper didn’t hesitate.
Racing up behind the Range Rover, she leveled her weapon at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. It was a direct hit. Then, sweeping the bike once again to the left, she raced forward.
Taking out a front tire of the vehicle was no longer an option. Her motorcycle wasn’t going to make it much farther. It was time to make the SUV stop. When she was just behind the driver, she raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The Range Rover careened toward her once again, but this time she couldn’t avoid making contact.
Dropping the second shotgun, Cooper latched on to the handlebars and tried to keep from losing control. But just as quickly as the black truck had come at her, it veered wildly off in the other direction.
She could see Radek Heger in the passenger seat, frantically trying to grab the wheel from his dead driver and regain control of the vehicle. He failed miserably.
Jerking it too hard, he sent the Range Rover spinning completely out of control.
Cooper watched as the vehicle flipped in the air and landed on the ground. It rolled nine times before coming to a dramatic, smoldering stop in a wide field sixty meters off the side of the road.
There was no telling if Heger was alive or dead. But one thing was for sure. If he was alive, what should have been the end of a nightmare scenario would be just the beginning for him.
Pulling her dying motorcycle off onto the shoulder, Cooper took out her cell phone and called Casey, explaining what had happened and where the team could come find her.
With that task complete, Alex removed her silenced SIG pistol from her backpack, took out a flashlight, and struck off for the wreck.
CHAPTER 32
PREMANTURA
ISTRIAN PENINSULA
CROATIA
The former monastery had also been a winery before falling on hard times and going out of business. It was composed of a cluster of buildings set atop a hill and surrounded by a high wall. From both a functional and a security standpoint it was exceptional. All of the staff had a place to sleep, there was a communal dining area, a space devoted solely to the project itself, offices, and a large central court for their vehicles and the mobile generators they had brought in. In a word, it was perfect, and that was why Armen Abressian had chosen it.
The extra cover he received from Viktor Mikhailov had proven extremely valuable as well. When Mikhailov had inquired what Abressian was doing at the old monastery, Armen had avoided answering. When the Russian pushed him, he answered in such a way as to leave the ex-KGB man relatively certain Abressian was refining heroin.
Mikhailov didn’t really care what Abressian was doing—at least he hadn’t until four of his girls had gone missing. Armen had paid handsomely for the Russian’s “protection” and his agreement not to stick his nose into what he was doing. That arrangement had worked out quite well. In fact, it very likely would have continued working had Cahill not vanished those four women.
Abressian shook his head. They were so close to achieving success. Cahill of all people should have been much more careful. He had suddenly made things incredibly difficult for all of them. Armen didn’t relish having to deal with Mikhailov. But before he did that, he needed to speak to Cahill. Sanders informed him that despite the hour, he was still working. Abressian wondered if it might be some sort of penance as he headed off to confront him.
The only indoor space large enough to house the project was the monastery’s former church, also known as a katholikon. And no matter how many times Armen visited, he was still struck by what a powerful image it presented. It was as if the church itself had been built to house the magnificent device, which now fit so perfectly where one altar had once stood—science overtaking and replacing religion.
Cahill was alone. Armen found him at a work station near the enormous Kammler Device. He had on his usual “business suit” of faded blue jeans, a T-shirt and Chukka boots. Abressian could make out the Maori tribal tattoo on his upper arm. They were the only ones there.
“George,” Abressian said as he approached. “You and I need to talk.”
Cahill was studying some waveform pattern on one of the multiple computer screens on the desk. “Armen,” he replied with his Australian twang as he turned. “It’s about time you got back here.”
He appeared to be in one of his moods. His hair was unkempt, his eyes wide and bloodshot. There were several crushed, empty energy drink cans on the floor that had missed landing in the trash receptacle. Abressian wondered how long he had been up this time. “Let’s sit down, George,” he offered.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” stated Cahill. “You come into my lab and pretend to give me orders? Who do you think you are?”
All of the personality traits had been there from the beginning—his glib, superficial charm and grandiose sense of self, his shallow emotions and constant need for stimulation, his promiscuity and impulsiveness, his contempt for those who sought to understand him, the rapidity with which he blamed others for his own failings; the way he tried to manipulate and con those around him—too often you didn’t know you had been taken for a ride until it was too late.
“George,” said Abressian. “There are four women missing from the village.”
“No,” he replied. “There are four whores missing from the village. And I already talked to Sanders about this.”
“Well, now you and I are talking about it.”
Cahill slammed his fist on the desk. “You need to make up your damn mind, Armen! Are we talking whores, or are we talking about the greatest scientific advancement mankind has ever seen? Let’s talk about that, huh? Let’s talk about power. Let’s talk about power like no one has seen since they split the atom!”
“Tell me what happened to the women, George.”
“You mean the whores.”
“I mean the women. Four human beings. What happened to them?” asked Abressian.
Cahill flipped open the minifridge next to the desk and pulled out another energy drink.
“Stop drinking those.”
Cahill mocked him. “Stop drinking those,” he repeated and then opened the tab and took a long swallow. Afterward he said, “You don’t tell me what to do, Armen.”
“Did you push those women through the device, George?”
The scientist turned and looked at the Engeltor. He threw his arms out to his sides, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes as if he were communing with something. Just as quickly as the odd behavior had started, it stopped.
Cahill snapped his head forward and said with a laugh, “Armen, my good man. I didn’t push anyone. They all walked through! They completely did it on their own.”
My God, thought Abressian. “You made them do it, George. Whether you threatened them or you lied; somehow you manipulated them. They didn’t do it knowingly.”
“Poh-tay-toe, Poh-tat-toe,” he intoned. “For Christ’s sake, Armen. You certainly know how to ruin a celebr
ation, don’t you?”
The older man was getting extremely angry, but he refused to allow it to show. “You have no idea the trouble you have caused.”
The physicist shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “You’re the one who wanted to make an omelet. It seems a bit hypocritical to be crying over the broken eggs.”
“You have endangered the welfare of the project.”
“I’m a scientist. An incredibly brilliant scientist. You need to accept that,” said Cahill.
Sociopath or not, Abressian couldn’t believe the man’s arrogance. “You still haven’t gotten the machine to work, so don’t tell me how brilliant you are.”
The scientist threw his half-empty energy drink toward the trash can and started laughing. Bringing his hands together in an overexaggerated clap he yelled, “Boom!”
Abressian stared at him. Cahill had fallen into the abyss of madness.
“Say it again!” yelled Cahill, a smile growing on his face from ear to ear. “Say it again!”
Abressian watched as the man put his hands up in front of his chest and began a little dance in front of his computer screens.
“Tell me how I haven’t gotten the machine to work,” Cahill repeated. “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“George?” Abressian said gently. “Do you have news for me?”
“I certainly do,” said the scientist as he did a turn and then smiled at his employer. “You’re an asshole.”
The older man smiled back at him. “It works, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s talk about how stupid I am.”
“You’re not stupid, George,” said Abressian.
Cahill was serious again and stopped dancing. “You’re damn right I’m not,” he replied.
“How? What changed?”
“I had the balls to break a couple of eggs.”
“I don’t understand,” said Abressian.
“The Engeltor. It needed a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice,” replied Cahill.
Armen stared at him.
The physicist stared right back. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? I can see it in your beautifully bearded face.”
Abressian sensed Cahill was ramping back up again, his mood elevating.
“We’re only missing about a hundred pages out of the damn owner’s manual for this thing and that got me thinking while you were gone.”
“Thinking about what?” asked Armen.
“What if there was a way,” said Cahill, as he punched his fist into his palm, “to pop the clutch on this thing? I mean seriously, Armen. We’re so close. I was ready to whack the thing with a hammer and give it a couple rounds of percussive maintenance. But then I thought, what’s the one thing we haven’t tried to send through?”
“People,” replied Abressian as he felt a chill run down his spine.
The physicist nodded. “Guess what happened after that?”
Armen shook his head.
“The bombs started going through.”
Abressian’s mask slipped and he was suddenly visibly upset. “How many did you send?”
“All three of them.”
The older man clenched his fists and fought back the urge to beat Cahill to death. “Those were the only devices we had remaining,” he said. “They are now half a world away. We can’t simply ask our colleagues at the Andaman site to pop them in the mail and send them back to us.”
“What do they cost you?” Cahill asked nonchalantly. “A thousand bucks apiece? Buy some more from wherever you got the others.”
Abressian wanted to lash out at him, but the scientist had no idea what had happened to his connection for those devices. “We don’t simply run down to the store and pick those things up, George.”
“Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve got your machine working again. It seems Andaman is receiving at a 66 percent success rate. That means we only lost one out of the three devices we sent through.”
“I know what a 66 percent success rate means. What happened to the stray device?”
Cahill shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“No hypothesis? No guesses?”
“Who cares?”
“I care, George,” replied Abressian. “It’s sloppy.”
“You and your friends are about to begin wielding one of the most powerful weapons the world has ever seen. I wouldn’t care so much about how sloppy it is. You should be quite pleased with a 66 percent success rate. Two out of three ain’t bad. Consider the one you lost as the cost of doing business.”
The man had made a reasonable point and Abressian nodded.
“Now,” said Cahill. “All I need are a few new bombs and the address to which you want them sent. After that, history will take care of the rest.”
CHAPTER 33
DENVER
So how exactly do these work?” asked Ben as he examined the devices disguised as smart phones that were arranged on his kitchen counter.
“Apparently, they can triangulate to create some sort of underground geopositioning system,” said Suffolk. “They pick up on atmospheric signals like lightning strikes, gravity fields, and geomagnetic noise.”
He looked at her. “How’s that going to tell us what’s going on beneath Denver International?”
Vicki smiled. “Think of them as highly sensitive listening devices. They have the ability to pick up cellular conversations, radio transmissions, computer activity; even electromagnetic phenomena. How much they’re able to pick up, though, depends on how deeply you can penetrate the facility beneath the airport.”
“What if there’s nothing there?” he asked. “What if it’s a big hoax after all?”
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No. I’m just—”
She leaned over and took his earlobe between her teeth for a moment. After she was sure she had him hot and bothered, she let go and said, “Ben, this is the only way we’ll be able to discover the truth.”
Matthews smiled. “How about we continue this conversation in the bedroom?”
All this guy thought about was sex. It made Suffolk laugh to herself. Don’t they all? Even the debonair, sophisticated Peter Marcus was an animal around her. She’d never been sure if Peter’s seducing her had been part of his effort to recruit her, or if it had just happened.
The sex between them was intense, and he matched her spirit of adventure in lovemaking quite well, but more than that, he was the first man to ever appreciate her for who she truly was. And because of that, Peter Marcus had represented a turning point in her life.
He cared for her, maybe even loved her, but he didn’t try to possess her. In fact, he understood that she needed to be free. He was good to her, really good. Somehow, he had been able to break her long history of abusive relationships with men.
They had met when she was doing a study abroad program in St. Petersburg, Russia. Originally, he told her that he was a banker, but when he finally admitted what he did for a living, she wasn’t upset. In fact, she found it incredibly romantic, dangerous, and exciting.
Thanks to her mother, she possessed both Canadian and American citizenship. Even though she lived right across the border in Vancouver, she had never had any desire to visit the United States. With their imperialism and warmongering, not to mention how they treated their poor and downtrodden, who would want to? She was quite content to remain in Canada. But then Peter had recruited her and had changed all of that.
Being a spy was terribly exciting, and Peter had received special permission to train her himself. He came to Canada when he could, but mostly she traveled to the United States to see him. It was all so clandestine, and it made their time together even more electrifying.
And while she preferred to use her wits to get what she needed, she liked the fact that he didn’t mind if she slept with other men. He understood that if she used sex to get what she needed, it was only because that’s what was necessary for the assignment. She made sure, though, to
stress that she took no enjoyment from it, even if it meant she was lying to him.
And with that willingness to lie to the man who had marked such a turning point in her life, she realized that she had reached another turning point and that she was slowly beginning to come more fully into her own.
Turning her mind back to Ben, she said, “I’m not going anywhere near a bedroom with you until you answer my question.”
“Okay yes,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I will plant them as deep beneath the airport as I can.”
Suffolk smiled.
“Where’d you get these things anyway?” he asked, reaching over with his other hand and picking up one of the devices.
“I told you. I know a guy at the university who tinkers with all this stuff.”
The woman was an incredible liar. Ben set the device back down on the counter. He didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t want to look at any of them. As soon as he walked those into Denver International for her, that would be it. The whole operation would be over. Pence had marked that as their endpoint, the moment at which they would present their full case to their SAC in order to arrest her.
Of course, Pence still had no idea that he was sleeping with her. That was something they were going to have to deal with. But not right now. All he wanted was to freeze this moment, so that no matter what happened, he’d never forget how she looked, how she smelled, how she felt pressed up against him.
He’d already told several lies, and there’d be many more before the case against Vicki Suffolk was closed. Instead of telling yet another one, he simply pressed his lips against hers and drew her closer.
As he did, Vicki could feel how badly he wanted her. She decided to give in. This would probably be their last time. She was almost done using him.
CHAPTER 34
PRAGUE
John Vlcek had been rightly impressed with Megan Rhodes’s interrogation skills. She hadn’t even touched Pavel Skovajsa. All the intimidation, except for a couple of slaps to the back of the man’s head by Vlcek himself, had been psychological. None of it had been physical and none of it had been torture.