by Matthew Dunn
His last call would be to Will Cochrane.
Fifty-Eight
Stefan looked at the food his wife had laid out on the kitchen table and beamed. Kartoffelsuppe, kalbsrouladen, spargel, and kartoffel-one of his favorite meals. He poured his wife a glass of spatburgunder red wine and looked at Wendell and Mathias. “Tuck in, boys, before Daddy eats it all.”
The twins piled food onto their plates and began eating with smiles on their faces.
His wife gently squeezed Stefan’s hand and began serving him. “How was the conference, my dear?”
Stefan laughed. “It was as riveting as watching paint dry.” He swallowed soup and exclaimed, “Ooh, that’s good!”
Wendell asked, “What story are you going to tell us today?”
Stefan ate more food and thought for a moment. “You remember I told you about the giant earthworm that lives in the Black Forest?”
“Yes! Lumbricus badensis.”
Stefan nodded. “It’s cruel and smart. But it has a weakness.”
“What is it?”
“The worm has no honor.”
“But that doesn’t matter, Daddy, because it’s the most dangerous creature in the forest.”
Stefan sliced into his veal. “Honor matters enormously. There is one creature in the forest that’s much more dangerous than the worm and has honor. Would you like me to tell you the story of when the worm met this creature?”
His boys nodded eagerly while filling their mouths with more delicious food.
Stefan smiled. “Once upon a time, there were three bad woodsmen who gathered in the Black Forest to discuss their desire to gain wealth and power. They decided the best way to achieve this was to cut down all of the forest’s most ancient and valuable trees and sell the wood. All of them agreed that it had to be done in secret; that they would be severely punished if anyone found out what they were doing. But a songbird overheard them and flew away to tell good woodsmen about the plot. The bad woodsmen tried to shoot the bird, but they missed. Determined not to let the bird ruin their plans, they went deeper into the forest, lit torches, and entered one of the vast tunnels that led to the giant earthworm’s lair. They were terrified of the worm but knew that it was the only creature that could help them. Upon entering the lair, they saw the worm feasting on dead cattle. Its red eyes were staring at the woodsmen. The eldest woodsman stepped forward and told the worm that they would give it ten dead cows if it could kill the songbird before he spoke to the other woodsmen. The worm laughed, slithered close to them, and bared its enormous bloodstained fangs. The smell of its rancid breath filled the cavern as it told the men that it could only kill things on land. At first, the men didn’t know what to do. Then one of them had an idea and told the worm that they would pay it twenty dead cows if it could find a creature that could kill the bird. The worm considered this. The dead cows would make its body even bigger and stronger. It agreed and told the men to leave before it changed its mind and bit off their heads.”
Mathias popped the end of a piece of asparagus into his mouth, bit it in half, held the stem out, and grinned. “Like this.”
“Use your knife and fork please, Mathias.” Stefan took a sip of his wine. “Now, the worm knew that it would have to find a very special creature to hunt down and kill the songbird. Only one such creature lived in the forest. Do you know what it was?”
The boys shook their heads, wide eyed.
“Most of the forest’s inhabitants thought the creature didn’t exist, that he was a myth. But the worm knew different. That night, it used its tunnels to slither to the base of the Feldberg, which as you know is the Black Forest’s highest mountain. It broke through the soil and took all night to reach the mountain summit. Standing there, watching the entire forest, was the eagle king.”
“You’ve never told us about the eagle king, Daddy!”
“That’s because he’s a secret. And both of you must swear to me that you’ll never tell anyone about his existence.”
The boys nodded quickly, desperate to hear more of the story.
Stefan pretended to look serious. “Very well. The eagle king was the most deadly creature in not only the Black Forest, but also all the lands around it. He loathed the giant earthworm and wondered if he should rip its body in half. The worm could see that the eagle had anger in his eyes, so spoke quickly, telling the king that it would pay him ten cows if he could kill the songbird. The eagle placed one of his huge talons close to the worm’s eyes, and told it that he would do the job only if he was given five cows in advance. The worm agreed and slithered away quickly, knowing that the eagle was the only creature that had the power to kill him.”
Stefan stuck his fork through a potato. “After the cows were delivered to him, the eagle flew down from the mountain summit and scoured the vast forest. It took him three days to spot the songbird flying north toward the edge of the forest. But to his surprise, as he approached it he was attacked by a younger eagle. It turned out that the good woodsmen had received news that the songbird was coming to them with important information and had sent out their best eagle to protect the songbird. They fought, but the younger eagle was no match for the king. He fell to the ground, injured, and the eagle king swooped on the songbird, gripping his neck between his razor-sharp claws. The songbird thought he was going to kill him, but instead the eagle asked him why the worm wanted him dead. The songbird told him about the bad woodsmen’s intention to cut down a large part of the forest and that he was trying to warn others about it.” Stefan paused, looking at each son. “You see, the eagle king was cleverer than the worm. He knew it was evil and would have bad reasons for wanting the songbird dead. That’s why he’d demanded that he be given five cows in advance. And unlike the worm, the eagle king was wise and honorable and only killed other creatures if it was absolutely necessary to do so. He could never kill a creature who was trying to protect his beloved forest. So he released the songbird and told him to fly fast to the good woodsmen. The songbird reached them and told them what he’d overheard. Hundreds of men picked up their axes and entered the forest to kill the bad woodsmen.” Stefan smiled as he finished his meal. “And that is the end of our story.”
Wendell frowned. “That can’t be the end.”
“Why not?”
Mathias shook his head, knowing his twin brother’s thoughts. “The young eagle wouldn’t be injured if the giant earthworm hadn’t been so bad.”
Wendell wasn’t happy. “And the eagle king needs to say sorry for hurting the younger eagle.” An idea came to him. “The best way he can do that is to find the worm and allow the younger eagle to kill it.”
Stefan held his knife in midair and stared at nothing.
Speaking more to himself while nodding slowly, Kronos whispered, “You’re right.”
Fifty-Nine
Patrick rang the doorbell of the London safe house and glanced at Will. “You been here before?”
Will nodded. It was the Pimlico property he’d visited after the fiasco in Gdansk. The elderly housekeeper opened the door, looked at Will’s crutches, and said in a haughty voice, “Try not to damage the carpet with those things.”
They entered the Regency house and moved into the tastefully decorated living room. Alistair was there, flicking through TV channels, wearing his favorite three-piece suit and Royal Navy tie. The MI6 controller frowned. “How long are you going to be on those things?”
Will awkwardly removed the crutches from his armpits and slumped into an armchair. “The doctors want me to switch to a walking stick tomorrow.”
Alistair continued flicking through channels, checked his watch, and muttered, “I can’t afford for you to be idle for too long. There’s plenty more work out there.”
“Thanks for your concern. You think the Spartan Section’s got a future?”
“We’ll see.” He found a news channel filming a reporter standing outside the International Criminal Court in The Hague. “Here we go.”
Nikolai Dmitriev tri
ed to control his breathing and force his body to relax. He’d waited a long time for this moment. The last thing the old man needed was a bout of nerves. After uncrossing his legs, he adjusted the knot on his tie and smoothed his frail hands over his suit. Armed police were all around him in the court’s secure waiting area. No one else was allowed in here, not even court officials. He stayed motionless, his back ramrod straight, staring at nothing as he mentally recited the statement he was to make.
Dutch cops started shouting in an orderly fashion. One of them placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “It’s time.”
Dmitriev stood and followed officers out of the room, down bare corridors, and then into a large room containing men, women, tables, chairs, microphones, and cameras.
The courtroom.
All eyes were on him as he was guided to a stand to take the oath. Upon completion, he sat at a table that held a microphone and a glass of water. Facing him on the other side of the room were nine officials, including the court’s president and chief prosecutor.
The prosecutor leaned toward his microphone. “Mr. Dmitriev. Do you understand that this is a hearing, a chance for you to supply us with your statement? It is not a trial.”
Dmitriev nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. If your statement warrants subsequent criminal proceedings, those trials will be held either here or in other relevant jurisdictions.” The prosecutor glanced at the president, who nodded at him. He returned his attention to Dmitriev. “Please proceed.”
The former KGB colonel withdrew a sheet of paper, placed reading spectacles on, and momentarily stared at the cameras, knowing that his statement would be aired live to the world’s media. It seemed to him ironic that a life lived in the shadows would lead to this. Holding the paper with a shaking hand, he cleared his throat, inhaled deeply, and read the statement.
“In 1995, I was a senior officer in Russia’s foreign intelligence service, the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki. In December of that year, I was ordered to attend a secret meeting in Berlin. The others present at that meeting were Russian generals Leon Michurin and Alexander Tatlin, former East German Stasi colonel Kurt Schreiber, United States admiral Jack Dugan, CIA officer Thomas Scott, and American army general Joe Ballinger. The meeting was initiated by Kurt Schreiber and was authorized by the presidents of the United States and Russia.
“Our objective was to establish a set of military protocols for joint U.S.-Russian action against China, should the need ever arise to take action against the emerging superpower. These protocols would be stored in the relevant military headquarters in Russia and America, ready for use at a moment’s notice.”
Dmitriev took a sip of water, his heart beating fast.
“The American president believed that the joint military action would entail deployment of Russian conventional missiles from submarines located in the Philippine Sea and that their targets would be Chinese land-based missile sites. These strikes would be a warning to China, nothing more. American involvement would be deployment of its sophisticated interceptor missiles, sent from warships also located in the Philippine Sea, in order to stop Russia’s missiles from being shot down before they reached their targets.
“However, Kurt Schreiber believed that China would never stop flexing its muscles simply as a result of strategic missile strikes. At the secret meeting, he argued that China needed to be shocked into submission. The others present at the meeting agreed with him. Various options were considered before it was decided that the best solution was a massive assault on China’s civilian population. The Russian missiles would not be conventional, instead they’d be carrying biological warheads. The American missiles would protect an act of genocide.”
The prosecutor interrupted him. “On what scale?”
Dmitriev felt sick. “The Russians would be targeting cities, densely populated civilian areas. In one wave of strikes, we estimated we could kill over one hundred million people.”
“For the benefit of the court, repeat that number.”
“One hundred million, probably much more.”
The prosecutor looked unsettled and glanced at his colleagues. “We’ve never judged a case like this. That amount of death is unimaginable.”
Dmitriev shook his head. “History shows that it is very imaginable.”
The prosecutor wrote down notes. “Please clarify how the protocols can be enacted.”
Dmitriev looked at each court official and saw fear and confusion in their eyes. “If China becomes a threat, the Russian and American premiers speak. They instruct their generals to dust off the protocols. Within four days of that, Russian submarines will be in the Philippine Sea. Above them will be U.S. destroyers. Russian biological warheads will be deployed to Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and other cities. American interceptor missiles will shoot down any Chinese resistance. Simple.” Dmitriev read the end of his statement. “For the record, and to be absolutely clear on this, the American president had no knowledge of the agreement to use biological weapons. There is no reference to them in the protocols, they merely state that Russia will use conventional weapons. Subsequent U.S. presidents and generals who picked up the protocols would assume the same: America would be helping Russia to conduct a surgical, conventional strike against select military targets, not collude in genocide.”
The prosecutor was writing notes. He stopped and looked up. “What about the Russian president of the day? Did he know that secretly Russia would be deploying biological warheads?”
Dmitriev nodded. “Yes, but you have to understand that this was our final solution, one that we all hoped would never be used. And the only reason he never mentioned it to his American counterpart is that we told him that if he did so, the Americans would tear up their copy of the protocols. But. .”-Dmitriev rubbed his wet eyes-“. . things have changed. Dugan is now a senator, has the ear of the president, and has been put in charge of a political think tank-independent of Congress, the military, and other agencies-with the remit to analyze current strategic threats to the United States and provide creative solutions to combat those threats. He’s employed his former colleagues Joe Ballinger and Thomas Scott. The three of them will persuade the U.S. president that China is our biggest long-term threat and propose the protocols drawn up at the Berlin meeting should be enacted.”
“Do the protocols have a name?”
Dmitriev nodded, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “The protocols are called Slingshot.”
Alistair clapped his hands, turned off the television, and spun around to face Will. “Excellent! Your starting point was merely a scrap of paper and you pursued it to this. Bloody brilliant.” He pulled out his cell phone. “The prime minister will have watched the hearing, and I’m getting you in front of him. You’ll get a knighthood.”
Will shook his head, pushed himself off the seat, and put the crutches in place. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not.”
“You have better things to do with your time?”
“Actually, yes.”
Alistair looked furious. “God, you’re an obstinate so-and-so.” The MI6 Controller suddenly burst out laughing and pointed a finger toward Will. “But you’ve given the section a future. No one’s going to dare to touch us now.”
Will hobbled away from the coheads, then stopped and turned. “What will happen to Dugan and the others?”
Patrick answered, “Could be life imprisonment, but I’m guessing this will be a death penalty situation.” The CIA officer looked solemn. “They’ve duped numerous American presidents and could have sucked us into a world war.”
“It would have been war, and China would have had the moral high ground.” Will tried to imagine the devastation caused by the biological attack against China, and the hundreds of millions of innocent people who would have suffered agonizing deaths. “China’s a problem, but not on this scale. Idiots keep trying to identify the bad guys and start wars. It undoes everything we do.” He lifted one of his crut
ches and pointed it at his coheads. “Are you making progress on locating Schreiber?”
“He’s a marked man now. Every Western intelligence agency and law enforcement unit is on alert.”
“Are you closing in on him?”
Alistair sighed. “He’s vanished. Any leads we had to him are now dead.”
Will lowered his crutch, shook his head, and felt like shit. “Schreiber’s got to be found.” He thought about everything Schreiber had done, his cold and brilliant brutality, his threats against Will’s people, his success. “Every fucking Western intelligence and law enforcement agency is out of its depth.”
“Without you we. .”
“Without me you should be better.”
“William, don’t take that tone with your superiors.”
“My superiors?” Will thought about Betty. “Fuck you. Fuck it.” He turned, hobbled away, and said, “Why is it always up to me?”
Sixty
Suzy sat at her desk in Langley and switched on her computer. Around her were hundreds of other CIA analysts; the place resembled the trading floor of a large investment bank rather than the brains of the Agency. She felt tired, knew that it was merely due to a stage in her pregnancy, and wondered if the boy or girl in her womb felt the same way. Boy or girl? It mattered to the section’s men, because money was resting on the outcome. Damn fools. She picked up the book Will had bought her: Work amp; Pregnancy: Have a Life, Have a Kid.
For the first time, she opened it and started flicking through the pages. She frowned as she saw that most of the pages had pencil notes in the margins; passages of text were underlined or circled.
She recognized Adam’s handwriting. Herbal teas with antioxidant properties are great in the second trimester.
And Roger’s. Iron-rich foods can be found in unexpected places like kids’ cereals.
In one section, Mark had written, Check this out-good exercise routine for Suzy.