Lloyd controlled a pair of remote arms that provided a tactile dexterity finer than his own hands. Habib manned the video setup so that the most minute observations could be made. And Jenkins handled the most important tool: the monitoring and analysis computers, which would identify the contents of the Albero della Vita within seconds of its lid being raised.
“Whenever you are ready, gentlemen.” Zivera’s impatient voice came over the speakers.
Lloyd looked at Habib and Jenkins. While they felt insulated from any danger, it gave him a moment of pause. Julian had shown great confidence in his team and the facility. He had sought each of them out a year earlier for this one task, paying them a salary ten times greater than they could earn in a lifetime. Through their combined efforts, they oversaw the design and construction of the lab for this single purpose. It had remained unused for four months now, awaiting the box that sat on the other side of the glass. Zivera had assured them that if the contents of the box were destructive, he would bury it immediately, safe from causing harm to the world. But they had each heard that claim before. History had seen the development of chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons, all of which had grown out of benign research, out of seeking answers, out of seeking ways to help society. Governments always spearheaded funding such research, but knowledge-seeking, altruistic scientists had witnessed time and time again their government’s return to claim ownership and turn their scientific discoveries on their heads for military supremacy.
Lloyd did not see this as a religious pursuit on behalf of Zivera. Lloyd understood God’s Truth, the marrying of science and religion. But this was neither. This was simply a man’s obsession with his own immortality. But the chance to be on the edge of such a groundbreaking discovery was too alluring to the scientist in him, to the scientists next to him. Zivera had paid for it all, he had paid for them, and was expecting them to do the task that lay before them. He trusted them, he trusted the facility that they designed.
“Is there a problem?” the omniscient voice of Zivera called.
Habib and Jenkins looked to Lloyd. They shared an unspoken moment on the edge of a new frontier and smiled at the voice. For as much as Zivera trusted them, for as much as he said he felt no danger, he was as far away as possible from the event that was about to unfold.
Lloyd slid his hands into the control gloves and stretched out his arms. The mechanical arms on the other side of the glass mimicked his every move. He flexed each finger, twisted his wrists, and clapped his hands. The mechanical hands followed him to the letter, ending in a loud metal-on-metal clang. Habib started the digital recorders and adjusted the focus on each of the four cameras. Jenkins took one final air reading as a baseline and nodded to Lloyd.
The left mechanical hand stretched out and picked up the screwdriver. Lloyd gently inserted it in the keyhole and, with his right mechanical hand, steadied the golden box. He gave it one half turn and they all heard the amplified click over the speakers.
Jenkins checked the air readings. No change.
Habib adjusted one of the cameras, pulling the image of the box in tight on the monitor. He flipped a side switch and a bright halogen light illuminated the top of the box, sending gold shadows fluttering about the room.
Lloyd steadied the base of the box with his right mechanical hand and with his left, he slowly lifted the lid.
Habib’s eyes were glued to the monitor as the ornate gold top tilted back on its hinges. The mechanical arms obscured the view briefly before Lloyd pulled them back. They held their collective breath. Lloyd looked from the box to the close-up view of the monitor.
Habib craned his neck in for a closer view.
Jenkins checked the air and then checked the air again. Readings were coming in every tenth of a second.
For a year they had prepared, they had taken every scenario into consideration. But as they stared at the box on the other side of the glass, as they stared at the monitors and computer readout, they realized this was the one contingency they were not prepared for.
Chapter 54
Susan sat in a wicker lounge chair on the third-floor balcony of Julian’s mansion, silently staring at the ocean. She still wore the same jeans and sweatshirt she had on when they kidnapped her out of the hotel. Her unbrushed hair blew in the summer breeze as she sipped from a bottle of water. She watched as a white helicopter lifted off the enormous yacht that sat just above the horizon. It seemed like nothing more than a bug as it raced toward shore, but soon grew not only in size but sound, its rotors beating the air with a loud, rhythmic thumping. It flew directly toward her; she could see the blond pilot riding the controls. It finally banked and swerved off to the side of the house where she heard it land and the engine’s whine cycle down to silence.
She heard a commotion, footsteps running. Zivera burst through the door, rampaging through the guest room and out onto the balcony that overlooked the sea. “Where is the real box?” Zivera’s voice quivered with anger.
Susan said nothing as she continued to stare out at the ocean as if she were on vacation.
“Do you like the sea?” Zivera asked.
Again she sipped her water and refused to acknowledge him.
“I hope you do. Because if you don’t start answering my questions, I will personally tie weights to your feet and you can see the ocean from an entirely new perspective.”
“That’s so…” she chose her words carefully, “so very Christian of you.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me about God.”
“Why, because you’re such an expert? Sitting within the walls of your world, amassing billions, preaching to an unwitting flock for the purpose of fleecing their pockets and selling them on your particular view of God. For some reason, I don’t think that was God’s message or intention for mankind.” Susan spoke in a strong, confident tone. Her words and attitude were of defiance and courage, but on the inside she was terrified. She had learned early on in her career: if you need to convince someone, you must do it with conviction, even if you know it to be false.
Zivera walked to the balcony rail, trying to regain some composure. “Where is the real box?” he said softly. “Michael must bring it to me.”
Susan shifted in the lounge chair, continuing to look out at the world. “If he didn’t trust me with it…” She let her words hang in the air.
Susan was so furious with Michael when she opened the box, finding nothing in the decoy. She screamed in anger that he’d lied to her, that he didn’t trust her. And as she thought on it she didn’t know if she was angry with him or more angry at herself. She did the one thing Michael asked her not to do. She gave in to temptation. She was always so practical, so smart, yet somehow she was blinded by the box, seduced by the curiosity that had inevitably overcome her. She had always prided herself on being strong, on possessing self-control. She had never fallen to the allure of drugs, the peer pressures of adolescence, yet when she was alone with the box, she completely failed. And in the end what angered her the most was that Michael knew she would fail. He had somehow convinced her that the box—which was now in the possession of Zivera—was the real deal. Now, above all, she was thankful that it wasn’t. She hated herself for her failure.
“I should kill Nikolai for his ineptitude,” Zivera said. “But he did at least provide me with you. And for some reason, I think you are going to be far better bait for Michael St. Pierre than his father was.”
Susan glanced up, her heart cracking; she could not mask the pain in her eyes and turned away. Everything that she had done in the past week was for naught. She couldn’t bear thinking of Stephen as dead.
“And, by the way,” Zivera said as he leaned on the balustrade looking out at the sea. “Don’t try escaping like he did. I underestimated the old man. But you, I have posted additional guards and they have been ordered to shoot on sight.”
Susan rode the emotional roller coaster. She paid no mind to the fact that she could be shot; all she heard was that Stephen had esc
aped. She had gone from the depths of despair to pure elation.
Zivera left her to her thoughts, walking back inside without another word. She looked outward at the cloudless sky, at its seamless horizon with the ocean. She began to quiet her breath, slow and rhythmic; stilling her mind as she sought clarity.
She glanced over the marble rail, fifty feet down, at the two guards on their rounds, and back out at the sea. She wondered if the sights she was seeing right now, the vast ocean in all its glory, the enormous yacht poised on the horizon, would be her last.
Chapter 55
Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Simon said. “But we need to get the box back or saving Susan won’t mean a thing; she will be just as dead as the rest of us if that box is opened.”
“Excuse me?” Kelley cut in. “What are you talking about—”
Michael raised his hands. “I’ll explain it all in a few minutes.” And he turned back to Simon. “Don’t worry about the box.”
“Don’t worry?” Simon asked.
Michael nodded. Simon remained quiet but his face was still filled with concern.
The five of them—Michael, Stephen Kelley, Martin, Busch, and Simon—were sitting around the conference table in Kelley’s private jet. Martin had a full complement of food and beverages brought in from a small Corsican village fifteen miles down the coast. As hungry as they all were, hardly a bite had been taken except by Busch, who never passed up a meal.
Michael turned back to Kelley. “How well do you know the grounds?”
“What box?” Kelley asked again, growing impatient, the exhaustion of his recent ordeal showing in his voice and on his face. He pointed at Simon. “What is he talking about?”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” Michael said, trying to calm him with the soft tone of his voice. “We’re going to need to figure out how to get into Zivera’s grounds and move around. What do you remember about the place?”
“Not a lot of detail, it was dark as all hell.” Kelley sat back in the leather conference chair, checking his pockets. “I know the main house, though; it’s really like a castle. But with respect to the grounds, this should help.” He threw a crumpled piece of paper across the table at Michael. It was the map of the compound that he had taken from the security station wall when he was escaping.
Michael smiled. “Who said we don’t have anything in common?” He took the map and studied it for a moment before handing it to Simon. “Do you think you could find a way in there?”
Simon looked at the map, spreading it out on the table for all to see. It was basic, giving the locations of buildings and a general overview of the compound.
The air phone rang as everyone was leaning in, studying the small map. Martin ignored the phone at the conference table, choosing the privacy of the wall phone and answered it, speaking softly. He turned to Michael, catching his eye, but said nothing.
The room fell silent, all eyes looking at Martin.
“What is it?” Michael said.
Martin walked back to the conference table’s phone and hit the speakerphone button.
“Mr. St. Pierre?” The voice was hollow, Italian, interspersed with static. “Thank you for rescuing my mother.”
“She could have been killed the way you had your Russian lapdog snatch her from us.”
“Ah, but she’s alive and back with her family now. So, thank you for your efforts. Obviously, you know the reason for my call.”
Everyone looked at Michael as he closed his eyes and focused on the voice. “To explain why you betrayed me?” Michael responded.
“Betrayed you?” Zivera’s voice was cold and steady as it echoed about the jet’s cabin.
“You let us do the heavy lifting, then your General Fetisov grabs Genevieve and the box from us, setting us up to die. I would call that a betrayal.”
“He didn’t do a very good job at it if you are still alive. Which I guess in hindsight is lucky for me, huh?”
“Not if the world media finds out that such a pious man as yourself was behind blackmail, kidnapping, and murder.” Michael was fighting to hold his anger in check. “And believe me, when people find out that someone who is supposed to be a spiritual guide, a pillar of moral fiber, hypocritically violates every word he preaches, they get a little upset—no, let me rephrase that, they want nothing short of blood. Particularly when they have parted with so much of their hard-earned money.”
Zivera let out a slight chuckle. “The press sometimes has a problem listening to thieves, Michael. Did you meet your dad yet? How’s your cop friend? Everyone have a nice reunion? Oh, but wait…someone is missing. Who might it be?”
“Where is Susan?” Michael asked.
“Fetisov had a hard time restraining himself, he really wanted to kill her, but money has a way of banishing one’s passions to his back pockets. He handed her over to me unharmed.” Zivera paused. “That’s not to say she will remain that way for long. In fact, I put her life span at about twenty-four hours.”
“And that’s supposed to…scare me?” Michael bluffed as his skin grew cold.
“No, motivate you,” Zivera shot back.
“To do what?”
“Stop the bullshit,” Zivera exploded. “Bring me the box.”
Michael walked into Kelley’s bedroom suite and returned with his dive bag. He reached in the black canvas sack and pulled out his black satchel. He laid it on the conference table and unzipped it.
“You’re going to kill her anyway,” Michael said.
“Not if you give me my box.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t have it,” Michael said as he reached in his satchel and pulled out the gold box. He placed it in the center of the table as all eyes became fixed upon it.
Busch turned and smiled at Simon.
“Now, why don’t I believe you?” Zivera asked.
“Maybe because I don’t believe you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you would have killed my father if he hadn’t escaped, and you left Paul and me for dead.”
“Seeing as we are playing verbal chess, if you think I’ll kill her anyway, maybe I should just kill her now.” Zivera’s voice echoed about the jet’s cabin.
Michael was silent.
“Bring me the box and I will let her live. Come alone, Michael. If you don’t, you will all die.”
Michael looked at everyone around the table. Simon shook his head no.
“You see, Michael, you may have been willing to let your father die…”
Kelley looked Michael’s way, but Michael avoided his father’s gaze.
Zivera continued, “But for some reason, I don’t think you have it in you to treat Susan the same way.” Julian paused, letting his point sink in. “Remember, Michael, alone.”
“I don’t think I can get there in twenty-four hours,” Michael said, stalling for time.
“A resourceful guy like yourself? You’re probably right. So, you know what? Forget the twenty-four hours, you have eight. It’s not that far a ride from the airport you’re at.” And Zivera hung up the phone, the click reverberating about the jet.
Michael stood in the middle of the remote Corsican runway, looking down the airstrip past the stand of trees; they were situated on a plateau, the Mediterranean backdrop less than a mile away. The French island was enormous with a beautifully varied topography of mountains, fields, and oceanside cliffs. But Michael saw none of it as he walked the landing strip with Busch and Simon. He was focused on the task ahead.
He felt no remorse for deceiving Susan, entrusting her with a fake box. It had been in the dive bag that Lexie had at the bottom of the drainpipe underneath the Kremlin. Michael had taken the bag off the young dead Russian and had gone through his stolen spoils of gold back in the cistern. Michael pulled the false box and stowed it in his bag unbeknownst to Susan, knowing that it might come in handy. Neither she nor Martin was aware that the real box was tucked inside the large duffel bag of div
e gear that he handed over to Martin. Michael, in fact, did not reveal his deception to Simon or even Busch, knowing that the fewer who knew his plan, the better. When it came to the intricacies of his profession there were some secrets he would never share.
But his deception did not keep Susan out of danger; his subterfuge, his handing her the false box, was so thorough that she was kidnapped with it and was now held somewhere in the middle of Zivera’s twenty-five-thousand-acre compound. And he had less than eight hours to save her.
“I know the clock is ticking,” Simon said. “I know your mind is in the planning mode. But we have not discussed some very important things.”
Michael looked at Simon, momentarily shaken from his thoughts. “What?”
“What are we going to do about Genevieve? We can’t leave her in there,” Simon said.
“I know.”
“Michael, she’s in the place she has feared most, with the man, the son, she was running from. Julian has taken her money, her home, her orphanage, everything in her world short of her life, and I fear that is what’s next.”
Michael looked at Simon, frustrated, at a loss for words. Genevieve was his friend, the reason this all started; he agreed with Simon, he just didn’t know how it was possible to save her and Susan. Without a word, he turned and headed back to the hangar. Busch and Simon followed him up the ramp into the jet.
Simon picked up his duffel bag and hoisted it onto the conference table. Michael pulled the compound map that Kelley gave him from his pocket and unfolded it.
Kelley stepped out of the cockpit and glanced at the three of them as he headed for the back of the plane, his eyes exhausted, unfocused, a fresh towel draped around his neck.
“Can I ask you a question?” Michael said as Kelley walked by.
Kelley turned and stared at Michael.
“How many guards do you suppose they have?” Michael asked.
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