by Kari Nichols
“She’s in Zurich, watching over Emily.”
“What do we know about Emily’s intentions?” Ogilvie demanded.
“We don’t know much yet, sir,” Evan said. “Tate will be interviewing her now, but hasn’t reported any findings yet. When she has them, I’ll send them to you. In the short term, we’re treating Emily as a hostile witness. We think she’s on our side, but we’ll keep the gun on her until we know for sure.”
Ogilvie leaned back in his chair. It gave an angry squeak of protest as he rocked it back and forth. “Send her to Seoul. Tell her to find whatever the hell it is they’re doing to that chip and destroy it.”
Before Evan could contact Tate, Bailey’s telephone rang. Ogilvie pressed the button for speaker phone. “This is General Ogilvie. Who am I speaking with?”
“General Ogilvie, this is Brigadier General Spalding of the US Army at Fort Bragg.”
“General, I have Bailey Rhodes, Evan Ryan and Thomas Beck in the office with me. They can all be trusted with any information you have regarding the number of locator beacons floating around out there.”
“General Ogilvie, I just got off the phone with the Navy, the Marines and the Air Force. All have received and implanted twenty-five thousand locators, each. I explained to them what we had encountered with our locators. They had not experienced any problems with implantation. You want to tell us what the hell is going on?” he demanded.
That meant there were close to 101,000 bombs. Soldiers deployed to see to their nation’s security could now be used as hostages. The military’s liberal attitude toward collateral damage could not explain away a disaster of this size. Ogilvie started with the information they already had.
“Bailey Rhodes requested changes to the existing locator beacons that we have been utilizing for the past three years now. The contract to complete those modifications was awarded to McMaster Industries. Recently, The Sector became aware of a possible security breach in our tech department. We deployed one of our agents to investigate and in the course of that action we obtained data on unauthorized modifications made to the beacons.”
“The bomb,” General Spalding guessed.
“Yes, specifically tied to the self-destruct mechanism. When your doctor attempted to remove the locator, he activated the anti-tampering device. You know the results.”
“Why was he trying to remove the device?” Bailey asked. “He had to have already initialized the locator, or it wouldn’t have detonated.”
“He’d placed it too far inside and the soldier complained that he could feel it scraping against bone when he moved. The doctor made him keep it for a month to see if it would improve over time. It didn’t, so the doctor removed it, or tried to.
“So what you’re saying, General Ogilvie, is I’ve got twenty-five thousand soldiers with bombs inside them. What the hell are we going to do about that?” he demanded.
Ogilvie appreciated the general’s use of the word ‘we’. With one hundred thousand of their soldiers walking around with bombs inside them, the US could demand that The Sector turn over all data they had on the locators. It wouldn’t matter to them that the US had obtained the beacons illegally. That fact would be glossed over.
“General Spalding, we have a team on this. They’re working out the details of the tampering and tracking the individuals who are involved.”
“Who is this team?” Spalding demanded.
“Some of our finest soldiers and agents,” Ogilvie replied. He would not give the general any specific details. He hung up the phone and turned to Bailey. “We need to get this thing put to bed before the US tries to jump in. We’ll never regain control of the situation if that happens.”
***
Nicolai slipped the key into the lock and opened the door to his room. They’d been at Ura-bay close to two days, but their time was coming to an end. Stepping inside, he could smell the difference. His hand on the gun at his hip, he turned to face the room.
“Easy, gunslinger, it’s just me,” Vlad slurred from across the room.
Nicolai relaxed his stance, moving to join Vlad at the table. He could see the powdery residue on the table, but ignored it. Vlad nudged a shot glass in his direction and Nicolai nodded. Vlad poured him a healthy two fingers of vodka and saluted the younger man.
“Soon we will arrive at Severny and we can begin our coup.”
Nicolai grimaced at the candid words. He hadn’t swept the place for bugs since they had arrived at the naval base. He wouldn’t put it past Sergei to have planted a listening device since then. He remained silent, refusing to be drawn into a drunken discussion of their plans.
“How long until the renovations have been completed on Okhotsk?” Vlad asked.
Nicolai frowned again. Keeping Vlad quiet until he could sweep the room would be an exercise in futility. If Godin had his ears open, they would know it soon enough.
“The outer buildings are nearly completed. The blasting has just finished, but the carpenters and engineers still have a lot of work to do on the interior. We won’t be able to go straight there from Severny.”
The complex at Okhotsk, technically one hundred kilometers north of the city of Okhotsk, would be the base of their operations. Once it was ready, it would be nearly impenetrable. The area was barren; the mountain they had built the complex in was the only major structure for miles around. Lookouts would be able to spot and intercept intruders.
Okhotsk was two months and eighty million Euros over budget. The money didn’t concern Nicolai. Vlad appeared to have an endless bank account. The timeline bothered him. The complex should have been completed already. The plan was to take the prisoners to Okhotsk within days of arriving at Severny. Now, they either had to decide to put their plans on hold while the engineers completed Okhotsk, or move to a temporary location.
The problem was, they didn’t have a temporary location set up. They could remain on the submarine; Nicolai had numerous contacts in the navy that would provide temporary refuge while they restocked. If anything went wrong during their coup and the submarine was destroyed, that plan would have to be revisited. For now, it was all he had.
“Where will we go?” Vlad demanded.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it,” Nicolai murmured. He had no intention of explaining the details to Vlad. If Godin learned of their plan and decided to sic Pleski on Vlad, the man would give away every single detail to save his skin. “Has there been any word from our Canadian counterpart?” he asked instead.
“Nothing. That little shit hasn’t been pulling his weight. We might have to cut our ties with him.”
Nicolai bit back a smart retort. Vlad, with his coke lines and drunken raving hadn’t been pulling his weight, either. Vlad never would have gotten as far as he had without Nicolai. It was an annoyance that he still needed Vlad. Sergei Godin would notice if his son suddenly disappeared for good.
Still, once Vlad had outlived his usefulness, Nicolai would be there to take care of him, permanently.
Chapter 11
Storskog Border Control Point, Norway
“Your plan is to cross into Russia by an actual border station?” Jimmy asked. “There are a thousand different ways to get into Russia without being seen.”
“We’re not entering here. We’re waiting for a package to be dropped off.”
“What’s in the package?”
“I need a passport for my next stop and I don’t want to use any of my own.”
Jimmy had listened to Tank’s plan back in his shack on Diomede and had decided to come along for the ride, more to keep Tank from doing anything stupid than because he wanted another taste of the action.
Tank had feelers out to every contact he could think of that might have some information on the sub he was tracking. Jimmy hadn’t overheard where the submarine’s final destination was. On their way from Diomede to Norway, Tank had received a call from an old informant currently stationed at a naval base outside of Murmansk, Russia.
Yevgeny Drachov had confirmed that an unexpected arrival had appeared at their docking bay doors. She’d been ushered in and kept under strict guard ever since. Tank had already assumed the submarine would be heading to northern Russia and he’d arranged to have a new passport delivered to him in Storskog.
Petar Volchenko would deliver a passport anywhere in the world, for a fee. His runner was expected to cross the border into Norway at 20:30 hours, drop the passport one mile beyond the border, along the E105, and carry on further into Norway.
Tank and Jimmy had flown from Anchorage to Oslo, with brief stops in Chicago and Newark, before arriving at Kirkenes Airport ten miles northwest of the border crossing. They’d rented a two-door Peugeot coupe under one of Tank’s many fake credit cards. After determining the most likely drop area, Tank had driven north, to the town of Sør-Varanger. Situated a quick ten-mile boat ride from the mouth of the Barents Sea, the town seemed the likeliest choice to rent one. He’d left Jimmy behind to procure a boat that would be fast enough to handle the currents out in the Barents, while he’d returned to the drop site.
The E105 branched off to the 886 just near the border crossing and then didn’t meet up with another main road until more than halfway back to Kirkenes Airport. There was a short local road a quarter of a mile back from the area Tank determined to be the drop point. He’d parked the car at its edge and used his binoculars to scope out the area. Very little traffic came by at this time of night. Any residents would be finishing their dinner and settling in for the night.
He sat in silence for over an hour before he heard the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle running through its gears. It was 20:52, which put Petar’s runner quite late and the border was about to close for the night. Tank had started to wonder if the guy would ever make it across this evening. He hadn’t relished the idea of killing time in a nearby hotel while he waited for the border to reopen in the morning.
The motorcycle flashed past him, slowing a tiny bit at the mile marker before speeding up and carrying on into the night. Tank hadn’t seen a package dropped, but the darkness impeded his vision. He pulled out onto the road and drove to the mile marker. Pulling a flashlight from his pack, he stepped out of the car and searched the grassy side road. The package was nestled into the grass five feet from the side of the road.
Tank returned to the car and tossed the package onto the passenger seat. Heading back to Sør-Varanger, he mentally reviewed the gear he had on hand. They were as prepared for a water voyage as they were going to get. Each had a neoprene dry suit on under their clothes to protect them from any unexpected dips in the freezing water. They carried their weapons in dry sacs, for the same reason. Tank rendezvoused with Jimmy at the marina and removed their gear from the rental car.
Jimmy grabbed his bag and led Tank to their boat. He’d found them a twenty-four-foot Stingher 800GT with twin Mercury Black max Offshore engines capable of 550 horsepower and a max speed of 100 knots. She’d have no trouble with a bit of rough water out on the sea.
Tank gave a low whistle as he neared the boat. “How did you convince them to rent you this beauty?”
“I didn’t rent it,” Jimmy admitted.
Tank read the look in his friends’ eyes and smiled. “Then we should probably leave now.” He hopped in and headed straight for the helm. Jimmy tossed all but one mooring line, keeping the boat anchored to the dock. Tank fired up the Mercury’s, gave them an extra little rumble and waited until Jimmy tossed the last line and hopped aboard before maneuvering out of the marina and into open water.
“Next stop: Russia,” Tank called out over the roar of the engines.
***
Seoul, South Korea
Gibson drove to their hotel, following the GPS coordinates that Tate had programmed in. Tommy had already set up a runner to deliver their gear. He arrived an hour after they had and dropped off two large duffel bags. He asked if they needed anything further and then left when they dismissed him. The duffels contained the necessities of a smooth infiltration: automatic weapons with extra magazines and various incendiary devices. Bricks of C4 had been added for a messy exfiltration. The runner had procured a small cache of band-aid bombs and extra pairs of what Tate had dubbed the Bionacles. They looked like sunglasses, but they came equipped with NV, IR and EM-scan options as well as a recording feature that synched to a satellite and streamed the audio/video straight to Tommy. Tate has lost her pair while swimming in the canal back in Italy.
They’d ordered dinner from a night market nearer the city. Tate finished eating her pork ramen and sat back to sip her coffee while she reviewed the information Tommy had provided about the plant’s security. “Guards, cameras, fenced compounds. It doesn’t say, but I bet they have dogs, too, just to add a little spice.”
“What are we going to do?” Emily asked.
“We’ll get inside, poke around and determine what’s going on.” Tate further outlined her plan by adding details on their best points of entry, their exit strategy and what they were hoping to find.
“We want to know what other changes McMaster made to the locator and who else he intended to sell the secrets to.” If Tate had known McMaster was this involved, she would have removed him from his building, alive, and brought him to a remote location for a little chat.
“He turned it into a bomb, you say?” Emily confirmed.
“Yeah, it’s strong enough to blow out a soldier’s spine if it’s detonated.”
“Does Bailey have any spares?”
“Don’t know, why?” Tate asked.
“If I can hack it, I can nullify the self-destruct sequence. For obvious reasons I wouldn’t want to try that on one that is already implanted.” As soon as she said it, she looked at Tate. “When did you kill McMaster?”
“A week and a half ago.”
“It’s possible that McMaster didn’t have enough time to pass along the codes for the self destruct mechanism.”
“How would it work?” Gibson asked.
“You’d have to activate the locator and be synched to it and then it would simply be a matter of sending the code for that particular chip. Once received, kaboom,” Emily said.
Tate grimaced at her enthusiasm. She started to rub the back of her neck and then stopped. She didn’t want to accidentally move the little prongs holding her chip in place, or kaboom. Gritting her teeth, she processed what Emily had said. “You’d have to have a separate code for each chip?”
“Yes. It’s a nano-computer and it has security measures that would prevent widespread slaughter.”
“One would hope,” Tate said.
It dawned on Emily that Tate had the new chip. She shuddered, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a bomb inside you and no way to control it or remove it. Tate looked remarkably calm, under the circumstances.
“If Godin doesn’t have the codes, how could he activate the self-destruct?” Gibson asked.
“He’d have to get someone to hack it, just like I suggested doing.”
“He’d need active chips for that,” Tate said. She looked at Gibson, who nodded. Tate stood and motioned for Emily to rise. “No time like the present.”
Tate crouched before the wire fence and surveyed the exterior of the complex. Razor wire surrounded the tops of all the fences, guards were posted at each of the four corners and a two-man patrol circled the building every ten minutes, with dogs, as Tate had thought. Even this late at night, they didn’t relax their patrol. No cameras, which made things easier, but Tommy said the inside was as heavily guarded and this time there were cameras.
Tate cut a hole in the fence and waited for the patrol to pass by. They were a little too close to the northeast corner guards for her liking, but it was the only place that had any cover. They crept inside the fence and waited for the fireworks to go off.
Gibson had run around to the far side of the complex where the southwest corner guard house was and planted a large band-aid bomb on the side of the structure. The bomb had a rem
ote detonator so once he’d placed it on the side of the building he could trigger it at any time. With a generous pinch of C4 added to it, it also made a much bigger bang.
Gibson returned to their side and pushed the button. They felt the rumble through the ground. As soon as the guards disappeared around the side of the building they pushed through the fence. Gibson headed for the trucks while Tate and Emily made for the first building. Tommy, utilizing the information dump from the complex’s computers, whispered the code for the door in Tate’s ear.
She punched it in and opened the door. The hallway was deserted. The explosion had cleared the area of guards, but it wouldn’t take long before they started to filter back to their stations.
“Take the left wing. Go down the stairs and turn right,” Tommy whispered.
Tate turned left and ran straight into a guy coming out of the men’s room. He’d heard the explosion, but couldn’t go running as fast as everyone else. Tate punched him in the gut and his eyes bulged as the air whooshed out of his lungs. She slammed his head into the wall beside the bathroom door, cracking the tile. Slumped over, Tate dragged him back inside the men’s room and stuffed him in the end stall. She sat him on the toilet and leaned him against the wall, so he wouldn’t fall over. Locking the door from inside, she stood on the toilet paper dispenser and climbed over to the next stall. Jumping down, Tate left the bathroom.
They continued down the hallway to the lower level and turned to the right, as Tommy had instructed. Her gun out, Tate entered the code Tommy gave her for the keypad and pushed the door open.
Two men sat at a computer console that would put the air traffic controllers at LAX to shame. The large room was packed to the rafters with cables and computers and various other related paraphernalia. Two bullets, fired in quick succession, and both men were down. Tate hauled the first guy out of his chair. Emily sat down at the console and surveyed the setup. Pulling a USB drive from her laptop bag, she plugged it into a port on the side of the monitor. “It’s not security. They don’t have any ties to the cameras in the hallways.”