Vladimir patted Ivan on the shoulder – a habit Ivan had grown to loathe over the thirty years they’d known each other – and then he trundled off back down the hall, his considerable bulk seeming to take some of the light in the dank space with him as he left, like a fleshy dark star.
Ivan thought about their discussion with unease. He’d known Vladimir too long to imagine that everything was going to be fine from here. If there was one thing he understood, it was that he couldn’t trust the man. Vladimir had been a manager when Ivan had been one of the scientific staff, and like all managers he knew just enough to assume an air of smug superiority without having to fuss with all the annoying details that came with actually knowing what he was talking about. In the old days, his greatest strength had been that he had never heard an order that he would question. That had been the primary job requirement; but then communism had collapsed under its own weight, leaving him a yes man without anyone to suck up to.
Ivan, on the other hand, had always been aloof – an academic forced into distasteful work by ugly circumstance. Ultimately, it had been a job, and at that point in his life, with a marriage on the rocks and slim prospects, a job had looked like a lifesaver. And after a time, he got to the point where he didn’t question what he was doing with his beakers and tubes and vials. It was all theoretical. The world left him alone, and he got to play chemist in the comforting gloom of the top secret labs where he was one of the acknowledged masters.
But nothing stayed constant, and a man still needed to make a living, especially in these difficult times. The prospect that one of his creations would finally make it out into the world was both exciting and horrifying to him – the abstract made concrete. Though it wasn’t like he was going to do the deed himself; what he was doing wasn’t really any different than what he had been doing for the government, when the dust had settled. Someone else was going to take his work and kill, in the name of God, or country, or ideology. Ivan had been too long in this world to make much distinction among them anymore. The truth was that man had been killing his fellow man for eons, and would continue to do so until there were no more walking the earth. Why one in particular wanted to exterminate some others wasn’t of that much interest, and if he didn’t provide his agent, then the buyer would simply go elsewhere and find a different route to achieve the same ends. The only difference for Ivan in this case was that he benefitted financially – a selfish but meaningful distinction to him.
In any other scenario he continued to scrape by, eking out his miserable livelihood, and the buyer rewarded someone else with his money.
The outcome didn’t change.
At heart, it was a simple decision.
Morality and ethics were always easier to debate on a full stomach.
Chapter 13
Washington D.C., United States of America
The dark sedan pulled to the rear entrance of a private club in Georgetown so exclusive that it didn’t have a name. No discreet brass plaque announced its presence to an uncaring world, no whispered invitations to its hallowed chambers were bandied about as a form of status. The club had been in the same location for over a century, and yet nobody had ever heard of it except for a small cadre of the select. Powerful figures from the political, banking, and corporate fields needed neutral ground where they could safely discuss whatever was necessary, without prying eyes or anyone noting who was sitting with whom.
A tall man in a black suit got out of the passenger seat and walked to the rear car door, glancing in both directions down the empty alley before opening it and holding it for the occupant. A stooped gray-haired figure emerged, his aura emanating authority despite his frail physique and advanced years.
The rear entrance of the club swung wide, as if by magic, the discreetly mounted cameras having captured the latest arrival – the last expected that night. The black-suited man helped the older one up the three stairs and then turned, his job done until he received a cell phone call to come and pick up his charge later – perhaps much later, depending upon the evening’s agenda.
A dignified figure in a tuxedo, ebony skin gleaming in the light from the overhead chandelier, welcomed the old man with a smile and an offer of a libation, which was waved off.
“No drinks for me tonight, Gerald. Where are the rest of them?” he asked.
Gerald nodded courteously and gestured towards a heavy hand-carved door at the far end of the wood-paneled hall. They walked past the scowling admirals and dignitaries whose oil-painted countenances watched over the corridor with silent disapproval. Gerald rapped twice on the door, then held it open.
The older man stepped into the room, greeted by seven sets of eyes from the large oval conference table, and took a seat near the door.
“I don’t have much time tonight, so let’s get right to it. Where are we?” he demanded, his voice soft but tinged with steel.
“Everything’s on track. The President has the ability to commandeer virtually every aspect of the nation’s defense, finances, and law enforcement, for anything resembling a national emergency – a deliberately ambiguous term. This effectively transfers power over the country from the Congress to the President. That national emergency hits, and he has complete authority to do whatever he wants,” the speaker said, reading from a small notebook, his easily recognizable profile thinner in person than on his near-daily television appearances.
“Are we still convinced that this will work? We can’t afford any missteps,” the older man cautioned.
“There are never any guarantees, but when the stakes are large enough, it certainly seems worth the risks,” said a younger man in his mid-forties, quiet pragmatism conveyed with every carefully chosen word.
“Gentlemen, I appreciate the work that has gone into assembling all the necessary pieces to put this into motion. This is the final stumbling block to solving several problems in one fell swoop. We can get complete control over the region, so the Chinese are at our ultimate mercy to get the oil they so desperately need from Africa, and it will solve our currency problem. I won’t belabor why this regime must go, but suffice it to say it’s not for any of the reasons we’re piping to the media every day. Still, make no mistake, this is going to require considerable art to pull off. There can be no mistakes. I don’t want to see any exposés on YouTube a week after it all goes down. No WikiLeaks. Am I making myself clear?” the older man asked, leaning forward and gesturing to one of the others to pass him a bottle of water. “There can be no trail to follow, no memos to leak.”
“I don’t think there’s anyone in here who isn’t aware of the importance of this operation,” said a heavy-set balding man with a florid face and a southern drawl from the other side of the table, as he slid a bottle from the collected stack just behind his chair to within reach of the older man.
“Then let’s get down to business. I want a complete update on where we are, who is responsible for the various pieces, and how polished our response will be. Remember that when this happens, it’s going to happen all at once, and we’ll need to seem both disorganized and surprised, but also competent, all within a short period. We’ll obviously have the support of our allies – the British will jump in on our side immediately, as will Canada and Australia – but we can expect the French to be more skeptical, as will be the Russians and the Chinese.”
The men spent the next two hours running scenarios, double and triple checking their preparations, and taking action items to ensure that nothing fell through the cracks. By the time the meeting was over, the older man felt every one of his almost seventy years weighing heavy, but at the same time, he was exhilarated by how close they finally were. Soon the final step in a plan that had spanned decades would be taken, and then the world as they knew it would change forever – which was the history of the species. The largest quantum leaps weren’t pretty or organized and invariably involved massive dislocations. The old ways would have to be discarded to respond to a new world threat, and within a generation nobody would r
emember a time before things had changed. They would only remember the day the earth stood still, and life as they’d known it stopped and a new one began.
As he made his way cautiously down the stairs to his car he groaned, his knees stiff from sitting for so long. The meetings were hard on him, but necessary if they were to prevail. These were exciting times, and the spoils would justifiably go to those who had the foresight to take bold measures.
It was the way of the world.
Always had been.
And the victors always got to write the history books. He was sure they would be kind to him. As his assistant held the car door open, he’d never been more sure in his life that he was standing at the threshold of a civilization-changing moment, which, if all went well, would solidify his group’s final grip. From there, it was just a matter of time until they controlled everything of any value.
His driver looked at him in the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow.
“Home, Sidney, home,” he said, and then closed his eyes as his assistant took his position in the passenger seat and the heavy car purred from the curb, unremarkable to any watchers, just another anonymous government vehicle in a city of bureaucrats and power brokers eager to stay below the radar while they made moves behind the scenes that influenced untold millions.
The next week’s preparations would be critical.
They had never been closer.
He swiveled his head and looked out the tinted window at the late straggling traffic on its way back from dinner. Like ants, the inhabitants had no idea what was directing events, and simply soldiered on as they always had, believing themselves to be masters of their destiny. Nothing could have been further from the truth, he knew.
Self-interest drove everything in life. His was no different.
Yes, it was time for a change. The masses had been allowed to muddle along quite enough. It was time to take them in a different direction – one that might mean a lot less freedom, but ultimately, a more controllable and safer future.
And certainly a more profitable one for him and his group.
The sedan swung onto a larger thoroughfare and made its way towards the freeway, the big engine pulling smoothly, his driver and assistant impassive, as always.
Soon.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter 14
Montevideo, Uruguay
Sunlight streamed through the hotel curtains as the morning rush hour began, the sound of trucks grinding their gears and revving their motors as deliverymen shouted to one another on the sidewalk outside blending with the dull roar of cars pulling down the street towards the waterfront boulevard that led to the town center.
Hannah shifted next to Jet and then flopped over, her arm circling her mother’s waist as she burrowed into the covers to find a more comfortable sleeping position. Jet cracked an eye open and peered at her watch, and then reluctantly disengaged from Hannah and padded to the bathroom, noting that Alan’s bed was empty. He must have beaten her to the punch on morning exercise, which was okay with her – every moment she got to spend with her daughter was infinitely more precious than any fitness concerns today.
Jet turned on the shower and paused to study herself in the mirror. She would need to change her appearance yet again, perhaps lightening her hair considerably, or go the opposite direction to near black, perhaps with some highlights. She didn’t want to have to trim any off – it had just started growing back after the last short cut, and she wanted options down the road if she needed to switch her look again. Her emerald eyes gazed back at her as she scrutinized every aspect of her face, dropping to her body as she shrugged out of the T-shirt and shorts she’d donned for sleep.
Her workout routine and genetics had ensured that she had the physique of a swimmer, no extra fat anywhere – just solid, toned muscle sculpted by a lifetime of rigorous workouts driven by a requirement to be in peak condition at all times. In her old career, the difference between being fit or slacking could easily have meant the difference between life and death, and the old habits died hard.
The pipes knocked as they changed temperature and she adjusted the stream to something just south of scalding, then stepped beneath the spray, allowing the water to pound her awake as she soaped off. A few minutes later she was clean, and she made a mental note to get Hannah scrubbed as soon as she woke up – there was no point in waking her any sooner than she had to.
She changed into the set of clothes she’d laid out the night before on top of the bathroom cabinet and inspected herself with approval before exiting the bathroom, morning ablutions complete. Hannah was still out like a light – not a surprise; she’d always been an astoundingly solid sleeper. Jet moved to her backpack and repacked her clothes and then heard the key in the lock. As Alan entered, soaked head to toe from his morning workout, she held a finger to her lips and gestured to the sleeping form on the bed by the window. Alan pointed to the bathroom – she nodded – and he grabbed his rucksack and carried it in with him, taking care to be as quiet as possible.
The bathroom door closed, and she remarked to herself again how different Alan was from David. Where David had sported wavy, longish, almost-black hair, Alan was medium brown edging towards blond, with a short, no-nonsense cut that was more utilitarian than fashionable. He was taller than his brother by at least a couple of inches – easily six foot two. And definitely more muscular, although with the same field-honed leanness that she had, which wasn’t surprising. All the operational members of the team had shared the same physically demanding training, so it was no wonder they had carried that forward, even in Alan’s case, when he’d been undercover for years.
For all the differences, though, she could also see the similarities between his features and David’s, although Alan’s were more symmetrical – she supposed she would have described him as more ‘classically’ handsome. David had been more interesting looking, with unusual features that were just a little out of balance, but combined had been startlingly attractive to her. Alan was easier to look at, although she remembered that the last time she’d seen him, in Yemen, his hair had been as black as hers. Perhaps that was his natural color – it was so hard to tell with operatives, who changed everything about themselves as often as most people changed underwear.
Hannah stirred on the bed and then opened her eyes, squinting at Jet with a baffled annoyance that was her unique way of greeting the world every morning, as though having to emerge from sleep was a personal slight designed to punish her for enjoying her slumber too much. She rolled over with a tiny moan and then sat up, staring expectantly at Jet.
“Good morning, sweetheart. You ready to take a bath and then have breakfast?” Jet asked.
Hannah nodded, still out of it.
“Just give it a few minutes and then Uncle Alan will be out of the bathroom and we’re on.”
“Uncle Alan?” Hannah pronounced it Uncow Awan, still grappling with the intricacies of pronunciation.
“That’s what we’re going to call him. He’ll love it,” she assured her.
Hannah gave her a juvenile look of “whatever” and looked around for something to amuse herself with, then announced she had to use the bathroom.
Jet knocked on the door and heard the shower shut off.
“Just a minute.”
“We have a two-year-old who’s made it clear that the time is now.”
“Okay. Give me a second.”
“That’s about how long you have.”
She heard frantic activity from behind the door and then he opened it, hair dripping down his face, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“It’s all yours,” he announced with a small bow and a hand gesture, causing Hannah to giggle at his bare chest and tousled hair before trotting into the bathroom. Jet gave him a neutral look and then followed her in.
“Girl time. Sorry. Be out in a few,” she said, then closed the door behind her.
Alan listened to Jet coaching Hannah on the niceties of bathi
ng and then moved to the dresser, where he donned his jeans and a long-sleeved tan button-up shirt. He studied his image in the half-height mirror and then rummaged through his bag for a brush, which he ran through his hair perfunctorily before stowing his hygiene kit. He decided that he looked reasonably presentable, and after a few more minor adjustments, put his things away and turned on the television, scanning the channels until he came to a local news broadcast.
The Russians’ bodies had been found, and speculation about drug gangs moving into Montevideo was rampant in the three minutes devoted to the sensational carnage. There weren’t any witnesses, but that created no shortage of locals to be interviewed and voice the opinion that the police needed to do more to crack down on the drug trade in the area.
He switched the channels and found another report, again long on speculation and short on facts. He was about to turn to another station when a representative of the police came on – footage from a press conference that morning. The somber officer gave the usual stern warnings and vowed that the perpetrators would be brought to justice, even as he cautioned that organized crime was a dangerous and violent world that brought with it the sort of sudden death that they’d seen the prior day.
So the authorities knew nothing. Alan breathed a sigh of relief and watched the remainder of the broadcast, which devoted itself to the economy, a half-hearted weather report, and a solid eight minutes of local sports. At least the station had its priorities right.
Jet emerged from the bathroom with Hannah behind her, and carefully packed her clothes into her Hello Kitty bag, along with the toys she’d been playing with at the playground.
“I guess we’re ready. Any suggestions for breakfast? I’m starving,” Jet announced with a smile, and while Hannah was amusing herself with her new shoes, leaned into Alan. “Anything on the news?”
“About what you would expect. No witnesses. No leads. No problem, at least so far.”
Jet 03: Vengeance Page 9