by Alex Lukeman
"That horse is already out of the gate," Nick said. "It's not a secret anymore. Why go after us? It might make sense if someone didn't want us to know what was on that disc, but not now."
"Maybe it's about revenge," Lamont said.
"Revenge?" Nick asked.
"Think about it for a moment. When we took out Nicklaus and his computer, we messed up his plot to start a war. Then the creepy guy with the mask told us we were insects and they'd still have their war. That they were the rulers and always had been. Remember?"
"How could I forget?"
"So maybe they're pissed and trying to get even."
"You think it's Phoenix again?"
"Hey, if the shoe fits..."
"They wouldn't go to that much trouble because of Nicklaus," Selena said. "If it is the same people, they're planning something else and are afraid we're going to stop it. Just like before."
"We don't know it's them," Stephanie said.
"Elizabeth," Selena said, "you just said the only thing we're working on is the possibility of a Russian attack."
"That's right."
"You already told the president about Status 6. Why would Phoenix bother with us? It's out of our hands."
"I'm not so sure about that. I haven't briefed you on how the meeting with Reynolds went."
"You sound as though it didn't go very well. "
"It didn't go well. He's not going to do anything about Status 6. Not only that, he seems determined to shut us down."
"How can he not do anything about it?" Nick asked. "It's his job. It's a serious threat to national security."
"Reynolds doesn't believe it. He said he couldn't accept the word of one Russian defector. As far as he's concerned, the message was just a ploy Kolkov set up to make himself look important and gain asylum."
"That's bullshit," Lamont said.
"There's more. Sitting in on the meeting was Senator Palmer. Both men were hostile toward Hood and myself right from the beginning. Reynolds was downright rude. He called us comic book spies. It's almost as if they were determined to ignore the information and devalue it. I got the feeling that Palmer was in charge in that room."
Selena's voice was disbelieving. "In the Oval Office?"
"When Reynolds stood, Palmer just sat there looking smug. It was a blatant breach of protocol. That was when Reynolds threw us out."
"What else happened?"
Elizabeth summarized the meeting for them.
Nick looked at her. "He's really not going to do anything about it?"
"That is my distinct impression. But Clarence isn't going to let it drop. Neither am I."
"Director, what is Status 6, exactly?" Selena asked.
"Sorry, I should have told you before. It's a nuclear device, a bomb. But it's no ordinary bomb. It's bigger than anything that's ever been seen. Best guess is it's in the vicinity of a hundred megatons."
Lamont whistled. "Whoa."
"Think of a monster torpedo, so big it has to be carried underneath a submarine. It's launched underwater and guided to a specific location on the ocean floor. After that, it can be detonated at any time."
"What would happen if it went off?" Lamont asked.
"A lot would happen, none of it good. Suppose you dropped this thing somewhere off the coast of California. It depends on how they place it. It could trigger major earthquakes. Or it could create a monster tidal wave. Either one would be bad news for the West Coast."
"That's diabolical," Selena said.
"It never surprises me when someone comes up with a better way to kill people. Now imagine that they plant more than one of these things, off both coasts, and set them all off at the same time. They would have gained the edge in a war."
"They might gain an edge but it wouldn't stop us from retaliating," Nick said. "Hell, most of our nukes are out there in submarines. They'd launch and it would be sayonara for the Russians."
"The Russians would launch their own missiles," Elizabeth said. "No one would win."
Selena shuddered. "Nuclear Armageddon."
"That's what Nicklaus and his buddy in the mask wanted," Lamont said.
"I don't understand why Reynolds won't take this seriously," Stephanie said. "Even Corrigan would have paid attention, if he were still alive. He wouldn't like hearing it but he'd have acted upon it. Pursued it. Tried to confirm it was accurate intelligence."
"That's true, he would have," Elizabeth said.
Nick scratched his chin. "If he were still alive, you said. Pretty convenient that he's no longer here."
Elizabeth's pen stopped moving. "Are you saying you think Phoenix is behind the assassination?"
"It's possible. Look what we've got now. A president who insults you and blows off a credible threat."
"But that would mean they wanted Reynolds in the big chair."
"Like I said, pretty convenient."
"I'm not sure I like where you're going, Nick."
"I don't like it much, myself. What if Reynolds is compromised? Or worse, what if he's in it up to his neck, part of a plan by a bunch of arrogant elitists to wipe out a big chunk of the world's population and take over? He's supposed to be the most powerful man in the world, but you just told us it looks like he's playing second fiddle to Senator Palmer. Shakespeare would've loved it."
"Shakespeare?"
"Something's rotten in Denmark."
I have been listening to your conversation. I have a comment if you wish to hear it.
Elizabeth said, "Alright, Freddie, tell us what you want to say."
President Reynolds' refusal to consider the information regarding Status 6 is an anomaly. I have run an analysis on possible reasons for his response. Would you like to hear my conclusions?
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Yes, Freddie, please give us your conclusions."
There is ninety-eight point seven percent possibility that President Reynolds is part of a conspiracy to initiate world war.
"Shit," Lamont said.
"Freddie," Elizabeth said. "That is a very serious accusation."
I made no accusations. I simply conveyed the results of my analysis.
"Is your conclusion based on the results of my meeting with President Reynolds?"
Your meeting is one factor I took into account.
"What are some of the other factors?"
I watched a video of your meeting.
"There's a video?"
Cameras have been installed in the Oval Office since Reynolds became president. All meetings and conversations are recorded.
"Big Brother is alive and well," Ronnie said.
Elizabeth's pen began tapping again.
"Go on."
Senator Palmer's body language and facial expressions indicate deception and pre-knowledge of Reynolds' stated conclusion that the intelligence discovered on Kolkov's musical disc is of no importance. Both men were lying. The existence of the Status 6 project has been known for some time, but was thought to still be in planning stages. Kolkov's message indicates there is a finished weapon.
I examined and analyzed production in the Federation of the specific and unique materials needed to build the weapon. Records indicate that at least four may have been created. These records are independent confirmation of the accuracy of Kolkov's warning. Since the intelligence is of high strategic value and both Palmer and Reynolds know this, there is only one conclusion to be drawn by Reynolds' refusal to consider it.
"Which is?"
Senator Palmer and the president are deliberately choosing to ignore intelligence they know is valid. The most logical interpretation of their response to Director Harker's information is that they are part of a conspiracy to leave the country undefended against the threat posed by Status 6.
"Oh, boy," Selena said.
Elizabeth said, "Freddie, it's hard to believe that the president and one of our most important politicians are plotting to begin a war that would leave the country devastated."
The probability of their involveme
nt in a conspiracy is ninety-eight point seven percent. Do you doubt my accuracy?
Freddie's electronic voice sounded annoyed.
"No, Freddie, we don't doubt your accuracy," Stephanie said. "It's just hard for us to accept that these people could be traitors."
I do not understand why it is difficult to accept a factual analysis. There have been many traitors in American history. Would you like to hear about them?
"Not right now, Freddie."
Elizabeth's stress levels were through the roof. Her pen beat a quick tattoo on the hard wood of her desk.
"What do we do about this?" Nick asked.
"Stephanie, find out what you can about the people who came after me. We've got bodies. That means fingerprints. They might be in the system."
"There could be satellite coverage of the attack on your car," Stephanie said. "Freddie can access it. If there is, we might be able to track their vehicles back to wherever they came from. That could give us a lead."
"Freddie."
Yes, Nick?
"Take a look at our parking garage while you're at it. See if you can pick out something that doesn't belong. It's a long shot, but you never know. Whoever planted that bomb had to come from somewhere."
Processing.
"Does anyone have anything else?" Elizabeth asked. "No? Then we're done for now. I don't have to tell you to watch your backs."
"You and Selena need new wheels," Ronnie said. "Let's go see my guy and pick something up."
"Your guy?" Selena asked.
"Trust me," Ronnie said.
CHAPTER 19
Hans Beck sat in the private office of his bank in Hamburg, talking about the Project with Senator Palmer on an encrypted video link.
"These people are like cockroaches," Palmer said. "Every time we try to kill them, they escape and make more trouble."
"Let's not waste any more time or resources with them," Beck said. "It was a mistake for us to go after them again. I take full responsibility."
"But they know about Status 6."
"There's nothing they can do about it. Soon they'll be too busy trying to survive to bother with us."
"How many weapons will be placed?"
"Just the one. But it will be enough."
"I thought there were four."
"There are, but three are not complete. Don't worry, Howard. The damage will be huge, more than enough to justify going to war. The Pentagon will have clear proof the Federation is behind the attack."
"Don't you think we should wait until the other weapons are ready?"
"It will take too long. On Monday, the American stock market will crash, followed shortly thereafter by the rest of the world markets. It will make nineteen twenty-nine look like a celebration. By the end of the week, the world will be in panic."
"I'll get out before that happens," Palmer said.
Beck was annoyed. "Don't be a fool. You can't do that, it might warn people that something is going to happen. Besides, currencies aren't going to be worth anything in a very short time."
"Of course you're right," Palmer said. "I wasn't thinking."
That's the trouble with you, Beck thought. Sometimes you don't think.
He made a note in the journal he carried in his head about the Phoenix leadership. For centuries, the leaders of Phoenix had been called the Council. Beck was the current leader of the group. His memory was phenomenal, almost eidetic. In his mental journal were columns of pluses and minuses for each member of the Council. Palmer had just earned a minus mark. Too many minuses meant expulsion. Expulsion meant death.
Phoenix had been known by many different names, in many different places, always whispered about as an elite and secret society of wealthy and influential men. Occasionally a woman had made it to the top, but not often.
At the moment there were no female candidates. It was less a matter of discrimination than it was of opportunity. Beck had no doubt that women could be as ruthless and efficient as men. The reality was that men simply had more opportunities to prove their ruthlessness in ways that shaped the world.
"How is Reynolds holding up?" Beck asked.
"About as you would expect. As long as things go smoothly, he's fine. He listens to what I say and follows instructions. He just needs to be handled carefully, that's all. I have him under control."
"See that you keep him there," Beck said.
CHAPTER 20
The Pluto nightclub on Zubosky Bulvar in Moscow was internationally known for its erotic themes and strippers. An endless parade of beautiful women in various states of nakedness filled the red-lit rooms and floors of the club. All of them were available for various services that could be chosen from an extensive menu. You could have a female companion for as long as you wished, but nothing was free. For thirty dollars a minute, a client could have his chosen companion crawl under the table and pretend to be a cat or a dog. For seventy dollars, he could have a short dance with a naked partner. The prices for various options of companionship went up from there.
The atmosphere throughout the club was designed to encourage erotic thoughts and stimulate sexual appetites. Red plush walls on the ground floor were decorated with life-size paintings of naked and near naked women. Different rooms were themed differently for different tastes. One room held a strip bar with pole dancers and extremely friendly waitresses. Another had been designed to evoke the aristocratic lifestyle of the time when the Czars were the masters of life and death in Russia. A third evoked the Marquis de Sade and the joys of pain and bondage.
The restaurant featured a selection of exotic dishes from all over the world. On the top floor an oriental spa was available, when a client simply needed to relax with a sensual massage. Comfortable couches and discrete places to lounge with any of the available women were everywhere.
Private bedrooms were available for a price. Everything was available for the right price. Alcohol was plentiful, the food was good, the women were beautiful, and the normal restrictions of society regarding sexual relations were nonexistent.
It was Saturday night in Moscow. As always, the club was packed. The sounds of laughter and conversation on the ground floor reflected the atmosphere of licensed abandon.
Four masked men came through the door leading into a back alley behind the kitchen. They carried Skorpion submachine guns and bandoliers with extra magazines. Each man wore a suicide vest packed with enough Semtex to take out a tank. Surrounding the charges were packets filled with nails and ball bearings.
They made short work of the kitchen staff, then burst through the swinging doors into the main room. Each man had a specific destination within the club. One made for the strip bar and lounge, firing as he went. One went up the stairs to the rooms above. Two began shooting into the crowd in the main room.
Streams of bullets ripped through the bikini-clad women and their escorts. Broad splashes of blood painted the walls and floor. In the red light the blood looked black. Shots and piercing screams came from upstairs, almost drowning out the staccato sound of the guns. People fled from the masked shooters, trampling each other as they tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go. Some tried to hide behind couches, others ran toward the entrance. The terrorists fired without mercy.
After what seemed like an eternity to those left alive, the firing ceased. The lead terrorist raised his fist in the air.
"Allah'hu, Akbar!" he shouted.
The two men reached down and detonated their vests. The two remaining terrorists heard the detonations and followed suit. The explosions ripped through the rooms, filling the air with a mist of blood and bits of flesh. Jagged pieces of metal scythed through the crowd in all directions, cutting down anyone still standing.
Part of the second floor collapsed, crashing down on the bodies of the Saturday night revelers. A cloud of dust drifted over the wreckage.
Then there was nothing except the groans and screams of the survivors and the sound of sobbing.
CHAPTER 21
Gene
ral Alexei Vysotsky stood in the smoldering ruins of the main floor of the nightclub, looking at the blood-splashed walls and twisted debris left behind by the explosions. He made a supreme effort to calm himself. Dozens of body bags lay in rows along one wall.
It was as bad as Afghanistan, or Chechnya. Worse, because this was Moscow, not Kabul or Grozny.
The body count was not complete. The forensics teams were still finding pieces of people who'd been inside the club.
President Orlov had gone into a rage when told of the attack. The first thing he'd done was remove Kiril Voroshenko from control of the FSB. Voroshenko was now on his way to Vladivostok, far from the center of power. Orlov had called Vysotsky into his Kremlin office at five in the morning and given him full command of the FSB, with the understanding that he would root out and destroy the terrorist organization responsible for the outrage.
Vysotsky had what he'd wanted, control of the Federation's powerful security and intelligence services. Whether he could hold onto his newfound position remained to be seen.
A captain from the federal police approached and saluted. His face was tense and tired looking.
"Comrade General."
The old form of address from the days of the Soviet Union was coming back into vogue. Vysotsky returned the salute. "What is it?"
"The witnesses are ready for you."
"How many are there?"
"Six, sir. Many people fled the club. We're tracking them down now. The other survivors are badly injured. They will have to be interviewed at a later date."
"Very well. Take me to the ones who are here."
Vysotsky followed the officer outside. A police van had brought them back to the club on Vysotsky's orders. None had been home since the attack. He wanted to interview them himself, and he wanted them on the scene. It would trigger memories, perhaps bring out some relevant detail easily forgotten in the safety of a hospital or interview room. It might also trigger trauma, but Vysotsky wasn't concerned about that.
He felt a sudden twinge of guilt. He was enjoying being out from behind his desk, back in the field, even for something like this.