Buran stared at her.
“Consider it a double victory,” she said. “The counteragent remains under wraps and the fuel cells my people have designed never go to market.”
He continued to stare, but the intensity had diminished. He lowered the knife slowly. “You’re cunning.”
She met his gaze every step of the way. “Did you really think I would give away all my leverage, my dear Buran?”
The decision came to him quickly after that. The tension and fury left his face. He stepped back and put the knife away. At the wave of his hand, Buran’s men lowered their guns.
“I’ll take your offer to the Consortium,” he said. “Let’s hope the banks are as free with money as you believe.”
“With the economies of the world suddenly begging for oil, they’ll be shoveling cash into your hands.”
Buran turned on his heel and left without further comment. His men followed behind him, swept out of the room like leaves by a strong breeze.
Tessa stood in place, left behind with her people, her computers and her mounting list of problems. They were on a razor’s edge now. And she wasn’t the only one who knew it. She could feel Volke and Woods staring at her.
She knew what they were thinking because she was thinking the same thing. They had to go back to sea. They had to find the counteragent before Austin and NUMA or their lives would be worth even less than the failed fuel cell design.
59
JOE LISTENED as the departing helicopters traveled overhead and the staccato song of the rotor blades echoed through the shell of the old craft he and Priya were hiding in. They’d heard drones earlier, and trucks and other vehicles had come and gone with some regularity.
“Are they looking for us?” Priya asked. There was a raspy quality to her words, brought on by the dust and a lack of water.
“I don’t think so,” Joe said. Making his way to the cockpit, he put his face to the dusty glass, gazing through a tiny section he’d cleared during the night. “The helicopters are heading toward the mountains.”
“Maybe she was meeting with her broker,” Priya said. “Some of her gray money came from this region.”
“Gray money?”
“Of suspicious origin.”
Joe nodded. “She took more than money. By the look of things, she patched that plane together with parts from this place.”
“Which suggests a long history here and powerful friends. That doesn’t bode well for our efforts to escape.”
Joe knew that. Scrapped Russian aircraft, hot days and frigid nights told him they were somewhere in the high deserts of Central Asia. Most likely in one of the Stans—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan or Turkmenistan. All former Soviet Republics with barren areas and plenty of leftover, cast-off Red Army equipment.
It made sitting still their best bet, but remaining in place didn’t mean inaction.
Joe watched Tessa and her people until they disappeared behind another aircraft. With nothing more to see, he returned to the cargo bay. “How’s it coming?”
Priya was sitting on the floor, surrounded by electronic parts. Some of the parts had come from the helicopter’s old avionics system, others had been taken from the Mercedes. She made a soldering iron from a copper wire, powered it with electricity from the SUV’s battery and began building a receiver and transmitter from scratch.
“I still have work to do on the transmitter,” she said, “but the receiver is ready to test. Care to do the honors?”
Joe disconnected power from the soldering iron and rerouted it to the radio receiver.
Using a dial taken from the helicopter’s audio system, Priya applied power slowly. Too much, too quickly, could melt down some of the connections.
Joe sat down beside her and placed two leads on a small speaker they’d lifted from the Mercedes. As Priya adjusted the frequency, they heard static, silence and then finally a station playing Arabic music.
“Not exactly the Top 40 countdown,” Priya said.
Joe smiled. “Still a beautiful sound. What else can you pick up?”
“We should be able to pick up anything that’s transmitting,” she said. “We can go all over the dial.”
With precise movements, she tuned the radio to lower and lower bands. The static returned in various forms and intensities. “We might need a better antenna.”
“Wait,” Joe said, holding up his hand. “Go back . . . Right there . . . Stop.”
“What is it?”
Joe had his ear next to the speaker. “English.”
The reception was so weak and the volume so low that Joe couldn’t make out what was being said.
“Can you fine-tune it?”
Priya put her fingers on another dial, making tiny adjustments. The voices vanished completely for a second and then came back, slightly louder and significantly less garbled.
Joe listened closely. He could barely believe what he was hearing.
Priya heard it, too. “It’s Tessa.”
“And one of her men,” Joe said as another voice chimed in. “But how?”
“We’ve locked onto the bug Kurt placed. It’s still transmitting,” Priya said. “It’s sound-activated, so it stays in battery-saving mode until it picks something up.”
Joe held his ear closer to the speaker, struggling to make out the words. “They just stepped inside the plane,” he said. “They’re standing next to the doorway.”
“Let me boost the power,” Priya said.
She adjusted another dial and the audio came through with more clarity.
“Have you lost your mind?” the man was shouting. “If Buran and his people call your bluff, we’re all dead.”
Tessa replied just as sharply. “Without something to hold over them, we’re dead anyway.”
Muffled sounds that were indistinguishable came next. Followed by more from Tessa.
“Buran and his friends are making unspendable fortunes. I promise you, they will do anything—absolutely anything—to keep the price of oil up in the stratosphere. They’ve spent billions cornering their own particular markets and they’ve been waiting decades for this opportunity. They’re not going to go back.”
“And what happens when they ask for a little proof?” the male voice demanded. “Surely you don’t expect them to hand over all that money without a demonstration? If we can’t show them the countermeasure and prove that it works, we’re right back where we started—dead all over again.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she said. “That’s why we have to find the counteragent.”
“We spent plenty of time looking three years ago. What makes you think we’re going to get lucky this time?”
“Because we’re going to let the experts do it for us,” Tessa said. “Austin and his friends.”
For a moment, everything went quiet. Then Tessa’s voice returned. “As you pointed out, they’re looking for the Minerve already. And since finding sunken wrecks is something of a specialty for them, I imagine they will discover it quite soon.”
“And how exactly does that help us?” the man asked. “Even if they find it, they’ll put a wall of ships around it. We’d need an armada to get through.”
“They will,” Tessa acknowledged. “But not instantaneously. There will be a brief window of time, a gap, in between the moment of discovery and the arrival of any support ships. We’ll make our move while that window is open, descending upon them from the heavens like an angry angel and taking what’s rightfully ours.”
The words lingered in the air. When the man spoke again, his tone had changed.
“They do the work, we take the prize,” he said. “It’s not as crazy as it sounds. Good thing you didn’t manage to kill Austin since he’s suddenly our only hope.”
“We’ll kill him once he’s found what we’re after,” she said. “For now, we need to
move closer to where they’re searching. That way we’ll be able to react the instant they find something.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to put some distance between us and Buran either.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“I’ll get the plane fueled and bring the drones and the men back,” he said. “But what about Zavala and the Kashmir woman?”
“I’ll tell Buran there are a couple of traitors running loose who might upset the table for all of us. He’ll send people out with orders to kill them on sight. He might even enjoy taking his anger out on them, but they’ll die here in Kazakhstan, one way or another. Now, let’s move.”
Nothing else was said and the transmitter shut down after recording footsteps moving away.
Joe and Priya exchanged glances.
“I’ve put Kurt, Paul and Gamay in terrible danger,” she said. “I should have never given in, no matter what they threatened.”
“They would have tortured us until you gave in,” Joe said. “By letting them win up front, we kept ourselves from being broken. And put ourselves in a position where we can still be of use.”
“How?” she asked.
“By warning them,” Joe said. “Can you redesign it to broadcast in a shortwave band?”
“It’ll add some time to the project,” she said.
“We don’t have much choice,” Joe said. “We’re not going to get any help around here.”
Priya nodded. “I better get to work. Shortwaves propagate in the deep of night.”
“Good,” Joe said. “And I’ll help however I can until dark. After that, I’m sneaking back onto the Monarch, where I can sabotage it. With a little hard work, I can keep it on the ground for days.”
60
NUMA VESSEL GRYPHON
KURT WAS ALONE at the helm, lit up by the glow of computer controls, as he piloted the craft westward through the night. A makeshift panel covered the shattered window and the remaining armor had been slid back into position.
It was past midnight when the radar display indicated another helicopter coming in. This time, it was expected. Kurt picked up the microphone, dialed up the NUMA frequency and spoke. “That you, Rudi? Or should I call Paul and Gamay to battle stations?”
“I’d rather not get shot down tonight,” Rudi said. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted,” Kurt said. “Let me find a spot to park.”
“No need,” Rudi said. “I’m still young enough to slide down a cable.”
Kurt turned the exterior lights on and set the Gryphon’s automatic controls to match the helicopter’s course. That done, he pressed the intercom. “The boss has arrived. Better get topside and keep him from going overboard.”
Paul and Gamay heard the call and went to the aft deck to help with Rudi’s arrival. The helicopter was approaching from directly astern, a pair of floodlights on its lower side illuminating the water.
It closed the gap slowly and matched the Gryphon’s speed once it was overhead. A side door came open and Rudi could be seen in the doorway wearing a life preserver and a suit of all-weather gear.
With the two craft traveling in unison, Rudi descended on a cable. The wind and the downwash from the helicopter pushed him backward as he dropped, but the pilot compensated nicely. As he came into range, Paul reached up, grabbed his feet and helped him to the deck.
Rudi unhooked himself and waved to the pilot, who flashed the lights, pulled up and flew off to the north.
“Welcome to the party,” Paul said.
“Looks like I’ve missed it,” Rudi replied, noting the burn marks, dented armor and missing equipment.
“Be glad about that,” Gamay said.
“Let’s go inside,” Rudi said. “I was just on the line with Hiram. He and Max have something to tell us.”
Back inside the Gryphon, Rudi took off the life jacket and the rain gear and found a seat. “The ride on the hydrofoils was incredibly smooth. You’d never know we were cruising at fifty knots.”
Kurt turned. “She runs like a Thoroughbred,” he said. “Even after all we put her through.”
With the four of them crowded into the wheelhouse, Kurt switched the communications system on and accepted an incoming transmission from Washington, D.C. As soon as the link was established, Hiram Yaeger’s face appeared on the screen.
“I see you survived your journey,” Hiram said.
“Are you talking to Rudi or to us?” Gamay asked.
“All of you.”
“We’re just getting started,” Kurt said. “What’s the word?”
“Our search has been successful,” Yaeger announced. “Too successful, I’m afraid.”
“Didn’t think that was possible,” Rudi said. “What gives?”
“We found a possible submarine on one of the old surveys,” Hiram explained. “Then we found another. And, later, we found yet another. We’ve now located six possible sonar contacts that might be the Minerve.”
“Six,” Kurt said sarcastically. “Is that all?”
“Still, better than none,” Hiram said.
“You’re right about that,” Rudi replied. “Send the data through. We’ll take a look.”
“Sending it now,” Yaeger said.
The information streamed in from Washington and a map of the central Mediterranean appeared on the screen. The boot of Italy occupied the middle, with Libya and Tunisia at the bottom, the Greek peninsula on the far right and Corsica and Sardinia and the southern coast of France in the upper left.
One by one, blinking dots popped up on the map. The first was just eighty miles south of Toulon, the second appeared in shallow waters near Sardinia. The next two dots appeared in deep water between Italy and Greece. A fifth just off the coast of Libya. A sixth near Malta.
The sonar pictures came in next. Kurt, Paul, Gamay and Rudi took their turns and examined the raw images.
“The older images are awfully blurry,” Rudi noted.
“Systems have progressed since you were a lad,” Kurt said.
“Very funny,” Rudi said. “I’m not much older than you.”
By the time all the data had come in, talk turned to narrowing down the list.
“I’ve ordered additional teams to be set up,” Rudi explained. “But it’ll be a couple of days before anyone else is ready, so we’ll get first crack at this. Which door do you want to look behind?”
“We can rule out the wreck near Toulon,” Kurt said.
On-screen, Yaeger disagreed. “Max has that listed as the highest physical match to the Minerve’s profile.”
“It’s definitely a submarine,” Kurt said. “But there’s no chance the French could have missed that.”
Yaeger didn’t argue.
“What about the deepwater wrecks?” Paul suggested. “They’re relatively close to our current position and checking them first would speed up the timetable.”
“You’re not taking into account the descent and surfacing time,” Kurt said. “Besides, I don’t think either of those are the Minerve.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because they’re on a direct line toward Israel,” Kurt said. “Would you take the straightest route to your destination if you knew you were being hunted?”
“The Dakar did,” Paul pointed out.
“Another reason to rule those locations out,” Kurt said. “We know the intention was to take different routes home. The course lines leading to the deepwater locations are too similar to the Dakar’s.”
Rudi spoke up. “Rule them out for now. Same with Malta. That leaves the Sardinia wreck and the target off the coast of Libya.”
Kurt stared at the map, running courses and headings through each of the possible locations, making calculations of the time, distance and danger.
“It comes back to the damag
ed snorkel,” Kurt said. “Assuming the Minerve’s temporary commander did what Rudi suggested—sitting still and submerged during the day and traveling on the surface at night—he would still have to worry about French radar. How does he do that?”
“Two options I can think of,” Rudi suggested. “Travel where French radar won’t find you—in the territorial waters of other nations—or line yourself up in the shipping lanes and appear—on radar at least—like just another vessel.”
Gamay spoke next. “The shipping lanes get crowded around Sicily with all the traffic rounding Isola delle Correnti at the southern tip. A missing submarine might easily be spotted, even at night. A chance our friend can’t take.”
A good point. With the French telling the world they’d lost a submarine, the Minerve would have to stay out of sight. “That leaves one option,” Kurt said. “Get as far away from France as quickly as possible and then turn east and hug the African coast.”
“The French were primarily searching with aircraft,” Paul noted. “And every mile away from France means longer transit times out and back and less time on station.”
Kurt nodded. “Going south also puts a larger gap between the Minerve and the Dakar, making it less likely that the French would find both.”
“And if the French are steadily shifting their search grid to the east to account for the known speed of the submarines, they would soon be searching an area out in front of the Minerve while it crept along behind,” Rudi said. “That might explain why they never found it.”
All eyes focused on the target off the Libyan coast. It lay seventy miles offshore in shallow waters of the Gulf of Sidra.
“That sonar image is one of the oldest,” Hiram said. “It’s not very clear.”
“All the same, that’s our target,” Kurt said. “At top speed, we can be there by morning.”
61
CENTRAL KAZAKHSTAN
JOE LAY ON his stomach in the dirt and dust. After leaving the helicopter, he’d made his way past two abandoned airliners and into a weed-strewn section populated by old trucks sitting up on blocks. He’d moved through the collection of vehicles relatively unhindered and had crawled under the last truck in the long line. On the far side, he was less than a hundred feet from the Monarch.
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