The Sword of Cyrus: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 4)

by JC Ryan

  “Jack, what are you thinking?” Tamara asked, an amused smirk on her lovely face. She’d caught him staring and wanted to see how quickly he could think.

  “Huh?” he answered. Not quickly, then. “Oh, uh, I’m just wondering if we should be lollygagging here when Zlatovski is probably halfway to Paris by now.” As Oleg had anticipated, Jack and Tamara had quickly tracked down the estate agent and received the information that he was heading for Paris. The agent had assumed he was flying.

  “I don’t think he’s headed for Paris,” she said, giving Jack that cool, appraising look that he’d come to recognize as her expression when she was thinking out loud.

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  “It’s something he’d do, leave information that he was going in one direction when in fact he intended to go in the opposite direction. Sam Lewis told us if we didn’t find him in Greece, try Bulgaria. But, I suspect he’s gone to Turkey.”

  “Why?” Jack asked again. Damn, he was turning into a six-year-old, with nothing to contribute but unanswerable questions. Surprisingly, Tamara did have an answer.

  ”Trust me, I know him. He would always leave false information, so I know he isn’t going to Paris. If he is working for these Middle Easterners, why would he not go to them? And, if he suspects someone is looking for him, he wouldn’t use public transportation. Turkey is the closest Middle Eastern country he can get to by driving.”

  “Makes sense,” Jack said, mulling it over.

  “We know from his estate agent that he has sold all of his Greek properties. He’s going to ground somewhere else. Do you have the authority to get confidential records from a Greek bank?”

  “Not in a hurry,” he answered.

  “Then we’ll have to do it by the gut as you say.” Jack almost smiled, charmed by her attempt at American slang.

  “So, you’re thinking he what, bought or rented a car and headed for the closest Middle Eastern country by road?”

  “Exactly. Probably rented. And he probably told the company he was going to France.” Her logic was impeccable. If she was wrong, they’d miss their chance to catch him in a few days, and the cataclysm would be that much closer to happening. But, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. She seemed certain.

  “Tamara, can I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly. Whether I answer will depend on the question.”

  “Fair enough. Sam told me you know this Oleg character. What’s the backstory there? What have your dealings with him been?”

  Tamara stared at him for a moment. All color had drained from her face when he asked the question, and Jack held his breath, hoping to get a real answer and dreading what it was, based on her reaction.

  “He’s my uncle,” she said, her face a mask of neutrality and her voice flat. Jack knew there had to be more to the story, but unless he missed his guess, now was not the time to pry for it.

  “I see,” he said. “So, what are we going to do, try to find the rental company?”

  “There should be a central record with the police department, or perhaps the state police, of anyone who is taking a rental car out of the country. Let’s try there.”

  It was the first he’d heard of such a thing, but if Tamara thought it was a possibility, he wouldn’t question it. That made a lot of sense, actually. They ought to do that in the US, too, he thought, for cars that were going out of state. Then he realized it would be impractical. You didn’t need a passport to get from state to state. And most of Europe would fit in just the Eastern half of the US, if you didn’t count Scandinavia and points north and east. Tamara was already on the move as Jack paid the bill and ran to catch her. If they didn’t find him her way, they could always take the condo he’d just sold as a central point, and canvass the car rental places nearby.

  The power is incredible

  July 4, 2020; D-day minus 25, Boulder

  Independence Day, a holiday, and a Saturday as well. No one but a few store clerks, fast food workers and gasoline station attendants would be working today, and Roy could hear fireworks going off now and then. It was a good day to test his theory.

  Roy had a pretty good idea of how the bad guys were going to design the nanonuclear bombs, and with his help, Raj and his hackers, under the auspices of the joint operation to stop this thing, had been sending out false instructions to any email addresses they could find. However, it was of limited value, since they also arrested the people on the receiving end as soon as their IP addresses had been physically located.

  They were also monitoring incoming communications, but nothing much was flowing in that direction now. Evidently the arrest of the Rossler employees and the arrest and death of Reza Mokri had made the group behind the conspiracy cautious. On this morning, though, a recently-discovered email address had received a message containing full details of the fuels, their proportions, and the trigger mechanism for a bomb. It was what he needed to do an experiment that would tell them how many bombs would be required to produce the effects they’d seen in the picture.

  Roy started cautiously. He calculated a minuscule amount of the fuels, as little as he thought might create the desired reaction, and found an empty warehouse that he thought would be perfect for the purpose of testing. Before he tested, he calculated the potential destructive power of a briefcase-sized bomb and compared it to the destruction wreaked by the Hiroshima bomb. As small as the bomb was, he thought it might still be about equal to the monster bomb that destroyed Hiroshima. Amazingly, that bomb had flattened buildings for only about two miles in diameter, though most people envisioned a much broader area of destruction. Between 600 and 850 milligrams of uranium had created that destruction when it released its heat and energy. The resulting firestorm had finished the job. The very thought of that tiny amount of matter creating destruction of that magnitude boggled Roy’s mind. Therefore, he was very, very cautious of the blast he was about to set off.

  From a distance of over a mile, he detonated his tiny replica of the nanonuke bomb, intending to measure the effects with a variety of objects he’d placed in the warehouse. When he removed his blackout goggles and looked toward the warehouse, his jaw dropped. The warehouse was gone. When he whipped out his calculator to figure the power in megatons, it dropped again. If his calculations were correct, the full-sized bomb he’d postulated was powerful enough to equal about five of the Hiroshima bomb. Everything from five to ten miles radius of ground zero would be flattened and further destroyed in the firestorm. Just one of them would take Manhattan off the face of the map. He didn’t want to think about Washington, DC, or some of the smaller European capitals in terms of land area.

  Roy needed to report this result to Sam Lewis immediately, as well as notify someone that the warehouse owner was probably going to want some compensation for his building, the landscaping surrounding it, and the parking lot, which was now melting in the extreme heat of the firestorm. Sirens sounded in the distance, making him understand that not only firefighters but probably police would be there any moment. Now would be a good time to leave.

  When Roy returned to his office, he found Salome there waiting for him. Startled at first, he regained his composure unusually quickly considering there was a woman involved. Something about Salome was different, relaxing him instead of making him tense. Not only was she a knockout in the looks department, she understood him when he talked about science. He’d never met a woman like her.

  “Hi, Salome. Were you waiting for me?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Roy kicked himself for being a dork. Of course she was waiting for him - she was in his lab. But, she didn’t seem to notice his gaffe.

  “Roy, I’m glad you’re back. I need your help, if you aren’t too busy.” She gave him a questioning look, and he forgot that he had an important message for Sam.

  “Not at all! What can I do for you?” Roy blushed, wondering if she’d get the double meaning. Again, Salome didn’t seem to notice.

  “Since the Agency seems to
have a line on the guy that set up the comms network, I’m shifting my focus to the scientists that must be involved in using the information they got from the spies here at the foundation. I sort of understand the science, but you may be able to help me nail it down better, and suggest some names who could be involved in the Middle East. Until we find the spymaster of the network or someone else who can help us locate the mastermind, I have to turn over every rock I can think of.”

  “Sure! Where do you want to start?” Roy was all for helping to stop what he’d just proved was entirely too real for his taste.

  “I’d like to know if you or anyone you know would be able to give me a list of the most likely scientists in the Middle East to be capable of this kind of research. And where they are employed if possible. The first thing to do is determine if they’re missing, and if so, see if we can find out where they went.” Salome watched the wheels turning in Roy’s brain as she spoke, and had the thought that he was actually very attractive when he wasn’t falling all over himself in shy confusion.

  “Okay, let’s do this. Got a pen and paper handy?” Salome nodded, removing the objects from her shoulder bag that was combination purse and briefcase.

  “I’ll name everyone that I know, and then give you some other names here to call for the same info. They’ll want to know why.”

  “I’ll deal with that, make up some kind of cover story.” She made herself as comfortable as possible on one of the high lab stools and prepared to write as Roy began reciting names.

  When Roy had given Salome every name he could think of, he excused himself to report to Daniel on his little experiment. It didn’t occur to him until he saw Daniel’s red face on his phone’s screen that taking the time to help Salome before reporting to Daniel had been a bad idea.

  “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through in the last hour?” Daniel said, barely restraining himself from shouting. “The police have been here asking what we thought we were doing. The warehouse owner is threatening to sue, and the nearest neighbors have been informed that we caused that explosion, so I’ve received a dozen calls at my home about broken windows. I’m sure that on Monday, there’ll be a shit-storm. Where the hell have you been?”

  Roy blinked, taken aback. “Sorry, Daniel. Salome needed my help, and I guess I didn’t realize it had taken so long.”

  Daniel took in the lanky scientist’s hangdog posture and regretted his anger. “Never mind. What do you have to tell me?”

  Roy perked up, eager to report the awesome power of just a gram or two of the nanofuels. “These bombs are incredible, Daniel! I used the smallest amount of fuel I could accurately measure. The specs of the ones these guys are actually making are going to create some major damage.”

  Daniel did a mental double-take. Hadn’t Roy seen for himself the damage they’d cause? He was talking as if he admired the plan. “How much fuel to do this?” he asked, holding up the photo of the destruction of Boulder.

  Roy sobered immediately, reminded that this was not just an interesting scientific experiment, but a matter of life and death. “Not much, Daniel. Less than you could fit in a waist-pack, I’d guess.”

  “Oh, shit,” breathed Daniel. He needed to report this to Sam Lewis right away.

  I wanted to capture him

  July 5, 2020; D-day minus 24, Istanbul

  Jack and Tamara had been in Turkey for just over twenty-four hours, and Jack was growing tired of the woman always assuming the lead, no matter how much he wanted to get her in bed. It had been her idea to let Zlatovski get to his destination by car while they flew there to intercept him. Since they had no idea who his contacts were or where he’d turn up, the two of them had wasted most of yesterday just sitting in outdoor coffee shops and eating establishments that she insisted were the type of places where her uncle would hang out. The trouble was, there were hundreds of them. At nearly midnight, they returned to their hotel and turned in, unable to go without sleep for another night.

  By now, Oleg could be anywhere in the world, while they cooled their heels in the city Tamara insisted Zlatovski would have run to. Jack wasn’t at all certain their quarry hadn’t gone to Paris, as he’d told people, or Budapest, where Sam Lewis expected him to go. But, his orders were to follow Tamara’s lead and protect her. While he was doing that, who was running Oleg down so that they could save the world? That was Jack’s question.

  It was true that Tamara was beautiful. It was also true that she was a pain in the ass. Just like Jack’s ex, always right, in her own eyes. Emasculating. He’d far rather work with a male partner, as an equal, than kowtow to an opinionated, calculating bitch like Tamara. Now, if there were other benefits involved, he could deal with it. He’d love to crowd her until she admitted she wanted him. Jack had seen the looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t noticing. Smoldering eyes, if ice-blue eyes could be said to smolder, appraised his body, taking in what he knew was an appealing build that he showed off in well-cut slacks and ever-so-slightly tight shirts. If it ever happened between them, sparks would fly, he was sure of it.

  “Tamara…”

  “Jack…”

  They spoke at the same time, after a long silence in which each had been lost in his or her own thoughts. Jack laughed nervously, while Tamara gave him another of those cool, appraising looks. When he didn’t speak again, she continued.

  “I need to make some calls. Stay here and text me if he shows up. I’ll be right back.”

  There it was again, the way she directed him as if she alone were in charge, and he an assistant of some sort.

  “Yes, your majesty,” he muttered under his breath as she strode off. Bitch.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Tamara ducked into an alcove and checked her cell phone signal. Three bars, good enough. She dialed, and when she heard the greeting, spoke in Russian.

  “Hi, Dad. It’s me, Tamara. Did Chustikov tell you he sent me on a mission?” Her father, also an operative, though retired, of the FSB, may have been privy to the mission, she thought. She wondered what kind of a shock he’d received when he learned his brother was alive. If, she amended, Chustikov had told him.

  “Tamara, it is good to hear your voice. Are you staying safe?” Her father would eventually answer her question, but not before he’d fulfilled his own agenda.

  “Yes. The Americans saddled me with an over-developed jock, but so far he’s staying out of my way. What did Aleksandr tell you?” Tamara’s eyes darted around as she spoke, always on the lookout for danger. Because she was tucked into an alcove, she wasn’t worried about danger from behind, but it could come from either side or directly in front of her, so she kept a careful vigil.

  “I know who you’re hunting. It’s hard for me to believe he’s alive.” The voice was anguished.

  “It’s hard for me to know it and not be able to get my hands on him. You know I’ll kill him, yes?”

  “Of course. What he did to you, my dove. I should die for not protecting you from him, too. Your mother died of sorrow. Her death is on my head as well.”

  “Dad, he made sure that no one would know. Told me he’d kill me and both of you if I ever revealed what he was doing. That’s why I only told you after he was dead, or after we thought he was. Now I’m glad he isn’t. I’m old enough now to defend myself, and to take my revenge. I’m going to enjoy it.” Tamara’s voice shook with the savagery she felt whenever she remembered the monstrous abuse her uncle had put her through as a child. She hoped that she could make his death long and very, very painful. The last indignity she’d inflict on him would be removal of the offending part. He’d never rape another little girl, not even if she failed to kill him. But that wouldn’t be likely. She’d kill him all right, unless she decided it would be worse for him to leave him alive.

  First, she’d have to get Jack Johnson out of the way. They had different missions, Jack and she. His was to bring him back for questioning. She intended to question Oleg all right, but she intended to extract his in
formation in the most painful way possible. Then, she’d take her revenge, and would laugh in his face as she did so.

  “Listen, Dad, I can’t talk any more. I called to let you know that I need your help if he gets in touch. We’re in Istanbul. Let me know if you hear from him, okay?”

  “Yes, daughter. I will help you. I’m sorry that I can’t be there to help you punish him.”

  “Dad, I want to do that for myself. Thank you for understanding.” Tamara rang off, and sauntered back to the cafe, where she found Jack fuming at having been left behind. Honestly, he was like a child. Always pouting about something. She’d like to spank him, but he’d probably enjoy it.

  ~~~

  July 5, 2020; D-day minus 24, Istanbul

  Deeply concealed behind numerous draperies in a souk on the outskirts of town, Oleg considered his options. He could feel an itch between his shoulder blades that he interpreted to mean that his sixth sense was warning him of his niece’s proximity. Should he fly to Paris after all? What if there were a world-wide APB for him? He’d be walking directly into a trap. No, he’d better stay in the Middle East, but where should he go next to avoid being pursued by Tamara?

  Oleg knew that Tamara had grown up to be as beautiful a woman as she had been a child. His peculiar tastes ran to all ages, from twelve or so to women his own age, but the sweetest of all had been his niece. It was particularly enjoyable to ruin her because he’d always been jealous of his younger brother, the darling of his mother and so much more popular among their peers. Faking his death and cutting all ties hadn’t been a hard decision for him. He hated his family, and would gladly do again what he’d done to Tamara, even though he knew she would now hunt him to the death.