Mastermind- Rise of the Trojan Horse

by Tom Wheeler

“Who?”

  “The CEO of Porsche. I doubt they’ll figure that out for a few hours.”

  “I love you, Mason. Don’t trust her,” she said. “You were wrong about Eva, don’t make the same mistake . . .”

  “I can hear you,” said Rihanna/Émilie—the volume turned up on my phone. “I’m likely the only person either of you can trust. Let me talk to her,” Émilie said, and I handed her the phone. “Take the Pohjoinen Rautatiekatu exit off of Mechelininkatu, then get on the E12—you may know it as Mannerheimintie.”

  “I’m taking the E12 to the E18,” Capucine interrupted.

  “We are going to Meilahti Heliport,” Émilie clarified. “It is at the hospital, not the Helsinki Airport.”

  “Where, specifically?” Capucine asked.

  “Terminal H3 of the Meilahti Tower Hospital helipad,” she said, then handed the phone back to me.

  “Why are we going there, Mason?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

  114

  TRUST?

  Despite every instinct in her body screaming not to trust Émilie, Capucine knew she had to, given that the photo Émilie had sent wasn’t a forgery created by deep fake technology. If Carlos was in cahoots with the Russians, everything that had happened since she had received this mission would have been perfectly designed, particularly since she was forbidden to tell anyone at the DGSE. Capucine was also aware that Eva Cruise was not an android, since Eva had been in tears in the lobby as the police searched the premises for Mason.

  As soon as the events had unfolded, Capucine had snuck out of the hotel. Playing it safe, she left her bag in her room, taking only her essentials and stuffing them into Mason’s bag she’d retrieved from his room, then heading out the back door and walking the block to the garage, where she found the Porsche.

  Within several minutes, she took the exit off of Mannerheimintie, heading through the Taka-Töölö district onto Paciuksenkatu. Minutes later she was turning in to the University of Helsinki Hospital and the parking lot of the Meilahti Tower Hospital helipad. She saw Mason.

  

  “Thank God you made it,” I said as Capucine jumped out of the Porsche. “Did anyone follow you?”

  “No. Are you okay, Mason?” she asked.

  “Well, as usual, that depends on what you mean,” I said. “We are alive and I’m not in prison, but being on the run in a foreign country—again—wasn’t on my bucket list.”

  “Right. Have you called General Crane?” Capucine asked.

  “No. He is likely having a fit.”

  “As is your president, I’m sure,” she added.

  “We need to go,” I said.

  “Where is Émilie?”

  “I’ll show you,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Here, put this on.” I handed Capucine a badge for the hospital as she gave me a look. Quickly, I escorted her through the hospital maze to the helipad, where the most exquisite helicopter either of us had ever seen was sitting, engines running.

  “That’s Émilie,” I said to Capucine, gesturing toward the pilot. Émilie, with her headset already on, waved us over as the engine’s whine filled the air.

  “I’ve been in that helicopter before,” I said over the noise, recognizing the craft from my stint in Iran.

  “What? When?” asked Capucine, almost screaming.

  “When she was transporting me to Hassan bin Laden in Iran,” I yelled. “Remember? I told you she was the pilot.” I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Is this the first time you have seen it since then?” asked Capucine, a quizzical look etched on her face. I nodded. “You can’t stay here, Mason,” she added as her hair blew in the wind from the moving rotor.

  “True enough. But I’m not sure I can get into that helicopter,” I countered, feeling as if I were seeing a ghost. Though Émilie and I had arrived at the hospital together, I hadn’t seen the helicopter until now. And, despite the fact that she had appeared to save me at the hotel, who knew where this woman might take me?

  Émilie was furiously waving to indicate that time was of the essence. Capucine trotted over to the chopper. I could see but not hear her shouting at Émilie, who bellowed something back at her. After peering at her for a second, Capucine ran back to me.

  “I told her you don’t trust her,” Capucine said loudly, “and I asked her if she’s a terrorist.”

  “Like she would tell you!” I shouted derisively.

  “I wanted to size her up,” Capucine barked over the rotor’s sound, glaring at me. “She said, ‘I just saved the moron!’ ” At that moment, Capucine appeared to agree with the epithet. “Then she said, ‘Tell him I accepted Emmanuel because of him. I am not here to hurt him; I am here to help him. I owe him my life.’ ”

  “You’re kidding,” I said as the rotor continued to roar, blowing our hair everywhere.

  “She’s here, isn’t she?” said Capucine. “I doubt she’d go to the trouble of getting you out of that hotel if she wasn’t trying to help.”

  “If you were saying that to me a year ago, I’d agree, but after what I’ve been through, and with the secrets I know, there’s no telling what people might do to skin me alive.”

  Battling back my fear, I grabbed the bags and headed to the chopper, opening the back door and throwing them inside. Capucine and I climbed aboard.

  “You’re a Christian?” I asked Émilie as loudly as I could.

  “Here, put these on,” she said, and Capucine and I put on the headphones she handed us.

  “Yes! I listened, Mason,” Émilie said, tears glistening in her eyes. “I had cancer. Because of what you told me, I prayed, and the Almighty One cured me. I’m so sorry we had to meet under those circumstances, but you saved me, in more ways than one.” My eyes teared up.

  “We’ve got to go,” urged Capucine. “We can talk about that later.”

  “Does that gun of yours have another bullet, or whatever it fires?” asked Émilie.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The weapon you fired at Eva? Can you fire it again?”

  “It has only one shot. Why?”

  “Nevermind, if it doesn’t work . . .”

  “I can charge the gun; but why would we need it?”

  “Just do it,” said Émilie. “I’ll explain in route.”

  “Here,” I said, pulling it out from the back of my pants.

  “Do you have the cable to charge it?” I asked, grabbing the EMP gun from my hand and climbing down from the chopper.

  “It’s in the car,” Capucine said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Émilie as she watched Capucine run off. “Help us, Emmanuel,” she said as I stepped down from the copter to follow.

  “We’ll be right back,” I yelled.

  Ten minutes later, Capucine and I climbed back into our seats.

  “What the heck is wrong with you two?” Émilie scolded, pulling the giant bird into the air with a jolt. She positioned the chopper to head south and took off toward Estonia.

  “You tell us. Why do we need the EMP?”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll explain.”

  115

  The Dynamic Trio

  For the next 10 minutes, Émilie, a.k.a. Rihanna, maneuvered the helicopter across Helsinki toward the Gulf of Finland.

  “What is our altitude?” I asked, leaning forward from the back of the craft.

  “Fifty feet,” she said.

  “I know you’re the expert, but that’s not the safest altitude for a helicopter. If we have an emergency . . .”

  “Under normal circumstances, you’re right. But we are fugitives. The authorities wouldn’t think twice about shooting us down. Right now I am off radar. I think we can trust these engines to do their job.”

  “Where are we going?”<
br />
  “We are heading toward Tallinn, and then to Hiiumaa island, another 20 minutes west-southwest.”

  “And we are headed there why?” I asked as Émilie glanced at me.

  “Last night Roman—Jonah Soul—asked me to pick up Ayesha Bonin from Tallinn.”

  “Who?”

  “Eva’s twin,” she said, turning to meet my eyes for a split second, and my face showed shock.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So I am right! Oh my gosh. How on earth . . . ? Where in Tallinn?” I asked.

  “A yacht club. She was waiting—at 1:30 a.m.—as if taking this flight was the last thing she wanted to do.”

  “Where did you take her?”

  “Back to the heliport in Helsinki, where Roman was waiting,” she said as we continued our flight at 50 feet; I watched her altimeter. “Hey, Mason, would you take the copilot’s seat?” she asked. “Just move carefully.” I moved from the backseat without hesitation. “Take the stick for a minute; you’re a helicopter pilot, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “You told me,” she said. “Wait until you hear what else you told me on our journey in Iran.” My eyes narrowed, since I was unaware what she was talking about. I took the stick with pride and a sense of awe, feeling the thrill of flying such a powerful craft.

  “Just don’t plunge us into the sea,” Émilie said as she began looking at a map. “Anyway, 10 minutes later, Ayesha was back on the helicopter. Roman never mentioned taking her back. I just thought it was another crazy maneuver by an eccentric billionaire until I noticed that her outfit was completely different. So were her mannerisms.”

  “What do you mean, mannerisms?”

  “When I first picked her up,” said Émilie, “Ayesha appeared upset; emotional. You know, normal; didn’t want to be going anywhere at 1:30 a.m. But when she came back, in the other clothes, she was mechanical, didn’t care at all. As if they were two different people, as crazy as that sounds—well, to most.”

  “Jonah, Roman, whoever he is, swapped them out!” I said.

  Capucine’s facial expression showed concern.

  “Who’s the other guy in this picture; do you know?” Émilie asked Capucine, flashing her phone.

  “You already sent me the photo,” said Capucine.

  “Not this one. Look again.”

  Capucine took the phone in her hand and studied it. “I don’t recognize that one man. Have you run it through facial recognition?”

  “Me? You kidding? I’ve got it, Mason,” she said, indicating the stick. “I’m not a spy.”

  “Then how’d you get the picture?”

  “After he introduced himself as Jonah Soul to Mason, I hacked his phone.”

  “So you are a spy,” said Capucine as Émilie took control of the stick. Capucine gave me a look at the photo.

  “I am a survivor,” said Émilie with a slight smile. “I connected the dots between the pictures and texts.”

  “So the Russians are trying to infiltrate the United States government using Eva Cruise,” I said.

  “Like a Trojan horse?” asked Capucine. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Nor did anyone else, which is what makes it so scary,” I said. “You’d think with all the advances in technology, we’d be able to keep track of androids.”

  “Perhaps that is why DECREE 2020 is a good idea,” Capucine said.

  “Or the end of us. We’re almost here,” said Émilie, interrupting as she slowed the craft, headed around the coast.

  “Where are we landing?” I asked.

  “I found a small, isolated area on Hiiumaa. We won’t have long, but perhaps long enough to figure out our next move.”

  “What about fuel?”

  “I filled up in Helsinki. I had several hours to consider this entire mess. We have enough fuel to get to Norway or Denmark. But with everyone looking for us, I’m not sure we can make it without help. Anybody have any bright ideas?” she asked, glancing toward me and then at Capucine.

  “We need to prove that Eva is an android,” I said. “Obviously she, or her double, lives somewhere near that yacht club. Did Jonah give you an address? Sorry. Roman.”

  “He did,” she said. “Can you take the stick again, Mason?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. What’s our heading?”

  “220,” she said, digging into her bag and finding a small piece of paper.

  “Jahu apartments off Suur-Patarei, apartment 205, is what he told me.”

  “You certain he wasn’t purposely misleading you?”

  “I looked it up. It’s an apartment building just a few miles from the shipping port. There is our landing site,” said Émilie, taking back the controls and gently pushing the stick forward and reducing power. The silver bird slowly headed toward the ground, debris beginning to fly until we felt a slight bump as we landed. Émilie took another look around before switching off the engines. We exited and found ourselves standing on a strange island in Estonia, trying to decide our next move.

  “Capucine, any suggestions?” I asked as I gazed around the landing site.

  “I don’t know, Mason. I was told my mission was top secret, and the only contact I had was Carlos. If he’s in cahoots with the others, I can’t call him; unless I did it as a diversion of some sort.”

  “Don’t you have friends at the DGSE?”

  “Because of Carlos, even my friends will likely have made me out to be a traitor, working with you,” she said.

  “Why would they suspect you?” I asked.

  “She’s right; listen,” Émilie said, having picked up a broadcast from one of the local networks on her iPad and turning up the volume.

  “Authorities are still on the hunt for two suspects: American Mason Thomas and a Frenchwoman, Capucine Foushé. They are both wanted in connection with the shooting of Eva Cruise, publicist for US Congresswoman Alexandra Martinez, by what we are told was an EMP gun. An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse generator used to shut down electronic equipment using a transient electromagnetic disturbance. Although Ms. Cruise was not injured, the first floor of the Sokos Hotel Presidentti in Helsinki, Finland, lost power. It happens to be where the International Conference on Manipulation, Automation and Robotics at Small Scales (MARSS) was being held. Anyone with information on the whereabouts of these two persons is urged to contact Helsinki law enforcement. According to sources, nobody was hurt in the incident, but use of the unauthorized EMP gun is illegal and considered an assault on Ms. Cruise.”

  “At least they didn’t mention me,” said Émilie, smirking.

  “That means they don’t know you brought us here,” I said. “Which means the android Eva Cruise should be in her apartment, right?”

  “At least her double,” said Émilie.

  “What about Roman? If he’s involved, wouldn’t he know about this? He likely set it all up,” asked Émilie.

  “Even if so he won’t say anything to the press, since he is in the middle of it, so we have to assume he is aware we are working together,” said Capucine.

  “We’re screwed then,” I commented.

  “Has he tried to call you?” asked Capucine.

  “No.”

  “Wouldn’t he at least call you if he thought you were involved?” Capucine asked.

  “Perhaps you’re right. I couldn’t tell you what that man is up to,” said Émilie.

  “We need to risk it,” I said. “If we find Eva and prove she is an android, and if I let President Tense know, he will likely be able to get us out of this mess without enlightening the world about the androids; or at least he can do it on his terms.”

  “You are assuming we can steal her and make our way to the authorities without Carlos or Roman interfering,” said Capucine. “That is not how they operate. They
will likely be thinking two steps ahead of us.”

  “They may think we’re just trying to get out of the country,” I said. “I already blew it by shooting the wrong Eva. If I were them, I’d want to help the authorities arrest us. They likely think their plan worked.”

  “Somehow Émilie has to find out whether Roman suspects she is involved.”

  “You want me to call him?” asked Émilie. Our eyes met.

  “Yes,” Capucine said. “Tell him you are bored. Confirm when you are leaving. If he knows you have the chopper, then all this will do is confirm he knows. If he doesn’t, then this will give you a hint as to what he is up to. There’s no way he would know you’ve clued us in about the two Evas.”

  “You’re right. How could he?” said Émilie as if a light had gone off.

  “He has no knowledge that you even know who Mason is, right?” asked Capucine.

  “No, not that I am aware; nobody does.”

  “Call him.”

  116

  Deceiving the Deceivers

  “Roman, where are you?” asked Émilie.

  “I have business to attend to. Why?”

  “Some lunatic is running around the hotel, at least according to the news. They told us not to leave our rooms.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone took a shot at Alexandra Martinez’s publicist, at least according to the news. You’re serious, you don’t know?” she asked, playing the game perfectly.

  “What? Already?”

  “Already what? You knew about this?”

  “I’m in the Hernesaari district. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise us, the way the world is these days.”

  “Right. Well, funny thing, this publicist looks exactly like that Ayesha Bonin I just flew back and forth for you. What the hell are you up to, Roman?”

  “Was she hurt?” he asked calmly. “Der’mo!” he cursed.

  “Shaken up a bit, but otherwise no, she’s fine.”

  “What else did you hear?”

  “Like I said, Eva Cruise, or whoever she is, is just shaken up, and whoever shot her is on the run. Or at least that’s what they say.”