“What kind of mess are you in?”
“I can’t say. I just can’t say.” Matson ground his hands together on the table. “You’ll get your money. Just don’t ask me.”
At 2:03 A. M. Gage’s cell phone rang as he was lying in bed next to Faith. It was Viz, Matson’s new bodyguard.
“Mr. Green. I’m with the guy. He made the call.”
At 2:04 Gage called Geneva.
“This is Mr. Green. I have the looking glass.”
Faith propped her head on an elbow.
“Yes, Mr. Green,” the banker answered.
“In two minutes you’ll receive an e-mail containing banking particulars. Transfer the entire KTMG Limited balance to that account except for ten thousand dollars to cover your fees.”
“Yes, Mr. Green.”
Gage flipped open his laptop on the bed table, sent the prewritten e-mail, then called Viz.
“Tell Matson you’ll be taking him north into the mountains for a few days, then to Costa Rica. I’ll give him the details when I get up there.”
Gage hung up and looked over at Faith, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
“Mr. Green?” she said, giggling and reaching for him. “Whatever is my husband going to think?”
CHAPTER 78
Alex Z was sitting cross-legged on the landing in front of Gage’s office building when Gage walked up the stairs the next morning.
“You listen to the news on your drive in?” Alex Z said, standing up.
“No. Your new tracks. It was the first chance I had since Jack got shot. They’re brilliant, even to the ears of an old guy. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
Alex Z swung open the door and held it for Gage.
“Why the special treatment?” Gage asked.
“You’ll see.”
Alex Z led Gage into the conference room, where he found Professor Blanchard sitting, his bleary eyes fixed on a corner television that displayed CNN coverage of an election-eve opposition demonstration in Kiev.
“Hey, Professor, what’re you doing here?”
Blanchard glanced toward Gage, then back at the television. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d catch up on Ukrainian politics.”
“Since last night.” Alex Z smiled and pointed at a cot in the corner. “He snores.”
“Your wife finally send you packing for insubordination?”
Blanchard jumped up, pointing at the television. “Here it is!”
“Explosions in Crimea” burst onto the screen, overlaying unfocused, jerky videophone images of a reporter standing against the earth-toned, minareted backdrop of Istanbul.
A shudder of relief passed through Gage as he dropped into a chair.
Then a voiceover: Turkish authorities reported that NATO satellites over the Black Sea indicate that three explosions occurred at the Ukrainian Crimean missile testing site approximately four hours ago.
Gage looked over at Blanchard, in awe of the old man with the power to reach into Central Europe and derail an arms-trafficking scheme from his little workshop in the Berkeley hills.
Since the accidental shooting down of a Russian airliner a few years ago, NATO monitors all Ukrainian missile tests. Seventy-eight passengers and crew members died in that incident. As in the case of the airplane disaster, Ukrainian authorities are denying the NATO claim. NATO is expected to release satellite images of the explosions later this evening.
“How’d you do it?” Gage asked.
Blanchard glanced over. “You wanted a Trojan horse, you got one. I made the missiles think they arrived at their targets before they left the ground.” He grinned. “And I disguised the flaw by planting a program that invaded their server. When they tested the guidance software, the results screen always displayed SatTek’s most successful performance data.”
Gage imagined the devastation on the launch pads, concerned not about Gravilov and Hadeon Alexandervich, but about the Ukrainian hourly workers who made their living pushing brooms around the missile site. “You think anybody was hurt?”
“Not unless they were riding it. They’re all supposed to be in bunkers.”
“Can they fix the other devices?”
“No. Given how close this is to the shipment date, that wasn’t a test, but a demonstration. Making these missiles was just a cookie-cutter job. And once the software is embedded in the hardware, that’s it. Finito. Burned in is burned in.”
Gage smiled. “Hadeon Alexandervich must be pissed.”
“Who?” Blanchard asked.
“The president’s son. This was his deal. His and Gravilov’s.” Gage paused, thinking about what the Middle Eastern buyers would do next. “I should’ve said their customer-probably Iran-will be pissed. Hadeon Alexandervich is about to wet his pants. It’s a big mistake to annoy the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence.” The rest of the future snapped into focus. “My guess is that they’ll go after Hadeon Alexandervich, and Hadeon Alexandervich’s father will send State Security after Gravilov.”
“I thought Gravilov was the president’s roof,” Alex Z said.
“Looks like the roof just fell in.”
“What about Matson, can’t he buy his way out?” Alex Z asked.
Gage looked at his watch. The banking day in Geneva was over and the KTMG account was empty. “Nope.”
CHAPTER 79
At 3 P. M. Gage turned off the main highway onto a two lane gray-top that quickly dwindled to one, then became dirt and gravel for the last six miles toward Hat Creek in Northern California. The four-hour drive took Gage from sea level wetlands, then north along the Sacramento River, and finally east through scrub oak to pines and redwoods at forty-five hundred feet.
As Gage drove into the clearing, he saw Viz rocking in a chair on the front porch of the small, weathered wood cabin, a pump-action shotgun across his lap. His worn black Stetson rested low on his forehead and his eyes stared toward the river flowing almost silently fifty yards away. His head rotated to the right at the sound of Gage’s car rolling toward him. He stood up, waiting for Gage to park near an outbuilding, then walked down the steps to meet him.
Viz pointed at the semiautomatic in Gage’s shoulder holster. “I didn’t even know you owned one that big.”
“Spike loaned it to me for the occasion.” Gage looked around. “Where’s our little pal?”
“By the river.” Viz pretended to flinch. “Bark at him and I think he’ll start crying. He jumps every time a twig breaks. He thinks he went down there to watch the water, but he really just wants to hide from unexpected noises in the roar of the rapids. The only thing that’s keeping him together is the idea of Costa Rica.”
“Has he seen the news?”
“No. I told him the satellite dish was broken because I didn’t want him in my face all day.”
“It’s time to fix it.”
