“Not overseas— the paintings would be confiscated, and he'd be a felon. In addition, I suspect he's moving stolen art, and some of the ‘legal' transactions include such odds and ends as the original owner of Sterling's latest acquisition washing up dead on a beach.”
Mention of a murder seemed to have finally caught Seth's attention. “Where would
come in?”
“Well, he's obviously making these transactions discreetly… and he may be using the same conduit to move his artwork as Kafelnikov. In fact, Sterling may
that conduit… that may be what brought the Russian to Seattle.”
“So Sterling's scam will lead us to the LA guy's scam.”
“My instinct is it's the
scam.” He handed Seth a slip of paper with an address on it, and some security info Logan had hacked. “Your next stop… ”
Seth glanced at the paper, memorized in an instant, and tossed it on the nearby computer station. “You're the boss,” Seth said, with only the faintest sarcasm.
Logan walked him to the door. “And do me a favor, Seth?”
Seth smirked. “Why not?”
“Please don't kill this one right away.”
“Which one you talkin' about— Sterling, or this Russian guy?”
“Either. Neither.”
Seth shrugged. “Fine— but take this Russian, for example. Look at all those gang kids he massacred. Guy is an evil dude— and he's tied to damn
Wouldn't the world be better off without him?”
“Just gather the information, Seth.”
Seth was shaking his head, truly not getting it. “If this Kasselrock is the problem… ”
“Kafelnikov.”
“… then killing his evil ass ought to
the problem… his part in it, anyway.”
Logan grasped the X5's arm. “Seth, if you kill him, we'll never know what happened to the paintings he's already smuggled… assuming, of course, that he's the right guy to begin with.”
“If these paintings are gone, they're gone. What's the difference?”
Logan wasn't sure whether Seth was… teasing him, or really was this bloodthirsty; probably the former, but that he could even be considering the latter was very disturbing…
“Seth, we need to know if Kafelnikov is tied to Manticore… and if so, how, and why.
our best lead, at the moment.”
“You don't mind if I let
motivate me,” Seth said, “and not some sense of preserving ‘Americana.' ”
“Not at all. But watch your all-American ass, my friend. The Russian, whose name you refuse to learn how to pronounce… ”
Proving he'd been yanking Logan's chain all along, Seth said, “Kafelnikov.”
“Any way you say it, Seth, he's a dangerous man.”
Halfway out the door, the X5 shrugged. “
a dangerous man.”
Logan couldn't think of anything to say to that.
MANTICORE HEADQUARTERS
GILLETTE, WYOMING, 2019
Colonel Donald Lydecker sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on its Lucite-covered metal top.
Had Max been there to see him, she would have noted that he looked little different than he had when the X5s broke out of Manticore back in '09. The years had been kind to Lydecker, despite an alcoholism problem that he had kept in check during that same time span. His blond hair now contained a few straggling grays but was thick as ever. His icy blue eyes had changed only in that he now needed glasses for reading, and more “smile” lines had been etched in the corners. His body was still tight and muscular… it just took a little more effort these days, to keep it that way.
His office was strictly government issue, the walls and ceiling a pastel mint green, the file cabinets, chairs, desk, and computer table all standard institutional gray. Not one personal item adorned the top of his desk or any other part of the anonymous, no-nonsense office. Only his black shirt, slacks, and leather jacket were— because of his sub-rosa status— not GI.
Across the desk from him were two subordinates— a kid in his early twenties, Jensen, and an African American in his mid- to late thirties, Finch. The two men stood at attention, soldiers in civilian suits and ties, and Lydecker thought he detected a slight trembling in both.
It pleased him that they feared him— in his lexicon,
and
were analogous. He let his breath out slowly, calming himself, getting centered, just as he'd taught his kids.
“I've been watching video footage of one of our X5s— a male.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“And where do you suppose I got that footage?”
They glanced at each other quickly, then turned their eyes front. Neither man spoke.
“Perhaps I got it from our own intelligence efforts. Do you think I got it from our own intelligence efforts, Mr. Jensen?”
“… no, sir.”
“How about you, Mr. Finch?”
“Yes, sir… I mean, no sir… ”
Lydecker sighed, just a little. “I got it from SNN.”
The two men stared straight ahead; they might have been carved from stone… if stone trembled.
“Would someone please tell me why the Satellite News Network can find one of our kids, and we can't?”
Finch and Jensen had no answers.
“Mr. Finch, I want our people at the offices of SNN within the hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Finch said.
“Mr. Jensen, I want to know the source of this tape.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I don't want it tomorrow. Dismissed.”
The two men saluted, turned, and left.
Lydecker turned to the TV and VHS machine on a cart near his desk, and played the tape again. He watched the grainy picture as the young man leapt across the screen. He knew immediately it was one of his X5s. Judging by the athleticism of the boy's moves, Lydecker figured the young man on the tape was Zack, or perhaps Seth. The two oldest subjects, they had always been the best athletes of the X5 program.
Lydecker could only appreciate the athleticism of the young man, the beauty of his discipline. If this one was anything to judge by, these kids were growing up to be just what he and the others had dreamed they could be. Watching his creation clean the clocks of five police officers in less than forty seconds, Lydecker felt a surge of
