then, finally, inevitably, as perfect and correct as the moment could be, he took a seat on the golden chair and smiled, all of the hope in his heart spreading out in waves across the millions who’d gathered, their faces stretching into the farthest reaches of the desert, their voices a steady hum, like an electrical current coursing through the universe.
And his father was there, too, standing beside the bike he’d given Chopra. “Your life has been remarkable, and I am very proud of you.”
His mother and sisters were there, beckoning, even as an evil woman growled in his ear, “Wake up, old man. One more door. Come on. This is it!”
Computer voices.
His hand on something.
A light in his eye.
A prick to his finger.
And then the comforting thump of his heartbeat and the words
He told himself he was submitting to her, if only to keep the boy alive. “Hussein?” he called. “Hussein?”
The armored transport drivers working with Haussler’s Spetsnaz team maneuvered all four BTRs into blocking positions of the tower’s four parking-garage entrances. They placed the tank on the main road facing north, toward Juma’s oncoming forces, and the main gun had already boomed twice, those rounds targeting Juma’s forces, as best Brent could tell without the satellite uplink.
Strangely enough, the BTRs had anti-aircraft guns, but not one of them was shooting at the European choppers, and that fact gave Brent pause.
Why would the Russians not target the Euros… unless they were now working together? And if they were, who had arranged that temporary alliance — even after Haussler had taken out those Badgers?
The Russians did have the European economy under their thumb, so perhaps this was blackmail or coercion of sorts. Whatever the case, the fact remained that Brent had to get past both of those forces to reach his target.
He, Lakota, and Juma crossed the bridge over the canal, but as they turned onto one of the side roads to reach the main highway, incoming fire ripped up the road in front of them. Ah, the BTRs weren’t targeting the choppers; no, they were targeting them.
Juma’s driver floored it as the Javelin missile guy considered firing his rocket while still hanging out the back of the SUV. Lakota hollered at the maniac: The back blast would kill them all — but he kept trying to swing out and shift the weapon so the blast would be directed outside.
“Hold fire for now, you fool!” shouted Brent.
He wasn’t sure the man understood English, but Brent’s tone and expression were hopefully enough.
“Ghost Lead, this is Schleck,” called the sniper.
Brent immediately saw Schleck’s point of view; it appeared he was pinned down, stealing glimpses around a corner. Ahead lay a long, dark tunnel. As Schleck leaned forward, gunfire sparked along the wall, driving him back.
“I see it, Schleck. Start gassing them out, but you move in slow. Buy us some time. They’re sealing off the main tower entrances.”
“Get around them and go in through the Silver Tower,” said Schleck. “We’ll flush them toward that exit. Grid test shows they’ve restored power to the vault security system down here.”
“Okay, that’s the plan, buddy. Flush them toward the Silver Tower. You hang in there. We’re on our way.”
“Brent, it’s me,” said Voeckler, his camera image appearing now in Brent’s HUD. He was behind Riggs. Gunfire boomed in the background. “I’m jamming these local cameras, but I just busted through the encryption being used by the Euros outside. They want to engage the Russian troops, but they’ve just been ordered to hold fire.”
“Surprise, surprise. Keep listening. You hear anything I need to know about, you call me a-sap. And while you’re at it, see if you can break through and get a message back home. Try every satellite you can find.”
“Roger that, sir. I already have been trying. And sir, those Russians coming in here… they wouldn’t be the same guys that killed my brother, would they?”
Brent took a deep breath and lied.
The Snow Maiden finished donning her helmet, then made sure Hussein’s fit properly. They’d known they’d face resistance and assumed chemical weapons would be used against them, tear gas and other less-than-lethal agents at the very least. Their suits were expertly fashioned copies of the Joint Strike Force advanced MOPP gear prototype number six and not unlike the ones being used by the Americans trying to stop them.
“Where’s Chopra’s suit?” asked the boy, his voice coming through the helmet’s speaker via the open team channel.
“Forget it,” she answered, grabbing the kid by the arm as the forklifts rolled into the vault behind her.
Light shone across long metal tables piled high with gold bricks that had been carefully stacked on reinforced wooden pallets. She felt as though she’d entered an ancient Egyptian tomb sans the art and statues, replaced by hedgerows of gold within which you could get lost. The brilliance of all those bricks collected in one place and stretching out for dozens of meters was quite breathtaking, even for someone as stoic as the Snow Maiden.
Chen’s men couldn’t help themselves either, taking just a moment to marvel over the bricks and shout a few words of excitement to each other before sliding their forklifts into position to lift and haul away the pallets. Once loaded, the two lifts began whirring out of the vault.
Meanwhile, she and the boy walked thirty meters to the back, where several computers had been positioned in a corner desk area whose walls were covered by old-fashioned paper maps, mostly terrain maps of various parts of the Middle East. She called in two of Chen’s men with batteries and a power converter to jump-start one of the computers. They finished their job within a minute, and the computer began to boot up.
She shoved the boy forward, then yanked a data key from her pocket. “Show me what I want and copy it here.”
The boy took a seat, pillowed his hands across the back of his helmeted head, then kicked his feet up onto the desk. “All right, bitch, it’s time you listen to me…”
Before she could react, a voice crackled over the team radio. “Hello, Viktoria, are you there? I know you’re busy making a little withdrawal, but I think you and I need to talk.”
The Snow Maiden closed her eyes and willed herself to burst into flames. Nothing happened. She looked up.
The kid raised his brows.
Haussler called again: “Viktoria, I’ve just killed two of your Chinese friends. Don’t make me kill any more. I’ve got this building sealed off. You can’t get out.”
“Watch me,” she growled.
He laughed under his breath. “I know why you’re here and what you’re doing. Do you think Izotov can pay me more than what’s in that vault?”
“Of course not.”
“Then let me help you.”
“You’re lying. You’ll turn me back over to them.”
“Come on, Viktoria. You know me. We’re both opportunists. Let’s you and I seize the day. I’m the only one who can get you out of here. Not this pathetic team they gave you. I have the firepower. And afterward, we can sip champagne — just like the old days.”
“We never did that.”
“We should have.”
She stood there, wanting to call Patti. The Green Brigade was supposed to take care of Haussler. They’d obviously failed, and now she was forced to deal with him. He’d killed two of her men and gained access to their communications, which put them at another disadvantage. She had a decision to make.
The boy looked at her. “Are you going to talk to him or me?”
