Chapter 16
Fifteen hundred miles from the search area in the Barents Sea, a man in a heavy overcoat and boots walked along a snow-covered sidewalk in the heart of Moscow. There was no sign of hurry in his step, in fact he used a pearl-handled cane to balance a visible but manageable limp.
The snow fell around him in large soft flakes.
Perhaps two inches would accumulate. In Moscow that was nothing.
The cars and buses raced along the streets, grinding the slush into the gutters, and the trains ran without delay.
Even the pedestrians seemed unaffected. Half of them hadn’t bothered to wear gloves or even button their coats all the way to the top.
The limping man felt differently about the temperature. He was used to humidity and warmer climates. The chill made his leg ache and dried his skin painfully where burn marks had accumulated. But he’d be warm soon enough.
He was on his way to a meeting that would take place in the labyrinth-like system of underground tunnels that made up Moscow’s Metro system. The temperatures down there hovered at a near-constant seventy-five degrees.
He crossed a busy street, continued on past storefront windows filled with merchandise and holiday sale signs and past the impossibly long, concrete facade of an unadorned and unmarked government building.
He was late, but then his counterparts knew he was late.
He was being watched every step of the way.
He came to a stairwell that descended from the sidewalk. The Metro signage was covered with placards indicating that the station was closed for repairs. The signs were collecting some snow and the caution tape across the stairs was sagging and frayed.
The limping man ducked under the tape, stepped down the stairway, and arrived at a temporary metal barricade that blocked his path. A gate in the barricade was secured by a heavy chain and a formidable padlock.
From his pocket, the man produced a key that had been sent to him.
Inserting it into the slot, he jiggled it back and forth, trying to get the tumblers to fall.
It was easier said than done. The key was new, but the lock was old.
The well-worn tumblers weren’t initially accepting what was obviously a recently made duplicate.
On the third try it popped open, allowing the man to slide the chain noisily through the bars, open the gate, and step through.
He closed the gate behind him, arranged the chain to look secure, but consciously chose not to close the padlock.
It would have felt like locking oneself in a jail cell, something he had no intention of doing.
As he entered the labyrinth of tunnels, the air grew warmer and soon smelled of electrical sparks and oils. He followed the direction he’d been given precisely. Left, right, straight for a hundred feet, and then left again and down another flight of steps.
Like any maze it was easy to navigate when one knew where they were going, but impossible to decipher if a wrong turn or two were made.
As he followed the given directions, it occurred to him that a maze was only a maze to the those walking inside it.
They could see only the walls and branching tunnels, never really understanding the full picture, or even grasping how vast and complicated the network might be.
But to those looking down from above, the entire scene was obvious.
The satisfaction came from watching others struggle to figure out what the builder alone could see.
If the limping man had set things up correctly, then the nations of the world were now stepping into a labyrinth of his creation.
America from one side, the Chinese from the other.
If this meeting went as planned, he would ensnare the third great power in his trap, and from there he could sit back and watch history unfold.
He reached the end of a tunnel, emerging into a dark, abandoned station. A lone subway car waited on the tracks ahead of him, doors propped open, warm light emanating from inside.
He walked to it and stepped aboard. Two men waited for him.
One in a suit and tie, the other in a military uniform.
The suited man had a hard, narrow face and wore rimless glasses.
The military man appeared to be the more jovial of the two, with a heavy build, a jowly face, and gray stubble for hair. He wore a pistol on a leather belt.
The two men stood up as he walked their way. He offered a greeting in Russian and then switched to English. “Gentlemen,” he said. “It’s good to see you after all this time.”
The narrow-faced man offered only a slight nod, gazing at him suspiciously over the rimless glasses.
The military man, a general by rank, stepped forward, studying him.
Cold eyes took in the pearl-handled cane and the burn marks that crept up the side of the limping man’s neck, mostly hidden at this point by the collar of his coat.
“I must say it is surprising to see you, Comrade Ahab,” the general said. “I was told you’d been killed. Drowned like your namesake. But you seem to have survived with only scars to prove your pain.”
The limping man grinned at the use of his old moniker. He’d been using a different alias for the last two years, but it felt good to hear his old name again. “Radiation burns,” Ahab replied. “An unfortunate incident.”
“And the leg?”
“An American bullet shattered my femur.”
The general nodded. “Perhaps that explains why you’re here. I’m told you have something for us. Something the Americans want back very badly. It would be a grand act of revenge to give it to us.”
Ahab offered nothing that could be called a reaction. “I’m not into acts, General Borisov. And I don’t possess what I’m here to offer you. I have only a connection to the men who control it. You may look at me as a highly paid messenger.”
The suited man, whose name was Mishin, got right to it. “And who are these men you refer to?”
Ahab didn’t answer.
Borisov gave him a look and then asked a better question. “What is it they have? And why should we want it?”
Ahab could feel the suited man leaning in.
No doubt they expected and hoped he was about to reference the missing American aircraft.
He made them wait, just a moment or two, ensuring he had their full attention.
“They claim to know the final resting place of the American C-17 and its lethally powerful laser weapon, which the Americans call the EAGL.”
“Then the rumors are true,” Borisov said. “The American aircraft went down after all.”
“Down,” Ahab said, “yes. But not in the way you think. There was no crash. No explosion. No rendering of parts in all directions. The aircraft is in one piece. And the laser compartment and systems are intact, ready for extraction and study.”
Ahab could see the men all but salivating at this point. “There are complications,” he warned.
This statement both knocked the enthusiasm out of the men and set up the next phase of the transaction. Nothing, Ahab had learned, was more motivating to men of power than to tell them they might not be able to have what they wanted.
“What kind of complications?” Mishin asked. The question was sharp. An attorney’s cross exam, or a policeman’s interrogation. It had no tact. All the better, Ahab thought. Mishin had already tipped his hand.
“The Chinese were and are involved. They have agents and a command ship looking for the aircraft, and they expect to receive the location from the hijackers very soon.”
“With you providing it to them, I assume,” Mishin snapped. “Do you really think you can play us against one another?”
“I will provide the Chinese with nothing,” Ahab replied. “They are as responsible for my injuries as the Americans. More so, perhaps. Someone in their government betrayed me. But these men have other avenues to get their message through.”
Mishin sat back, folding his arms. Whether he accepted the claim or not, Ahab couldn’t tell, but that mattered very little at the moment.
“All the more reason to give us the location,” Borisov interjected warmly. “We will take the aircraft and keep it from them.”
“Something I would be glad to do,” Ahab replied, “but I’m not in possession of that information. These men are not fools. It’s their only bargaining chip and they will not reveal it until the end.”
“Hmm,” Borisov replied. “I see.”
Ahab didn’t expect them to trust or believe him, but if they wanted the EAGL, they would have to pretend.
This would keep him safe. It would keep him from disappearing in the labyrinth of tunnels and never emerging.
It would keep him from the interrogation rooms and the doctors with their truth serums.
“And then we have the Americans,” he added.
“We’ve seen their satellites changing orbit to scan our borders repeatedly,” Borisov admitted. “Do they think we have the plane?”
“Initially, perhaps,” Ahab said. “But they’ve seen enough to convince themselves otherwise. They’re busy looking for it in the Barents Sea. And the men involved are well trained, well equipped, and highly resourceful. If the aircraft is findable, they’ll discover it soon.”
“You’re saying it landed in the sea?”
Ahab shrugged. “The Americans seem to think so. If they’re right, your chance to recover the laser will not last very long.”
The two Russian men looked at each other. This was an opportunity they didn’t want to miss.
“How much do the hijackers want?” Mishin asked.
“Two hundred and fifty million dollars in various cryptocurrencies,” Ahab said. “Another fifty million in gold certificates.”
“That’s absurd,” Mishin snapped.
“Actually,” Ahab insisted, “it’s a bargain. The Americans have spent tens of billions developing this weapon. They’re a decade in front of you and it would take twice as much money on your part to catch up. When you look at it that way…”
Mishin was not moved. “How do we know the man contacting you is really one of the hijackers?”
“He has information you can cross-check. Data about the plane that I can share with you.”
Mishin remained aggressive. “And how can we be sure he didn’t just eject and parachute to safety while the plane crashed into the sea and obliterated itself?”
Ahab had expected all these questions, he was ready with the answers. “Because that would leave a trail of wreckage, something neither you, the Chinese, or the Americans have been able to find.”
Again, Borisov jumped in to smooth out the edges of the conversation. “If the hijacker truly has access to the plane, he would be able to produce…” He searched for the right word. “Components. Items specific to that plane.”
“There’s nothing wrong with demanding a bit of proof before you begin throwing money around,” Ahab said.
At this Borisov raised an eyebrow and Mishin nodded subtly. “It would have to be something he couldn’t carry around in his pocket. Something that could come only from the American plane and no other.”
Ahab nodded. Of course he agreed.
“Have this hijacker secure a part that matches Mishin’s request,” Borisov said. “We will choose a time and place for its delivery. Assuming we can verify what he brings us, we’ll talk.”
Ahab silently agreed. While the Russians waited for the proof, they would search frantically for the aircraft themselves, hoping to take it by force and avoid paying. They would find nothing, and their frustration would only increase their need to win the game.
Ahab appeared stoic, but he knew the truth. He had them in the palm of his hand.