Chapter 52
Eidolon paced the floor, ready to go.
Where were they?
Overholt had promised two American operatives would pick him up before the kill squad arrived. The Americans would escort him out of the Darién Gap to safety, where transportation would be arranged for his evacuation to the States—all in exchange for information on Project Q.
Kaarel Varik was the Estonian savant known as the infamous Eidolon. In the hacker world he was a god—an omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient force in the infosphere. His reputation evoked reverential awe among his lesser peers and existential dread from his many victims.
But in person, the shy but brilliant Estonian made little physical impression.
Slightly built and standing just five foot one as a grown adult, he endured endless humiliations including being forced to purchase his men’s clothing in the youth department.
His physical deficiencies and poor personal hygiene attracted no women and his naturally abrasive and impatient personality prevented the possibility of any kind of male friendship.
The resulting psychic rage only intensified through the lens of his mind like a laser, wreaking havoc on the unjust world tormenting him.
But even a man as brilliant as Varik had his resource limitations, and in recent years his enemies had nearly captured him.
His retreat into the perilous Darién to his self-sustaining survivalist compound had saved his life, the jungle and its remoteness shielding him from scrutiny.
More important, his encrypted satellite uplinks allowed him to continue his reign of vengeful terror on the internet.
But now the noose had finally found his neck and he could feel the scratchy rope cutting into his throat.
He was trading his greatest secret to save his life—but only if his rescuers arrived in time.
He checked his watch again. It was late in the evening. They should have been there two hours ago.
Suddenly, one of his security cameras alarmed. He dashed over to the monitor. He saw two hooded figures with rifles trudging out of the rainforest and heading straight for his shack.
Thank the gods…
But the flood of relief that surged through Eidolon’s body turned to ice water in his veins when he saw three more men follow suit.
Overholt said he was only sending two.
Varik’s heart raced. He spun his head around.
His laptop and hard drives were packed up and ready to go—all of it destined for the Americans.
But these were no doubt La Liga men—or mercs hired by them.
There was no question they were there to kill him.
He had no doubt they would add excruciating torture to the penalty for his theft of Project Q.
What to do?
Fight? Hide? Run? None were possible now.
He could have fled earlier if he had known the Americans would fail him, though in truth he hardly had the strength or skill to navigate the long journey through the hazardous jungle.
He only managed to arrive at his compound three years ago thanks to a highly paid escort of mercenaries and native porters.
Besides, where would he go? Nearly every intelligence agency on the planet was hunting for him. The Darién was his final refuge.
The promise of money he could offer them wouldn’t dissuade men like these. Neither would his threats, which would lack all credibility given the circumstance. And certainly not begging—not that Varik would resort to that. What could he bargain with? What could he offer in exchange for his life?
Perhaps there was a way.
Varik snatched up his laptop and hard drives and tossed them into the giant microwave oven in his kitchen, his only means of cooking.
He stabbed the full-power button and the microwave roared to life.
The oven’s magnetron poured out its electromagnetic radiation as he raced around the room, the superheating metallic casings already popping and pinging.
A high-pitched whine erupted as delicate wiring vaporized, followed by the violent snap of rupturing lithium-ion batteries and cracking glass.
Varik coughed as the acrid tang of burnt plastic filled the air.
Heavy boots shattered his front door and three La Liga thugs stormed in. The hawk-faced squad leader sniffed the air and his eyes fell on the humming microwave spitting out sparks and belching oily black plastic smoke.
Varik threw up his hands in surrender.
The squad leader charged over to the microwave and yanked on the handle. More smoke poured out, choking the room. He turned on his boot heel and slapped the smaller man hard across the face, knocking him to the ground.
“Qué demonios hiciste?” What the hell did you do?
“Sorry, my Spanish terrible,” Varik replied in Russian. Of course, that was a lie. Varik spoke twelve languages, including Spanish. He recognized the singsong tone and elongated vowels of the man’s Mexico City accent.
Another steel-toed boot crashed into Varik’s ribs.
“You’re no Russian,” the Cuban hissed in the same Slavic tongue.
Varik balled up in pain. “No, I’m not,” he said in English through gritted teeth.
“So why did you burn it all up?” the squad leader asked. Both he and the Cuban had served in their respective militaries.
“To save my life.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Varik rolled onto his back, his face pinched with pain.
“Your boss will be angry with you if he finds out the stupid thing you did.”
“If I don’t carry out my orders, he will kill me worse than I plan on killing you.” The squad leader pulled his rifle and pressed the barrel against Varik’s crotch. “Tell me why I shouldn’t ruin you now.”
Varik fought back a smile. The man’s hesitation meant he’d found a toehold. Now to make the climb.
“Do you have any idea what was on those hard drives? That laptop?”
“Do I look like a computer scientist to you?”
“What I know is worth billions. Offshore bank accounts, gold vaults, even Bitcoin wallets—to name just a few. More important, I can provide all the information your boss needs to destroy his enemies…locations, secret crimes, betrayals, perversions, government snitches. I’ve got it all.
But if you kill me now”—Varik touched the side of his head—“it all dies with me. What would your boss say about that?”
The squad leader smiled. “How will he know what you’ve just told me? Like you said, your secrets die with you.” He raised the barrel of the gun and placed the muzzle on Varik’s forehead. But Varik didn’t flinch.
“True, but what do you think that kind of information is worth to him? And more important, how greatly will he reward you if you bring me to him—alive, and full of all of this valuable information? Isn’t that what a good soldier does?
Improvise? Adapt? Every boss is looking for that kind of initiative. ”
“You can’t memorize all of that stuff.”
“I didn’t have to. I only needed to memorize one passcode that gives me access to a remote server that contains all of that information—and more.”
“You’re right. I should take the initiative. Maybe I’ll cut off your eyelids, or better yet, dip your face in a vat of acid until you give me your passcode and anything else I’ll need.”
“Of course you can. Do whatever horrible thing you need to. And when I’m in abject pain and screaming in agony, I’ll give you that passcode, no doubt.
The only problem is this: if I’m wrong about just one number or letter or symbol…
or even if I just get one of them out of order, the server will automatically erase itself and you’ll get nothing. What will your boss think of that?”
“Maybe he’ll never know.”
The Mexican grinned as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Varik closed his eyes and drew in his final breath, his gambit failed.
The squad leader laughed as he pulled his weapon aside and turned to the Cuban. “Tie him up.” He turned to the other man, a squat Guatemalan. “Find what you can, and grab it—fast. We leave in ten minutes.”
“Jefe, it’s been a long march,” the Cuban said. “What’s the hurry? Can’t we spend the night here and head out first thing?”
The squad leader squared up. He wasn’t used to anyone challenging his commands. But the Cuban was a good fighter and had earned his respect.
“Our orders are clear. In and out as quickly as possible.”
“At least let me grab whatever food and water this pendejo has. The men are exhausted.” They had broken camp with little preparation under orders to proceed immediately.
“Ten minutes. Then we go.”
“Yes, sir.” The Cuban reached down, grabbed Varik by the collar, and yanked him to his feet.
“You may have bought yourself some time, pridurok. But I wouldn’t trade places with you for all the money in the world.”
Varik nodded weakly, fighting back tears, but glad to still be breathing.
Where are the Americans?