CHAPTER 52
John liked being out of the line of fire.
If but for a short while.
He and Monica had fled Bjorko Island. They were now kilometers away, at a new location on Lake M?laren, where they could rest and ready themselves for the final push.
“Pass me the berries,” Monica said to him.
The time was approaching 7:30 A.M. They were enjoying breakfast, Swedish-style. Yogurt, boiled eggs, oatmeal, crispbread, fruit, and smoked sausages. Surprisingly, he was hungry.
Success had that effect on him.
Months ago Wilhelm had confided in Lysa, telling her about the deal the government made with the Czechs, thinking the secret safe within the family.
The king had not been happy about losing the Codex Gigas, which he considered Crown property as it had been his ancestor, Queen Christina, who’d secured its possession.
But as was customary, he’d kept his objections to himself, realizing that he had no real say in the matter.
John told Monica, who reported the matter and gained approval for a limited operation.
Monica had conceived the idea of a “kidnapping,” using Lysa as bait.
His job? Convince Lysa to participate while revealing nothing about the true objective.
She would be kept in isolation the whole time to prevent her from learning more.
Lysa had been thrilled to help, especially since he’d convinced her they were working together on something important for his business.
Thankfully, Lysa was completely self-absorbed, thinking their marriage the perfect union.
He’d fed that illusion by essentially doing and giving her anything she wanted.
Nothing at all to indicate any problems. Divorce was definitely out of the question.
Too much involved. A lot of exposure. So Monica developed a plan to use the “kidnapping” operation to rid himself of a wife.
The explosion should wipe away any and all evidence that might have existed. The trail should grow cold fast.
He handed her the bowl of berries.
Her phone rang and she answered the call instead of taking the food. He held the bowl and watched as she listened to what was being said. Then she said a few words in Russian and ended the call.
He knew better than to ask. But she offered, “I have learned some particularly pertinent information. Something Moscow does not know, but desperately wants to.”
“And how is that relevant to us?”
“It will be our ticket out.”
He liked what he was hearing and gestured with the bowl. “Still want those berries?”
Cotton watched as the wooden crate was loaded into the rear of a dark Mercedes van.
The vehicle was nondescript and unassuming, perfect to blend in with other traffic headed for the airport.
Cassiopeia would be driving. He’d ride shotgun.
The plan, as explained to the library staff, was that at the airport the crate would be loaded onto a chartered EMB 120FC, and Cotton would fly the turboprop south to Prague.
“You got this?” Stephanie asked.
They stood on the loading dock outside the national library.
Stephanie said, “It’s a forty-minute drive and early in the day. I was told traffic should be light heading out of the city.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the only play we have.”
“And the king?”
“He hasn’t been told that his sister is dead. We are going to wait until the codex is in the air before informing him.”
“And when the Swedes realize you double-crossed them?” he asked.
“It’s going to be a problem.”
“The White House is not going to be happy either. Sweden is an ally.”
“They’ll get over it,” she said. “At least this way we’ll have control.
Fox will love that. And the Russians will be out of the picture.
We, of course, have no definitive proof the princess was murdered, much less by the SVR.
The preliminary autopsy report was inconclusive.
No evidence of foul play. The fire masked a lot of markers. ”
“That’s a problem.”
“I can’t help but think that her body surviving the explosion was a mistake. But it may not be one we can capitalize on.” She paused. “We will eventually complete the deal and make the Swedes and the Czechs happy. So that should get us out of the doghouse.”
Cassiopeia walked over. “You ready?”
“Always,” he told her with a smile.
“Calm down, big boy.”
“The question is, are you ready?”
“Sleep is really underrated.”
He faced Stephanie. “Are my toys inside?”
She nodded. “Just as requested.”
“Nice to have friends in high places.”
“Even better to have friends willing to put their butts on the line, just to prove a point,” Stephanie said.
He knew what she meant. He’d listened as Stephanie had told him everything Koger had said, or at least everything she’d deemed necessary to share.
Koger had a problem and a plan. Granted, it was a big ask.
Tons of risk. But that could be the shorthand description of Cotton’s entire life, from the navy to the Magellan Billet and then into a supposed retirement.
His answer, though, to the original question—are you ready—was never in doubt. “We’ve got this.”
“You always say that,” Stephanie said.
“I always mean it.”
The attendants finished loading the crate into the van and strapping it in with adjustable nylon belts.
“Koger’s right,” he whispered to her. “This is the only way.” One thing, though. “For this to work there have to be SVR eyes and ears here.”
“I’ve made no effort to keep any of this secret.”
“Let’s hope they see, hear, and report,” he said.
“It’s not going to work unless they do. Be careful. This could get real, real tricky.”
“Thankfully I’ve become quite the pantser when it comes to planning.”
He was making light of what was definitely a dangerous situation. It was never fun being the fox in the hunt. But at least he and Cassiopeia knew the hunters were coming. He’d given her a choice as to whether to participate. It’s your call. But her answer was never in doubt. Where you go, I go.
He motioned and Cassiopeia headed for the driver’s side. He hopped into the van’s passenger seat as the rear doors were slammed shut.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”