Black Rose (4 page)

CHAPTER 7

General Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky, Director of Department S of the
Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki
, Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service, sat behind Lavrenti Beria's old desk and poured himself a glass of vodka. Vysotsky looked a little bit like Beria, with piercing black eyes, a broad face and bushy eyebrows. He was still in his 50s, but years working in Russian intelligence were beginning to show. He'd put on weight since his days as a field agent, adding bulk to his stocky form. His hair had started to recede and was streaked with silver but Vysotsky was still handsome enough to draw a woman's eye. He had the appearance of someone dangerous, someone who would be a bad man to cross.

It was ten in the morning. This was Alexei's first drink of the day but it wouldn't be the last. Vodka for Vysotsky was like water for most people, though he was starting to notice the effects sooner and the hangovers were lasting longer.

He finished the drink, thought about another, and decided against it. The bottle and glass went back into his desk drawer, right where Beria had kept his supply when he was chief of the secret police under Stalin.

Alexei had plenty of reasons for drinking today. Major Kaminsky had been one of his best men. He'd been grooming Kaminsky to take the place of Arkady Korov, killed during a clandestine operation in America.

Kaminsky had performed at his best, getting into the North Korean complex and out again with the samples. A daring and difficult mission with great risks, accomplished with precision. So how did Kaminsky and his men end up dead while making a simple delivery on Russian territory, safe territory, all the while traveling in a secured, military train?

The whole operation had suddenly turned to shit.

The Kremlin wanted answers. So did Vysotsky. Losing Kaminsky was bad enough. Losing the lethal bacteria the Koreans had developed was worse. Someone had it. The question was who? Who had the resources to stop that train, eliminate the guards and then eliminate Kaminsky and his men? Serious men,
Spetsnaz
soldiers, the best in the world.

A more unsettling question beyond who had done it was why?

Alexei assumed that whoever had stolen the case with the samples knew exactly what was in it. There weren't many who could know that. The Americans, perhaps, but they would never mount an operation like this on Russian soil.

The Chinese almost certainly would know. Beijing's relationship with the Great Leader was erratic, as could only be expected for anyone trying to deal with that lunatic. But the Chinese were his only allies.

They would have known what was hidden in that lab
, Vysotsky thought. Still, it would have been difficult for a Chinese hit team to get so far into the interior of the country without being spotted.

Then there was an even more disturbing question. How had the attackers, whoever they were, learned of the transfer to Sverdlovsk? The route, the train, the date and time? It had to be someone within his own organization. There was a traitor somewhere, in Department S or even higher up in SVR. It could even be Russians who had stolen the samples. It was enough to give him a headache.

Alexei sincerely hoped it hadn't been terrorists behind the theft. If the Chechens had done it, it would be a disaster. The possibility had to be considered, but Alexei thought it was a long shot at best. The attack had been too well coordinated, too professional. It had to be a government unit. But who had the balls? The Israelis? The Iranians? For the moment, the Chinese seemed the best bet.

At times like this he missed Korov's practical advice. Arkady had been a good sounding board for his ideas, always practical, fiercely loyal to the
Rodina
, the Motherland. Trustworthy. The best Vysotsky had ever seen in the field. He'd even been able to work with the Americans without becoming infected by their corrupt ideology.

Alexei thought about opening the drawer and reaching again for the vodka but he resisted the urge. He needed a clear head this morning. He was due at the Kremlin in an hour for a meeting with the Security Council. The Director of SVR and his counterpart in the FSB, Russia's internal security service, would be there. The Council reported to the president. The meeting had been called to look into the raid on the train but Alexei knew the real purpose was to assign blame.

At one time the two agencies responsible for Russia's internal and foreign security had been part of the same organization, directorates under the glorious banner of the KGB, back in the day when Alexei had been a young, rising KGB agent. Now they were separate agencies, but the old rivalries and jealousies that had existed during the days of the Soviet Union, the jockeying for position and influence, those things had not changed.

He knew what was expected of him by his boss. It should be relatively easy to lay most of the blame at the feet of the FSB. Even so, Alexei was certain the issue of who had tipped off the raiders was bound to surface.

Somewhere in the Kremlin, knives were being sharpened. It was necessary to find a scapegoat. Alexei Vysotsky was determined that it would not be him. He was going to find out who had those plague samples and get them back.

CHAPTER 8

Rain streaked the facade of a handsome eighteenth century château located a half hour out of Geneva. The building sat on a spit of land jutting into the River Rhône. Water ran in rivulets over a prominent stone bas-relief set over the grand entrance. The carving showed an all-seeing, radiant eye, centered over a nine-pointed star. An inscription bordered the design:

AETERNUS EST ORDUM NOVO

Translated into English, the inscription read:

THE NEW ORDER IS FOREVER

Johannes Gutenberg sat in a dark leather chair in the spacious high-ceilinged library of the château, holding a crystal snifter containing a generous helping of Louis XIII cognac. The polished wooden floor was covered with a fine Persian rug that had once graced the Shah's palace. Rain beat in intermittent gusts against the tall windows of the library, blurring the view of the river flowing by. For a brief instant the sun broke through the dark clouds roiling the afternoon sky and bathed the room in storm light glow.

Gutenberg swirled the smoky amber liquid in his glass and held it to his nose. He inhaled and smiled. There was nothing like it, a distinct aroma that spoke of age and the skill of the master distiller who had created it. It spoke of educated taste, of wealth and power. Wealth and power were two things of great concern to Johannes Gutenberg. Not the getting of them, he had plenty of both. It was the application of them that concerned him, as it had his predecessors in the organization.

AEON had gone through many changes over the centuries. The latest incarnation had emerged during the 1700s but the organization traced its beginning to the time of the Knights Templar. Once it had been part of the Templars but that changed in the thirteenth century when a faction of the order had broken away. Their successors had manipulated the Pope and the King of France to launch the 1307 persecution that shattered the Templars' hold on power. True power lay in the shadows, not on the throne. It was still that way, all these centuries later.

A small group of the original Templars that called themselves the Guardians had escaped the King's soldiers, well aware of who had betrayed them. They still existed and were led by a man Gutenberg knew only as Adam. Their purpose was the defeat and destruction of AEON. It was a hidden war that had been going on for seven hundred years.

The Guardians had never succeeded. If Johannes had his way, they never would. They were troublemakers, all of them. Because of them, plans had been disrupted, important plans. They were the ones who had alerted that American woman's group to AEON's existence.

Gutenberg sipped his cognac.
On the other hand, if it weren't for the Project, I wouldn't be in charge.

The thought pleased him. Before the Project got involved, there had been nine leaders of AEON, nine wealthy men scattered over the globe. Leadership of the group had always been based on success and the consent of the others. Failure had only one result: death. Interference by the Project in AEON's operations had reduced the leadership board to seven and opened the way for Gutenberg's ascension.

The attrition of leadership could not be allowed to continue and the rules had been changed. Success was still the criterion for remaining as chairman but the death penalty for failure had been rescinded. It made for a more congenial atmosphere. The current board had achieved a good working harmony under Gutenberg.

Success with the Russian operation more than made up for the recent failure in India. The samples of plague stolen by the Russians from the Koreans were safe in Krivi Dass's pharmaceutical laboratories in Zurich. When a vaccine to prevent the disease and a drug to cure it had been found, the next phase of the plan would begin.

Krivi Dass was one of the ruling seven and a close ally of Gutenberg's. Johannes felt comfortable with Krivi. Even his wife liked him. For Gutenberg, that was an important litmus test.

If Johannes had a weak spot, it was for his wife Marta. In Marta's eyes, Johannes was a successful businessman who happened to own one of the oldest banks and greatest fortunes in Europe. Marta saw him as a philanthropist who gave freely to numerous charitable causes, a man with heart. It was doubtful that any of the millions of desperate people who had been pushed further under by Gutenberg's rapacious policies would have agreed with her.

Gutenberg never allowed his feelings for her to interfere with business. Marta would be horrified if she knew what AEON did and what his role was in guiding it. But she would never find out. Johannes was careful to make sure of that.

Johannes Gutenberg was addicted to the use of power, a drug he found more powerful than the finest opium. The application of power brought unfortunate results for some, but that was inevitable when you were building a new world order, where everyone would know their function and place. A world ruled by AEON from behind the scenes. The time was coming when events would make that world possible. Success was closer than it had ever been. Of course there were obstacles that needed to be taken care of before then.

One of those was the Guardians. Johannes sipped his liquor and thought of the trouble they'd caused in the past. The interference of Adam and his group could not be tolerated. It was time to remove them as a factor.

Another problem was Harker's group. That might prove more difficult, but Johannes enjoyed a challenge.

Gutenberg lifted his glass to the rain-swept windows.

To the New Order
, he thought, and drank.

CHAPTER 9

It was six in the morning of a freezing February day. Three inches of new snow covered the grounds outside Project headquarters.

Stephanie was early for work, anxious to go over the surveillance report of the North Korean bio weapons facility. The report covered a period of several days before the raid and ended two days later. The computer had compiled a sequence of video shots taken from a hundred and twenty miles up by the NROL-67, the latest in a string of sophisticated spy satellites that formed the U.S. Space and National Reconnaissance Surveillance program.

The videos were astonishing, clear and sharp in every detail. The satellite provided a bird's eye view of everything. Most of the Korean complex was invisible, hidden inside a mountain. A paved road led up to the facility from a broad valley at the foot of the mountain. Anti-aircraft missile batteries were mounted in strategic positions around the complex. The computer identified the missiles as Chinese copies of the Russian V-750, using the obsolete S-75 Dvina launching system. It was the same system that had caused trouble for U.S. pilots over Vietnam. It was an old design but still deadly.

A high fence barred entry to the complex. A guardhouse and gate fronted a wide courtyard and vehicle park. The satellite was programmed to note activity at the compound and capture details of individuals and their movements. Rank designations on sleeves, collars and shoulder boards could be identified. Documents presented for inspection could be read, if the angle was right. Facial features were clear and could be matched by an analyst against a known database of personnel, Korean and otherwise.

Stephanie began watching the videos. She didn't expect to find much before the raid itself but she liked to be thorough. She was looking for anything unusual. Civilian workers left at the end of each day and returned early on the following morning. She noted routine guard changes and the regular arrival on alternate days of a white van. The van would come to the gate, pause for inspection, then be permitted to enter the compound. Two men in white utility uniforms and white caps would get out, unload boxes of produce from the back of the van, and cart them into the unseen tunnel leading into the mountain. Twenty or thirty minutes later they'd reappear with trash, load that into the van and drive off.

Nothing ever seemed to happen at the base except for the civilian traffic, the van delivery and the changing of the guards. She came to the day of the raid. The van pulled up at the usual time. A guard emerged from the hut for the inspection, as he always did. Then everything changed.

It was like watching a movie on television with no sound. A hand holding a pistol came out of the window of the van and fired. The guard stumbled backward and fell. Men in black balaclavas piled out of the van and began shooting at whoever was inside the guard shack. Stephanie saw the windows shatter. One of the men in black was larger than the others. He gestured and the others followed him into the complex.

The dead guard lay sprawled on the courtyard pavement. The van idled in the chill air, wisps of exhaust smoke visible on the video. An Asian looking man in a white uniform stepped out of the cab and lit a cigarette. He had a pistol in one hand.

Exactly twelve minutes and forty-three seconds later, the raiders came out of the compound into the daylight. One of the men carried an aluminum case.

The plague samples
, Stephanie thought. The large man she believed to be the leader reached up as if something bothered him under the ski mask and pulled it off to scratch. For a few seconds his face was visible.

Got you
, Stephanie thought. She froze the video for a moment and entered commands on her keyboard. The computer began searching the database for a facial recognition match.

He was a white man, not Korean or Chinese or Asian. She restarted the video. The leader got into the back of the van with the others. The driver was already behind the wheel. The truck pulled out through the open gates, past the dead guard, and started down the road. A minute later a thick cloud of smoke and debris billowed out of the entrance to the complex.

Twenty minutes later, the computer signaled a match to the still shot. Stephanie looked at the result and swore under her breath.

Elizabeth won't like this
, she thought. She took the printout and went upstairs to Elizabeth's office. Harker was at her desk. It was still early. The others had not yet arrived.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said. She saw Stephanie's expression and the paper in her hand. "What is it."

"I have the results from the satellite surveillance."

"What did you find?"

"It was the Russians who hit the Koreans," Stephanie said. "Zaslon. I identified the leader. He's a Spetsnaz major named Kaminsky. We ID'd him in Aleppo last year."

"The Russians? Damn."

"Yes."

"I never would have expected that. Zaslon is General Vysotsky's group," Elizabeth said. "He had to be under orders from the Kremlin. If the Kremlin's involved, the stakes just got a lot higher. You're sure about the ID?"

"Positive."

"It's an act of war. Why risk war over something like this? The Russians have plenty of nasty stuff of their own. They don't need another bug for their collection."

"Maybe they just want to make sure it can't be used against them."

"That's possible, I guess. It's more likely they want to add it to their biological bag of tricks."

"Why does everyone work so hard at creating things that can kill millions at a time?" Stephanie asked.

"I don't know, Steph. There's something dark in some people, something barbaric and murderous. An impulse that leads to things like this plague being turned into a weapon."

"If I were more religious I'd think it was the work of an evil being. Satanic."

"I think humans can be evil enough," Elizabeth said. "We don't need Satan to explain it. But I admit it would make things easier to understand if it was about a conflict between absolute good and absolute evil."

"A metaphysical war between the forces of darkness and light?"

"Exactly."

"How do you know it isn't?" Stephanie said.