Domination Bid

“I am.”

Madari nodded with an expression of satisfaction. “I would assume the fact I’ve left you to your own devices the past couple days wasn’t lost on you.”

“It was not.” Dratshev downed the last of his lukewarm tea with milk.

“You’ve finished your breakfast, now, and you appear well rested. Good. We may then continue our conversation from the other day.”

Dratshev held up a hand. “While I’m grateful for your hospitality, and I choose that word only to show my deference to your kind treatment of me, I must again politely decline to assist you.”

Madari’s face remained passive. “I’m sorry you’ve chosen to take that position.”

“I’m sure. You undoubtedly have scruples and were careful not to mistreat me.”

“Mistreating you wouldn’t serve a purpose.”

“It wouldn’t,” Dratshev said. “Any more than employing vicious means would prompt me to cooperate with you.”

“One thing you should understand about me up front, Dr. Dratshev, is that I’m not an animal. My refraining from brutish treatment is a conscious choice—the only thing I feel separates us from the animals of today’s society. I’ve seen enough bloodshed and misery to last a couple of lifetimes. There is nothing as detestable to me as senseless violence.”

“Yet you chose to take me by force,” Dratshev said.

“Would you have come with me voluntarily?” Madari smiled and splayed his hands. “But the point you make is conceded. I did what I did only out of necessity, as I’ve already explained.”

Dratshev sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes.”

Madari turned immediately to one of his men, who disappeared through the door, and then returned his intent gaze to Dratshev. “Might I be bold to suggest that the fact I’ve not harmed you would at least buy me an audience?”

“Only foolish men refuse to listen,” Dratshev said.

“My purpose for bringing you here is, quite simply, that I believe in the merits of your research. You see, Doctor, I was once a very high-ranking member of the Libyan government. My position in that government was not too dissimilar from your own—military research and development, although in an unrelated field.”

“So you’re a scientist, too.”

Madari laughed. “Hardly.”

The guard returned with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Madari waited until Dratshev had lit one before continuing, “It was my job to see to the security of scientists, much as those within your own FSB were assigned to do. This is why it was I took you from them with little effort.”

Dratshev exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke. “I can assure you that they will find out.”

“In due time,” Madari admitted. “But only when I’m ready to tell them. This will be very soon provided I can pique your curiosity.”

“I’ve already told you that I’m completely loyal to my country. I won’t cooperate with you.”

“Fair enough, but please at least afford me the opportunity to enlighten you to a few facts. The first being that you were betrayed by your own handler.”

“Phah! I don’t believe you.”

“You might if I told you that the team sent to extract you was only a few minutes away.”

Dratshev wasn’t sure he’d heard Madari correctly at first, but then he recalled the handler telling him the retrieval team had been an hour out. “That proves nothing.”

“It does when you consider our agent was able to positively identify you just minutes after you placed the call to your people.”

Dratshev remained silent.

“Oh, yes,” Madari said. “The very seductive young lady who engaged you in the club… She works for me. In fact, you will see her again very soon.”

“What does that prove, sir?”

“It proves we had eyes on you the moment you entered Minsk. We knew your travel plans, your location and your purpose for being there. All of it. That information all came courtesy of your handler. You see, despite any faith you might have in the volition of the FSB, there’s no question everyone has a price. Your handler came rather cheaply.

“But let’s forget that. The other more telling fact is that none of your prototypes was in Belarus. There was no secret development factory north of the city. The government of Belarus would have never permitted such activity by the Russians within your country, to say nothing of the half dozen foreign intelligence agencies with a presence there.”

“You’ve still not provided proof. I won’t take your word alone for it.”

“You don’t have to, Dr. Dratshev. I haven’t brought you here to tell stories. I’ve brought you here because I do have prototypes of your designs.”

“To what end?”

“As I explained, I was once a prominent member of the Libyan government. I was also a leader within what most of the world has dubbed the Arab Spring. But my reasons for that involvement were based solely on my desire to see the Libyan government leave behind the chains of despotism and tyranny that have so long plagued it, and enter into a new and true form of democratic government. A government elected by the people, not by sedition and fear.”

“A noble goal, if true,” Dratshev said, inclining his head to show respect for the idea. “But somewhat naive, don’t you think?”

Madari seemed unmoved. “Is it? You seem to forget my background. I’ve spent most of my adult life around scientists and I understand how they think.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Stop and consider for a moment why you do what you do, Doctor. The mind of a genius is not motivated by something so abstract and banal as patriotism or thirst for power. Most are also not given to fame or fortune, despite their gigantic egos. No, Dr. Dratshev, I imagine you’re motivated by what most of your kind are—scientific curiosity and the thrill of discovery.”

“And that’s what you’re counting on with me?”

Madari produced a gentle laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on. Come on, admit it. You are curious about the prototypes.”

“Perhaps,” Dratshev said with a shrug, although he knew Madari was too clever to be fooled. “But I won’t help you perfect them.”

“Well, I’m determined not to take no for an answer,” Madari said as he stood. “Would you be kind enough to accompany me to the range?”

Dratshev stubbed out his cigarette, pocketed the remaining pack and matches, and rose with a shrug. “I suppose there’s no harm. And it’s not as though I have a choice, eh?”

“Take heart, Doctor,” Madari replied. “I think you’re about to be impressed.”

As they walked down the long corridor that terminated in an exit, Dratshev said, “I must admit you have a very nice home.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me where we are.”

“Of course,” Madari said. “We’re in the Greek Isles. Although you’ll understand if I’m not more specific than that. Not that you could escape. Not unless you are an excellent swimmer and impervious to sharks.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I am curious about another matter.”

“You’re going to ask where I learned to speak Russian.”

“Very clever.”

“Not really,” Madari said. “As I noted earlier, I have a comprehensive understanding of scientific curiosity. Although, I’m hardly an enigma to be solved. While most would consider a native of the Middle East who lives in the Mediterranean and speaks fluent Russian—and I admit that on the surface it’s odd—you’ll remember I was trained in security at a military R and D facility in the northern region of Libya. I spent many years there. Some of our scientists were from other countries, including a few from the former Soviet Union. I spent four years training in a number of languages. I also speak English and Spanish. And Arabic, of course.”

“Of course.”

The pair walked the rest of the way in silence and it wasn’t until they reached the range that Dratshev understood why he’d not seen it during his earlier romps through the massive grounds. The range was accessed off a secured, gated entrance obscured by foliage woven directly into the chain links of the gate.

They passed through a narrow path created by a natural break between two hedgerows that stood well above their heads. They emerged on the other side and Dratshev immediately recognized the familiar sunken bunkers and supply buildings that probably housed an array of weaponry.

“My security team utilizes this as their training grounds, as well.”

“Impressive.”

“Not yet,” Madari said with a chuckle.

Madari led him to one of the short, squat buildings and rapped twice on a heavy metal door. The door opened and two men emerged, each carrying the oddest-looking weapons Dratshev had ever seen. They literally looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. The barrels, or what Dratshev assumed to be barrels, were thick and extraordinarily long—he estimated nearly nine feet. Directly behind the barrel was a boxy, transparent chamber containing some type of coiled tubing. The stock had a brushed steel finish but there were flutes in the superior line of the stock that looked like bubble levels. Dratshev’s mouth dropped open as he realized they were filled with liquid helium.

Madari looked wholly satisfied. “I can see from your expression that our designs aren’t that far off from your own.”

Dratshev clamped his mouth closed before responding. “Hardly. They’re not even close, actually.”

“Nice try, Dr. Dratshev, but I’d advise you to stick to the truth. You’re really not much of a liar.” Madari took one of the weapons and hefted it. “These are our phase-two prototypes, actually, the closest we’ve been able to come to your original design specifications. But I can assure you your government hasn’t come anywhere close to building anything like it. The barrel, you’ll note, is still too long to make the weapon practical in small-arms applications, but we’ve had difficulty producing sufficient energy pulses through anything shorter. This is one of things I hope you can help us with.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Madari extended the weapon. “Here, you may hold it.”

“I don’t wish to hold it.”

“Please.”

Dratshev folded his arms, determined not to be swayed by Madari’s charms. And yet…something about seeing a prototype EMP of his design, even if they hadn’t gotten it nearly correct, seemed irresistible.

“Please,” Madari reiterated.

“Very well,” Dratshev said, taking the weapon gingerly from his captor-host.

It proved much lighter than he’d expected and he nearly dropped it from over-compensation. The barrel made it top-heavy and he had to angle it slightly to prevent the thing from landing in the gravel-and-dust floor of the range. Dratshev took a minute or two to examine the finer details and on closer inspection confirmed his suspicions about the liquid helium.

Finally he looked at Madari. “How did you—?”

“You’re going to ask how I knew about the specifications. As I already explained, everyone has a price. Your handler has been extremely cooperative.”

“My handler knew nothing about the designs.”

“On the contrary, your handler knew everything about your designs. He intercepted the plans you sent to the manufacturing facility. He also arranged your transfer, without authorization from your government, I might add.”

Dratshev didn’t want to believe it, but his gut told him Madari spoke the truth. So he’d been set up from the beginning. And Dratshev’s handler had probably come up with some story to their masters at the Kremlin about how Dratshev had arranged his own abduction as a means for defection. The leaders in Moscow were certain to have assumed by now that Dratshev was a traitor. Any FSB detachment sent wouldn’t be on a search-and-rescue mission—Moscow would send an assassination team. And Dratshev knew they wouldn’t rest until he was dead.

“Ah, I see the light has come on,” Madari said with a knowing grin. “You finally understand the truth. You see, Dr. Dratshev, I didn’t really kidnap you. I saved your life.”

“And now you think I owe you something for that.”

“Not at all.” Madari shrugged. “It makes no difference to me if you continue to maintain your loyalty to Mother Russia. But understand that if you don’t cooperate with me, I will be left with no other alternative.”

“And that is?”

“To liberate you.”

“I like that,” Dratshev replied with a scornful laugh. “It sounds much better than kill me.”

“No, I literally meant I would free you. You’ll find me a very literal man, sir. As I’ve told you, I’m not an animal or a murderer. If you refuse to cooperate, I will set you free.”

“And then what?”

Madari shrugged, clasped his hands behind his back and replied, “Then I’m certain the FSB will have no trouble finding you and terminating your life—this I can most assuredly guarantee you. This is really to say that releasing you poses absolutely no liability to me. And even if you managed to escape, chances are good you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. The odds aren’t in your favor, to put it bluntly.”

“It seems to have escaped your notice that if I’m dead, you will be unable to complete building of the prototypes.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Madari favored him with a wan smile. “If you refuse to cooperate, my situation hasn’t changed. And with you dead, I alone possess the knowledge and research, which I will put up for auction to the highest bidder.”

“You seem to forget my government has the information, as well.”

Madari shook his head. “Not all of it. Dr. Dratshev. My arrangement with your handler goes back considerably. Five years or better now, I think. He’s only given your people part of the information and none of the prototype specifications. Those have come straight to me and I have lined your handler’s coffers handsomely for that information.”

Dratshev had heard enough and could no longer contain his temper. “None of this makes any sense, Mr. Madari.”

“Please, call me—”

“Don’t interrupt me! Now you’ve been a gracious host—nay, a captor—to this point, but I can no longer tolerate your egomania. I don’t know what your purposes really are for stealing me and my work, but I deem they are more nefarious than anything else—despite what you say about wanting to bring democracy to your country. I doubt you have little if any influence left there, which probably explains why you’re here.” Dratshev gestured to indicate their surroundings.

“What I do believe is that you have no interest in keeping me alive unless I’m willing to unconditionally acquiesce to your wishes. I am not. Whatever else you may be, Mr. Madari—a gentleman or a patriot or perhaps merely an opportunist out to make as much money and a name for yourself as possible—you are a scoundrel. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. So let us not pretend that your benevolence doesn’t have some ulterior purpose. I am not so easily won over, despite whatever you might think about what motivates the scientific mind.”

For a long time Madari didn’t say anything, and Dratshev was convinced he’d finally called Madari’s bluff. Then the man grabbed the second EMP rifle being held by the other armory guard, aimed the weapon downrange and squeezed the trigger. At first nothing happened, but then a moment later the weapon bucked hard against Madari’s shoulder, hard enough for him to cry out with pain, and then the air in front of the barrel shimmered as if under heat. A moment passed and a massive box made of what appeared to be steel or iron blew apart as if had been packed with high explosives.

Dratshev ducked reflexively and then turned his gaze slowly to Madari, who was handing the rifle back to the guard while rubbing his right shoulder.

Madari whirled to face Dratshev, a gleam in his eye. “That is just a small demonstration of what your genius has accomplished, Doctor. It is my intention to sell this technology to whoever will bid the most. In fact, I released the details of the public auction this morning to five countries. We should be hearing from them very shortly.”

“Clearly, I was wrong about you, Mr. Madari,” Dratshev replied. “You’re neither a fake nor an opportunist. You are, quite simply, a lunatic.”

“Perhaps,” Madari said. “But there are other lunatics throughout history who were able to achieve much more than I ever subsume I may. And for now, Dr. Dratshev, I will do this whether I have your cooperation or not. Think about it. You can profit by this—I will provide you the most advanced facilities at your disposal. Even after we auction this current technology, nothing says we have to stop there. With you by my side, we can develop weapons even more powerful and advanced—weapons I can use to equip those in my country who want to see the same thing as I can. Together, we can build the most powerful army on earth!”

“I…I can’t,” Dratshev said even as he knew that he would. Madari had been right about him. “And yet, I must!”

Ishaq Madari smile. “Excellent. Most excellent.”

CHAPTER SIX

Minsk, Belarus

“Mr. McMasters, welcome to Minsk.”

David McCarter shook the hand the woman offered him while the remaining Phoenix Force members looked on.

To have called her anything other than beautiful would’ve been absurd. She had short dark hair, cut pixie-style, liquid-blue eyes and full red lips. The high cheekbones arched gracefully and dipped to soft cheeks with just a hint of dimples at her mouth.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss—”

“Mariam,” she replied, “but I prefer if you simply call me Mishka. My cover name.”

Just one of her many cover names, actually, although she probably assumed McCarter knew little about her. In the interest of keeping her friendly, the Phoenix Force leader opted not to let on that nothing could be further from the truth.

Muriel Annabel Stanish, age thirty-four, had been a CIA case officer for six years. She’d spent the first two operating Stateside with the documents section specialized in European forgeries. After distinguished service and at least half a dozen requests for transfer, she’d finally been assigned to Minsk, Belarus, to fill a vacancy—one that had occurred under rather dubious circumstances.

“You look rather surprised to see me,” Mishka observed. “I suppose they neglected to tell you I was a woman.”

“Not at all,” McCarter replied.

“Um, I think we’re just surprised,” T. J. Hawkins interjected with a disarming grin, “that we wouldn’t be meeting such a breathtaking young woman as yourself, miss.”

McCarter, teeth clenched and looking out of the corner of his eye, said quickly, “You’ll have to forgive my associate, but he thinks he’s bloody charming when he’s really just being annoying.”

Mishka chuckled and waved it away. “No worries, McMasters. I get that a lot.”

“Do tell,” Encizo said, eyebrows rising.

“More than might you think,” Mishka replied with a grin of her own. She clapped her hands together for emphasis. “But I’m certain you’re tired and would like to go to your hotel. I’ve arranged an entire floor of rooms for you at one of the local hotels. It’s in the downtown area with easy access to all the other areas, but still out of the way of the regular tourist flow. If you’ll follow me?”

As the warriors fell into step behind McCarter, who kept pace at her side, the Phoenix Force leader said, “Seems you thought of everything.”

“Meaning?” she asked.

“Your choice of hotels was…interesting. Just seems you’ve more experience than we were led to believe.”

She shrugged. “It only makes sense, really. I was certain from what I’d been told that you would want to remain inconspicuous and my…experience with the proprietors is that they are discreet.”

“And what do you know of our mission?” McCarter asked as they reached a sporty European-made coupe parked a fair distance from the hangar.

“Not out here,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed to a large custom van nearby. “You can ride with me. The rest will ride with Carnes in the van with your equipment.”

McCarter nodded and gestured for his team to do as instructed. He then squeezed his muscular frame into the small sports car that was fully loaded and boasted genuine leather interior. “Pretty nice ride the Company offers these days.”

“It’s my own,” she said. “Bought and paid for during my layover in Italy. I had it shipped here.”

“Seems like some serious dough to lay out for a CIA case officer.”

If the comment offended Mishka, she didn’t show it—cool under pressure and relatively unemotional. McCarter filed the information for future reference.

“My father ran his own company,” she replied. “Physicist for a defense contractor. That’s partly why they transferred me here.”

“So you were going to tell me how much you knew about our purpose here.”

“Enough that it might surprise you,” Mishka said. “You’re here at my request. Imagine my surprise when the Agency replied less than twenty-four hours later to let me know they were sending you.”

“We don’t work for the CIA.”

Mishka offered a light laugh. “I knew that the moment you stepped off the plane.”

“How?”

“You’re not the typical crew. I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference between a standard tactical unit and black ops. You’re obviously troubleshooters of a different breed, and that’s fine by me.”

“Glad to hear it,” McCarter replied. “Because we were promised we’d have your full cooperation.”

“And you will.”

“So give me the rundown on what you know to this point.”

Mishka blew out a sigh through pursed lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much more intelligence outside of what you probably know.”

“No worries. I’ll start with whatever you give me.”

“Well, I think it goes without saying this city’s crawling with Russian heavies—mostly FSB and maybe a few contacts that were already in-country.”

McCarter nodded. “Agreed. Our people informed us they showed up in force as soon as Dratshev disappeared.”

“Right. From what I’ve heard, his abduction was most likely an inside job.”

“We were told that, as well, but we had a little trouble buying it.”

“Because?”

“Something just doesn’t bloody wash,” McCarter replied with a shrug. “There’s no logic behind staging an abduction of one of their own and then publicizing it.”

“I agree. Although I probably don’t have to point out the FSB has always placed great importance on propaganda. It could be they staged this for the purposes of security.”

“You mean, take Dratshev off the radar and then divert attention by blaming some outside, mysterious party.”

“You have to admit, they’ve done it before,” Mishka said.

“True. But despite their efforts, most competing agencies have been able to see through such attempts with relative ease. This time around the fact an outside party really did manage to kidnap Dratshev has merit.”

“I think you’re right.”

McCarter couldn’t resist a grin. “Glad we’re on the same level.”

“Why?”

“Takes less convincing when I tell you our plan.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll keep the details close to the vest for now, if you don’t mind. But what I will say is that we plan to pick up the FSB’s trail and see where it leads us.”

“Let them do the legwork for you.”

“Right. Plus, if this is a legit snatch, it won’t take the grabbers long to touch base with the Russian government.”

“Unless they have their own purposes for Dratshev.”

“That’s another possibility and I wouldn’t be so naive as to dismiss the theory out of hand.”

“If you—”

“Watch out!”

Mishka had turned to glance at McCarter and missed the dark sedan that rolled alongside the driver’s side of her coupe. They were traveling along a four-lane road that led to the Old Town part of the city.

McCarter reached beneath his coat and quick-drew a Browning Hi-Power from shoulder leather. He aimed at the small window behind Mishka’s seat as the dark sedan swerved toward the coupe and tried to collide with them in an attempt to force her to crash into the cars parked along the road.