Dane watched as a periscope popped up and cut through the water, followed by a conning tower. As the sub surfaced, he immediately noted the two large metal hangars welded to the deck of the ship.
“The Crabs are inside those,” Loomis said.
“How many people can each carry?” Dane asked.
“A crew of two and ten passengers.”
“Weaponry?”
“Thirty-millimeter cannon. TOW missile launchers for land and MK-24 torpedoes for water. The armor can take a direct hit from large-caliber machine guns.”
“How many people are going on the recon?” Dane asked.
“You, me, Colonel Shashenka, and Professor Ahana.”
“Who’s piloting?”
“I am,” Loomis said.
“Who’s handling the weapons?”
“Colonel Shashenka.”
The Grayback circled and came alongside. Dane knew they would be leaving shortly, heading into the darkness. He reached down, rubbing the golden hair on top of Chelsea’s head. He was startled when she gave a short bark. She was staring down at the sub’s deck. At first, Dane thought she was looking at the two hangars, but then he noted a smaller metal box half above the waterline on the far side of the sub. A woman in a wet suit was on the deck, unlatching the end of the box. A gray dolphin slipped out of it, into the open water. It swam about as the woman watched.
“Project Rachel.”
Dane had almost forgotten that Loomis was still with him. He could pick up the dolphin’s happiness that it was finally free. It raced around the submarine, coming between it and the research ship, then paused, coming up out of the water on its rear fin to stare up at Dane and Chelsea before flipping over into the water once more.
“That’s Dr. Martsen, Rachel’s trainer and research specialist.”
“Why isn’t she going with us on the Crab?”
“We don’t need her, just Rachel. The dolphin will swim next to us on the way in. She’s trained with the Crab before. She’ll have a small video camera and transmitter mounted in a pack on her back, just in front of the dorsal fin. Transmits to the Crab. So it’s like having an extra set of eyes on the outside.”
Dane nodded, but he was thinking that Rachel was here for a different reason that Loomis realized. What that was, he wasn’t sure yet.
“Let’s head on over,” Loomis said.
Two men were waiting for Ariana as the Learjet rolled to a stop at Central Airfield in Moscow. Both were dressed in well-tailored suits, wore dark sunglasses, and had that hard, efficient look about them that Ariana had learned to associate with security personnel.
“Ms. Michelet,” one of the men stepped forward, the second facing the other way, toward the Mercedes. “I’m Jonathan Miles.”
“I assume you work for my father,” Ariana said.
Miles nodded. “We were alerted you were inbound.” He indicated the other man. “Jim Getty.” Getty didn’t turn, keeping his eyes scanning his sector of responsibility. Arian noted that behind his sunglasses, Miles was looking past her most of the time.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“That’s not my business,” Miles said. “My job is to keep you secure. Moscow is not a safe place.”
Ariana pulled out the piece of paper that Atkins had given her. “I need to meet with this man.”
Miles glanced at it, and a frown crossed his face.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“I know of him,” Miles said. “He’s a black marketer associated with one of the many crime families here.”
“Can you arrange a meeting?”
“How soon?”
“Immediately.”
The frown was back, and Ariana figured that was the way Mile’s face was most of the time as befitted a security man responsible for others’ well-being.
“An immediate meeting might be hard to arrange and worse, difficult to set up in a secure place.”
“I’ll take the chance,” Ariana said.
“Well…” Miles hesitated.
“I know you work for my father,” Ariana said, “but this involves the gates that have been causing all the trouble around the world. This is more important than my father’s concerns.”
“Why do you want to meet with Roskov?”
“I need to purchase something from him.”
“What?”
“A crystal skull. He offered it to the British Museum.”
Miles didn’t seem surprised at the strangeness of the item. “It is important enough to risk your life for?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Let me make some calls while we drive.” He indicated for her to go to the Mercedes.
Ariana was flanked by the two men as she made her way over. She noted the thick glass and the solid thud when the door shut behind her and knew the car was armored. They sped off the tarmac and onto a road. Miles was in the forward passenger seat, talking on a cell phone while Getty drove.
Miles turned around. “One hour. Roskov says have the money with you.”
“How much?”
“One hundred thousand American.”
Ariana knew he had asked the museum for fifty thousand. “You have cash for your kidnap fund, right?”
Miles nodded.
“Do you have one hundred thousand?”
Mile’s nod was more reluctant this time, Ariana knew her father had these security men all over the world, and each little station had a large amount of cash to buy back employees of any of his many subsidiaries who might get kidnapped. In many areas of the world, particularly South America and Russia, kidnapping was a profitable business, and there were brokers who made their living negotiating between the parties and taking a percentage of the ransom.
“Let’s get it, then?”
Miles pointed past her. “We have a quarter million in the trunk.”
“Good.”
“I have to check with your father to disburse the fund,” Miles said.
“He’ll approve it,” Ariana said. Her father would spend one hundred thousand on a piece of art without blinking an eye.
Regardless, Miles turned back to the front and pulled out his cell phone once more. Ariana stared out the thick windows at the grimy streets of Moscow as they raced toward the center of town. She had never liked the city; it always seemed dirty, and a sense of oppression still lingered over it with a palpable air. It was just at dawn, the first rays of the sun cutting at a sharp angle across the buildings and streets.
Getty cut the wheel hard, and they entered a narrow alley, then came to a halt. There was barely enough room to open the doors on the passenger side.
“Wait inside while I break out the money,” Miles said, his only indication that her father had approved the payment. Ariana knew her father would, given all the years he had worked in concert with Foreman; besides, he would probably get Foreman to reimburse him. She had recently accepted that her father cared more about his business empire than he did about her. The only reason he had been allied with Foreman was to get government contracts; she knew the main reason he was still working with the CIA man was that the Shadow, as a threat to the world, was a threat to his holdings. It was how her father had managed to become so successfuclass="underline" by viewing everything totally through the perspective of its effect on him.
Miles reentered the car, a metal suitcase in one hand; a long, plastic case in the other. He handed the metal one back to Ariana. “One hundred thousand. Roskov has a reputation as a legitimate dealer, which means he shouldn’t try to rip us off. Not good for the business he is in, but it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. I’ll go forward with you to make the meet. Jim” — he indicated the driver — “will cover us with a sniper rifle. I’ve also got some friends in the Omon, the Moscow special police, who will be nearby.”