She knew from her dossier on the man that Markov was a former captain in the Russian Army. He had been a combat engineer by trade; however, he had grown bored with peacetime soldiering in Russia. Deciding to strike out on his own, Markov found that his talents were in high demand in the shadowy world of international terrorism. He happily sold his services to the Iraqi insurgents, teaching them how to make larger and more powerful IEDs. His deadly skills were soon in demand throughout the world. He did not come cheap, but Markov had never failed to deliver. Recruited through Colonel Chang’s underground contacts, Markov now had the ultimate challenge of preparing two nuclear bombs for detonation and several million dollars to add to his already substantial Swiss bank account.
“You are too kind, Miss Romanov,” said Markov, stepping closer to Alexandra. “Please, let’s not be so formal with one another. I would like it if you called me Ivan,” said Markov, flashing a smile with his yellow tobacco-stained teeth.
Alexandra thought the disgusting man looked like some kind of unnatural ghoul. Her instincts told her that the man was as cold and deadly as a viper. He was someone whom she could never trust, and would have to be eliminated the second he was no longer of value to her father.
“Mister Markov, do not flatter yourself, nor waste any of my precious time,” Alexandra said irritably. “Colonel Chang recommended you to us for a very specific job, and don’t ever forget that. You are working for my family, not with us, and frankly, I could not care less what your first name is. Do your job well and you will be paid well.”
“As you wish, Miss Romanov,” replied Markov, his voice guarded and angry. His face was blank, but his eyes showed that he was unimpressed at being spoken down to by a woman.
“Now, Mister Markov, when will you be finished?”
“I will be finished by mid-afternoon. All I need to do is check a few more things and then ensure the arming devices are ready. You can move the bombs any time after that.”
“Very well then, I won’t keep you any longer,” said Alexandra, peering down at her rose gold and platinum Rolex watch. “I will make the necessary arrangements to have the container moved at last light tomorrow to avoid any prying eyes.”
Markov said nothing. Showing his growing contempt and displeasure, he turned his back on Alexandra and went back to work.
Stepping out of the container, Alexandra took a deep breath of fresh air. She detested men who thought themselves her equal. Hers was a life destined for grandeur. She knew that she would take great pleasure in ordering Markov’s death
Her cell phone rang. Looking down, she saw that it was her sister. Alexandra thought it odd that Nika should be calling so early in the morning. Answering the call, Alexandra froze in her tracks. She could not believe what she was hearing: an attack had occurred at the dig and her father was ordering the entire plan accelerated by a day.
Changing the plan now would be difficult but not impossible. Alexandra knew that pushing back would be pointless as her father always got what he wanted. Jamming the cell phone away, Alexandra walked towards an office located by the entrance of the hangar. Inside, she found her secure sat-phone. Taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts, Alexandra dialed a number from memory. Thousands of kilometers away in Iceland, the call was answered. Quickly passing on her orders, Alexandra terminated the call and then stared out across the hangar floor at the container, wondering if they were moving too fast. Her timetable had been worked out to the hour; altering the plan was fraught with danger. Still, it was all achievable if the West could be convinced to push Ivankov out of power in the next couple of days. With a smile on her face, Alexandra Romanov looked over at the bombs and knew that they had the means to bring the West to its knees. With or without their help, she knew her father was destined to rule Russia.
27
Dmitry Romanov sat behind his desk, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Someone had penetrated their camp and he wanted answers. Standing in front of him were Teplov and Chang. The mood in the tent was tense as Chang and Teplov glared accusingly at one another for last night’s fiasco. Colonel Chang turned to face Romanov and reported his deputy’s death along with a half-dozen men and the loss of a Mauritanian army MI-8 helicopter.
Anger boiled deep inside Romanov. He didn’t care about the men or material he had just lost. He wasn’t the kind of man to allow someone to mess with him or his family. People who had foolishly dared to stand up to him the past had quickly learned to bend to his will or had simply vanished without a trace.
Teplov waited for Chang to finish before speaking. He told Chang and Romanov about seeing Mitchell and another man leaving the site. He had no doubt in his mind that they had come for Miss March. Why they hadn’t left with her was a mystery to him. To be safe, Teplov had doubled the guards around her tent and had told the Mauritanian security forces to arrest or kill Mitchell on sight. A search of the desert by a company of soldiers was underway. He was confident that it was only a matter of time before they found Mitchell.
Romanov shook his head. He didn’t know whom to blame for this fiasco, he just knew that he wanted someone to pay. Mitchell had dared once again to interfere with his plans. The man was proving to be quite the irritant. Romanov could feel a tension headache building in the back of his head. Before too long the pain would be indescribable. He vowed to see the man and his accomplices flayed alive and then fed to the sharks once he caught them.
With the site compromised, Romanov ordered that all work other than the excavation of the jewels to halt immediately. He wanted the crown jewels found now; anything else dug up was of no value to him. Only the jewels mattered. Having them would solidify his hold on the fanatics and guarantee their unwavering loyalty before he took pleasure in double-crossing them. The rest of the sizable treasure still waiting to be found at the dig would go to Mauritania’s president for his support and unquestioned use of his military.
Outside, the burning heat from the noonday sun turned the desert into a shimmering sea. Nika Romanov stood at the lip of the depression. Her uncaring eyes focused on an exposed portion of the Goliath’s frame. Looking at a schematic of the airship, Nika saw that the tired, dusty and sweat-covered soldiers had at last uncovered the airship’s freight storage compartment, just where Jen had said it would be. Nika knew that this was where the valuables of the passengers would have been stored for the long voyage. She refused to admit it, but her father’s faith in the American woman had saved them days, if not weeks, of back-breaking labor to find the resting place of the crown jewels.
An enthusiastic cry went out, as several mangled wooden boxes and blackened pieces of luggage were uncovered.
Nika threw her schematic aside and leapt into the hole, sliding down on the loose sand until she came to a stop at the bottom. Pushing several men out of the way, Nika, her heart racing away, walked over to the find. The boxes and storage trunks were covered in burn marks from the fire that had doomed them all over eighty years ago.
“Roberts! Find anything belonging to Lord Roberts!” yelled Nika excitedly at the soldiers in fluent French.
Like men possessed, the soldiers dug and pulled out the battered remains of the freight compartment. Debris soon covered the sand. After five minutes of digging, two men uncovered a large black trunk, their muscles straining as they pulled it out and laid it on the sandy ground at Nika’s feet.