Clay said nothing. Instead, he merely nodded and reached for one of his crutches, gripping the metal poles tightly in his hand. Alison noticed the strong, almost determined muscles flex in his forearm.
She redirected her focus to Lee’s lab, scanning first the shelves of books and equipment, followed by the fluorescent lighting overhead. “This is going to be harder than anything I ever could have imagined.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She tried to joke. “You know, a year ago, I would have tried to blame it all on you.”
Clay smirked humorously. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“And you know that after this you can never break up with me.”
Clay’s face spread into a smile at her attempt to break the tension. “Finally, a silver lining.” He continued staring into Alison’s eyes. The joke’s timing was more than ironic, given his plans.
“So where do we move IMIS?”
“I don’t know. We’re working on a plan.”
“It won’t be easy. But you guys did steal it once before.”
This time, Clay’s eyes narrowed playfully. It was something she’d reminded him about many times. By “you guys” she meant the Navy. And while they had stolen the original system, he had not been part of it. Something she always seemed to leave out of the joke.
“Well, at least this time you’re in on it.”
She chuckled, then reached out and wrapped both hands affectionately around his. “How long do we have?”
“Not long,” he replied. “What about Dirk and Sally?”
Alison exhaled, thinking. “I have an idea.”
Clay glanced again at Lee’s screen and the live video feed from the habitat downstairs. “What about DeeAnn and Dulce? And your new little friend?”
She peered at the screen with him and took a deep breath. “I don’t have a clue… yet.”
As Clay stared at the video, his thoughts quietly shifted to another very different concern. Something he hadn’t shared with the rest of the team yet. A recent and private conversation between Clay, Caesare, and Admiral Langford.
There was still something missing in all of this. A question that hadn’t been answered. One last piece that had been missing since the Guyana Mountains, where the Chinese had made their great discovery.
The uncomfortable fact was that the U.S. had only stumbled onto all of this through the capture of a Russian submarine, which had evidently been watching the Chinese as they brought the plants out of the jungle. A sub found to be equipped with a highly advanced system, allowing it to travel almost undetected underwater. And oddly, that particular submarine was one of Russia’s oldest.
The submarine, called the Forel, had ultimately escaped Guyana only to be destroyed in tandem with the Chinese warship. And that led to the question at the root of it all.
How did the Russians tie into all of this?
13
The answer to Clay’s question was walking briskly down a long, brightly painted hallway in Saint Petersburg. More specifically, on the third floor of the General Staff Building in Palace Square and home to the Russian Defence Ministry’s Western Military District.
The twelve-story building was situated28 just blocks from the famed Neva River, the route used by Nazi forces during the “Siege of Leningrad.” Its legacy as the symbolic capital of the Russian Revolution came when Adolf Hitler set a goal to burn both the city and its people to the ground. The battle lasted more than two years and resulted in a devastating loss for Nazi Germany.
Dressed in a dark blue Caraceni suit, Dima Belov was tall and lean. He was covering the distance easily with long strides, at least compared to the two shorter guards walking shoulder to shoulder beside him.
Belov was no stranger to the building, having been received there several times before.
But today was different.
A dour expression painted his aged face, reflecting the seriousness of his visit, under armed guard. This time, Belov wasn’t here by choice, or to engage in political brinkmanship with some of Russia’s powerful military leaders. This time, Belov was here for one reason and one reason only: to save his own life.
At the end of the hall, two ebony wood doors swung outward to where two more men in modern green uniforms and berets awaited Belov. As he had with the first two, the older man detected a faint sense of disgust in the faces of his guards. Judgment for a situation Belov wondered if they knew anything about.
Still, Belov fought to remain calm in spite of the subtle shaking in both of his hands. After reaching the final door, his new guards halted with a firm stomp of their boots. Here, a fifth man stepped forward and began patting the older man down.
He raised his arms up to either side and peered through the thick glass wall to where Admiral Oleg Koskov waited in his office. From his chair, the thick brow of the admiral hung heavily over a set of dark and ruthless eyes.
Belov would have mused at how quickly the tables had turned were it not for the very real prospect of leaving this building as a dead man.
The officer in front of him stepped out of the way, forcefully pushing Belov into the large office and causing him to stumble through the doorway. Once clear, the officer quickly pulled the thick glass door closed behind him.
Once they were alone in the room, the admiral silently studied Belov with the same look of revulsion. Tables had indeed turned, in a short matter of weeks. Until just recently, Belov had been one of the Defence Ministry’s most prominent insiders. A trusted ally to the country’s political elite and Russian military. No, more than that. A veritable hero, with a secret capable of returning Mother Russia to its former glory, and more.
And while Belov may not have fully understood how his status had changed so suddenly, he certainly understood why. Russia, quite simply, was on a razor’s edge of utter economic collapse.
Their nation had been hit hard by the global devastation now spreading throughout dozens of major economies around the world. Russia was the planet’s second largest producer of oil, the most ubiquitous commodity on Earth and the very cornerstone of the entire Russian economy. A commodity whose recent massive oversupply glut and falling demand was now crushing the country to depths never before seen in modern history.
Now, like China, Brazil, Venezuela, and a host of others, Russia had found itself unable to stave off the unrelenting economic destruction within its own borders, where all manners of civilized life were systematically disintegrating. And nowhere was that more evident than in the Russian military.
Belov’s fall from grace was not due to a calculated decision on anyone’s part. It was driven by sheer desperation, within a government that was quickly splintering. Dima Belov’s dire situation resulted from the conclusion of many desperate politicians that he had squandered nearly a billion Rubles on what amounted to little more than a pipe dream. Whenever governments fractured and began to collapse, the resulting behavior was desperation and blame, promptly followed by condemnation. This time, it was Belov who found himself on the receiving end.
Now, as his eyes met the admiral’s, he stepped forward, moving to a dark leather chair and lowering himself into it. The irony was that Admiral Koskov was just as deeply involved in the mission as he had been. But judging by his demeanor, the man was quickly working to separate himself from the mess… by sacrificing Belov.
Behind the desk, Koskov glared through a thick air of tension. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and grave.