He turned to one of his specialists. “Marc, what’s the status on that money?”

  Therrien shook his head. “I confirmed it, sir. Over twenty-two billion are in the account, but I can’t touch it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, there’s some sort of block on the account. I can’t transfer it out.”

  “What kind of block are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know. If I had another five or ten minutes, I might be able to tell you, but right now, there’s nothing I can do but give you the balance and the transaction history.”

  “Anything there?”

  “Negative. Just a string of large deposits, all a couple of hours ago as we expected. Nothing before.”

  “Sir, what should I have Rawhide do?” prompted Tong.

  Leroux’s mind raced. If his team couldn’t access the money, the question was whether the Iranians could. What didn’t make sense was, if this were the Iranians’ account, why wouldn’t they just initiate a regular transfer from outside the building? Something was definitely going on here, but nothing made sense. Had the Iranians been double-crossed? Had the money they had meant to steal been stolen by someone else, a traitor on the inside? Was Vida that traitor? Had she transferred all the money to this different account? And if she had, how did the Iranians find out? The only people who should know the account number would be Vida, anyone she had told, Reading, Meitner, and his people.

  But none of that mattered. For now, what mattered was Jack’s life.

  He shook his head. “Something’s not right, here. His mission is to get out safely. Forget the data. I have a feeling the Iranians aren’t going to be able to do any more than we can.”

  Tong relayed the instructions, and as Leroux watched, the four new arrivals began a room-to-room search, clearly unaware of where the server room was located. An unfortunate development. It meant Jack couldn’t simply take cover in another room without the risk of being discovered.

  He sighed.

  This entire op was turning into a Charlie-Foxtrot.

  56 |

  BBG International George Town, Cayman Islands

  Jack sprinted up the stairs to the main floor. He couldn’t risk being trapped in the basement—there were too few doors. But the ground floor offered possibilities.

  “You’re clear, but only for about five seconds.”

  Jack rushed for the door, shoved it open and stepped through into the hall, the pneumatic door closer slowly doing its job behind him. He darted across the hall and swiped his pass, stepping inside an executive office. He closed the door behind him with a click, then surveyed the room.

  “Two hostiles coming your way, kicking open each door.”

  “Copy that,” whispered Jack as he desperately sought a place to hide. The desk was glass. There were no couches, and the several chairs were too low to provide any cover.

  “They’re approaching your room now. Five seconds.”

  He muttered another curse, then ducked behind the door, praying the room merited nothing but the most cursory of glances. There was a loud bang and the door flew open as the frame splintered. He raised a hand to protect his face as the door slammed into him. He grabbed the handle with his free hand and held it in place, preventing it from swinging back and revealing his position.

  “Not it.”

  “Wait,” said a second voice, both speaking Farsi, a language Jack understood enough to eavesdrop on but would never try to pass himself off as a native speaker. “Maybe we can access it through this computer. The door says this is a VP’s office.”

  “Let’s give it a try and let the others keep searching.”

  Jack cursed to himself and peered out from behind the door. One of the men was now sitting at the desk, plugging in a USB key undoubtedly designed to hack the system. The man stared at the screen while the other remained out of sight, blocked by the door. There was a slight tug on the handle. Jack let go, carefully drawing his weapon and screwing in the suppressor as the door moved several inches away from him.

  “I’m in,” said the man at the desk.

  The door stopped moving and the man stepped toward the desk as Jack gently pulled the door closer to him. Something was said that Jack didn’t recognize, though through the tone, he expected it was a colorful curse.

  “Twenty-two billion dollars just sitting there, like the General said.”

  “You have the account number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then transfer the money.”

  Jack’s trigger finger ran along the guard. The money billion could be about to disappear permanently, yet his mission had been aborted. His job was to get out alive, though no one had said anything about getting out with no one knowing. Gear was still plugged into a station in the server room, and someone would eventually know there had been a breach.

  And he was cleared to use lethal force to make his escape.

  To hell with it.

  He cleared his throat as he pushed the door aside, extending his weapon.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen, but I can’t let you do that.”

  The man at the desk quickly resumed typing as the other reached for his gun. Jack put two in the seated man’s chest, then one in the other’s shoulder. The man collapsed to a knee, but with his good arm, drew a knife with the smooth motion of a practiced thrower. Jack cursed and delivered a double-tap to the man’s chest. He had hoped to interrogate him, but that was now out of the question. He stepped behind the desk and confirmed the money was still in the account.

  “Rawhide, Control, report your status, over.”

  Jack liberated the wallets of the two downed targets then stepped over to the door. “Two targets eliminated. They didn’t get a chance to transfer the money. Report on the other two.”

  “They’re in the basement. They’ve found the server room.”

  Jack frowned. “Can you stop them?”

  “Negative. They’re using their own hack. It’s overwritten ours.”

  Jack eyed the computer. “Do you have an account number I can transfer the money to?”

  “Explain.”

  “I’m logged in, no doubt with the same hack they’re using. If they’ve got access, then I’ve got access. I just need an account number.”

  “Good thinking, Rawhide. Stand by.”

  Jack closed over the door then returned to the desk, dumping the corpse from the chair then taking a seat. He read the display. It was already set up for the transfer, an account number partially entered. He deleted it, then keyed in the number fed to him by Langley. He confirmed it, his heart racing as he was about to steal back $22 billion from under the noses of the Iranians. He hit Enter and an error message appeared, the same one he had seen downstairs.

  Transfer unsuccessful.

  “It’s a no-go, Control. These guys have no more access than we did.”

  “Copy that, Rawhide. I recommend you make your exit now.”

  “Roger that.”

  He yanked the USB stick that the Iranians had brought, then headed out the door and down the corridor. He stepped through the broken glass of the front entrance and calmly headed for his vehicle, parked just out of sight of any cameras, and as he climbed inside, he was left wondering why those behind the theft couldn’t access their own account. It made no sense.

  Unless they weren’t behind this at all.

  He chewed his cheek as he pulled away, another possibility occurring to him. Perhaps they were double-crossed. The Iranians clearly didn’t have proper access to the building. It was obviously a rush job, and a double-cross would fit with all the money being in a single account. The fact they knew about the account indeed suggested they were in on the original theft. However, if they were double-crossed and the money had been transferred to an account they didn’t have control of, then the elephant in the room could be the key to everything.

  How had they found out about the account?

  57 |

  CIA Headquarters, Operations Center 3 Langley, Virginia

  Tong pointed at the screen showing the two surviving Iranians carrying their comrades out in fireman holds. They dumped the bodies in the back seat then peeled away from the curb, leaving behind a mess of questions.

  “Can you reactivate our equipment?” asked Leroux.

  Therrien shook his head. “No. It looks like they took it with them.”

  Leroux sighed. “Fine. Spike it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Therrien tapped at his keyboard then stared at his monitor for a moment as a signal was transmitted instructing the devices to fry their circuitry. He gave a thumbs-up. Leroux acknowledged the confirmation, his attention returning to the private jet that had just left Greek airspace, the F-16s breaking off their pursuit.

  Leroux watched as the plane adjusted its heading. “Project its course.”

  Tong worked her station and a cone appeared, the tip at the aircraft’s current location, then widening ahead. The cone continued to swing toward the west, past Egypt, then finally settled as the pilot completed the course change.

  And Leroux frowned.

  “Libya,” muttered Child unnecessarily. “Of course it’s Libya.”

  Libya was the least stable country in North Africa, with many revolutionary factions backed by Iran. And if there were one country where they were least likely to get meaningful cooperation against Iran, it was Libya, since those factions had won. This was obviously always their destination, and with this operation so well planned, he had little doubt any palms that needed to be greased had been.

  He continued to stare at the cone aimed directly at the North African nation. “ETA to the coast?”

  “Ninety minutes at their current speed.”

  “Okay, inform Delta. I’ll let the Chief know so he can find out if Washington still wants to go ahead with this. Anything from facial recognition yet?”

  “No,” replied Tong. “Everybody’s coming back clean, though that doesn’t mean they are. I’m checking international arrivals now.”

  “Assume they’re traveling on fake passports.”

  Tong nodded. “Way ahead of you, boss.”

  He chuckled, turning his chair to face Child. “What’s the status on tracking that truck you found that transported the weapon to the last detonation site?”

  “Still tracking it back,” replied Child. “It looks like the one vehicle was used to position at least half the weapons so far, so it’s going to take time.”

  Leroux frowned. “We have to speed this up. This had to come in by airplane. If they tried to bring the explosives in by train, they’d have no way to change their plans if something went wrong. They could bring it in by vehicle, but they’d run the risk of being caught at one of the external borders to the Schengen Agreement.”

  “Boat?” suggested Tong, knowing it wasn’t a real possibility.

  “Boat is possible, but still risky. Austria is landlocked, so it would be quite the drive to reach there.”

  “Then it has to be by plane, like we thought.”

  “Exactly, and it has to be a plane they would have complete control over, so we’re not talking something that flew in from Spain or Italy. This would be something that came from a place where bribes would be welcome, and with everything planned to the minute, I’m willing to bet it landed no earlier than a few hours from the first detonation.”

  “What about the same airport they left from? Hell, it could’ve been the same plane,” suggested Child.

  Leroux shook his head. “No, that’s about an hour’s drive. Too many things could go wrong. Flat tire, broken taillight that invites a traffic stop. No, they’d land smack dab in the city to reduce the risks of something going wrong.” He turned to Tong. “I assume the Vienna International Airport is the only one that would fit the bill?”

  “If we’re assuming they want to do an offload like crated cargo, then yes, that would be the place. It certainly wouldn’t look out of the ordinary. But they have customs, don’t they? Wouldn’t the cargo be inspected?”

  Leroux smiled slightly. “Not if it were labeled as diplomatic cargo.” He smacked his hands together. “Okay, let’s get on this. Randy, you keep tracking back that truck. Sonya, I want to know what planes landed within that window with diplomatic cargo.”

  “From Iran?”

  He shook his head. “No, from any country. We have to assume the Iranians, if that’s who’s behind this, would have done everything they could to hide their involvement.” He headed for the door. “I’m going to brief the Chief. Call me if you find anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Tong.

  He pushed through the hissing door and headed for the elevators, his pulse racing with excitement. Things were drawing to a close, though he still didn’t know how they would turn out. And one thing gnawed at him, something Jack had also picked up on after his failed op. How had they known about the account? He chewed his cheek and pulled out his phone, sending a message to the best person for the job, and the only person they had on the ground where the leak had to have occurred.

  58 |

  Vienna, Austria October 25, 1941

  Daniel both hated her and loved her terribly. He had woken the next morning to find Petra not in bed with him. He had immediately grown concerned, though without knowing if he had been asleep for half an hour or for hours, he couldn’t be certain if she were overdue. He had sat up in bed for hours waiting for her, his imagination running wild with what might have happened. By the time he finally stepped out that door, he was certain she had been captured or was dead, and he wasn’t sure what to do. All he could think was to go out and search for her.

  But when he opened the door, he had his answer.

  The pair of shoes were sitting in front of it, atop some neatly folded clothes, with a note. He reached down and picked up the piece of paper.

  My Dearest Daniel

  I’m so sorry, but I can’t take it anymore. There was only enough for one, otherwise you know I would have taken you with me.

  Please forgive me.

  Petra

  His eyes narrowed as he read the note. What did it mean? His heart leaped into his throat as a thought occurred to him. He rushed down the passageway and dropped to his knees, crying out at the sight of the rock that hid his spoons pried away and lying on the floor. He stuck his hand in the opening, confirming what he already knew.

  They were gone.

  She had stolen them like the thief she was.

  He returned to the only home he had known for so long, tears flowing, his entire body shaking with the betrayal, then reread the note.

  There was only enough for one.

  He thought back to the night at Peter’s home, to the conversation he had overheard between his uncle and his mother. There hadn’t been enough money to save him and his parents, only himself. The spoons had been handed over for payment. The man whose name he had forgotten had said they were more than enough, but like anything, escape to America must now cost more.

  Petra had obviously found the spoons. He had become careless over the months they were together, and she must have spotted him at his hiding place and investigated. She then would have made the arrangements, probably through her black-market contact, then taken her opportunity to escape this horror. The timing had left him wondering. She had left on his birthday, leaving him with a fresh pair of shoes and clothes, and as a man in the eyes of God. And a man should be able to take care of himself. And thanks to the skills she had taught him over their time together, he had survived.

  But he was alone, desperately alone.

  And it was soul-crushing.

  It had been weeks since her betrayal. The first few days had been spent lying in the bed they had once shared, crying, feeling sorry for himself and wishing his mother hadn’t changed the powder. Once he had worked his way through the last of their food and water, thirst and hunger forced him back onto the streets, and he quickly discovered he had mastered the skills she had taught him.

  After a few weeks of subsisting on bread and the odd vegetable, he had picked enough pockets to purchase some meat and cheese from their black-market contact. It had been nerve-racking the first time, for Petra was the one who usually dealt with him, and he was likely the man who had arranged her escape. He had handed over the money, and a small package wrapped in newspaper was pushed toward him. He unwrapped it to make certain he wasn’t cheated, then folded it back up. He was about to leave, but he had to know.

  He stared at his feet. “Did she get away?”

  The usually gruff man, who he only knew as the Shopkeeper, leaned down, placing his elbows on the counter. “You don’t know why she did it, do you?”

  His chest tightened, his stomach in knots. “Because she’s a lying thief?”

  “Oh, she was definitely a thief and probably a lying one like you said. But that’s not why she did it.”

  He glanced up at the man, tears filling his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “They caught her a few weeks before she left.”

  Daniel’s jaw dropped, his eyes shooting wide. “She didn’t tell me that!” He thought for a moment, puzzled. “Why did they let her go?”

  “They didn’t. She escaped, but not before the two soldiers who caught her did something to her.”

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “What did they do?”

  The Shopkeeper shook his head and straightened. “Something a boy your age doesn’t need to know. But trust me when I say, she was right to do what she did. She had to escape. The streets are no place for a pretty girl like her. She wanted to tell you, but decided she would rather spend her last days with you happy. She left on your birthday, didn’t she?”

  He nodded.

  “She had planned that day for weeks, and she was so excited when she found that broken radio on the street. Did you get it working?”

 

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