Dalton checked his watch. Five minutes.
“Let’s get the computer up here.”
The cell phone rang. Cesar flipped it open. “Yes?”
“We’re ready,” Valika informed him.
He shut the phone. “ Souris.” Cesar waited but there was no response from the woman in the deep chair. “ Souris!” he yelled.
Reluctantly he got up and went over to her. He hit the ESC key on her keyboard.
Her eyes flashed open. “You bastard!”
Cesar reached forward and grabbed her chin. “Remember who pays for all of this.”
“You’re ignorant,” Souris hissed.
Cesar pointed at the computer. “Activate Aura II and tell Raisor it’s time for him to earn our assistance.”
Raisor “saw” the field race over the harbor toward him. It struck like the wind hitting a glider’s wings. He felt the power, his virtual avatar gaining form and strength.
The data was also there in the wave, formed by the Aura computer. He accessed it. It wasn’t as good as Bright Gate, but enough for the task at hand.
He glided into the Bank of Grand Cayman, passing through the thick outer walls. He found what he was searching for with ease-the glow of a screensaver on the computer screen drawing him in.
It might be night on Grand Cayman, but the bank’s main computer never slept, as accounts were constantly being accessed from the entire world via secure Internet.
Raisor slid into the computer, a feat he had done before as a Psychic Warrior. He found the first of the names he’d been given and accessed the account, already having bypassed the need for a password, as he was part of the computer itself.
One hundred and thirty million was in the account.
Raisor sent the account on its way, using the information he had been given. Then he searched for the next name.
The numbers appeared on Valika’s screen. “The first deposit has been made. One hundred and thirty million. The rest will be there shortly.”
That was enough to get Kraskov off the couch. He came around and looked over her shoulder, standing much too close, his fetid breath on her neck.
“Let me check.” He waddled to a briefcase and took out a satellite Internet phone and began punching in numbers.
“The first transfer has been made,” Souris reported in a distracted, distant voice.
Cesar cut the tip off his cigar.
Raisor had been given six names. He reached eight hundred million by the third account. For the excess he switched the destination account, sending the money to Cesar’s own Swiss account. Until there was one hundred million left in the last account. That he sent to a different destination.
In all, he had cleared out 1.2 billion dollars. He had no idea who he had just stolen from, but he assumed they were people who would not go running to the authorities; not that there were any authorities to run to in Grand Cayman, which was why the accounts were there in the first place.
“I am impressed,” Kraskov said, closing the phone.
“Where is the ship?” Valika said.
“Not far. Off of the European Space Port at Kouro, monitoring launches.”
“Excellent.”
He handed her a sheet of paper. “The ship’s call sign. The command code word. The captain will do whatever you ask once you give him that code word.”
“Good.”
“What will you do with the crew?” Kraskov asked as he went back to the couch and sank down into the cushions.
“They’re like you, aren’t they? Several suitcases full of cash and they’ll work for us, won’t they?”
Kraskov nodded. “True.”
“Everything in Russia is for sale, isn’t it?”
“Just about.” He smiled, revealing misshapen and discolored teeth. “We are embracing capitalism wholeheartedly.”
“I left just in time. What about the other items?” Valika asked.
“I don’t understand why you asked-” Kraskov began but Valika cut him off.
“Don’t do any thinking. Where are they?”
Kraskov grunted something to one of the guards. The man left the room and was back in a minute with a large metal briefcase in each hand. He put them on the table. Valika flipped the lids open.
“This was difficult to come by,” Kraskov said. “My GRU contact raised his eyebrows at the request.”
“And you lowered them with cash.” Valika closed the lids, having confirmed the contents.
“I’ve reserved a room for you,” Kraskov said. “Right next door as a matter of fact. I could order from room service. They have some excellent wines, or I can order vodka if you still drink the swill.”
“I’m leaving.” Valika stood. She slung the laptop case over her shoulder and picked up the two cases.
“You don’t know what you’ll be missing,” Kraskov said as she headed for the door.
“I don’t even want to consider thinking about that,” Valika threw over her shoulder as she left.
The first Blackhawk landed, blowing snow into Dalton ’s face. The side door slid open and the crew chief jumped out. Dalton waved at him to help. With Barnes’s and Jackson’s assistance they manhandled Sybyl III’s mainframe to the helicopter and inside. It filled most of the cargo bay.
That helicopter lifted and the second one came in. As Jackson, Barnes, and the new crew chief loaded the other gear needed for Sybyl III to work, Dalton got in the cargo bay and leaned between the seats. He shook Roby’s hand.
“Thanks for making it, Chief
“Long time no see, Sergeant Major. We needed some blade time for training anyway. Where do you want me to take this stuff?”
Dalton handed him a map. He tapped a location. “Right there.”
Roby squinted, making out the markings. Then he looked up, eyes widening. “Oh, man.”
“There will be someone there waiting to off-load this gear.”
“All right.”
Raisor’s essence was drained of power as Aura II was turned off. He was once more a formless being on the psychic plane. He headed toward the United States.
Cesar picked up the phone and dialed the direct number for his villa in Colombia where the Special Forces team was being held. His instructions to his man in charge there were brief and to the point. It was time to get things moving and the Americans weren’t playing along as he would like.
Once the picture came out, he put it back in the top slot and dialed a new number.
McFairn stared at the photo that had just been faxed to her office. She almost jumped as her secure phone rang.
“McFairn.”
“General Carlson here. I just got a faxed picture from Colombia.”
“I also just received it,” McFairn told the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“My office. Now. Bring everything you have on these sons-a-bitches.”
Dalton watched the lights of the second Blackhawk disappear into the night sky and listened as the sound of the blades faded until there was silence. He stood on the landing grate, looking out over the starlit mountains.
“Marie?” he whispered.
A cool breeze blew by and he thought of the poem.
He reached out, above his head, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, spreading his fingers wide, the breeze touching his skin. “I feel you.”
14
Deputy Director McFairn rarely traveled away from her office for meetings. It was a sign of power in Washington to have people come to her, but in the case of General Carlson, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, she had to make an exception.
The sun was barely tingeing the eastern sky with light as her limousine pulled into the Pentagon lot. She was quickly escorted to Carlson’s office, her briefcase tucked tightly under her arm.