So that was his angle. Sean figured he'd play it that way. Porter wasn't the inventive type.
"I see that, Porter. My question is, what are you doing here? Who is this guy? And how did you find this place? You realize I'm going to have to kill all of you, don't you?" Three of the men with submachine guns stepped closer, leveling their weapons at their waists.
"He's a Russian spy, sir," Porter said as calmly as he could. "He's working with Wyatt and Schultz. As to your other question, I followed them, told their pilot I was the copilot, and flew out here with them. They never knew I was on board. You should know, however, that if you kill me, this entire story goes public. You'll lose everything: your position, your company, whatever all this is. You'll be tried and executed."
Foster tilted his head back, sizing up Porter's eyes, searching for a sign of bluffing.
Sean and Tommy frowned. They were puzzled as to when Porter could have gotten aboard the plane in Clinton. Then they remembered the shootout. The whole thing had been a distraction to get them away from the aircraft so Porter could climb on board. The plan nearly fell apart when Yuri showed up and killed his three men.
Foster appeared uncomfortable for a moment. He saw no sign of dishonesty in Porter's story. Then he stiffened and motioned to some of his guards. "Take these three, and put them down below. Porter, you may come with me."
Four of the guards surrounded the three captives. One of them waved his hand for them to follow.
Sean, Tommy, and Yuri resisted at first, then one of the guards elbowed Sean in the lower back and he stumbled forward.
The guards ushered them toward an opening on the side of the pyramid. A path was carved into the rock, leading down at an angle into an open doorway. Tommy followed the lead guard as they moved single file down into the belly of the pyramid.
Inside the megalithic structure, they found themselves in a remarkably preserved corridor. Hieroglyphs colored both walls of the hallway, featuring people, animals, and scenes of agriculture. Presiding over all of the artwork were some of the more famous Egyptian deities, all of which Sean and Tommy recognized instantly.
The path turned sharply and then went down at an even steeper angle than the one leading into the pyramid. It did a 180-degree turn at a landing and then continued downward, deeper and deeper into the base of the mountain.
"How far down does this thing go?" Sean asked, not expecting an answer from any of the guards.
"These pyramids are like icebergs," Tommy said. "Beneath the tip is a labyrinth of tunnels, rooms, and secret chambers."
"Thanks, Nat Geo," Sean said. "I was looking for a more specific answer from the guys who work here. Not that they'll answer."
The procession went down another two levels before they arrived at the bottom. It was a square room with doorways leading in all four directions. Floodlights lined the floor, casting their radiant glow on more ancient artwork.
In the center of the room, a long cable hung from a hole in the ceiling. It stretched down to a tall stack of gold bars sitting a few feet off the ground, held up by a wooden platform. Wires and cables spread across the precious metal like spiderwebs.
"That your gold?" Sean asked Yuri.
The Russian stared with wide eyes at the incredible treasure. A sign was posted on every side of the platform that read High Voltage. "Dah," he said — the Russian word for yes.
Tommy followed the main cable up into the ceiling where it disappeared into the upper parts of the ancient structure. "So, this is how he does it," he said. "He's harnessing the power of geostatic electricity — just like Yuri was saying."
To the men standing in the center of the room, it felt like the entire structure was vibrating.
"In there," one of the guards said to Tommy.
Before he could resist, the guy shoved Tommy in the back and sent him sprawling forward into the empty room.
Sean and Yuri were directed to separate but similar rooms, each with a guard watching over the doorway.
"I'm going back up top," the lead guard said. "Keep an eye on them until we have further instructions."
The other three nodded and turned to face their prisoners, fingers wrapped tightly around their weapons.
Sean looked across the center room at his friend who stood in the doorway. "Not going according to plan, huh, Schultzie?"
"When does it go according to plan?"
"Maybe next time we need a better plan or at least a backup."
"That would be good."
"Quiet, you two," one of the guards said. "I suggest you try and relax. Mr. Foster will be down to deal with you shortly."
Chapter 37
"What is it you want, Porter?" Foster said as he slid into the leather chair behind his desk.
The room was decorated with wood panels and bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling. For an office trailer, the interior appeared more like something one would find on Capitol Hill.
"What does anyone want, Mr. Secretary?" He asked the question with a snide glare on his face. "I want to retire on a beach, maybe have a cabin in the mountains. Women, cars, all of it. That's what I want."
Foster bit his lower lip and nodded, taking in a long breath through his nose. He turned his chair at an angle and looked up at the ceiling. "Or I can kill you right now and no one will be the wiser."
Porter snorted. "I guess you forgot what I said. If I don't get back aboveground in the next hour, my partner is going to tell everyone what you've done. You'll be finished. There won't be a safe haven for you anywhere in the world. You can't run to where they won't find you."
"I think you underestimate the power I wield, Porter. We are everywhere. We control everything."
"Yeah, well, that doesn't change the fact that in one hour my man goes live with everything we know about you. You may be able to lie low for a bit — a year, maybe two — but eventually someone will find you and take you down. President Dawkins is a beloved leader. The agencies might not find you, but one of his fanatics might."
Foster seemed unimpressed. "Very well, Porter. What do you want?" He folded his hands in his lap and returned his gaze to the man across the desk.
"A hundred million," Porter said in a flat voice.
Foster's eyebrows shot skyward. "A hundred? Really? That's a considerable sum of money, Agent Porter. What makes you think I have that kind of coin lying around?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Kent," Porter said. He kept his eyes level with Foster's. "I know how much Transcorp is worth. You netted billions last year. From what I've read, the next fiscal year will be even better. The environmentalist nut jobs love the company because of its green energy. A hundred million is a drop in the bucket. Now that I think of it, maybe I should ask for two hundred."
He waited for a reaction from Foster, but got none.
"I'm not greedy, though, Kent. There's only so many things you can buy before it gets boring. I know that. I just want to live comfortably for the rest of my life. A hundred million should take care of that."
Foster tapped his fingers together. He drew in another long breath and once more looked up at the ceiling as if searching the tiles for an answer.
"Very well, Drew," he spat Porter's first name with bitter derision. "A hundred million it is."
Porter did his best to hide his surprise. He didn't think it would be that easy. In fact, he expected Foster to see through his bluff. There was no partner topside. And he had no connections to break the story about the secretary of state's betrayal. Yet here he was, about to be wealthier than he ever dreamed.
"I'll make the necessary arrangements," Foster said, standing up. "It will take a couple of days to get the money moved around. That large of a sum doesn't get shifted quickly. I'll need your account numbers, that sort of thing."