[BAD 07] - Silent Truth (30 page)

Hunter considered that good and bad news. Good, because it might push Joe to work with his plan, and bad because less time never favored defending against threats to a major population center.

Retter spoke up. “Might be wiser for Hunter to tour the Kore facility and gather intel, then let us send in a female agent to access the equipment. A woman would be less conspicuous if she had to move through the facility beyond where they keep males.”

Joe nodded. “I like that better.”

Hunter had hoped to convince Joe, in particular, that he was still a valuable asset, but in the past Joe would have gone with his plan. He would have trusted Hunter’s assessment.

Joe and Retter weren’t buying any of this.

What about Gotthard?

Hunter couldn’t find out without putting Gotthard in a tough position, which he wouldn’t do. He had to sound hesitant—or they wouldn’t believe him—and still agree. “I think my plan would work better since I’ve got the computer skills and I’ll be familiar with the layout… but if that’s what you want to do that’s what we’ll do. I’ll contact you when I leave the center.”

“Call when you reach Chicago and I’ll let you know my decision,” Joe said, finishing up, then the monitor went blank.

If BAD had no better option for inserting, Joe would let Hunter go forward. But that last order to call when he reached Chicago made it sound like Joe wasn’t on board with Hunter’s idea.

If Joe had an alternate plan for a female to insert, for sure he’d send a team of agents to find Hunter before he
could walk in on a mission in progress.

Hunter considered that for a few minutes, then decided Joe didn’t have the time or resources to send anyone after him right now. By the time BAD could come after him, Hunter would have new arrangements in place.

He ate the cold jambalaya and finished off the bottle of water. Then he lifted a tube of antibiotic ointment off the desk and stood up. He headed for her bedroom.

Abbie should be coming out of the shower soon.

Naked.

Perfect.

Would the mole take the bait or let a hundred thousand innocent people die?

Vestavia wouldn’t know until he had the real mission details and a time frame. But he’d put enough into motion today with his three lieutenants to start worrying the person working against him.

He entered his soundproof conference room, where the sweet odor of high-quality tobacco lingered in the air. He had no time to enjoy a cigar right now. The space had been designed at only a hundred square feet intentionally, with a custom-built Swedish recliner covered in sandstone-white leather in the center of the room. The one-foot-thick walls had an integrated security grid system impossible to breach.

Any change, even a picture-frame nail in the wall, would set off the alarm.

One side of the room was finished in matte black, and panels on the top half moved at the touch of a button to reveal a control center that looked like something from NASA. The lower cabinet opened by pressing another button to reveal a full bar with a built-in ice maker.

He typed in the series of codes, which changed hourly, that would engage the communication system, then prepared a scotch on the rocks and settled into the leather
chair. Setting his drink on the obsidian-colored marble table at his right, he lifted the remote control and pressed buttons. That activated the computer to project onto six poster-sized screens mounted on an eye-level semicircular frame in front of him.

Faces started emerging on the two screens, older versions of the young men he’d known in an exclusive college in France where they’d formed this generation’s Council of Seven Angeli.

Bardaric from the UK and Ostrovsky from Russia appeared first. A green light glowed above their screens. Chike’s blue-black face came to life next from somewhere in Africa. Who knew what city? Gray had started invading his inch-long bush of frizzled black hair.

Renaldo’s side profile from Venezuela took shape on another screen before he angled around to push a droll look forward. A smart-mouth in college once told Renaldo his thick black lashes, high Latin cheekbones, and rosy lips were “so gay.” The student never made that mistake again. Just disappeared.

A pair of black eyes, a wide nose, and skin the color of cocoa with tiny dots around one eye showed up next. Derain wore his Aboriginal genes proudly as a peacock when manipulating politics, but he was as Western-educated and groomed as the rest of them.

Where was Stoke? Damn Antarctican had little to do beyond press for more green initiatives. No government, no wars, no ambition. Stoke’s oddly simple face with dull-witted blue eyes crystallized. He was looking down, fumbling with something, then sat up, hands on top of each other in front of him. That whole goofy shtick played well for someone who’d made his first kill
at thirteen. The light above his screen finally brightened.

Ostrovsky had assumed the role of mediator years ago and ran the meetings, keeping everyone on track. “Floor is open to discuss the general business first.”

“We have—” Stoke started.

Renaldo sent a withering look in Stoke’s direction. “No, no. Last time took half hour to hear your list.
We
know your continent will be affected most severely first. World pays no attention to Antarctica. Unless your Fratelli group has actually discovered something under all that ice and snow?”

Stoke made a motion with his hand as if he were shoving papers aside and sat back, arms crossed. Half of the twelve Antarctican Fratelli were spread across the world as scholars, and the other half worked in many of the research facilities in Antarctica that corporations and study groups funded.

Vestavia interjected. “Our global-warming phase is gaining strength. The warming effect is taking shape here. The ocean temperature off Maine has risen to a record high. Aquatic life is shifting. Higher numbers of Orca and schools of whale sharks have been sighted in the Gulf of Mexico than ever before. Even the most skeptical are starting to notice the changes.”

“Here and in Asia, too,” Ostrovsky said, picking up the thread.

Vestavia sipped his scotch while Derain and Ostrovsky listed environmental changes in Australia and Russia. Ostrovsky finished with, “Likewise, the ‘green’ initiative continues to grow at a rapid pace that will peak as we intended, well ahead of the next phase. We quickly approach the time when every decision, from corporations
to governments to individual households, will be based on being green, which will only make our task that much easier to accomplish in this era.”

“We better hit our timeline after what we’ve spent developing global warming
and
the green organizations,” Vestavia added. “If our ancestors hadn’t screwed up so badly—”

Ostrovsky interjected. “Our ancestors had right idea but poor execution.”

“They didn’t have our resources,” Stoke said in defense of their Angeli ancestors.

Bardaric finally weighed in. “Oh, please. Even in the Dark Ages they should have anticipated the extent of the damage. The Black Plague was impossible to control. Look what happened with AIDS. We lost valuable assets we might not have if our fathers and grandfathers had strategized better.”

Chike lifted his wide chin and spoke with a deep voice. “Perhaps they thought they could see the future, just as we believe we can. We have the most advanced team of physicists, environmentalists, scientists, doctors, engineers ever created, but
no one
can predict the outcome of what we have put into motion.”

Bardaric scowled and leaned forward. “I disagree.”

Vestavia let Bardaric and Chike go at it, just as they used to in college. Ostrovsky would rein them in soon before testosterone levels red-zoned. Everyone on this Council had been raised by a ruthless father, men who instilled in their sons the passion necessary to lead the world into the final Renaissance phase.

Their fathers had not anticipated reaching the Renaissance prior to passing the baton of power over when all
seven boys had celebrated their sixtieth birthday. Their fathers missed the ambitious glint in each son’s eyes and underestimated the downside of putting seven future Angeli together at a young age so they would bond quickly.

Unwilling to wait until they were too old to plunder a new world order, this Council of Seven had used their collective genius to draft a plan of their own while in college. Their fathers all held strong positions in the Fratelli. Having been taught patience as a skill from the crib, the sons waited two years until their fathers traveled to a meeting in Switzerland where three Fratelli de il Sovrano representatives from each continent were expected to attend.

No family members were allowed to join the fathers on those trips, which was a saving grace when everyone in the luxury hotel in the Swiss Alps became ill and died within a week.

Including twenty-one international figures loyal to the Fratelli.

The boys mourned their loss publicly and buried their fathers, then set about taking over their respective family businesses and following in their fathers’ political footsteps.

All seven had found their way into a Fratelli group on their respective continents during the past ten years.

Vestavia would never trust any of these six, but they all needed each other.

“It’s time to move on.” Ostrovsky ended the battle between Bardaric and Chike too soon.

Bardaric’s face had a deep flush Vestavia hoped signaled a stroke or heart attack.

Leaning back and sniffing indignantly, Bardaric regained his composure immediately. “I’m proposing a mission on North American soil, which would benefit all of us. The Americans have not been sufficiently weakened.”

“I have no problem with planning an attack,” Vestavia countered before Bardaric could say more. “But I think we should perform testing, just as we’ve been doing with the viral weapons.” He had to take care in arguing against this plan. No one expected North America, specifically the U.S., to fall easily, but the Council would not tolerate unchecked ambition.

They’d back Bardaric’s plan to bring the U.S. to heel unless Vestavia could convince the Council to delay for testing. If he couldn’t win that vote today, he’d need Peter Wentworth’s support to force a second vote before the attack. But Peter wouldn’t lift a finger until he found out who had shot his daughter, and Gwen hadn’t regained consciousness yet.

“I’ve conducted sufficient tests,” Bardaric started to argue.

Vestavia cut him off. “On a city of any significant size? I’m sure we’d all like to see the results. If the destruction is not significant enough the first time there will be no reason to continue, and every mission carries a certain degree of risk of exposure for the Fratelli and us.”

“I see your point,” Ostrovsky agreed.

“The destruction will be significant. My people located a strain of Uranium in the Ukraine quite by accident that is more compact in density. When they tested a
microscopic amount the results were not that significant, but the next test left the scientists awestruck. They prepared a bomb with a teaspoon-size amount of uranium X, or UX as we call it. That unit alone caused significant damage to the corner of a four-story building, as seen here.” In place of Bardaric’s face, an image appeared of a brick building that went from standing to having one-fourth of it fall as though an earthquake had struck. “But when the bombs were detonated in each corner in the presence of UX, the chain-reaction result compounded the damage by twenty times.”

Shit.
Vestavia maintained a calm face. He hadn’t actually believed the bastard, but the rest of the council did. “Impressive, but I’d still like to see a live demonstration since I’ll be the one handling the cleanup.”

“That’s fair.” Stoke rarely spoke up, but he’d never liked Bardaric either.

“Unless you have good reason to not demonstrate,” Ostrovsky said.

Vestavia wanted to choke Ostrovsky for giving Bardaric any help.

Bardaric’s sullen face reappeared on his screen. “We can’t waste the material on testing… we have a limited amount of the raw material. It appears to have been an anomaly of nature I doubt we’ll find again.”

“How much do you have?” Renaldo asked.

“Five linked bombs will take nine square blocks in any metropolitan city,” Bardaric answered, then went on to explain his plan for attacking one city first and making demands on behalf of a faux extremist group that couldn’t be connected to any country. “If the U.S. does not immediately follow specific instructions to pull out of
occupied areas by the third day we hit the second city. In another three days we hit the third city. By then they will fold because the administration will not be able to give an acceptable reason to their citizens for why they shouldn’t comply.”

“Once they do comply those who have demanded the troops be brought home will find the doors to the U.S. wide open for terrorists, who will make our job much easier,” Derain said enthusiastically. “How soon can we do this?”

“I took the liberty of delivering materials to North America while I had the opportunity this past week.”