Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (2 page)

“But why—”

“Do you honestly think Onnei will send you out into the world with a case full of money and corporate secrets, only for you to fall sick in some foreign country?"
 
He waited until he had every eye in the room trained on him.
 
"Our rivals would love that.
 
No—our Directors have spared no expense—after all, you are now part of the Onnei family.”
 
Voroshilov’s smiled.
 
“Now—who wants to get paid?”

Vasily smiled in his train seat. He'd just left Brussels en route for Paris.
 
He was on the next to last leg of his journey from Moscow to London.
 
He leaned back in his seat and admired the idyllic French countryside as it rolled by his window.
 
The rhythmic swaying of the train car combined with a belly full of food made him drowsy.
 

The green fields outside his window made him miss home.
 
It was late afternoon—Father would be bringing in the animals soon.
 
There would only be a few hours of sunlight left to wrap up the daily chores.

He sighed and pulled out his itinerary for the tenth time to rescan the list.
 
His next stop: Paris, where he’d pick up a reserved ticket on the TGV.
 
Then came London, where his first call was mid-morning tomorrow at Onnei's British headquarters.
   

The train jostled for a moment then settled again.
 
The metal briefcase between his legs fell against his shin.
 
He reached down to right it and reassure himself it was still there.
 
He had stopped at a bank in Moscow before he left to wire his parents a quarter of his new-hire money.
 
He was a fortunate man indeed.
 
The bonus he would receive for completing his mission would make him
rich
.

Even the vaccines the pretty company nurse had injected into his arm had brightened his mood.
 
At first he had to admit, he hadn’t been happy—he’d always hated needles and his family distrusted doctors and academics in general for generations.
 
His grandfather—his wise
dedushka
—always said there were three people never to trust: doctors, Americans, and Party Members.

But now,
Vasily thought,
I’ll be one of the elite.
 
A half-million dollar bonus!
 
On top of the money they already gave me…I don’t even know what to do first.
 
Get a house?
 
Party?
 
Maybe find a girl…maybe a British girl?
 
Vasily grinned.
 
Maybe two?
 

Vasily had never counted himself among those blessed with good looks.
 
His body had been bred for manual labor.
 
He had his father's broad face and thick hands.
 
Yet as he examined his distorted reflection in the window, he imagined there were more than enough girls in London willing to party with him and his money.

A sudden itch in his throat made him cough.
 
The smartly dressed
babushka
next to him leveled a look of mild disdain in his direction and leaned away, pretending to try for better light to read her newspaper.
 
She ruffled the papers and did her best to ignore the outside world.
 
Vasily didn’t care.
 
The nurse had told him he might cough or sneeze a little—it was a common side effect of the travel vaccine.
 
He would feel better in a day or two.
 

The newspaper fluttering indignantly a foot away from him turned out to be the day’s copy of
Le Monde
.
 
He glanced at the headlines—there before him was the reason he'd taken a train all the way from Moscow to London rather than just fly.
 
The lead story lamented Great Britain's decision to block all air travel in an attempt to prevent transmission of the flu across the Atlantic.
 
The article bemoaned closure of the TGV train line must surely be next.
 

Vasily smiled.
 
He’d seen the skyrocketing prices of train tickets when he’d reached the terminal in Brussels.
 
Onnei had spared no expense, but had specific language requirements for their couriers.
 
Vasily spoke passable French—at least that’s what he told them.
 
In reality, if he worked at it, he could make himself understood to native French-speakers well enough to find a water closet.
 
He understood
written
French better, which made his assignment to London confusing since he spoke no English.

Vasily coughed again and as he covered his mouth, his fingers brushed the stubble along his chin.
 
The first thing I need to do is get a hotel room and shave.
 
I must not walk into my first assignment looking like a slack-jawed
podenshcik.
 
His leg brushed the expensive silver case again.
Ah, but no day laborer would walk off a train carrying such a valuable briefcase!

C
HAPTER
2

The Swiss Alps.

Chalet Tillcott.

R
EGINALD
T
ILLCOTT
, 7
^th
E
ARL
Dunkeith, looked down at the paper in his hands and smiled.
 
The test results had arrived and proved the serum his scientists had created using blood stolen from Denver had been a success.
 
According to the results, he was now immune to the weaponized virus.
 
Antibodies taken from the Source had been injected into his own immune system and successfully replicated.

Reginald smiled and tossed the pages into the crackling fire.
 
He watched for a moment as the paper curled and turned black before moving back to the cluttered desk.
 
There was still so much to sort through—so much to destroy—before he left his Swiss residence.
 
The trip to his fortified ancestral home on the Isle of Skye would not be a long one, but it was an unnecessary complication he laid at Jayne's feet.

If she’d been able to control Barron a little better, things would not have progressed as fast as they had.
 
He laid equal blame at the feet of the Russians.
 
If they’d not lost the Source from their base in South Carolina in the first place, everything would still be proceeding according to plan.

Reginald sighed.
 
If you want something done right…

The intercom on his desk buzzed.
 
"
Apologies, my lord, but your call is ready to go through
."

Reginald turned on his camera.
 
"Very good, Stefan, patch them through."

Reginald cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and waited for the screen to brighten.
 
When the image resolved itself, the pudgy face of the newest Council representative from China, Yan Liaoping, filled the screen with nervous energy.
 
The man did not look pleased.

"I assume you've heard?" asked the businessman.

"Heard what?" asked Reginald.
 
"I'm not here to discuss today's headlines with you—I’m here to conduct a business transaction."

"As am I. I just hope you can deliver.
 
The World Health Organization found a suspected case of the Korean Flu on the southeast coast."

Reginald arched an eyebrow.
 
"Already?
 
My, that was fast.
 
I wonder, however, how it was possible someone arrived on your shores so quickly…"

The man on the screen narrowed his eyes.
 
"Do not be coy with me.
 
Do you have the vaccine or not?"

Reginald smiled.
 
"I do indeed.
 
As it happens, the price is going to have to increase slightly–"

“Do not try to swindle me, Dunkeith!”

"I'm not trying anything, Yan.
 
I’m merely informing you of a price increase.
 
Are you interested or not?"

The man on the screen frowned, his jaw clenched.
 
He seemed ready to argue further but ultimately self-preservation won out.
 
"Very well.
 
How much?"

"There, there, Yan, I'm not completely heartless.
 
Look—not only will I give you the doses I promised, I'll also give you the antibody template.
 
You'll be able to recreate the serum faster than anyone else on the planet.”

Yan regarded Reginald out the corner of his eye.
 
"And why would you do that?"

Reginald smiled again.
 
“Let's just say I enjoy gathering friends about me.
 
If I happened to call upon you for a favor…say after this unpleasantness burns itself out…I expect you would be amenable?”
 

He tapped a few keys on his tablet and sent detailed instructions on the money transfer and delivery times.
 
"That is, of course, if you find everything agreeable?"

The man on the screen received the instructions and quickly skimmed them.
 
He met Reginald's eye and nodded his assent.
 
"Agreed.
 
You drive a hard bargain, Dunkeith.
 
I shall have the monies transferred in the next few minutes."

"I assure you, Yan Liaoping, the pleasure is all mine," said Reginald in a smooth voice.
 

Yan nodded.
 
He signed off, and the screen went dark.

Reginald dropped his hands and drummed his fingers on the desk.
 
He hadn't heard from Jayne in more than 24 hours.
 
It was unsettling.
 
He’d given her explicit instructions, yet he’d heard nothing but silence.
 

He frowned.
 
If you want something done right…

Reginald shifted back to his computer and pulled up the latest reports on his operation.
 
Time ran short—the money from China had already appeared in his international accounts.
 

That’s an awful lot of zeros.
 
Pleasure doing business with you, indeed.

He started his laundering algorithm and within moments, the money siphoned into several shell corporations and foreign accounts in countries friendly to the Council.
 
It would take any investigating authority years to track down where all the digital currency had gone.
 
Nothing would ever be traced back to him.

Finances squared away, Reginald turned to the screens recording events in the lab.
 
He watched scientists from all over Europe—some of the best in their fields—move about in containment suits, preparing samples.
 

They have no idea their lives are about to end.
 
Pity.

His hand hovered over an ugly metal box with a large red button containing a wireless transmitter.
 
Reginald took the key that had been so often around his neck over the past two years and inserted in the box.
 
When he turned it, the red button glowed from within.
   

The intercom buzzed.
 

He hesitated, watching the scientists on the screen.

"Yes?"

“My lord, you asked me to inform you the moment we were fully mobilized and ready to depart.”

“Thank you, Stefan.
 
I shall be at the main entrance momentarily.
 
Please load my things.”

“At once, my lord.”

“Oh, make sure we have a decent meal on the flight.
 
I’m famished.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Reginald looked back to the monitor showing the underground lab, buried deep under the Swiss Alps.
 
He tried to imagine the tons of rock and earth separating the main compound and the lab.
 
You’re somewhere down there…poor bastards,
he thought, staring at the floor.
 
Ah, well…business is business.

Reginald pushed the button.
 
The screen flickered with static and the scientists paused in their work, looking at each.
 
Reginald watched tools and vials tumble from shelves, then watched the shelves tumble from walls as people fell to the floor.
 
The lights flickered and the transmission died.

He stood as he felt the faintest echo of a tremble through the floor.
 
“And that is that."
 
He picked up the two silver suitcases full of serum and strolled from his lavish office.