Domination Bid

CHAPTER FOUR

Rural Iowa

A foul mood came over Special Agent in Charge Robert Higgs as he stared at the half-dozen bodies strewed across the grassy field of the USDA research facility. Higgs had been on a lot of crime scenes but this one had to be the most unusual.

A paramilitary team breaks into a supposed USDA site, engages in a gun battle with a security force armed more like commandos than federal rent-a-cops, and a bunch of people get killed. Higgs derived some comfort at the thought there were no innocent bystanders or civilians numbered among the casualties—that was the only thing about this that didn’t set his gut on fire.

Higgs was a teetotaler by any standards, but right at that moment he could’ve used a stiff belt of something stronger than the lukewarm coffee in the paper cup. He downed the remainder and then turned to look at one of his men who stood nearby holding an electronic clipboard.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Nick Winger sighed before replying. “Total of nine casualties—seven of them fatal and two with serious injuries. We got six bodies out here and one more inside the main building.”

“And the two injured were from the grenade?”

Winger nodded.

Higgs shook his head. “What a mess. And we don’t have a clue yet why this even happened.”

“You’ll get to the bottom of it, Bob.”

“You got more faith in my abilities than I do, Nick.”

“Yes, sir, maybe I do.”

“It’s interesting the team from the NSA didn’t have much to say.”

“What can they say? They’re a bunch of computer geeks. Special detachment specialized in recovering data from systems damaged by disasters.”

“Yeah, we both know that’s bullshit,” Higgs replied. “I’ve worked with those guys before. They’re actually specialized in recovering data for natural disasters—things such as floods and tornados and fires—not bombs and grenades and bullets.”

“Well, I suppose the applications are similar in nature.”

“We’ll see.” Higgs sucked air through his teeth. “Ask me, I think they’re a scrub team. I think this place did a little more than just agricultural research.”

“If it did, they’re not going to tell us,” Winger pointed out.

“Excuse me, sir,” another agent said. He approached with three men who were dressed in suits, ties and sunglasses.

More government types, Higgs thought, but he said, “What is it, Mackenzie?”

“These guys just arrived from BATFE. They asked to speak to you.” Mackenzie paused and then more quietly added, “They asked for you by name.”

Higgs scanned the grim faces of the three men and then nodded at Mackenzie. “I’ll take it from here.”

The fit blond one of the group said, “You’re Higgs? Name’s Carl Irons.”

Higgs shook the hand offered him. Irons had a strong, firm grip and there was something special about the way he carried himself. In fact, all three of them moved and acted with confident authority, and Higgs surmised almost immediately they weren’t who they claimed they were, despite what they claimed.

“What’s your interest here?”

“Some place we can talk private?”

Higgs looked at Winger and nodded. The man glanced at the three newcomers and then turned and departed without saying a word.

“Okay, what’s up?”

* * *

WHEN LYONS FINISHED giving Higgs the cover story about their interest in the guns that were used, the FBI agent spent a long time staring at him.

Finally he said, “You don’t actually expect me to believe that story.”

“Frankly, I don’t care if you believe it or not,” Lyons said with a scowl.

“Uh…look, Higgs,” Blancanales said easily, stepping forward to avert a pissing contest. “We’re not interested in jumping on your case or even taking credit. You have to admit—” Blancanales waved in the direction of the carnage “—that this is an awful lot to handle. If you’d just let us inspect the weapons that were used, we’d be able to trace them a lot faster than your labs probably could.”

“The FBI might even have turned to our people anyway for that support,” Schwarz added with a shrug. “So there’s really no reason for you not to cooperate with us.”

Higgs shook his head, keeping one eye on Lyons. “I’m more than happy to show a little interagency cooperation. But the fact is I expect honesty out of anyone I deal with. In other words, no bullshit and no cockamamie stories like the NSA data-recovery geeks who showed up on a whim—very similar to the way you boys did—with some fish tale about specializing in disaster scenarios.”

“Just what is it you’re trying to get at?” Blancanales asked.

Higgs couldn’t seem to help but tender a snort of derision. “Okay, let me be more direct since I’m asking the same courtesy from you guys. First, BATFE agents don’t typically operate in threes. They’d send a single field agent and maybe a backup man. That’s SOP for them, just as it is for us. Second, I’ve worked with plenty of BATFE agents before. You guys don’t move like them, talk like them or act like them. You’re professionals, although professional whats I’m not yet sure. My guess is troubleshooters, maybe CIA or NSA, but that’s less likely than maybe DHS. Maybe you’re on a page that’s not even in the official playbook.”

Blancanales couldn’t refrain from flashing the guy a broad grin. “Okay, so you’re obviously much smarter than our people gave you credit for. Fair enough.” Blancanales looked at Lyons. “I can’t be more specific without your approval.”

Lyons exchanged looks with Higgs and then nodded.

Blancanales said, “You’re right, we’re not on any page in the official playbook. I can’t get into it right now but what I can tell you is we got backing. Big backing.”

“How big?”

It was Schwarz who answered, “Okay, well, you know that big white building in Washington? You know—the one with the big pillars in front?”

Higgs stared at Schwarz a moment and then mumbled, “I see.”

“Actually, you don’t see,” Lyons said. “If you get my meaning?”

“I get you,” Higgs replied.

Lyons said, “As to the reason for our visit, let’s just say we’re after the same thing the NSA boys are after. Only fact is we already know what information was contained in that data vault. We’re way more interested in finding out who wanted that information and why.”

“And if I cooperate and help you find them, I’ll close my case, as well.”

“That’s the general idea, yeah.”

“Okay, then I guess there’s no harm in telling you what we know so far. Especially since it isn’t a hell of a lot.”

Blancanales folded his arms. “We’re all ears.”

* * *

Washington, D.C.

DAVID ERNEST STEINHAM stared out the vast array of windows from the fifteenth story of his office building. He smiled at the breathtaking view of the Potomac, and with good reason—he’d paid a small fortune for it.

But Steinham also knew he’d earned every penny of the millions of dollars his company had made. Steinham had started Dynamic Core Defense Industries in the late eighties, not too long after the Reagan presidency started granting massive contracts for companies willing to perform the latest in military R and D. Steinham, an eager young college graduate, had jumped at the opportunity and built his empire from the ground up.

Year after year, DCDI would innovate new defense solutions and, year after year, the government would renew with the company under an even more lucrative contract. Over the nearly past thirty years, Steinham’s company had made billions and managed to remain privately owned. They also had the dubious reputation of being one of the largest government-contracted employers in North America.

Steinham turned at the sound of his office door opening. The two men who entered looked stressed and weary, despite the fact they both wore pressed suits and were clean-shaved.

“Gentlemen,” Steinham said, waving them to leather chairs and love seats arranged in a hexagonal shape around a low, lead-crystal coffee table. “Please sit down. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“That would be an understatement, sir,” Jack Cyrus replied.

Steinham waited to take his seat until after Cyrus and Riley Braden were comfortable. “Can I get you anything?”

The men shook their heads.

Steinham crossed his legs, tugged at the crease line of one pant leg and said, “I’ve reviewed your report very carefully, Colonel Cyrus. I’m terribly sorry for the loss of some of your men.”

Cyrus cleared his throat before replying, “Thank you, sir.”

“Have you managed to contact the others who survived?”

“We have, sir. They’re all fine, no injuries.”

“And you’re certain every one of those you were forced to leave behind was dead?”

Steinham could see the flush of embarrassment mixed with anger on Cyrus’s face. He’d probably not appreciated the way Steinham had phrased that particular question, but then, Steinham didn’t give a good damn. Cyrus understood quite well who paid the bills, and Steinham had been quite clear in his expectations before ever agreeing to hire the mercenary leader.

“All those of my men who were left behind are confirmed KIAs, sir. You have no reason to be concerned about security.”

“And I assume no reason to believe they will manage to trace any of those men back here.”

It was Braden who spoke up. “Begging your pardon, Colonel?”

Cyrus nodded and Braden looked at Steinham. “Sir, I was the one who personally vetted every one of the men on our team. I can assure you that nothing in their identities or covers could be traced back to you, DCDI or any of your affiliated holdings.”

“Thank you, Major Braden. I’ll take you at your word. With that matter dispensed, the only thing left to discuss is your failure to retrieve the information on the most probable entities responsible for Oleg Dratshev’s disappearance.” Steinham looked Cyrus in the eye. “You understand, Colonel, the very seriousness this failure on your part to accomplish the mission objectives?”

“I do understand,” Cyrus said, obviously trying to remain calm. “But you must realize that the reason we failed is the same reason I lost a half dozen of my men. We were set up.”

“And you have proof of this?”

“He has me, sir,” Braden said. “And again, begging your pardon, Colonel? I was there, Mr. Steinham. Our failure to accomplish mission objectives had nothing to do with incompetence. We executed the plan exactly as we told you we would. Security forces there had been beefed up and they were actually waiting inside the data vault.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what Colonel Cyrus’s report indicates,” Steinham said. “But that’s not enough to prove you were set up.”

“I would tend to agree with you, sir,” Cyrus replied. “But it does indicate they knew we were coming. And they specifically waited until we were well inside the perimeter to engage us. Had this been a legitimate federal op, they would’ve hit before we ever got the chance to get inside.”

Steinham shook his head. “What’s your point exactly, Colonel?”

“My point, sir, is that they seemed fully intent on destroying our entire team. I think they wanted to make sure none of us got out alive. Had we not been split into two teams, they might well have gotten away with it.”

Steinham considered this and finally nodded. He had to admit there was significant merit to what Cyrus and Braden had told him. “I’ll agree someone or something definitely wanted to keep the incident on the QT. But it’s still disturbing because in any case, it would indicate we have a security leak inside DCDI. We can’t have that. Ever. So, gentlemen, I will leave it up to you to find the leak and plug it.”

“And how do you suggest we plug it?” Cyrus asked. The hard, level gaze Steinham made Cyrus reply, “I see.”

“Now since we weren’t able to obtain the information I’d hoped from the data vault, I was forced to pursue a secondary line of inquiry. I got a very interesting response.”

Steinham rose and poured himself a drink from the fully-stocked wet bar. He didn’t offer either of his guests anything. They were technically on duty and would’ve refused, so Steinham figured why bother.

Ice clinked in the tumbler as Steinham continued. “I would doubt either of you is familiar with electromagnetics beyond the most rudimentary facts, so you’ll indulge me while I elaborate.

“DCDI got involved in the physics of EMP weapons about ten years ago. In fact, I funded an entire department devoted solely to such research. But after three years and employing some of the best minds, we weren’t making enough headway so I shut the project down.”

Steinham poured his brandy and then returned to his seat before continuing. “Then we got wind through our connections inside the intelligence community of back-channel talk regarding Dr. Oleg Dratshev. They were mostly rumors, but they were enough to get my attention and, based on what I knew from our time of research here, those rumblings sounded very promising.

“I tried every way I knew to persuade Dratshev to come work for me but he is a staunch socialist and a man of—how can I say this?—eclectic tastes.”

“It would seem somebody beat you to the punch,” Cyrus said.

Steinham gave the remark serious consideration. “Perhaps. Although I would not have dismissed hiring your team to perform a similar action, Colonel, much of what we do here is still scrutinized by government overseers. I have to take my hat off to whoever managed to pull off Dratshev’s abduction. Of course, we may now never know who that is given your failure to retrieve information on his disappearance from the NSA’s data storage network.”

Cyrus seemed to squirm in his seat on that remark, something that gave Steinham a small measure of satisfaction. He couldn’t really blame Cyrus. He’d given the mercenary tougher jobs and the colonel had come through with an unusually high record of success. Based on that fact alone, Steinham had to admit there was some merit to the military man’s theory they’d been set up. But by who? And what were the chances this incident would eventually be traced back to him despite Cyrus’s assurances the operation couldn’t be linked to DCDI?

Steinham took a swallow of brandy, letting its smooth burn linger in his mouth and throat before he spoke. “But given we don’t have that intelligence, we must now draft an alternate plan to obtaining Dratshev’s whereabouts.”

“You have a suggestion, sir?” Braden asked.

Steinham couldn’t resist tendering a knowing smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. Some connections I have within the military community indicate that the FSB has launched a full investigation into Dratshev’s disappearance. There’s every indication that if they are able to locate him, they will most likely kill him. I believe your particular talents are well suited to preventing that from happening, Colonel Cyrus.”

“You want to send us overseas, then?” Cyrus asked.

“It wouldn’t be my first choice but…yes. I think sending you to Minsk to make contact with my man there would be the most prudent course of action. However, I don’t want you to go personally. I need you here for another operation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’d like to send Major Braden.” Steinham pinned Cyrus’s adjutant with a serious gaze. “This operation will require a bit of stealth and an uncanny ability at improvisation. Outside of you, Major Braden is the only person I’d trust to do that.”

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, sir,” Cyrus replied, “but we had an agreement that my men answer to me and only me. You’re not permitted to give my men orders.”

“Be careful, Colonel Cyrus,” Steinham warned. “I don’t need to be reminded of our agreement. And I’m not attempting to give Major Braden orders. I’m merely suggesting that if he is not put in charge of the mission, I won’t move forward with it. Unfortunately that would force me to turn to other resources perhaps more…flexible.”

Cyrus didn’t say anything, so Steinham decided to let him stew on it awhile. He knew the guy would give in. His contract with Cyrus wasn’t exclusive, after all, and all present knew that fact all too well. If Steinham decided to go another way, that would signal his termination of their contractual relationship.

Steinham and DCDI had developed into an extremely lucrative contract for Cyrus’s group. To lose that contract would likely mean financial ruin.

Steinham let the thought play a bit longer as he downed the last of his brandy. Then he said, “But let’s not rush to any decisions just yet, eh, Colonel? Your team has been invaluable to me and I would not like to sever the ties between us just for the sake of expediency.”

“Nor would I,” Cyrus replied quickly, his face reddening ever so perceptibly.

Good, Steinham thought.

“So do you have a specific plan in mind, sir?” Cyrus asked, probably more in hope of changing the subject than in any real interest in the operation.

“I think sending a very small team to Minsk would be prudent,” Steinham said. “No more than three, at most. You may hand-pick them, of course, provided one of them will be Major Braden. I can then give you details on how to make contact with the CIA agent there. Beyond that, I don’t care about the details of the operation—you may plan them to the last letter. I only ask that you keep me apprised and if you have the opportunity to retrieve Dr. Dratshev you will do so at whatever costs necessary. We cannot afford another failure.”

Cyrus looked at Braden. “Major?”

“Yes, sir, I believe that can be arranged quite easily,” Braden replied.

Cyrus nodded and returned his gaze to Steinham. “It looks like we have a deal, sir. We can be ready to leave within three hours.”

“Excellent,” Steinham said. “You’ve made the right decision, Colonel. You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not,” Cyrus muttered.

Steinham believed the mercenary thought the remark had gone unheard. But Steinham had heard it—and he would certainly remember it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Beginning his third day of captivity, Oleg Dratshev rose, bathed and dressed in the expensive slacks and shirt provided by his captors. If nothing else, Madari had proved to have excellent taste in clothing, much like Dratshev, so to this point the Russian scientist had found his conditions tolerable.

In fact, he had to admit his “captivity” to this point had been surprisingly comfortable. He’d been free to roam Madari’s estate and surrounding grounds at will, not to mention fed and quartered in the lap of luxury.

As a purist and amateur homeopath—the only social vice being tobacco and the infrequent consumption of quality vodka—Dratshev had found it difficult to shake the effects of the drug they’d used to incapacitate him. His muscles still ached and he still experienced occasional nausea. Most of that had now subsided and Dratshev found it increasingly difficult to pass the time.

Madari obviously understood this well. In fact, Dratshev’s host hadn’t spoken to him since his arrival, apparently content to leave him be until Dratshev reached a more lucid and compliant state of mind. The quiet knock at the door, answered by one of the four large guards assigned to watch the prisoner, signaled Dratshev’s seclusion had finally come to an end.

Dratshev looked at the door from where he’d been seated and just finished the last plate of a massive breakfast served to him an hour earlier.

“Good morning, Dr. Dratshev,” Madari said as he took a seat at the opposite end of the table. “I take it you’re feeling better.”