Domination Bid

“And now you think I owe you something for that.”

“Not at all.” Madari shrugged. “It makes no difference to me if you continue to maintain your loyalty to Mother Russia. But understand that if you don’t cooperate with me, I will be left with no other alternative.”

“And that is?”

“To liberate you.”

“I like that,” Dratshev replied with a scornful laugh. “It sounds much better than kill me.”

“No, I literally meant I would free you. You’ll find me a very literal man, sir. As I’ve told you, I’m not an animal or a murderer. If you refuse to cooperate, I will set you free.”

“And then what?”

Madari shrugged, clasped his hands behind his back and replied, “Then I’m certain the FSB will have no trouble finding you and terminating your life—this I can most assuredly guarantee you. This is really to say that releasing you poses absolutely no liability to me. And even if you managed to escape, chances are good you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. The odds aren’t in your favor, to put it bluntly.”

“It seems to have escaped your notice that if I’m dead, you will be unable to complete building of the prototypes.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Madari favored him with a wan smile. “If you refuse to cooperate, my situation hasn’t changed. And with you dead, I alone possess the knowledge and research, which I will put up for auction to the highest bidder.”

“You seem to forget my government has the information, as well.”

Madari shook his head. “Not all of it. Dr. Dratshev. My arrangement with your handler goes back considerably. Five years or better now, I think. He’s only given your people part of the information and none of the prototype specifications. Those have come straight to me and I have lined your handler’s coffers handsomely for that information.”

Dratshev had heard enough and could no longer contain his temper. “None of this makes any sense, Mr. Madari.”

“Please, call me—”

“Don’t interrupt me! Now you’ve been a gracious host—nay, a captor—to this point, but I can no longer tolerate your egomania. I don’t know what your purposes really are for stealing me and my work, but I deem they are more nefarious than anything else—despite what you say about wanting to bring democracy to your country. I doubt you have little if any influence left there, which probably explains why you’re here.” Dratshev gestured to indicate their surroundings.

“What I do believe is that you have no interest in keeping me alive unless I’m willing to unconditionally acquiesce to your wishes. I am not. Whatever else you may be, Mr. Madari—a gentleman or a patriot or perhaps merely an opportunist out to make as much money and a name for yourself as possible—you are a scoundrel. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. So let us not pretend that your benevolence doesn’t have some ulterior purpose. I am not so easily won over, despite whatever you might think about what motivates the scientific mind.”

For a long time Madari didn’t say anything, and Dratshev was convinced he’d finally called Madari’s bluff. Then the man grabbed the second EMP rifle being held by the other armory guard, aimed the weapon downrange and squeezed the trigger. At first nothing happened, but then a moment later the weapon bucked hard against Madari’s shoulder, hard enough for him to cry out with pain, and then the air in front of the barrel shimmered as if under heat. A moment passed and a massive box made of what appeared to be steel or iron blew apart as if had been packed with high explosives.

Dratshev ducked reflexively and then turned his gaze slowly to Madari, who was handing the rifle back to the guard while rubbing his right shoulder.

Madari whirled to face Dratshev, a gleam in his eye. “That is just a small demonstration of what your genius has accomplished, Doctor. It is my intention to sell this technology to whoever will bid the most. In fact, I released the details of the public auction this morning to five countries. We should be hearing from them very shortly.”

“Clearly, I was wrong about you, Mr. Madari,” Dratshev replied. “You’re neither a fake nor an opportunist. You are, quite simply, a lunatic.”

“Perhaps,” Madari said. “But there are other lunatics throughout history who were able to achieve much more than I ever subsume I may. And for now, Dr. Dratshev, I will do this whether I have your cooperation or not. Think about it. You can profit by this—I will provide you the most advanced facilities at your disposal. Even after we auction this current technology, nothing says we have to stop there. With you by my side, we can develop weapons even more powerful and advanced—weapons I can use to equip those in my country who want to see the same thing as I can. Together, we can build the most powerful army on earth!”

“I…I can’t,” Dratshev said even as he knew that he would. Madari had been right about him. “And yet, I must!”

Ishaq Madari smile. “Excellent. Most excellent.”

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_ab9a23e5-19bf-55ff-b62c-3ce13f6d2413)

Minsk, Belarus

“Mr. McMasters, welcome to Minsk.”

David McCarter shook the hand the woman offered him while the remaining Phoenix Force members looked on.

To have called her anything other than beautiful would’ve been absurd. She had short dark hair, cut pixie-style, liquid-blue eyes and full red lips. The high cheekbones arched gracefully and dipped to soft cheeks with just a hint of dimples at her mouth.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss—”

“Mariam,” she replied, “but I prefer if you simply call me Mishka. My cover name.”

Just one of her many cover names, actually, although she probably assumed McCarter knew little about her. In the interest of keeping her friendly, the Phoenix Force leader opted not to let on that nothing could be further from the truth.

Muriel Annabel Stanish, age thirty-four, had been a CIA case officer for six years. She’d spent the first two operating Stateside with the documents section specialized in European forgeries. After distinguished service and at least half a dozen requests for transfer, she’d finally been assigned to Minsk, Belarus, to fill a vacancy—one that had occurred under rather dubious circumstances.

“You look rather surprised to see me,” Mishka observed. “I suppose they neglected to tell you I was a woman.”

“Not at all,” McCarter replied.

“Um, I think we’re just surprised,” T. J. Hawkins interjected with a disarming grin, “that we wouldn’t be meeting such a breathtaking young woman as yourself, miss.”

McCarter, teeth clenched and looking out of the corner of his eye, said quickly, “You’ll have to forgive my associate, but he thinks he’s bloody charming when he’s really just being annoying.”

Mishka chuckled and waved it away. “No worries, McMasters. I get that a lot.”

“Do tell,” Encizo said, eyebrows rising.

“More than might you think,” Mishka replied with a grin of her own. She clapped her hands together for emphasis. “But I’m certain you’re tired and would like to go to your hotel. I’ve arranged an entire floor of rooms for you at one of the local hotels. It’s in the downtown area with easy access to all the other areas, but still out of the way of the regular tourist flow. If you’ll follow me?”

As the warriors fell into step behind McCarter, who kept pace at her side, the Phoenix Force leader said, “Seems you thought of everything.”

“Meaning?” she asked.

“Your choice of hotels was…interesting. Just seems you’ve more experience than we were led to believe.”

She shrugged. “It only makes sense, really. I was certain from what I’d been told that you would want to remain inconspicuous and my…experience with the proprietors is that they are discreet.”

“And what do you know of our mission?” McCarter asked as they reached a sporty European-made coupe parked a fair distance from the hangar.

“Not out here,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed to a large custom van nearby. “You can ride with me. The rest will ride with Carnes in the van with your equipment.”

McCarter nodded and gestured for his team to do as instructed. He then squeezed his muscular frame into the small sports car that was fully loaded and boasted genuine leather interior. “Pretty nice ride the Company offers these days.”

“It’s my own,” she said. “Bought and paid for during my layover in Italy. I had it shipped here.”

“Seems like some serious dough to lay out for a CIA case officer.”

If the comment offended Mishka, she didn’t show it—cool under pressure and relatively unemotional. McCarter filed the information for future reference.

“My father ran his own company,” she replied. “Physicist for a defense contractor. That’s partly why they transferred me here.”