The Tesla Secret Read online

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "The shooter had an M4A1 with an ACOG sight," Elizabeth said, "the latest version. The one our snipers like."

  "Christ," Nick said. "How does someone get hold of that?"

  "Tracked to Fort Bragg. The Army arrested a Quartermaster Sergeant who works in the armory. They're talking to him as we speak."

  "I'll bet they are, " Ronnie said.

  "What's an ACOG?" Selena asked.

  "ACOG stands for Advanced Combat Optical Group," Nick answered. "There are a lot of variants. It's a computerized telescopic sight with built in goodies to determine range, compensate for bullet drop and wind factors, things like that. You haven't worked with it yet. It's not available on the civilian market. The M4A1 is strictly military and police use."

  "Where was the shooter?" Ronnie asked.

  "In the HVAC duct work over the convention floor," Harker answered. "He fired through a vent. That center is 300,000 square feet. The system runs all around the top and it's huge. Plenty of room for someone to crawl in there."

  "They ID him yet?"

  "A former Army Staff Sergeant named Hardin. Dishonorable discharge after an incident in Afghanistan. He was accused of rape."

  "Winning hearts and minds," Nick said. "There's always a rotten apple somewhere to give the military a bad name. How come he didn't end up in Leavenworth?"

  "It was political."

  Nick shook his head.

  Harker said, "The Bureau and the Secret Service are all over the assassination attempt. It's not our concern at the moment. We have something else. Stephanie broke the encryption on the laptop from Endgame. Steph, show us what you found."

  The monitor on the wall lit. On screen was an email with directions to Nick's cabin and photos of Nick and Selena. Selena shivered. Someone had taken her picture and sent assassins to kill her.

  "Son of a bitch," Nick said.

  "The message was sent to a cyber café in Los Angeles," Stephanie said. "It's a dead end. I got prints from the laptop and sent them to Interpol. There were two hits, both former FSB. Russians."

  "The Russians went after us?" Selena looked at Stephanie. "Why would they do that?"

  "They wouldn't," Harker said. "It's not the government."

  "That's an assumption," Selena said, "that it isn't the Russian government."

  "You want to do the assumption thing?" Ronnie asked.

  "Why not?"

  "Okay." Harker looked at them. "Assumption number one is it isn't the Kremlin. What's two?"

  "Those hoods were ex FSB," Nick said. "So assumption number two is that whoever is behind this has a Russian connection."

  Lamont said. "Who has the contacts to hire guys like that?"

  "The Russian Mafia, for one."

  "Yeah, but the mob wouldn't have any interest in us. Don't forget the ones who went after us here and in California were American."

  "Then assumption number three is that it's someone with widespread contacts here as well as in Russia. Who fits that profile?"

  "Endgame is part of Foxworth's holdings," Selena said. "He runs AEON. He would have contacts here and in Russia."

  Elizabeth said, "Ogorov is part of AEON. He could be the Russian connection. So we're back to them again."

  Nick shifted in his chair, trying to ease the pain in his back.

  Ronnie smoothed the front of his shirt, where hula dancers swayed under impossibly green palm trees.

  "Look what's happened so far." Lamont counted out points on his fingers. "First they go after Nick and Selena. Then Ronnie and me. Nick and I go to New York, Russians try to kill us, and we find a computer with directions to Nick's place."

  He'd run out of fingers. "That about it?"

  "There's more," Stephanie said.

  Lamont groaned. "What, more?"

  "Several emails went between Brighton Beach and Prague."

  Nick rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache beginning. "Prague? As in the Czech Republic?"

  "Yes." Steph clicked her mouse. The screen filled with neat groups of numbers.

  "These are messages in code."

  Elizabeth drummed her fingers on her desk. "Can you break it?"

  "I'm not promising anything. The groupings are typical of a book code. The Brighton people were Russian. Assuming this actually is a book code, then the book is probably Russian."

  "How will you find out which one it is?"

  "I'm running a scan of every Russian book in the world databases, combined with a decryption program. If the numbers refer to a page and a word, either the word comes first or the page. The program checks it both ways and looks for correlations. If they added an extra digit or a pre-planned substitution to get the right location of the word, we'll never crack it. If the book they used isn't in the data banks, same result. We're out of luck. "

  "And if it works?"

  "Then we'll know which book, which edition, which page and which word. Then we translate. The computer will do that. Then we read the message."

  "Simple," Ronnie said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "Because the government pays you a princely salary to blow up things," Stephanie said. "They don't pay you to think." They all laughed.

  Harker said, "How long will it take?"

  "It depends. When there's a match the computer will tell me."

  "All right. Good work."

  "What about Prague?" Nick asked Harker.

  "I want you and Selena to check it out. Selena, you speak Czech, don't you?"

  "Yes. I'm rusty, though."

  "That doesn't matter." She slid a folder across her desk. "Once Steph told me what she'd found, I put this together. This has your legend and passports. You and Nick are Canadian for this trip. Married."

  "Quicker than Vegas," Nick murmured.

  Harker gave him one of her looks. "Nick, you're a sales rep. You're in Prague to try and drum up a little business. You brought your wife along for a real European vacation."

  "Doing my bit for globalization." He said it as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  "The address of the cafe where those emails originated is in there." She tapped the folder. "It's not much, but it's all we've got. Go there, see what you can find out. Try and identify the sender."

  "How are we supposed to pick someone out? Assuming the sender is even there?"

  Harker reached into a drawer and took out what looked like an ordinary digital camera. "You're a tourist. Tourists take a lot of pictures. Every picture you take with this will upload to a satellite. Steph and I will have them seconds later. Go to the cafe where the emails came from and take pictures. If the sender uses it on a regular basis and if he's in the databases, we might get lucky."

  "That's a lot of ifs and not much to go on."

  "Best I can do."

  "I hear the beer is pretty good in Prague," Ronnie said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nick and Selena landed at Ruzyně International Airport in the early evening. Nick had altered his appearance so the facial recognition scanners wouldn't pick him out and blow his cover. After the Jerusalem incident he couldn't travel in the open if operational security was in force.

  He wore a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Silicone pads and latex changed the shape of his face, giving him a puffy, slightly dissipated look, the face of a drinker. Skin-toned elastic pulled his ears tight against his head. The distinctive scar where a Chinese bullet had taken away the lobe on his left ear was gone. Contact lenses turned his gray eyes hazel. His short black hair was concealed under a brown wig indistinguishable from the real thing.

  Nick's Canadian passport was genuine. It identified him as Richard Wilson, a business man from Vancouver. He wore a wedding ring. The customs form he'd filled out on the plane listed the purpose of his visit as business/vacation.

  Selena was dressed in practical, plain clothes that made her look dull, an uninteresting woman in awkward brown shoes with a long skirt, excited about her once in a lifetime trip to Eastern Europe. She
wore a wig of mousy brown. Her eyes were the same color behind large glasses with clear plastic frames. She wore a cheap diamond wedding set. Her passport listed her occupation as elementary school teacher and her name as Sylvia Wilson.

  They deplaned into the controlled lanes leading to customs. Nick noted the security cameras and guards and kept his head down, just another jet-lagged traveler anxious to get to his hotel.

  The customs officer was bored. He looked at the passports and scrutinized Nick's face. He gestured at the camera bag slung over Nick's shoulder.

  "Open the bag, please."

  Nick opened it, took out the camera. "Latest model," he said. "Stores 5000 pictures."

  The official checked that the camera had been declared. He stamped the passport and handed it back.

  "Enjoy your stay." He stamped Selena's passport without more than a glance.

  They took a taxi to their hotel. The room had been booked from Vancouver using a credit card in Wilson's name. The hotel was a remodeled older building optimistically rated 3 stars. A traveler on a limited budget would choose a hotel like this. From here it was a twenty minute walk to the heart of the old city.

  They registered for five days. The clerk gave Nick a large metal key with a long wooden tag on it. He told them to leave the key when they left the hotel. He kept their passports and handed them a FedEx package.

  "This came for you, an hour ago. From your office? You are here on business?"

  "Yes." Nick handed the clerk a business card. "Business and pleasure. Thank you."

  He took the package. A rack of brochures on the counter advertised tours, attractions and restaurants. Selena took several and placed them in her purse.

  "Be sure to see the clock," the clerk said to her. "Welcome to Praha."

  The elevator was ancient, an elaborate open box of wrought iron with an accordion gate. They rose at a snail's pace. Selena watched the shaft slide by through the black ironwork.

  A bird in a cage must feel like this, she thought.

  Their room was stuffy and hot. Nick closed the door and locked it. A window looked out onto the street. He opened the window and watched a brightly painted electric tram rumble by on the street below. His back ached from the flight, a long, dull pain that spread around his side and clawed at him when he moved. They'd flown coach. People like the Wilsons didn't fly business or first class.

  He sat on the bed. It sagged under his weight. "We should take those detainees at Gitmo and strap them into economy airplane seats for a few days. That would make them talk."

  Selena laughed. "That's cruel and unusual punishment, Nick. Can't do that."

  She sat down next to him. Nick opened the package. It contained two Irish passports with entry stamps for the Czech Republic, two SIG Sauer P229 pistols chambered for .40 S&W, holsters and four loaded magazines. A box contained things they'd need if they had to use the Irish passports.

  Nick had never liked the Glocks that the others carried. They were great when they worked, light, easy to carry. But they had a tendency to jam at awkward moments. Looking at the Sig, he made up his mind to talk with Harker about switching everyone over when they got back.

  He picked up one of the pistols and inserted a magazine. He racked the slide, and let it go forward. He pushed the decocking lever down with his left thumb and put the gun in a holster. Selena did the same with hers. The pistol was safe with a round in the chamber. Pull the trigger and you were in business.

  "Nothing like a gift from home," he said.

  "What's our plan?"

  "It's too late to do anything today except find someplace to eat dinner. We need sleep. Tomorrow we'll go to that cafe."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Morel placed the syringe back in his briefcase and closed it. Foxworth rolled down his sleeve and fastened a gold and diamond cuff link. The drug moved through his system, the pain receded. He didn't know what Morel had given him. He didn't care, as long as it handled the pain. The headaches were getting more frequent. But Doctor Morel made them go away and that was what mattered.

  Foxworth smiled. "Thank you, Ernst."

  Morel tried not to show his surprise. He couldn't remember Foxworth ever expressing gratitude or calling him by his first name. It was a symptom as disturbing as the fits of rage or cold anger. His patient stood and walked to the windows. Morel waited.

  "A new day is coming," Foxworth said. "A day that will bring order to the chaos out there." He swept his arm across the view of London. "It will be difficult for them, of course. But in the end, they'll find their place. History will thank me."

  "You're a visionary, Malcolm."

  "Yes." He turned toward Morel. "We're going to Tuscany tomorrow. A car will pick you up in the morning. Mandy has your tickets."

  "As you say, Malcolm." Morel dipped his head and left the room.

  Foxworth watched him leave, then picked up his encrypted phone and placed a call to Moscow. He wanted an update from Ogorov

  Anatoloy Ogarov's advice shaped Russia's foreign policy. The Russian President was unaware that the advice came from Foxworth.

  Ogorov answered. "Malcolm. I planned to call you later today."

  "We are on schedule?"

  "We are. The first test is tomorrow. I trust Yuri. I am confident." Ogorov paused. "What happened, Malcolm? Why is Rice still alive?"

  "Some idiot left a cable across the stage. Rice tripped over it just as our man fired. We won't get another chance anytime soon."

  The drug was working. Foxworth felt only mild concern. "It doesn't matter. Just an unfortunate turn."

  "Yes." Another pause. "Malcolm, some of the others are nervous. These last attempts to eliminate problems haven't worked out well."

  Drug or not, Foxworth felt the anger begin. By others, Ogorov meant the leadership of AEON. Foxworth led and set the direction of the group. It wasn't a democracy, but his position depended on consensus by the others. Even he was not secure. Results were what mattered.

  "Which others?" Foxworth had to trust someone. Ogorov was his strongest supporter in the leadership circle.

  "Silva is one."

  "That doesn't surprise me."

  "Maupassant is unhappy."

  "When they see the results in November, dissent will cease. If it does not..."

  He left the rest unspoken.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Prague was everything the tourist brochures raved about. Selena and Nick strolled over the stones of Old Town Square in the heart of the medieval city. It was vacation month in Europe. The day was pleasant, with temperatures in the 70s. The square was jammed with tourists from every part of the Continent. They were just two more foreigners, taking pictures of everything, especially the clock on the old town city hall.

  Prague's astronomical clock dated to 1410. Two large dials showed the position of the sun and moon and a calendar of months. The clock began striking the hour as they watched. Carved statues of the twelve Apostles came out on top and glided in procession from one side to the other. A skeletal figure of Death tolled out the time.

  Nick watched Death hammering the bell. "Imagine what it must have been like back then, looking at that."

  "The whole city is a time warp." Selena had been reading the brochures. "There's a street up by the castle called Golden Lane, the street of Alchemists. Tiny little houses built against the castle wall for the King's retainers."

  Hradčany castle was the largest castle in the world. It dominated a hill overlooking the city on the other side of the Vltava river.

  "Maybe we'll check it out later. Let's find that cafe."

  The cobbled streets running off the square were narrow and old and had the feel of the middle ages. It was easy to imagine them filled with carts and horses and merchants centuries before. Now they were lined with modern shops and crowded cafes. Nick would have liked to browse the shops, sit in a cafe and watch people pass by. He doubted it would happen.

  Caution was a habit. He checked for tails as they walked. Nothing s
tood out but something didn't feel right.

  The cyber cafe was on a narrow side street. The decor was European punk. It looked like a second rate nightclub, black and chrome and plastic with neon highlights. The theme seemed to be somewhere between disco and heavy metal. Two dozen monitors and keyboards were lined up in a row on a counter. Chrome stools that might have come from a 50s diner in America were bolted to the floor in front of each monitor. They had swivel seats covered in red vinyl. Most of them were taken. A sign on the wall announced that computer time could be rented for 50 Korunas an hour. Nick did the calculation. About $2.50.

  Across from the computer wall, a gleaming four piston espresso machine took up the short end of an L-shaped counter. A coffee bar displayed assorted pastries and sandwiches. A blackboard on the wall listed the specials of the day in colored chalk.

  The cafe was crowded. About thirty tables took up the floor space. Someone got up from a table by the window and left. Nick and Selena walked over and sat down. In a minute a waitress came to the table.

  She was young and almost pretty. She wore knock-off Levis and a black shirt. Her long black hair was pulled back in a pony tail. She had dark blue eyes. A short white apron was tied round her waist.

  She said something in Czech. Selena understood but this wasn't the place to show off her knowledge of the language.

  "I'm sorry. Do you speak English?" Selena took out a travel dictionary of English and Czech phrases, thumbed through it, pointed at a line that read "I would like a coffee and pastry, please." It was right below "Please, which way is the toilet?" and "Excuse me, I am a visitor in your country."

  No shit, a visitor. Like anyone would think they were locals. Not on this trip.

  "You are American?" the waitress said in English. Her accent wasn't bad.

  "No, Canadian."

  "We're from Vancouver, " Nick said, smiling.

  "I have cousin in America, in Seattle. He has been to Vancouver."

  "Can I take your picture?" Nick asked. The perfect tourist.