The Tesla Secret Read online

"I identified the book they were using at Endgame. In Brighton Beach? I broke the code, I can read their messages."

  "Better sit down. What's the book?"

  "At first I thought it might be a Russian classic. Something like a first edition of War and Peace."

  "But it wasn't."

  "No. It's modern. Generation P, by Viktor Pelevin. It's a metaphor about consumerism and greed and the search for meaning in a corrupt society, about a conspiracy of the media to control the masses. Not the sort of thing you'd expect a bunch of ex FSB hatchet men to be reading."

  "A media conspiracy."

  "Yes."

  "Makes me think of Foxworth."

  "If it's him, he's got a weird sense of humor."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Brighton Beach was a central routing point for messages from all over the globe. Everything came in there and went out again. Since we broke up Endgame they've moved the routing station somewhere else. I ran a trace to find the main servers and got nowhere. If I can't find them, NSA can't either. "

  "Who's got that kind of technology?"

  "A government or someone with unlimited resources. They aren't as clever as they think, though. I was able to send a little something to them. It tells us when a new message is sent and captures it. A new one just came through. It ended up in Paris."

  "Go on." Harker picked up her pen.

  "It's about something called the Mafra Codex."

  Harker began tapping. "Talk to me, Steph. What is the Mafra Codex?"

  "I had to look it up. It's an ancient book from Mexico. Pre-Classic Mayan, probably around 500 CE. It's the only one that survives from that period."

  "A book."

  "Not a book like books today. It's made of bark pages with pictures and glyphs on them. The Conquistadors brought it back to Spain. King Phillip gave it as a present to a family that backed him when he took the Portuguese throne. It hasn't been fully translated."

  "Where is this book?"

  "In Portugal, in the Mafra Palace library. That's why it's called the Mafra Codex. It's in bad condition and not on display. They keep it in a special archival vault."

  "So, what's the message?"

  "An urgent order to steal the Codex from the library. The message says by any means. No restrictions."

  "What could possibly be that important in a Mayan book? Good work, Steph."

  Stephanie watched Harker tap her pen.

  "You're going to send everyone after it, aren't you?"

  "Am I that obvious?"

  "What else could you do? If it's important enough that the bad guys want to grab it..." She left the thought unfinished. "I'll be in the computer room if you need me."

  The door closed behind her. For the moment, Elizabeth was alone in her office. She took a labored breath and forced herself to relax. There were no lights flashing on her phones. No calls from CIA or the White House. No immediate crisis she was supposed to solve or comment on or stop dead in its tracks. There were plenty of potential problems in the pile of folders on her desk, but they could wait.

  She was tired.

  It wasn't just the illness that made her tired, the disease that almost killed her before the doctors found the drug that saved her life. It wasn't the frequent headaches, an after effect of the .22 round she'd taken in her head.

  She was just plain tired.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. When was the last time you took a vacation? She thought about it. Years ago. She'd gone to the Bahamas and gotten the worst sunburn of her life. In the back of her mind she'd thought she might meet someone on one of those white sand beaches, someone to have a romance novel fling with. She'd never had a fling.

  She'd never been promiscuous, but she was no stranger to sex. The last time she'd let a man into her bed she'd been younger, still working at Justice. She'd thought he was the one. She'd had the classic hopes, a career, a family, a loving husband. Classic hopes had turned into a classic situation. He'd turned out to be a pompous ass. He'd left her for someone who didn't challenge his narcissistic image of himself, someone younger who ended up throwing him out.

  Since then there'd been no one she was really attracted to. Someone who could handle the reality of who she was, her job and all the ripples that went with it. If he was out there, she hadn't met him yet.

  The time was past for children. But she wouldn't mind having someone to share her life with, someone to hold on a cold night, someone to have breakfast with in the morning.

  For Christ's sake, she thought. Elizabeth, you need a break. Maybe Hawaii...No you can't. Not now. Maybe later.

  When all this was over she promised herself she would take that vacation.

  She opened her eyes. Reality returned. Stephanie had been right. She had to send the team after the Codex. Nick and Selena could join Ronnie and Lamont in Portugal after they were done in Prague.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Red velvet rope kept a group of tourists away from a glassed case holding the crown jewels of the Holy Roman Emperors. Two armed guards wearing elaborate powder-blue uniforms kept watch on either side of the case. Blue Cap was in the group. Suspenders pretended to study a display of medieval armor a hundred feet from where Nick and Selena stood.

  They looked at the glittering display. The crown was made of hoops of gold rising from a circular band of gold set with precious stones. Four elaborate finials rose from the band, studded with the biggest sapphires Selena had ever seen. The crown was topped with a golden cross embedded with more sapphires. Diamonds, rubies the size of pigeon eggs and gleaming pearls rounded out the decorations. A golden scepter and orb, both set with an abundance of jewels, completed the display.

  "We're lucky to see these," Selena said. "They're usually locked up. It says in the brochure that it takes seven separate keys just to get to where you can access the vault."

  "Some of our politicians in Washington would like a set of those."

  "I'll bet that crown was heavy."

  "Price of being king," Nick said. "You get the toys, you get the headache and the stiff neck."

  "Can you imagine living here?"

  The original castle had been started in 880 CE. It had been added to for centuries. Every style of European architecture was represented somewhere. There were hundreds of rooms. There were chapels, quarters for medieval monks and nuns, kitchens and bedrooms and dungeons, buildings for every use and description, a large cathedral. The castle stretched for half a mile, a rat's maze of halls, passageways, walkways, gardens, bridges and stairs.

  She said as much to Nick.

  "Rat's maze. Our rats are still with us. I'm getting tired of sightseeing. Let's get them somewhere quiet."

  Nick consulted a map of the castle he'd picked up when they came in.

  "Here."

  "The Basilica of St. George?"

  "There will be fewer people around. It's good a place as any."

  The Basilica was located toward one corner of the castle grounds, away from the main buildings, connected to a former Benedictine convent and marked with two needle-shaped towers of whitish stone. The towers were over 90 feet high. Everything about the castle was big. The Basilica of St. George was no exception.

  They strolled through the castle grounds until they reached the Basilica. They went in with their watchers not far behind. Their footsteps echoed on the hard stone floor. Nick looked around and pointed at a side chapel.

  "That looks like a good, quiet spot."

  The tour map identified the chapel as the shrine of Vratislav I. A sign with closed in four languages hung from a chain strung across the entrance between two metal stands. They stepped around the barrier and into the shrine.

  It was an impressive room. The high, arched ceiling had been fitted together with a master stone mason's skill. At the far end of the chapel, wide stairs swept up in matching curves to a curved apse with tall windows. The dome-like ceiling of the apse bore faded paintings of religious figures against a white backgroun
d. Afternoon sun streamed though the windows and filled the chapel with light.

  The tomb of the saint was to their right. It looked like a small wooden house set on a stone base and was decorated with a painting of a nun and a bishop holding a staff. The bishop knelt in front of the nun. Nick didn't have time to contemplate the symbolism. Blue Cap and Suspenders came in. Steel flashed in their hands.

  "Go for the high ground," he said. "There's room to move up there. Try not to use your gun."

  They ran up the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The two Serbian killers split and came up the stairs on each side of the apse. Selena and Nick waited for them near the windows. Blue Cap had a long, shiny switch blade. He tossed it from hand to hand and smiled. Nick watched them come. He turned to Selena.

  "I hate knives."

  "So do I."

  "To hell with the noise." He pulled his pistol out. Selena did the same.

  The two Serbs froze. They hadn't expected that.

  "Drop the knives." Nick's voice was harsh. "Do it."

  The one wearing suspenders looked at Blue Cap. Blue Cap was the leader. He nodded. The knives clattered on the stones.

  "You will not shoot," Blue Cap said. "If shoot, police come, you die in jail quick. I guarantee this."

  "Your English is pretty good for something I'd usually scrape off my shoe. Tell us who sent you."

  "No one send. We are seeing sights. We see rich American tourist, think you have money. Just business. You should let us go now."

  "Who told you we were American? We're Canadian, asshole. You were waiting for us in the cafe. Who told you we'd be there?"

  "Okay, you Canadian. Having coffee in cafe." He shrugged. "No one sends us." He grinned.

  "Get down on your knees."

  Blue Cap didn't like that.

  "You make mistake."

  "Down. Now."

  The two men got down on their knees.

  "Put your hands behind your back." Nick took a roll of electrician's tape from his pocket and gave it to Selena.

  "Cuff 'em, Dano."

  "What?"

  "You never watched Hawaii Five-O? Doesn't matter. Wrap this around their wrists and hands. Bind them tight. We'll take a little walk to the police station. I know who you are, Jovanovich. The cops might be interested in Srebrenica."

  Blue Cap was fast. As Selena stepped forward, he fell forward onto his hands in sudden movement and swept his legs across and knocked Selena down. He grabbed for her gun. She rolled toward him and slammed her elbow into the side of his head and followed with a hammered fist into his solar plexus. He gasped and stopped fighting. His partner tried to get up. Nick brought the Sig down hard on top of his head, then hit him again to make sure. The man sprawled unconscious on the floor. Selena got to her feet. They taped the men's hands behind them.

  Jovanovich groaned. Blood trickled from his ear.

  "What do we do with them?" she asked.

  "We talk to our friend here. Then we turn them in. Interpol's going to love it. Give me your gun."

  She handed it to him. He took the pistols and went over to a tall, wide vase filled with flowers next to the wall and dropped the guns in.

  "I've done enough sightseeing for one day."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Back in the hotel, Nick had Harker on the satellite phone.

  "Jovanovich talked. He doesn't know who hired him, but he's worked for the same person before."

  "Yes?"

  "Jovanovich makes his living killing people. His first job for whoever is after us was a little over three years ago. He knifed a clerk from the Tesla Museum in Belgrade and made it look like a sex deal gone wrong. The clerk had some papers his client wanted, designs by Nikola Tesla. Since then, Jovanovich has killed a half dozen people for the same guy. He says the man is his best customer."

  "He sounds like a real piece of work."

  "He's proud of what he does. Considers himself a professional."

  "His client is probably Foxworth. I wonder why he wanted designs by Tesla? Or how the clerk came by them?"

  "Director, we need to get out of here. The police are suspicious. They let us come back to the hotel but they took our passports."

  "Use the Irish ones."

  "I thought you might say that. Selena is changing her look right now."

  As he said it, she came out of the bathroom. She wore a wig made from shoulder length red hair. The glasses and school teacher look were gone. She had on a tailored green blouse, a stylish skirt and silver earrings in the form of a Celtic knot. Her eyes were covered by green contacts. She looked more Irish than the Irish did.

  "I'm sending you to Portugal," Harker said. "Ronnie and Lamont will meet you in Lisbon. They'll explain the mission. Your flight leaves from Ruzyně at 8:35. The tickets will be at the TAP counter, first class. Get rid of the guns."

  "Already did."

  "Have a good flight." She broke the connection.

  Nick said, "We're going to Portugal"

  "Portugal? Why?"

  "I don't know. Ronnie and Lamont will brief us when we get there."

  "Are we going to Lisbon?"

  "At least to the airport."

  "They have great cafes there. Good music."

  "In the airport?"

  "Of course not. In Lisbon. And stores for shopping."

  Nick groaned. "Shopping."

  It took him fifteen minutes to change his appearance. A different wig, new contacts that turned his eyes blue. The beard was gone. Different glasses. Different clothes. They left the hotel by a side entrance and avoided the desk. As far as anyone knew, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were still upstairs.

  Two Irish tourists caught a taxi for the airport.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Elizabeth pulled up the latest pass of SBIRS. The Space-Based Infra Red System consisted of 24 low orbit satellites and 4 satellites high in geo-synchronous orbits. Tracking stations spread across the globe fed a continuous data stream back to the Pentagon and the various intelligence agencies. The system's primary mission was to detect and track missiles in the event of a launch, but it had other uses.

  Checking the satellite intel was part of her daily routine. For the past year she'd been watching something in Central Russia on the Western Siberian plain. That part of Russia contained no significant military capabilities. It wasn't much of a factor in the Pentagon's war game scenarios and received little attention. The installation was camouflaged to look like a grove of trees, but the infra red revealed a distinctive shape. It looked as though the Russians were building a pyramid there, which made no sense at all.

  The site was near an abandoned military air base left over from the Cold War, near the fishing village of Irtysh at the junction of the Irtysh and Ob rivers. The Irtysh flowed north from Kazakhstan until it joined the Ob and then continued on to the Arctic Ocean. A paved road, rare in that part of Russia, ran from the town to the base.

  SBIRS had been in operation for several years, but there were gaps in the coverage. Elizabeth pulled up the records for the location and began scanning backward. The pictures moved back in time until the shape changed and disappeared. The outline had first appeared less than two years before. She ran the photos back another two years and stopped.

  Why would the Russians build a pyramid in the middle of nowhere? Why build it at all?

  She began running the sequence forward a day at a time and watched. At first, nothing. Just an abandoned base. An occasional figure, walking. Two men with motorcycles, using the old runways to race each other. Then a sudden flurry of activity. Trucks, men, equipment. She checked the time stamps. Almost three years ago.

  Fences went up. Soldiers began patrolling. The Russians were using the abandoned base for something. Hot spots indicated significant heat sources inside the old hangers, probably large generators. The satellite intel should have been flagged for closer observation, but there was no record of that.

  She followed the trail of distri
bution for analysis. All surveillance of the area had been tasked to Langley. Even Langley wasn't so incompetent they would miss something as blatant as this. The only possible explanation was that the intel had been deliberately buried. Someone had shut down any inquiry. Elizabeth's intuition started setting off alarms. Very few had the power to do that.

  Lodge, she thought. The former Director of the CIA. He'd been Deputy Director when the pyramid had first shown up in the reconnaissance photos. Everything would have gone through him.

  The pictures unreeled like a silent movie made of stills. A large flatbed loaded with a T-34 appeared. Men unloaded the tank in a field away from the hangers, past the runways. An old tank, non-op, in a field. It didn't make sense. The pictures moved forward. Suddenly the tank was no longer there. The time stamp was recent.

  At first Elizabeth thought the shots were somehow out of sequence, or that the tank had disappeared during one of the periods when the satellite was out of range. She moved back and forth. One shot, the tank was there. Next, it was gone. The frames were one second apart. The tank had vanished in an impossible amount of time. The ground where it had been was disturbed, covered with a dark smear.

  What were the Russians doing out there?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "That is really something."

  Lamont spoke for all of them. The Mafra Palace sprawled stark and white and beautiful in the moonlight. It lay 18 miles outside of Lisbon, near the Portuguese coast. The Palace was as big as a small city, one of the largest single structures in Europe. Two tall bell towers rose from the center. The full moon shone down on the promise of a king to his queen, Mary of Austria.

  Give me an heir and I will build you a palace to rival any kingdom in the world.

  She did. He had.

  The team sat in a gray Fiat van parked near a wildlife preserve next to the castle grounds. In the light of the moon, the extravagant Baroque monument to a king's ego looked like a magical vision from a fairy tale.

  Mafra had an elaborate security system to protect the priceless art and treasures inside, supplemented by a complement of guards. During the day the castle was patrolled by a full roster. At night two men watched monitors in a security center on the ground floor and took turns making rounds. The guards carried pistols. Cameras watched the grounds and galleries and halls.