The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

Golov smiled. “He’s good at following a script.”

The plan was going exactly as he’d drawn it up. Golov’s command before Antonovich hired him to captain the Achilles was a Ukrainian frigate named the Poltava. He’d been trained by the Soviet Navy before the breakup of the USSR and then transferred to the newly christened navy of his native Ukraine. He’d become one of Ukraine’s preeminent naval strategists and was about to be recommended for a star in the admiralty. Then the Crimea crisis occurred. Russia annexed the entire peninsula and took over the Ukraine naval base at Sevastopol. Many of Ukraine’s best ships were seized, including the Poltava.

Golov had been reprimanded for letting his ship be confiscated, instead of sailing it out before the Russians could take it, and his career was effectively over.

An ex-pat Russian, Antonovich found a kindred spirit in Golov. Both of them despised the current leadership in Moscow. Antonovich had needed someone with Golov’s skills to command a yacht with the Achilles’s unique capabilities, so it had been a perfect match.

Now Golov was able to apply his planning skills to even more interesting work.

The two guards returned from the security office, never questioning the bank president’s request for them to leave their post and accompany him to the garage.

Golov and the three others exited the SUV and took positions on either side of the elevator. Sirkal and O’Connor had their Glock pistols leveled.

The elevator dinged when it arrived at garage level, and Munier led the guards out. When they were clear of the door, Golov said, “Bonjour.”

As the guards turned toward the voice, Sirkal shot André twice in the chest, then François.

Munier sobbed at the sight of them collapsing.

“Your family or them,” Golov reminded him.

O’Connor and Sirkal made sure the two guards were dead, then dragged their bodies to the back of the SUV and dumped them inside. Sirkal tossed the Glock in as well.

Golov nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

O’Connor shoved Munier into the elevator and they rode up to the lobby. The elevator camera had a good shot of all of them, but it wouldn’t matter now that the guards were no longer monitoring it.

Munier’s lavish office was at the rear of the marble lobby. Once they were inside, Ivana took a seat in his chair at the computer terminal.

“Thumb, please,” she said.

Munier sighed and put his thumb on the reader.

“Password.”

He typed it in, then leaned close to the desk. His right hand casually dropped to its surface.

“Don’t even think about pressing the silent alarm,” Golov said when he noticed Munier’s fingers edging under the desk. “Your family would be dead before the police could arrive.”

Munier snatched his hand away as if the desk were on fire.

“I wasn’t,” he said unconvincingly.

“I’m sure.”

With the computer system now wide open thanks to Munier’s biometric access, Sirkal and O’Connor pulled him back.

“This is pointless,” Munier said. “The vault is on a time lock until nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and that computer doesn’t even control it. I can’t open it no matter what you do to me or how much you threaten my family.”

“We don’t want your money,” Golov said.

Munier looked at him bewildered. “You don’t?” Comprehension dawned on him. “You’re going to transfer our depositors’ funds?”

“You are so very close. We needed a hard connection to your internal servers. After hackers repeatedly gained access to bank servers, security at every bank, including yours, was stepped up, and firewalls became impossible to breach from outside. But we’re not here to transfer money.”

“If you’re not stealing money, then why kill all these people and take such a big risk?”

Golov considered telling Munier the entire plan just to show how clever he was, but that would be bragging. Golov preferred to let his work speak for itself. Munier would never know the whole story, but the depositors would know soon enough.