The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

O’Connor snorted. “It all sounds like a bunch of gibberish to me.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Of course it does. The red hair must be an alert that your brain cells are running low.”

He bit another chunk of apple. “It’s going to take more than a little insult like that to rile me, lass.”

“At least you understood it was an insult.”

“Enough,” Golov said. “Up until the last day or so, we’ve had nothing but success. We were bound to run into problems sooner or later. The truly great are separated from the merely good by how they respond to setbacks. Sirkal, can you track down who those people really are? There’s obviously more to them than meets the eye.”

Sirkal nodded. “I’ll tap my mercenary contacts and see if anyone knows them. I’d also request that Ivana put her computer skills to work.”

Ivana waved one hand idly. “I can’t do much without photos of them. But I can access Russian security archives and see if their names appear.”

“Good,” Golov said. “We can’t let up now. It’s not like we have an idea for the next big Internet company. We can’t steal copper mines or oil refineries. This operation is our only chance at real wealth. We’re a week away from being richer than any of us could have ever dreamed, and Mr. Antonovich made all of this possible. I’m not going to let anyone or anything keep us from the prize. Does anyone here disagree?”

All three of them shook their heads.

“Then I suggest we work together for one more week. After that, we will never see each other again, except for you and me, my dear.”

Ivana blew him a kiss.

“When is the fake Narwhal expected to leave port?” he asked Sirkal.

“Tomorrow evening. That was the earliest they could reserve a slot in the port.”

“Is the container ready for loading?”

“Yes, I saw it myself,” Sirkal said. “The Jaffa Column is exactly where we expected it to be. Dijkstra’s representative will have no way of knowing the Narwhal that he’s delivering the container to isn’t the real one. Should I tell the captain to change the destination port now that the diary has been stolen?”

The original plan was to deliver the column to a shipyard in Marseilles and transport it by truck to a secret location in the south of France, where they could study it at their leisure once they had Napoleon’s Diary. Golov would find the treasure and eliminate the threat to their plan once and for all. But now that the diary wasn’t in their possession, the plan would have to change.

Golov shook his head. “The column is of no use to us anymore. In fact, it’s a liability. We can’t let it fall into the hands of whoever has the diary.”

“What about blowing it up once it’s delivered?” O’Connor suggested. It always came down to explosives with him.

“We could have the captain toss it overboard in the middle of the Mediterranean,” Sirkal said. “He doesn’t know what’s inside the container.”

“That’s risky,” Ivana said. “What if the captain remembers where he dumped it and squeals later?”

Golov patted her on the shoulder, proud of his daughter’s insight. “Ivana’s right. We can’t take that chance. We’ll have to repeat our sinking of the Narwhal. We’ll give the captain instructions to alter course. Once it’s two hundred kilometers from Malta and out of the main shipping lanes, we’ll put it on the bottom of the sea.”

“I know I’m an idiot,” O’Connor said, eyeing Ivana, “but if we can recover the diary, then maybe we can still find the treasure. I know we’re all going to be rich, but, from what I hear, that treasure could be worth billions of euros.”

“That’s a lower priority,” Golov said. “If these people get their hands on the column now that they have the diary, they can torpedo our entire plan and we’ll have nothing. I won’t let them jeopardize the Dynamo operation. Understood?”

Sirkal gave a smart nod. O’Connor shrugged and tossed the core of his apple into the wastebin.

“We need to stay on schedule,” Golov continued. “We’ll head to Sicily. The three of you will take the helicopter to Syracuse and catch airline flights from there. Sirkal and O’Connor will head to Frankfurt and take care of the substation there. Ivana will head to Paris and put the fear of God into the authorities with the next bank shutdown. I’ll stay with the Achilles and intercept the Narwhal. Any questions?”

“Just one,” O’Connor said with a smile. “Did anyone choose Australia yet for their retirement place? Because I’ve got my eye on a thirty-acre estate in Sydney.”

Sirkal glared at him, because the agreement was that none of them would reveal their destinations after the operation was over. Golov suspected that the Indian would choose somewhere on the subcontinent, while Ivana had designs on Southeast Asia, maybe Thailand or Bali.

Golov turned back to the view of the sea afforded by the expansive windows and the quarter moon reflected on the calm waters. He had no desire to retire to a private island or exotic locale. He was more interested in the power that the newfound fortune would give him. He’d always chafed at serving at the whim of the rich and powerful, and being drummed out of the Ukrainian Navy convinced him that nationalism was a fool’s game. Money was the only true lever of power in the world, and he would soon have enough to decide the fate of entire nations, should he choose.

No matter what he decided to do, he had no doubt that he’d continue to maintain a presence on the high seas, even if it wasn’t on the Achilles. The ocean was too ingrained in his blood to stay away for long.

He would certainly have a vessel to rival the features of the Achilles. He was now spoiled for anything less extraordinary than the high-tech yacht. He shuddered at the thought of being stuck captaining a ship as dilapidated and pathetic as the one they were cruising past.