The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

“You’ve caught up to the Achilles?”

“We’ve got them on the screen, right in the crosshairs.” Eddie could hear the satisfaction in the Chairman’s voice. “And Golov has no idea we can see them.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

TWENTY MILES OFF THE COAST OF ZINGST, GERMANY

Sergey Golov watched the Achilles’s Russian flag whipping in the brisk wind and thought the morning couldn’t be more perfect. Although the sun was shining, the Baltic Sea was churned into frothy whitecaps by the steady breeze that caused the windmills in the far distance to spin at a furious pace. Over two hundred of the propellers, broader than the wingspan of a 747, fed their awesome power to the sprawling transformer station perched on the German coast.

The Achilles was actually closer to Denmark than Germany, which would aid in its escape once the transformers were destroyed. The yacht would simply disappear into the maze of islands that made up a good portion of the Danish land area. Then they’d swing around into the North Sea and rendezvous with Ivana’s helicopter near Rotterdam before setting flank speed for Brazilian waters.

The sunny day helped as well. Solar power was making up a larger and larger portion of Europe’s electricity supply, and because it was difficult to ratchet back solar cells during the daytime, the constant output made power regulation a challenge. The grid would be struggling to juggle the distribution from its maxed-out wind and solar farms while modulating the traditional gas, coal, and nuclear capacity. All it needed now was a nudge to throw it off balance and the system would collapse completely.

Golov was happy to see that traffic on the sea was relatively light today in these often heavily traveled waters. A containership had passed a few minutes before, and was nearly out of sight around the headlands of Falster Island, while a massive white cruise ship approached from the east, likely on a Scandinavian tour coming from Helsinki or Stockholm.

“Any other ships on the scope?” Golov asked the radar operator.

“No, sir, but I’m reading a small contact bearing three five zero.”

Something was coming at them from the north, almost directly behind them, over the island.

The XO, Kravchuk, went over to the radar and leaned over the operator’s shoulder. “Speed?”

“Eighty knots. It’s in the air.”

“Range?”

“Ten kilometers and closing.”

Golov sat straighter in his chair. The Oregon. It had to be. “Is it a helicopter?”

“No,” the radar operator replied. “Too small. It must be a drone. Probably not much larger than three meters wide.”

“What are you up to?” Golov said under his breath. He eyed Kravchuk and ordered, “All hands to battle stations. Bring the laser and railgun online.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO replied, and the klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

Both the laser and railgun rose out of their hidden compartments.

The Oregon had to be out of sight somewhere, concealed by Falster Island’s mass.

Golov called Ivana.

She answered on the first ring. “We’re just landing outside the Control Hub.”

“Good,” he said. “I need you to send me a number.”

—

Juan was inside the op center aboard the Oregon. Eric guided the ship through the narrow channels separating the islands in this part of the chain, a position that made her undetectable to the Achilles. The yacht was exactly where he thought it would be to give Golov a clear shot at Zingst’s transformer station.

The image of the Achilles on the main view screen came courtesy of an observation drone operated by Gomez Adams. The size of an albatross, it flew in a circular pattern above the island far enough from the yacht that it wouldn’t be recognized for what it was. Gomez’s expert flying skills were being put to the test by keeping multiple drones on course.

At the same time, the large supply drone was now on a collision course with the Achilles. Golov had seen it by now, which was the reason that Juan could see the menacing railgun and telescope-like laser system rise from the yacht’s deck.

“They’re getting ready to shoot it down,” Gomez said.

“I’d say it’s a small price to pay,” Juan replied. He turned to Max. “I’m sorry we’re going to lose your baby.”