Volanski, a dark-haired man in his sixties, leaned forward. “Through my sources, I found out that a stolen nerve agent shipment was used in the attack on the island of Diego Garcia. I don’t know who is responsible, but I believe they planted evidence to make it look as if the Nine were responsible.”
That set off murmurs around the table. Mallik joined in so that he wouldn’t draw attention to himself.
“How can you be sure?” Melissa Valentine asked.
“Because the chemical weapon used in the failed strike was one I had smuggled out of Russia. It’s a nerve agent called Novichok. I originally thought it went to the bottom of the sea in a shipwreck, but now I know that it was actually stolen from me.”
Mallik’s stomach went cold, but he gave the appearance of being as appalled as everyone else in the room.
“How could the evidence lead back to the Nine?” he asked.
“Not to the Nine Unknown, specifically,” Carlton said. “To Jhootha Island. The ship used to mount the attack was the Triton Star.”
Everyone exchanged worried glances. They all knew the Triton Star was the ship regularly used to supply the island.
“If the Americans were to invade the island and catch us by surprise,” Carlton continued, “they would have everything they need to learn about the Colossus initiative. Then all our work for a new dawn of humanity would be for nothing.”
“This is outrageous,” Daniel Saidon said. “First, the attack on the Colossus 5, then the attempted kidnapping of one of our own, and now this?” More angry grumbling around the table.
Carlton put up his hands to calm everyone. “It’s being taken care of. I’ve ordered the entire island to be erased per our emergency protocol. Even though it continues to contribute to the project, the island has largely served its purpose. By the end of the day, there will be nothing left.”
“Put together, all these incidents are disturbing,” Jason Wakefield said. “I believe that means there’s a traitor in our midst. What are we going to do about it?”
Instead of murmurs, now the table was deadly silent.
Carlton peered intently at Wakefield and said, “In all our two thousand years of history, we’ve never been required to eliminate one of our own. But now it looks like we will have to.”
Carlton turned his head toward Mallik, who froze. But Carlton kept turning until he focused on Lionel Gupta.
“What do you have to say for yourself, traitor?”
SEVENTEEN
JHOOTHA ISLAND
One thing Juan Cabrillo was sure of was that there were no indigenous peoples on the island, at least not anymore. Any organization that could somehow land an intact plane here wasn’t going to allow a few natives to get in their way. The only known missing A380 was Xavier Carlton’s private jet that disappeared eighteen months ago. Now they knew why it had never been found.
While Eddie, Linc, MacD, and Raven readied their gear, Juan had Linda dive the Gator and head to the part of the protective atoll that was nearest to the camouflaged airliner.
He was in the driver’s cupola with Linda when they arrived. The sun shone through the pristine water, playing along an underwater structure that definitely didn’t belong.
“You were right, Chairman,” Linda said. “Caissons are lined up perpendicular to the island as far as we can see.”
She piloted the Gator along a perfectly linear row of huge closely set concrete blocks, each the size of a house, that were resting on the ocean floor where coral had been blasted away. Each caisson was painted in a mottled pattern to resemble the reef so that it wouldn’t be recognized in any photos taken from the sky.
“That must have been how they landed the plane,” Juan said. “And they could double as a pier for the Triton Star.”
“You think these float?”
Juan pointed at a series of valves and hoses connecting the caissons. “All they had to do is pump air in or out to raise or lower it. A permanent pier would have been noticed during one of the Coast Guard’s random checks. If they raised this at night or under thick cloud cover, it would never be seen from the air. Not only that, it looks like it’s still being used.”
A series of parallel lines marred the random growth of algae on the surface of the nearest caisson.
“Tire tracks,” Linda said.
“They must have a vehicle for the cargo transfers. Those tracks can’t be more than a week old.”
“This structure has to be four thousand feet long,” Linda said with awe. “It must have cost a fortune to build. They’d have to ship these blocks in from another manufacturing site and install them at night.”