The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

With every ounce of remaining strength, Trono lifted his arm up and extended a trembling hand to Juan, who reached over the seat and took it. It felt cold and clammy and had none of the vigor and vitality Trono was known for among the crew. He lifted his head and fixed Juan with a melancholy gaze.

“Thank you,” Trono said, barely able to breathe out the words.

Juan’s voice choked up. “For what?”

“For the . . . best job I’ve ever . . . had . . .”

Juan shook his head. “No, Mike. Thank you.”

Trono’s head fell back and he looked up at Linda, whose eyes welled with tears.

“Such a nice face,” Trono said. Then he hissed out one final breath and his eyes glazed over, the pupils dilated. His hand went limp in Juan’s.

Juan gently placed Trono’s hand down on his chest. Linda, sobbing unabashedly, closed his eyes and continued to stroke his hair.

Juan turned off the lights and siren. Gretchen was about to ask what he was doing when she looked in the rearview mirror and saw Linda crying. She bashed her hand against the wheel with a shout of pure rage.

At this point, Juan was simply drained. His rage would come later.

“Where do you want me to go?” Gretchen asked.

“We need to find another car.”

“I’ll look for an empty parking lot where we can borrow one. Then to the airport?”

Juan nodded slowly, swallowing the

grief that threatened to overwhelm him. “Back to the Oregon. We’re taking Mike home.”

FIFTY-FIVE

COPENHAGEN

It wasn’t until the next morning that Golov and Sirkal were able to rendezvous with the Achilles. They weighted O’Connor’s body with some of the expensive sensing equipment on board the Sea Ray and unceremoniously dumped it overboard in a more remote section of the Neris River before abandoning the boat. They stole a car to drive to the Lithuanian border, where they used false passports to cross into Belarus. During the entire flight from Minsk to Copenhagen on Antonovich’s private jet, Golov fumed at the near-total failure of the operation in Vilnius.

He went straight to Ivana’s cabin when he boarded the yacht, sending Sirkal to get his arm sutured properly to replace Golov’s makeshift sewing job. When Sirkal was done, he’d revise his upcoming mission, since they were now down three men.

“How are your plans coming?” Golov said abruptly when he opened her door and quickly closed it behind him.

Ivana’s quarters weren’t quite as spacious as Antonovich’s suite, but they were far larger than all but the most lavish accommodations aboard a cruise ship. Most of the space was taken up by a vast array of computer equipment whose purpose Golov had no interest in understanding. Half a dozen monitors displayed software code or videos in small windows. European electropop blared from huge floor speakers. It was all connected to the yacht’s high-speed satellite Internet feed.

Unlike the disgusting hives of hackers Golov had seen on TV shows and in movies, Ivana’s desk was tidy and clean. All of her empty protein bar wrappers and Red Bull cans had found their appropriate place in her wastebasket, and the only papers on the desk were piled in a stack as if aligned by a T square.

She was startled by the sudden entrance. When she saw who it was, she muted the music and tossed a plastic bag away as she shoved the last couple of almonds into her mouth. She leaped to her feet and gave her father a big hug.

“I’m so glad you made it back in one piece.” She inspected his bandaged nose and fingers, which Sirkal taped up after snapping them back into place.

“O’Connor didn’t,” Golov said. “And neither did Monroe and Jablonski. Even worse, the Russians will now get their hands on everything Napoleon stole from Moscow.”

There was nonstop television coverage about the bizarre and violent discovery of “Napoleon’s treasure,” as all the news outlets were now calling it. Reports of the trove’s immensity were coming to light in slow drips as the investigators and bomb removal experts inspected the uncovered vault, but it was already being compared to King Tut’s tomb in intrinsic and historical value. The consensus was that although the treasure had been found in Lithuania, the government there would ultimately return the items to Russia, either by virtue of a lawsuit or as a goodwill gesture.

The thought of the Russians celebrating their good luck turned Golov’s stomach. But soon they would forget all about that when they were blamed for one of the world’s greatest man-made disasters.

Ivana nodded. “The news from Vilnius has been on every network. They found five bodies in the cathedral, including our guys, Kulpa, and the two policemen.”

“No mention of anyone else?”

“They did mention a shoot-out at the river. They’ve sent divers into the water, looking for bodies. No one is attempting to recover the van or its contents yet. Do you think there’s anything in Lithuania that can lead back to us?”